this is a masterlist where you can find all my current works and it’s updated after every newly released fic !!
every nsfw piece of work is denoted by an asterisk (*), as well as an additional (18+) warning - MINORS DNI
personal favorites are denoted by a ⭐️
taglist can be found here
Drabbles
out of chaos we were born
Out of Chaos we were born: he, the darkness, and I, the light, for one cannot prosper without the presence of the other.
One Shots
what’s in a name
Four times you call him Bucky, and the one time you call him James.
2:48 a.m.
It’s summer, Bucky can’t sleep, and you can’t rest without him.
so many kisses, so little time ⭐️
Six different ways Bucky kisses you.
black shirts and soggy cereal
Bucky was your best friend, until he saw you wearing his shirt.
stupid, stupid boy
You’ve told Bucky a thousand times he wasn’t invincible, but he never listens.
missed you*
When Bucky finally got home, you realized you had missed each other more than you thought. (18+)
plan* ⭐️
“I was supposed to forget about you, and you were supposed to forget about me, but damn it if I could ever forget about you because since the day I saw you, you never left my mind and you were all I thought about,” he rambled, focusing on anything his eyes could land on that wasn’t you.
“You’re... you’re still all I think about,” he whispered, voice tired and beaten, like the very sentence had been waiting in his throat for years just to get a chance to come out in the open. (18+)
sanctified*
Bucky Barnes’ holy grail and safe haven are your body and soul, and after getting a taste of them, he finally knows what it means to be a sinner. (18+)
borderline
“You know what, Bucky? I feel like once you know someone’s there for you, and once you know they love you, you never actually think of them again. It’s not until you’re about to lose someone, that you finally pay attention.”
Adapted from Sam Levinson’s 2021 Malcolm and Marie.
yayo
“I need you safe. I need you here, and I need you safe, and I need, God please, I need you to let me in, baby, just let me in and I promise I’ll make it all better,” his broken voice pleaded through the door.
“I know you can hear me and I know you’re hurting but I swear I didn’t do it. You gotta believe me, doll.”
Biker AU.
if you lie down with me ⭐️
“You know... it hasn’t been the same,” he said quietly, eyes lifting to meet yours. “It really hasn’t.”
You chewed the inside of your cheek, mulling over his words as your thoughts went a mile a minute. Your focus fell onto the black and gold peeking under his sleeve, reflecting the sunlight as he fidgeted with his fingers.
“I know,” you finally whispered. “I don’t think it’ll ever be the same again. Not when I feel homesick without you.”
the way i see things + dysthymia
“Baby- baby, oh my God, I thought something happened to you-“
The frantic voice sent daggers of pain throughout your skull, and you winced as you brought a hand to the back of your head. The words came to you through a fog, your ears ringing as your eyes focused on the man in front of you.
“I’m… I think I’m okay… who are you?”
blue neighbourhood
In a town full of self-righteous moms and their rich, suited husbands hiding secrets of infidelity, abuse and verges of bankruptcy, you felt utterly out of place. The target for all their jealous stares and mean comments, you were at your wits end trying to survive modern suburbia. It wasn’t your fault Bucky chose you, right?
Married AU.
carrying your love with me
Request: Hi, I just read your latest work and it was great. Can you write about Bucky x reader are married. And reader is a plussize girl that has been insecure her whole life and she still is and is struggling to love herself and she doesn't think that she's enough for Bucky but she always pretends that she's okay and confident when she's with him.
something that we’re not
Just don’t fall in love. That was the only rule. It was literally the only rule, and it was already broken.
pink ribbons
Request: Can you please write something with the idea of y/n asking Bucky if she can tie a pink ribbon around his bicep? Thank you
in the red dark
His eyes trapped yours in their vice-like grip as he stared up at you, fingers brushing against the hem of your jeans, and you swallowed heavily. You felt the rush of alcohol in your head fizzle out into smoke and embers as you sobered up quicker than you ever have in your life.
"Are you sure?"
You swallowed again. Nodded.
There was a small twitch in his eyebrows, and he narrowed his gaze. "It'll hurt."
Despite your heartbeat drowning out all sounds around you, despite the cold sweat on the back of your neck, despite the knowledge that you'll probably regret this - whatever this actually was - in the morning, you smiled.
"Then I guess I'll just have to hold your hand."
Series
l’appel du vide (DISCONTINUED)
Bucky spent years as an empty vessel for other people’s anger and malice, until his life slowed and he came to realize he liked the way she looked at him, because it made him feel whole again.
Set during the events of Captain America: Civil War.
turn a blind eye (COMPLETED) ⭐️
“Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time.”
The Winter Soldier was cold. Brutal. Unflinching. A machine formulated to comply. Bucky Barnes was the sun warming your skin, your happy pill. Loving him was like bittersweet liquor, sickeningly sweet when you sip, harsh and burning when you swallow.
Assured by Dreams (COMPLETED) ⭐️
“Your job is to protect me, isn’t it?”
“With my life.”
“Then love me, too.”
Sir James had been tasked with one assignment and one assignment only: give you protection, even if he has to die for it. When your kingdom falls under siege from the East, and you’re ripped away from the comfortability of banquets, feasts and glittering tiaras, it’s up to him to save your life, and up to you to trust him. Only, Sir James never had falling in love with his princess written in his plan for salvation.
Royalty AU.
Money Power Glory (COMPLETED)
“Working with the feds now, lovie?”
“Unfortunately. They won’t find out, though.”
“I’d hate it if they did. You’re too pretty to kill.”
James “Bucky” Barnes, New York state’s most infamous organized crime leader since the 1980s. With Bucky weaving through the fingers of local police and the federal government for far too long, they decide to go with plan B: you. Your job? Simple. Relay inside information back to the FBI, slipping through the cracks of Bucky’s fortress of a crime ring as an unknown imposter. The Bureau, however, has no idea you and Bucky are much more acquainted than you let on.
Criminal AU.
The Space Between (ONGOING)
"You have enough blood on your hands that not even four lifetimes of atonement could wipe off, Barnes."
He stared at you, blue eyes critical and assessing. "Funny."
"What?" you snapped.
"Funny how you think I'm not aware."
The US Secretary of State, backed by the government, has given James Buchanan Barnes an ultimatum: spend the rest of his old, unnaturally prolonged life behind bars, being poked and prodded and tested on, or be pardoned of all charges of treason, mass murder, kidnapping, blackmail, property damage, terrorism, torture, abuse, breaking and entering, and stalking (just to name a few), on one condition: he's to live with someone who the US government deems credible and fit enough to keep him on the right path. Obviously, he chose option number two. Just his luck that the credible person assigned was none other than Tony Stark. And double that luck with you, Tony's younger sister, in the equation. As if the guilt wasn't already eating away at his soul enough.
Stark!reader
One Shots
confused all the time
Bucky’s back, and Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself.
second choice + part II + part III* ⭐️
Steve’s drifted away from you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
+ The aftermath
+ The beginning
my erato
You’re Steve’s favorite thing to paint.
daddy issues ⭐️
You need him like oxygen, and he doesn’t understand why his heart pulls him towards you even though he knows it shouldn’t.
we should just kiss like real people do*
“Why do you keep me a secret, Stevie?”
Blue eyes sank their sad gaze into yours, and his thumb brushed against your cheek. Shaking his head, his lips pressed softly against yours before he spoke.
“Not a secret. It’s just- everybody seems to think, with everything goin’ on, a girl is the last thing I need. But you keep me sane, baby, it’s why I need to steal these moments with you.” (18+)
one for the road + part II + part III + part IV
Clint had a wife? Clint had children? Steve was just as shocked as any of them to find out about Barton’s double life, yet what was even more shocking to him was Clint’s oldest daughter, who seemed to sink her claws into Steve’s skin the minute they met and keep them there, unremoved, as he felt himself get pulled deeper and deeper into the workings of her inner mind with every smile of hers.
american history
Request: "... I was thinking about Steve Rogers and a younger reader. I mean, I LOVE stories that imply an age gap, so if you could write this one for me it would be lovely! I am 19, but if you are uncomfortable with this age I totally understand..."
One Shots
till the end of time ⭐️
Thor is broken after losing everybody he loves. He can’t lose you too.
in love with a war
“I’m so, so sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.”
The words were breathless and tired.
Thor stared at you as you blinked back your tears, his eyes glittering with his own.
“But I can’t live like this anymore,” you choked out. “I’m so tired and I’m always worried about you. And I know you’re always worried about me, and I can’t- I can’t do it anymore-“
One Shots
showgirl*
“My dove... do you know how much you’re worth?”
You shrugged.
“Grandmaster says a lot.” A cool finger wipes a tear from your cheek.
“No- not in that way. Not in the way he says it, like you’re something for sale. You’re worth something much more. You mean something much more, to me. Let me help you. I can help you.” (18+)
The soft wood of barn doors and creaky front porches turned into the restless honking of taxis and a skyline that never went dark. A body that smelled like hay, apple pie and something carnally inhuman running through its veins became a body that felt cold to the touch and smelled like money, power, obsession. A body - a person - that had his fingers so deep in every fold of your brain that it was unbelievably easy for you to forget where you came from and who you were - and most importantly, who the true villain was.
Pairing: Superman x reader / Clark Kent x reader / abusive!Lex Luthor x reader
Word count: 6k
Warnings: Angst, toxic and mildly abusive relationship (with Lex Luthor, not with Clark), hurt/comfort, swearing, gaslighting, manipulation, physical violence, Lex is actually insane don't say I didn't warn you, Clark being a guardian angel as per usual, emotional trauma, crying, that's pretty much it
Notes: this is my first ever Superman fic so I hope I do him justice and make DC readers proud (David Corenswet I love you)
there will be a part two, date of release to be added
__________
"Sweetheart."
The word pulled you out of your thoughts, and your dazed look away from the windows. It was a nice name - a cute one, even, but every time you heard it, it filled you with a sense of inexplicable dread, leaving something heavy in the middle of your chest.
You were too smart to call it what it was. Fear.
"Yes?" you replied, glancing over your shoulder to find Lex standing at the bedroom door, one arm stretched towards you, palm facing the ceiling. A silent command.
"Come here," he murmured, even though your feet were already moving on autopilot towards him, your arms hugging your body in the hopes that you could minimize the contact, make yourself smaller. It never worked.
Lex's hand was cold against yours, smooth and soft. A hand that was used to other people doing the heavy lifting with just a snap of its fingers. It always unsettled you. He pulled you into himself, his other hand finding its resting place against your jaw, and his blue eyes searched yours. They were cold and sharp, just like the rest of him, and just like everything else in these headquarters.
"What were you looking at?" he asked softly. The tone of his voice was mellow, convincing you that everything was fine; that it was okay to speak your mind. Lex had that way about him. He could be so kind when he wanted to be.
You swallowed, and let out a small sigh through your nose. You were hyperaware of the possessive hold on your waist, the cold fingers skimming the side of your neck, as he waited for you to speak.
"I was looking at the city - the damage," you confessed quietly.
The corner of his mouth lifted in something that resembled a smile. His fingers still stroked your neck, leaving goosebumps across your pulse points.
"It's a lot, isn't it? Do you see what I mean?" he asked, pulling you even impossibly closer, and you could feel every inch of his body against yours. "He doesn't care about this city, or its residents. Look at all the ruin and destruction he leaves behind. Don't you see, sweetheart, that he only ever does these things for his own gain? To save face? To have people worship him, yet they don't even realize how manipulative he truly is?"
You nodded, somewhat in a daze, as you let his words sink in and wash over you. You could see the city lights reflected in his eyes as they bore down into you, the room dark and illuminated only by the ever-restless city just beyond the wall of windows behind you.
"That's exactly why," Lex continued, his fingers finding home as he snaked them around your throat, "I keep you here with me. Safe. Unharmed. Where no one can get to you, no one can touch you. You understand that, don't you, sweetheart?"
He punctuated the pet name with a squeeze to your neck, too soft to cut off airflow, too rough to be considered as anything other than a thinly-veiled warning.
You nodded again, as much as his hand would allow, and it seemed to satisfy him, because he let go, a soft smile on his face, and he took a step back. As he did, you felt your lungs fill up with air again, the rest of the room flooding into your vision.
You watched him as he walked around the bed to his side, pulling the covers back, and then he looked at you with a raised brow. Not in question; another silent command.
Walking to your own side of the bed that was perpetually cold and too big for the two of you, you crawled under the covers. You blinked, heavily, slowly, and all you could see was the damaged, ruined city in the aftermath of yet another heroic Superman battle behind your eyelids. A sigh left your lungs, then caught in your throat when you felt Lex's hand snake around your waist, turning you over and pulling you into his body.
"I missed you today," he muttered into your hair. "Let me make you feel good."
You knew what that meant. You knew what he wanted.
He never made you feel good.
As you laid there, beneath a frigid and always slightly-threatening body, letting lips kiss you and hands mold you to their will, you turned your head to the side to look out the windows again.
You couldn't help the tear that escaped your eye, nor the way your thoughts kept running back to red, blue, glasses, calloused hands, a smile that reminded you of home.
None of it mattered anyways.
__________
"Clark, that's not fair!" you shrieked, pedaling your bike as fast as your teen legs could push you, a laugh bubbling across your lips and out into the muggy, late summer air.
Clark threw you a look over his shoulder, blue eyes sparkling with mischief and something else unnamed. It was the look - his look - that he always gave you when he wanted to say: come on; I dare you; I want you to.
He was still in the lead, far up ahead, bike tires kicking up dust and pebbles off the dirt road that led to the Kent's farm, the house and barn coming up closer in the distance the faster you went.
"Come on, bluebird, you're gonna lose again!"
You sucked in a determined breath and pushed yourself to your very limit, and by the time the two of you were braking right off the side of the old barn, you were side by side.
Your chest heaved with deep breaths, thighs burning with exertion, and you shot him a look.
"You always do that, it's not fair," you huffed, and he shot you a grin.
"Is it my fault I'm just more athletically inclined than you?"
"Clark, you're superhuman."
"I'm competitive."
"You're an alien," you said, rolling your eyes as you climbed off the bike, wincing at the soreness shooting up your legs.
An hour later, the two of you were sitting on the back porch, side by side, nursing twin glasses of Martha Kent's infamous homemade lemonade. It was quiet, and warm. The type of late summer warmth that left your cheeks red and neck sweaty, but felt like a hug from someone you loved.
Clark's knee knocked against yours, and you glanced up at him. The setting sun painted strokes of orange, pink and red across his face, lighting his eyes up and making them seem even brighter than they were. Those eyes fell on you, and he gave you a soft smile.
"What's going on in that little brain of yours?" he asked, and you bit the inside of your cheek.
You tore your gaze away from his and let it fall on the horizon, grass and dirt road glowing with fire as the sun's rays said their last goodbyes for the day. You stayed quiet for a minute, willing these few moments of peace to stretch over an eternity.
His knee brushed yours again. He took the glass of lemonade from your hand and set it next to his beside him.
He didn't ask again. Clark never had to ask again. You felt the unspoken questions in the air, just like he felt you gathering up the courage to answer. You always answered Clark, so long as he kept asking the right questions.
You cleared your throat. "I wish you didn't have to go."
It felt like confessing a sin.
Clark's eyes fell to yours, and you had to swallow hard, once, twice, to keep the familiar burn behind your eyes at bay. His gaze mirrored yours. Something heavy, unspoken, all-consuming wrapped around the two of you, something you had spent years of your childhood ignoring. Now, you wished you hadn't.
"I know."
His words came out in a rasp, quiet, as if not to disturb the summer night's tranquility settled between you. They carried a weight as heavy as the world.
He may as well have shot you right through the heart.
"But you can't stay, Clark," you whispered.
He nodded. "I know."
"I wish we had more time."
"We will," he said, and he sounded so certain, so confident, it made your breath hitch and your eyes burn again.
"How can you be so sure?"
Clark lifted a shoulder in a silent shrug. "Because you and I are... we're everything. We can't end just like that. You're my best friend. You're my... my..."
He finished the sentence with a whisper of your name.
You understood.
Clark's fingers found yours, intertwining them and resting your hands on his thigh. Your head felt heavy with too many thoughts and too many emotions, so you rested it against his shoulder. You could feel him take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, your heartbeat matching the pace of his inhales and exhales.
"Promise me you won't forget how to ride a bike. And feed chickens. And milk cows. Don't turn into some hotshot city boy too good for Smallville folk."
Promise me you won't forget me. That's what you really meant. He could read between the lines, as usual.
He gave your fingers a squeeze, and turned his head to place a kiss on the crown of your head. "I promise."
The two of you sat there, unspoken words and fresh promises settling around you like dust, until the last of the sunlight disappeared behind the horizon and the breeze cooled the streaks of tears on your cheeks you hadn't realized were there. It was you and Clark, Clark and you, just like it had been for years.
You broke the silence. "Maybe I'll move to Metropolis, too. One day."
Clark said nothing for a minute. Stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. And then: "You could. I always said you were born to be a city girl."
Your lips lifted in a sad smile.
Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours passed, the two of you leaning against each other in the darkness of the farm.
"Take me home, Clark," you whispered into the night.
So, he stood up, grabbed your hand, and took you home. Just like he always did.
__________
The crash was deafening.
The shatter of glass even more so.
You winced, arms coming up reflexively to protect your face.
He missed, though. Lex always missed - on purpose. Enough to remind you that he was always in control.
Tears ran down your cheeks of their own accord, your throat closing up with panic and fear and disbelief and hurt.
"You think I give a shit about them?" Lex roared, your ears ringing with the venom in his words.
"Lex, I didn't - I only meant -"
"I don't give a fuck what you meant," he hissed. "Never again will you undermine my authority and my decisions."
You took in a shaky breath, wet with tears, and you tried not to flinch when he stepped towards you, broken glass crunching beneath his polished shoes as he towered over you.
Lex grabbed your wrists in his hands, forcing you to look up at him.
"Is that understood?" he said lowly, and you nodded.
He let out a heavy sigh then, closing his eyes. When he opened them, his entire face seemed different - softer. His gaze searched yours, almost apologetic, and he rested his forehead against yours.
"I'm sorry, I - I lost my head again, didn't I?"
You swallowed but said nothing.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, you know I didn't mean to," he muttered, as if talking to himself, and his grip moved from your wrists to the sides of your face. Placing a kiss to your forehead, he pulled you in for a hug.
It took your body a moment to catch up with your mind, still trembling and in shock from the earlier argument, but eventually, you melted into Lex's hold, resting your cheek against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady, even, calm. As if nothing ever happened.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he kept repeating, stroking the back of your head with a hand, and you let out a tired sigh.
"It's okay, Lex," you said into his dress shirt. "It's fine. I know you only want me to be the best I can be."
You felt him nod. "Yes, of course. That's right."
He held you in his arms, swaying you back and forth slightly, for a few minutes. The time trickled slowly, like sap out of a tree, and eventually you felt your pulse go back to normal. Lex cleared his throat, shattering the tense silence.
Stepping back, holding you by your shoulders, he looked at you. "I have to go now, okay? Otis has some updates for me and I was already supposed to be up there. If I hadn't gotten sidetracked-"
Lex cut himself off, clenching his jaw. He gave you a smile that looked more like a grimace.
"Clean this up, okay, sweetheart? I don't want any of this here by the time I get back tonight. I want to hold you in a nice, clean room."
He ended the command with a kiss to your lips, fast and hard, punctuating his sentence and his point: he owned you.
"Okay," you said softly, and watched as he drew in a deep breath before turning on his heels and walking out the door.
The moment it closed with a soft hiss behind him, your tears started to freefall. You glanced down at the shards of glass beneath your feet, and crouched down, careful not to cut yourself as your blurry vision found the photo.
It had flown out of the frame when Lex had thrown it against the wall by your head, its corners slightly worn from years of keepsake. It shook in your hand as your fingers trembled, your other hand wiping at your blurry eyes.
You sniffled as you stared at the picture.
It was you, on your first day of elementary school. You were just a child, hair in pigtails, missing half your teeth, yet smiling broadly at the camera.
And next to you, arm thrown around your shoulders, only slightly taller and grinning just as intensely, a 7 year old Clark Kent, backpack strapped to his back, ready for his first day.
Standing behind the two of you were none other than your mother and Martha Kent, their hands resting on your shoulders, proud smiles on both their faces as they send their babies off to school.
Lex had never bothered asking about the photo. He never wondered about the boy next to you or the women behind you, nor did he want to know. And that was fine by you, because you highly doubted you would've been able to lie about something like that. And no matter what Superman may have done, no matter how much damage he brought to Metropolis, no matter how evil his scheme of grooming the planet into complacency really was, there was a part of you that knew: there was no way in hell you were going to out Clark to Lex, not like that. If Lex found out how well you knew Superman's favorite reporter, let alone Superman himself... a chill ran down your spine at the mere thought.
It was a simple question, really.
You hadn't meant any harm in asking. You were only wondering - only looking out for others.
"Are you sure the pocket universe is a good idea, Lex?"
He froze. Turned his head slowly. "Excuse me?"
"I mean - didn't... isn't there a risk of a dimensional rift? I - I know we'll be fine, you always think these things through, but - what about everyone else?"
"Everyone... else?"
You swallowed. The flicker of your eyes to the framed photo on your nightstand lasted less than a second, yet he saw. Lex always saw your weakest spots.
You took in a deep, shaky breath and rose from your crouch, stepping over the glass and broken frame and crawling into bed. You would clean up later. Right now, you had no energy for anything other than laying under the covers, clutching your photo in your hand as if someone would steal it from you if you loosened your grip.
The adrenaline and fear from the argument must have worn you out, because before you knew it, you had drifted off into a dreamless sleep, tears dried on your cheeks, head pounding, and the familiar faces in your hand crinkling slightly under the pressure of your fingers.
When you woke up, it was still dark out. Lex hadn't come back yet - that was nothing new. Yet the realization that your photo wasn't in your grasp anymore didn't startle you as much as it should have. You merely turned your gaze to the side, seeing it laid flat on your night table, the wrinkles smoothed out as best as they could be. You sat up slowly, and then let out a sigh.
The glass was gone. Every single shard and every single tiny crumb of it was gone - swept away, as if it had never been there in the first place. You looked around the room. Everything was in its place, clean, sterile, under control. Everything except your pulse, because you knew.
This wasn't Lex, nor was it any of his servants. None of them cared enough.
Deep down, you knew who this was. Who was responsible. It wouldn't have been the first time, but each time made it more and more impossible to push back the feelings of longing and guilt.
There was only ever one person in this world who cared about you, and showed you he cared even when he wasn't physically with you, and was able to sneak in and out unheard. You pulled in a deep breath, and laid back down, sinking into your pillow and pulling the covers up to your chin.
You tried to ignore the pathetic twinge of sadness behind your ribs.
__________
Black, blue, purple, green.
The familiar colors bloomed across your jaw and down your neck as you lifted your fingers to tentatively touch the bruises that just seemed to refuse to fade away. You swallowed, then winced.
It was fine.
It was the first time in a long time since this had happened, and maybe Lex was right - maybe you did deserve it. You shouldn't have barged into his office like that. You should have knocked. You should have known he was meeting with someone important. He was always meeting with someone important.
The moment Lex's eyes met yours, you knew you made a grave mistake. You only wanted to ask him if he wanted you to confirm your anniversary dinner - something he left up to you, deeming his work too important to skip out on.
You had to call the restaurant and reschedule for next week.
That was two days ago, and your neck would only look worse before it looked better. You let out a sigh, feeling your eyes and nose burn, then turned the water on, letting it run over your fingers and soothe you.
Splashing your face a bit, just to wake yourself up from the daze you seemed perpetually stuck in, you steeled yourself, staring into your eyes in the mirror.
"How did I even get here..."
The words were soft and sad, muttered to your reflection, meant for your ears only.
When you walked out of the bathroom, you paused. Looked around the room. Listened.
Something was different.
The air felt different; heavier, thicker, as if the presence of something otherworldly pressed down on it. Your skin prickled at the familiar sensation you grew to find comfort in.
The city lights illuminated your bed, casting an orange and blue glow on your pillow, and that's when it caught your eye.
You stepped forward, slowly, cautiously, until you reached your bed.
You picked it up softly between your fingertips. A single red rose.
A smile graced the corners of your lips as you brought it up to your nose and inhaled.
Flashes of hay bales and a dirt road, fingers sticky with peaches and arms scratched up from rose bushes taken care of by a woman you loved as much as your own mother.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you stared at the rose in your hand, knowing exactly who it came from. You brought it to your lips, a tear in your eye, and then clenched your jaw.
Opening the drawer in your nightstand, you pulled out the small lighter you kept.
You flicked it on.
You brought it up to the flower, as red as blood in the dark room.
You watched it burn.
It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last. It broke your heart, watching the flower fold in on itself, consumed by the flames, slowly shrinking. The tear in your eye dripped down your cheek, across the fresh bruise on your jaw.
But the risk of Lex finding it was greater than the desire to keep it forever.
You whispered your thanks into the empty room, hoping and knowing he could hear you, wherever he was.
__________
It was quiet in the car.
It wasn't a comfortable silence, nor was it an awkward one. It was tense. The air was ballooning with something you couldn't explain, only aware that it filled you with a sense of dread.
The dinner started out fine - perfect, even.
You had worn a dress you truly loved, one that fit you perfectly. Lex had bought it for you when you first met him, claiming it brought out your eyes and made you look beautiful.
He had said as much when you stepped out of the elevator into the garage, the car and driver waiting for you.
Lex had ordered the pan-fried hake with coconut curry sauce. He ordered you the roasted chicken breast with white wine tarragon cream. He knew you liked chicken.
The evening started out fine with a bottle of dry, aged wine and a nice meal. You spoke about anything and everything - mainly listening to him talk about how successful his plans were and how well everything was going. You were glad for it, truly. You liked when he was happy.
He mentioned Superman before dessert had the chance to arrive.
You had shifted in your seat, or maybe your hand twitched in his as it laid on the table, or maybe your eyes flickered for a moment before you gathered yourself. It didn't matter; it was enough for Lex to pause. To tilt his head.
Your heart pounded in your ears, and you tried not to fidget. You wished more than anything for other people to be around you now. The solitude of the restaurant's VIP section didn't seem very romantic anymore - it seemed like the scene of something about to go very wrong.
"What was that?" Lex whispered.
You feigned innocence. Stupidity. Air-headedness. "What was what?"
He stared at you. His hand tightened its grip on yours, only slightly.
"That reaction. When I mentioned the Kryptonian. Don't make a fool out of me, sweetheart. You know how much I hate that."
You nodded. You knew very well.
"I was just..." you began, not knowing what to say; not knowing what he wanted you to say.
"Go on," Lex said, urging you to speak. To anyone else, it might have been a supportive boyfriend helping his girlfriend get something off her chest. To the two of you, it was exactly what it was meant to be: a dare.
You shift in your chair, suddenly feeling a hot flash wash over you, and you attempted to keep eye contact as you spoke.
"I just - Sometimes I wonder, Lex, if all these things and all these fights and all these plans concerning Supe- the alien... is it a bit much?"
"Why would it be a bit much?" he asked immediately, brows furrowing slightly.
You gave him a shrug. "I'm just saying, he's a very powerful being, and I'm just worried that one of these days you'll-"
"I'll what?"
The interruption felt like a knife slicing through the air, and you knew you had said the wrong thing.
"Nothing, Lex, I-"
"You think I'm not good enough, not strong enough, to beat Superman? You think one day he'll defeat me? Is that it?"
"No! No, I didn't mean it like that, Lex."
"Then what did you mean, sweetheart?" Lex hissed, and your jaw clenched. "Because it seems to me, that my lovely little darling has doubts about my performance - about my capabilities and my finesse."
You kept your mouth shut.
You kept it shut throughout the rest of dinner, you kept it shut on the car ride home. And now, you still kept it shut in the doom and gloom of your living room area, lit up only by the city outside and a small lamp in the corner giving off an orange glow.
You waited for him to snap. You braced yourself for the impact, already going through a list of first-aid supplies you would need to restock in your mind.
Instead, the blow was delivered with words, not fists.
"Give me your coat."
You stared at the back of his head, stunned.
"W-what?"
He turned towards you, hands in his pockets, the picture of casual elegance, and said, "Give me your coat."
Brows furrowed, not understanding where he was going with this, you did as he asked. You let your fur coat fall off your shoulders, exposing them to the cool chill of the night air, and walked over to him, where he stood with his hand outstretched.
He took your coat - your beautiful, black, faux fur coat, one of the first things you had bought when you moved to Metropolis - and dropped it on the floor, right next to his feet.
Your lips parted, a question already on your tongue, but then he moved. He moved - to the side, to your coat on the floor, your wonderful coat, and stepped on it. Stood on it.
Lex stood on your coat, staring straight into your eyes, daring you to protest. You swallowed the words on your tongue when you saw the look in his eye.
"Take your heels off, sweetheart."
He must have seen the confused look on your face, because he let out an irritated sigh, and repeated himself.
"Take your heels off, make yourself comfortable. I know they hurt your feet, don't they?"
You nodded dumbly, because yes, they did hurt your feet, but you had no idea why he insisted on you taking them off. Especially now, when your comfort should've been the last thing on his mind.
Still, you reached down and unhooked the straps, stepping out of them, and almost let out a small huff of relief when your bare feet fell flat on the cool tiles.
"Good girl," Lex purred, then reached his hand out to you. "Come."
You knew better than to refuse. Confused, scared and anxious, you walked to him, letting him take your hand in his and pull you in closer.
The softness of your coat on the floor brushing up against your feet was a stark contrast to the ice in his eyes and steel in his set jaw.
And then, Lex did the last thing you expected: he surged forward and pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes widened in shock and disorientation. His hands wrapped around your waist, and your arms reflexively went around his neck. He took a step forward, forcing you to take a step back.
His lips played with yours, not frantic, not slow either, rough and wanting in the way his tongue grazed your bottom lip. You tried to kiss back, you really did, but you were too puzzled and too afraid of whatever was going on inside his head that all you could do was follow his body as it led you across the room.
"Never again-" he muttered against your jaw, peppering kisses against it as he spoke.
"Will you-" a kiss to your collarbone.
"Doubt me-" a bite to your neck.
Eventually, your back hit cold glass, and a shiver ran down your spine. The soft silk of your dress did nothing to protect you from the chill.
Lex's hand then shot up and grabbed your face, hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to still feel a twinge of the bruises that had just healed across your jawline. You winced as he forced you to look at him.
"Are we clear on that, sweetheart?"
His grip was so forceful you had no room to nod, so you just swallowed, hands coming up to grab his arm, in the bare hopes of pulling him off of you.
"Please, Lex," you whimpered, as loud as his grip would allow you. He tilted his head, and never in your life had you felt more like prey being stalked by a hungry predator than you did in this moment.
"I'm sorry," you whispered. Something in Lex's eyes softened.
"Oh, honey... don't worry," he muttered, giving you a mocking pout. His other hand reached around your waist, and you heard a soft, familiar click behind you. "You will be."
And then he opened the balcony door he had pushed you up against, pushing you with it enough to make you lose your balance and fall. You hissed in pain, cradling your elbow, feeling the stinging scratch on it from the rough balcony tiles, and you looked up.
Lex stood there, a soft, almost loving smile etched on his features.
"I hope you'll learn your lesson, sweetheart. The weatherman called for a storm tonight."
And then he shut the balcony door, locking it, effectively locking you out, in nothing but your soft, sweet, lovely dress.
----------
After tiring yourself out banging on the doors, begging and screaming for Lex to let you in, you realized it was a lost cause. No amount of crying or yelling would make him change his mind or go back on something he had already done. It was something you used to admire in him. Now, it was one of the things that frightened you the most.
You sat on the balcony floor - no chairs or couches, Lex claimed the two of you didn't need them seeing as you almost never spent any time on the balcony anyway - and sobbed. Arms wrapped around yourself, your tears wouldn't stop falling as you cried into the night. You cried until you felt light-headed, until your throat and chest hurt, until you had no more tears left in you.
And then, the sky opened up above you. Rain fell in fat drops, soaking your dress and hair, chilling you right down to the bone. At least now, you looked as miserable as you felt.
There was a flash of lightening, and a few seconds later a crack of thunder rolled across the sky. You let out a sob that sounded more like a groan, a sound from deep within your soul, as you tilted your head upwards. You makeup was most definitely fucked, and you were without a doubt going to catch a cold sitting out in the rain practically naked. The wind picked up, causing a shiver to wrack your whole body, and your mind went to a place and a time when you had felt nothing but warmth. An open fire, marshmallows on sticks, blue eyes and a bright smile meant just for you. Hot cocoa and comfort movies, sharing blankets and dinner plates. Sharing lives.
A fresh wave of tears rolled over you, and you could no longer discern what was rain and what was salt. You couldn't take it anymore.
You said his name.
Not Superman, and not loudly. No, you whispered the name that haunted your dreams and crowded your memories. The name that meant home and joy and peace.
"Clark... I need you."
It was soft, barely detectable over the downpour, and broken. Yet, you knew he heard you. Deep down in your very bones, you knew he was always there, lying in wait.
And when the wind picked up in a different way, unnatural and vertical and pressing into you, when the rain seemed to stop for just a moment, you weren't in the least bit surprised to lift your head and see him standing in front of you.
He was soaked. As soaked as you were, cape around him heavy in the stormy weather, blue and red striking against the gray backdrop behind him. His dark curls - oh, his curls - were wet and sticking to his forehead, rivulets of rain sliding down his clenched jaw. And when you met his eyes, his deep, blue eyes that were so unmistakably him, a sob left your chest.
Because Clark's eyes held so much sadness, so much pain, it was like looking into a mirror of your own soul. You stood up, and the storm seemed to stop around him as he took a step forward. It was like the very concept of time and space bended to his will.
He reached out his hand.
Thunder rolled overhead.
You licked the rain and tears from your lips, and your breath hitched.
"Clark," you whispered, and it was so quiet you were certain you mouthed it.
But it was enough for him. It was enough, because he read it on your lips and you could see how it destroyed him. You could see the agony cracking through his exterior, the furrow in his brows he got only when he was worried, the red tinge to his nose when he was about to break down into tears. And it was for you.
He was there, Clark was there - Superman was there, standing in front of you, and you had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be beheld by him. Because when Clark looked at you, it felt like being greeted by the sun. And yes, it was raining, and yes, lightning had struck again, closer this time, but you had never felt warmer in years.
It made you lose your balance. It made your knees buckle. He was there in a flash, holding you up, arms wrapped around your waist, eyes searching yours for something - anything.
"Clark," you repeated, light-headed.
You saw his Adam's apple bob. You saw his nostrils flare. His hand came up and pushed your wet hair out of your face. His head blocked out just enough of the rain for you to look at him properly, and you could've started crying all over again.
"You came."
You felt his heart beating in his chest, proof that he was here and alive and holding you.
"You called."
His voice sounded like a prayer.
"Take me, Clark," you rasped. "Anywhere, just-"
He nodded. You didn't have to finish your sentence. He could read your thoughts, just as well now as he always could.
The soft wood of barn doors and creaky front porches turned into the restless honking of taxis and a skyline that never went dark. A body that smelled like hay, apple pie and something carnally inhuman running through its veins became a body that felt cold to the touch and smelled like money, power, obsession. A body - a person - that had his fingers so deep in every fold of your brain that it was unbelievably easy for you to forget where you came from and who you were - and most importantly, who the true villain was.
Pairing: Superman x reader / Clark Kent x reader / abusive!Lex Luthor x reader
Word count: 6k
Warnings: Angst, toxic and mildly abusive relationship (with Lex Luthor, not with Clark), hurt/comfort, swearing, gaslighting, manipulation, physical violence, Lex is actually insane don't say I didn't warn you, Clark being a guardian angel as per usual, emotional trauma, crying, that's pretty much it
Notes: this is my first ever Superman fic so I hope I do him justice and make DC readers proud (David Corenswet I love you)
there will be a part two, date of release to be added
__________
"Sweetheart."
The word pulled you out of your thoughts, and your dazed look away from the windows. It was a nice name - a cute one, even, but every time you heard it, it filled you with a sense of inexplicable dread, leaving something heavy in the middle of your chest.
You were too smart to call it what it was. Fear.
"Yes?" you replied, glancing over your shoulder to find Lex standing at the bedroom door, one arm stretched towards you, palm facing the ceiling. A silent command.
"Come here," he murmured, even though your feet were already moving on autopilot towards him, your arms hugging your body in the hopes that you could minimize the contact, make yourself smaller. It never worked.
Lex's hand was cold against yours, smooth and soft. A hand that was used to other people doing the heavy lifting with just a snap of its fingers. It always unsettled you. He pulled you into himself, his other hand finding its resting place against your jaw, and his blue eyes searched yours. They were cold and sharp, just like the rest of him, and just like everything else in these headquarters.
"What were you looking at?" he asked softly. The tone of his voice was mellow, convincing you that everything was fine; that it was okay to speak your mind. Lex had that way about him. He could be so kind when he wanted to be.
You swallowed, and let out a small sigh through your nose. You were hyperaware of the possessive hold on your waist, the cold fingers skimming the side of your neck, as he waited for you to speak.
"I was looking at the city - the damage," you confessed quietly.
The corner of his mouth lifted in something that resembled a smile. His fingers still stroked your neck, leaving goosebumps across your pulse points.
"It's a lot, isn't it? Do you see what I mean?" he asked, pulling you even impossibly closer, and you could feel every inch of his body against yours. "He doesn't care about this city, or its residents. Look at all the ruin and destruction he leaves behind. Don't you see, sweetheart, that he only ever does these things for his own gain? To save face? To have people worship him, yet they don't even realize how manipulative he truly is?"
You nodded, somewhat in a daze, as you let his words sink in and wash over you. You could see the city lights reflected in his eyes as they bore down into you, the room dark and illuminated only by the ever-restless city just beyond the wall of windows behind you.
"That's exactly why," Lex continued, his fingers finding home as he snaked them around your throat, "I keep you here with me. Safe. Unharmed. Where no one can get to you, no one can touch you. You understand that, don't you, sweetheart?"
He punctuated the pet name with a squeeze to your neck, too soft to cut off airflow, too rough to be considered as anything other than a thinly-veiled warning.
You nodded again, as much as his hand would allow, and it seemed to satisfy him, because he let go, a soft smile on his face, and he took a step back. As he did, you felt your lungs fill up with air again, the rest of the room flooding into your vision.
You watched him as he walked around the bed to his side, pulling the covers back, and then he looked at you with a raised brow. Not in question; another silent command.
Walking to your own side of the bed that was perpetually cold and too big for the two of you, you crawled under the covers. You blinked, heavily, slowly, and all you could see was the damaged, ruined city in the aftermath of yet another heroic Superman battle behind your eyelids. A sigh left your lungs, then caught in your throat when you felt Lex's hand snake around your waist, turning you over and pulling you into his body.
"I missed you today," he muttered into your hair. "Let me make you feel good."
You knew what that meant. You knew what he wanted.
He never made you feel good.
As you laid there, beneath a frigid and always slightly-threatening body, letting lips kiss you and hands mold you to their will, you turned your head to the side to look out the windows again.
You couldn't help the tear that escaped your eye, nor the way your thoughts kept running back to red, blue, glasses, calloused hands, a smile that reminded you of home.
None of it mattered anyways.
__________
"Clark, that's not fair!" you shrieked, pedaling your bike as fast as your teen legs could push you, a laugh bubbling across your lips and out into the muggy, late summer air.
Clark threw you a look over his shoulder, blue eyes sparkling with mischief and something else unnamed. It was the look - his look - that he always gave you when he wanted to say: come on; I dare you; I want you to.
He was still in the lead, far up ahead, bike tires kicking up dust and pebbles off the dirt road that led to the Kent's farm, the house and barn coming up closer in the distance the faster you went.
"Come on, bluebird, you're gonna lose again!"
You sucked in a determined breath and pushed yourself to your very limit, and by the time the two of you were braking right off the side of the old barn, you were side by side.
Your chest heaved with deep breaths, thighs burning with exertion, and you shot him a look.
"You always do that, it's not fair," you huffed, and he shot you a grin.
"Is it my fault I'm just more athletically inclined than you?"
"Clark, you're superhuman."
"I'm competitive."
"You're an alien," you said, rolling your eyes as you climbed off the bike, wincing at the soreness shooting up your legs.
An hour later, the two of you were sitting on the back porch, side by side, nursing twin glasses of Martha Kent's infamous homemade lemonade. It was quiet, and warm. The type of late summer warmth that left your cheeks red and neck sweaty, but felt like a hug from someone you loved.
Clark's knee knocked against yours, and you glanced up at him. The setting sun painted strokes of orange, pink and red across his face, lighting his eyes up and making them seem even brighter than they were. Those eyes fell on you, and he gave you a soft smile.
"What's going on in that little brain of yours?" he asked, and you bit the inside of your cheek.
You tore your gaze away from his and let it fall on the horizon, grass and dirt road glowing with fire as the sun's rays said their last goodbyes for the day. You stayed quiet for a minute, willing these few moments of peace to stretch over an eternity.
His knee brushed yours again. He took the glass of lemonade from your hand and set it next to his beside him.
He didn't ask again. Clark never had to ask again. You felt the unspoken questions in the air, just like he felt you gathering up the courage to answer. You always answered Clark, so long as he kept asking the right questions.
You cleared your throat. "I wish you didn't have to go."
It felt like confessing a sin.
Clark's eyes fell to yours, and you had to swallow hard, once, twice, to keep the familiar burn behind your eyes at bay. His gaze mirrored yours. Something heavy, unspoken, all-consuming wrapped around the two of you, something you had spent years of your childhood ignoring. Now, you wished you hadn't.
"I know."
His words came out in a rasp, quiet, as if not to disturb the summer night's tranquility settled between you. They carried a weight as heavy as the world.
He may as well have shot you right through the heart.
"But you can't stay, Clark," you whispered.
He nodded. "I know."
"I wish we had more time."
"We will," he said, and he sounded so certain, so confident, it made your breath hitch and your eyes burn again.
"How can you be so sure?"
Clark lifted a shoulder in a silent shrug. "Because you and I are... we're everything. We can't end just like that. You're my best friend. You're my... my..."
He finished the sentence with a whisper of your name.
You understood.
Clark's fingers found yours, intertwining them and resting your hands on his thigh. Your head felt heavy with too many thoughts and too many emotions, so you rested it against his shoulder. You could feel him take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, your heartbeat matching the pace of his inhales and exhales.
"Promise me you won't forget how to ride a bike. And feed chickens. And milk cows. Don't turn into some hotshot city boy too good for Smallville folk."
Promise me you won't forget me. That's what you really meant. He could read between the lines, as usual.
He gave your fingers a squeeze, and turned his head to place a kiss on the crown of your head. "I promise."
The two of you sat there, unspoken words and fresh promises settling around you like dust, until the last of the sunlight disappeared behind the horizon and the breeze cooled the streaks of tears on your cheeks you hadn't realized were there. It was you and Clark, Clark and you, just like it had been for years.
You broke the silence. "Maybe I'll move to Metropolis, too. One day."
Clark said nothing for a minute. Stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. And then: "You could. I always said you were born to be a city girl."
Your lips lifted in a sad smile.
Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours passed, the two of you leaning against each other in the darkness of the farm.
"Take me home, Clark," you whispered into the night.
So, he stood up, grabbed your hand, and took you home. Just like he always did.
__________
The crash was deafening.
The shatter of glass even more so.
You winced, arms coming up reflexively to protect your face.
He missed, though. Lex always missed - on purpose. Enough to remind you that he was always in control.
Tears ran down your cheeks of their own accord, your throat closing up with panic and fear and disbelief and hurt.
"You think I give a shit about them?" Lex roared, your ears ringing with the venom in his words.
"Lex, I didn't - I only meant -"
"I don't give a fuck what you meant," he hissed. "Never again will you undermine my authority and my decisions."
You took in a shaky breath, wet with tears, and you tried not to flinch when he stepped towards you, broken glass crunching beneath his polished shoes as he towered over you.
Lex grabbed your wrists in his hands, forcing you to look up at him.
"Is that understood?" he said lowly, and you nodded.
He let out a heavy sigh then, closing his eyes. When he opened them, his entire face seemed different - softer. His gaze searched yours, almost apologetic, and he rested his forehead against yours.
"I'm sorry, I - I lost my head again, didn't I?"
You swallowed but said nothing.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, you know I didn't mean to," he muttered, as if talking to himself, and his grip moved from your wrists to the sides of your face. Placing a kiss to your forehead, he pulled you in for a hug.
It took your body a moment to catch up with your mind, still trembling and in shock from the earlier argument, but eventually, you melted into Lex's hold, resting your cheek against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady, even, calm. As if nothing ever happened.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he kept repeating, stroking the back of your head with a hand, and you let out a tired sigh.
"It's okay, Lex," you said into his dress shirt. "It's fine. I know you only want me to be the best I can be."
You felt him nod. "Yes, of course. That's right."
He held you in his arms, swaying you back and forth slightly, for a few minutes. The time trickled slowly, like sap out of a tree, and eventually you felt your pulse go back to normal. Lex cleared his throat, shattering the tense silence.
Stepping back, holding you by your shoulders, he looked at you. "I have to go now, okay? Otis has some updates for me and I was already supposed to be up there. If I hadn't gotten sidetracked-"
Lex cut himself off, clenching his jaw. He gave you a smile that looked more like a grimace.
"Clean this up, okay, sweetheart? I don't want any of this here by the time I get back tonight. I want to hold you in a nice, clean room."
He ended the command with a kiss to your lips, fast and hard, punctuating his sentence and his point: he owned you.
"Okay," you said softly, and watched as he drew in a deep breath before turning on his heels and walking out the door.
The moment it closed with a soft hiss behind him, your tears started to freefall. You glanced down at the shards of glass beneath your feet, and crouched down, careful not to cut yourself as your blurry vision found the photo.
It had flown out of the frame when Lex had thrown it against the wall by your head, its corners slightly worn from years of keepsake. It shook in your hand as your fingers trembled, your other hand wiping at your blurry eyes.
You sniffled as you stared at the picture.
It was you, on your first day of elementary school. You were just a child, hair in pigtails, missing half your teeth, yet smiling broadly at the camera.
And next to you, arm thrown around your shoulders, only slightly taller and grinning just as intensely, a 7 year old Clark Kent, backpack strapped to his back, ready for his first day.
Standing behind the two of you were none other than your mother and Martha Kent, their hands resting on your shoulders, proud smiles on both their faces as they send their babies off to school.
Lex had never bothered asking about the photo. He never wondered about the boy next to you or the women behind you, nor did he want to know. And that was fine by you, because you highly doubted you would've been able to lie about something like that. And no matter what Superman may have done, no matter how much damage he brought to Metropolis, no matter how evil his scheme of grooming the planet into complacency really was, there was a part of you that knew: there was no way in hell you were going to out Clark to Lex, not like that. If Lex found out how well you knew Superman's favorite reporter, let alone Superman himself... a chill ran down your spine at the mere thought.
It was a simple question, really.
You hadn't meant any harm in asking. You were only wondering - only looking out for others.
"Are you sure the pocket universe is a good idea, Lex?"
He froze. Turned his head slowly. "Excuse me?"
"I mean - didn't... isn't there a risk of a dimensional rift? I - I know we'll be fine, you always think these things through, but - what about everyone else?"
"Everyone... else?"
You swallowed. The flicker of your eyes to the framed photo on your nightstand lasted less than a second, yet he saw. Lex always saw your weakest spots.
You took in a deep, shaky breath and rose from your crouch, stepping over the glass and broken frame and crawling into bed. You would clean up later. Right now, you had no energy for anything other than laying under the covers, clutching your photo in your hand as if someone would steal it from you if you loosened your grip.
The adrenaline and fear from the argument must have worn you out, because before you knew it, you had drifted off into a dreamless sleep, tears dried on your cheeks, head pounding, and the familiar faces in your hand crinkling slightly under the pressure of your fingers.
When you woke up, it was still dark out. Lex hadn't come back yet - that was nothing new. Yet the realization that your photo wasn't in your grasp anymore didn't startle you as much as it should have. You merely turned your gaze to the side, seeing it laid flat on your night table, the wrinkles smoothed out as best as they could be. You sat up slowly, and then let out a sigh.
The glass was gone. Every single shard and every single tiny crumb of it was gone - swept away, as if it had never been there in the first place. You looked around the room. Everything was in its place, clean, sterile, under control. Everything except your pulse, because you knew.
This wasn't Lex, nor was it any of his servants. None of them cared enough.
Deep down, you knew who this was. Who was responsible. It wouldn't have been the first time, but each time made it more and more impossible to push back the feelings of longing and guilt.
There was only ever one person in this world who cared about you, and showed you he cared even when he wasn't physically with you, and was able to sneak in and out unheard. You pulled in a deep breath, and laid back down, sinking into your pillow and pulling the covers up to your chin.
You tried to ignore the pathetic twinge of sadness behind your ribs.
__________
Black, blue, purple, green.
The familiar colors bloomed across your jaw and down your neck as you lifted your fingers to tentatively touch the bruises that just seemed to refuse to fade away. You swallowed, then winced.
It was fine.
It was the first time in a long time since this had happened, and maybe Lex was right - maybe you did deserve it. You shouldn't have barged into his office like that. You should have knocked. You should have known he was meeting with someone important. He was always meeting with someone important.
The moment Lex's eyes met yours, you knew you made a grave mistake. You only wanted to ask him if he wanted you to confirm your anniversary dinner - something he left up to you, deeming his work too important to skip out on.
You had to call the restaurant and reschedule for next week.
That was two days ago, and your neck would only look worse before it looked better. You let out a sigh, feeling your eyes and nose burn, then turned the water on, letting it run over your fingers and soothe you.
Splashing your face a bit, just to wake yourself up from the daze you seemed perpetually stuck in, you steeled yourself, staring into your eyes in the mirror.
"How did I even get here..."
The words were soft and sad, muttered to your reflection, meant for your ears only.
When you walked out of the bathroom, you paused. Looked around the room. Listened.
Something was different.
The air felt different; heavier, thicker, as if the presence of something otherworldly pressed down on it. Your skin prickled at the familiar sensation you grew to find comfort in.
The city lights illuminated your bed, casting an orange and blue glow on your pillow, and that's when it caught your eye.
You stepped forward, slowly, cautiously, until you reached your bed.
You picked it up softly between your fingertips. A single red rose.
A smile graced the corners of your lips as you brought it up to your nose and inhaled.
Flashes of hay bales and a dirt road, fingers sticky with peaches and arms scratched up from rose bushes taken care of by a woman you loved as much as your own mother.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you stared at the rose in your hand, knowing exactly who it came from. You brought it to your lips, a tear in your eye, and then clenched your jaw.
Opening the drawer in your nightstand, you pulled out the small lighter you kept.
You flicked it on.
You brought it up to the flower, as red as blood in the dark room.
You watched it burn.
It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last. It broke your heart, watching the flower fold in on itself, consumed by the flames, slowly shrinking. The tear in your eye dripped down your cheek, across the fresh bruise on your jaw.
But the risk of Lex finding it was greater than the desire to keep it forever.
You whispered your thanks into the empty room, hoping and knowing he could hear you, wherever he was.
__________
It was quiet in the car.
It wasn't a comfortable silence, nor was it an awkward one. It was tense. The air was ballooning with something you couldn't explain, only aware that it filled you with a sense of dread.
The dinner started out fine - perfect, even.
You had worn a dress you truly loved, one that fit you perfectly. Lex had bought it for you when you first met him, claiming it brought out your eyes and made you look beautiful.
He had said as much when you stepped out of the elevator into the garage, the car and driver waiting for you.
Lex had ordered the pan-fried hake with coconut curry sauce. He ordered you the roasted chicken breast with white wine tarragon cream. He knew you liked chicken.
The evening started out fine with a bottle of dry, aged wine and a nice meal. You spoke about anything and everything - mainly listening to him talk about how successful his plans were and how well everything was going. You were glad for it, truly. You liked when he was happy.
He mentioned Superman before dessert had the chance to arrive.
You had shifted in your seat, or maybe your hand twitched in his as it laid on the table, or maybe your eyes flickered for a moment before you gathered yourself. It didn't matter; it was enough for Lex to pause. To tilt his head.
Your heart pounded in your ears, and you tried not to fidget. You wished more than anything for other people to be around you now. The solitude of the restaurant's VIP section didn't seem very romantic anymore - it seemed like the scene of something about to go very wrong.
"What was that?" Lex whispered.
You feigned innocence. Stupidity. Air-headedness. "What was what?"
He stared at you. His hand tightened its grip on yours, only slightly.
"That reaction. When I mentioned the Kryptonian. Don't make a fool out of me, sweetheart. You know how much I hate that."
You nodded. You knew very well.
"I was just..." you began, not knowing what to say; not knowing what he wanted you to say.
"Go on," Lex said, urging you to speak. To anyone else, it might have been a supportive boyfriend helping his girlfriend get something off her chest. To the two of you, it was exactly what it was meant to be: a dare.
You shift in your chair, suddenly feeling a hot flash wash over you, and you attempted to keep eye contact as you spoke.
"I just - Sometimes I wonder, Lex, if all these things and all these fights and all these plans concerning Supe- the alien... is it a bit much?"
"Why would it be a bit much?" he asked immediately, brows furrowing slightly.
You gave him a shrug. "I'm just saying, he's a very powerful being, and I'm just worried that one of these days you'll-"
"I'll what?"
The interruption felt like a knife slicing through the air, and you knew you had said the wrong thing.
"Nothing, Lex, I-"
"You think I'm not good enough, not strong enough, to beat Superman? You think one day he'll defeat me? Is that it?"
"No! No, I didn't mean it like that, Lex."
"Then what did you mean, sweetheart?" Lex hissed, and your jaw clenched. "Because it seems to me, that my lovely little darling has doubts about my performance - about my capabilities and my finesse."
You kept your mouth shut.
You kept it shut throughout the rest of dinner, you kept it shut on the car ride home. And now, you still kept it shut in the doom and gloom of your living room area, lit up only by the city outside and a small lamp in the corner giving off an orange glow.
You waited for him to snap. You braced yourself for the impact, already going through a list of first-aid supplies you would need to restock in your mind.
Instead, the blow was delivered with words, not fists.
"Give me your coat."
You stared at the back of his head, stunned.
"W-what?"
He turned towards you, hands in his pockets, the picture of casual elegance, and said, "Give me your coat."
Brows furrowed, not understanding where he was going with this, you did as he asked. You let your fur coat fall off your shoulders, exposing them to the cool chill of the night air, and walked over to him, where he stood with his hand outstretched.
He took your coat - your beautiful, black, faux fur coat, one of the first things you had bought when you moved to Metropolis - and dropped it on the floor, right next to his feet.
Your lips parted, a question already on your tongue, but then he moved. He moved - to the side, to your coat on the floor, your wonderful coat, and stepped on it. Stood on it.
Lex stood on your coat, staring straight into your eyes, daring you to protest. You swallowed the words on your tongue when you saw the look in his eye.
"Take your heels off, sweetheart."
He must have seen the confused look on your face, because he let out an irritated sigh, and repeated himself.
"Take your heels off, make yourself comfortable. I know they hurt your feet, don't they?"
You nodded dumbly, because yes, they did hurt your feet, but you had no idea why he insisted on you taking them off. Especially now, when your comfort should've been the last thing on his mind.
Still, you reached down and unhooked the straps, stepping out of them, and almost let out a small huff of relief when your bare feet fell flat on the cool tiles.
"Good girl," Lex purred, then reached his hand out to you. "Come."
You knew better than to refuse. Confused, scared and anxious, you walked to him, letting him take your hand in his and pull you in closer.
The softness of your coat on the floor brushing up against your feet was a stark contrast to the ice in his eyes and steel in his set jaw.
And then, Lex did the last thing you expected: he surged forward and pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes widened in shock and disorientation. His hands wrapped around your waist, and your arms reflexively went around his neck. He took a step forward, forcing you to take a step back.
His lips played with yours, not frantic, not slow either, rough and wanting in the way his tongue grazed your bottom lip. You tried to kiss back, you really did, but you were too puzzled and too afraid of whatever was going on inside his head that all you could do was follow his body as it led you across the room.
"Never again-" he muttered against your jaw, peppering kisses against it as he spoke.
"Will you-" a kiss to your collarbone.
"Doubt me-" a bite to your neck.
Eventually, your back hit cold glass, and a shiver ran down your spine. The soft silk of your dress did nothing to protect you from the chill.
Lex's hand then shot up and grabbed your face, hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to still feel a twinge of the bruises that had just healed across your jawline. You winced as he forced you to look at him.
"Are we clear on that, sweetheart?"
His grip was so forceful you had no room to nod, so you just swallowed, hands coming up to grab his arm, in the bare hopes of pulling him off of you.
"Please, Lex," you whimpered, as loud as his grip would allow you. He tilted his head, and never in your life had you felt more like prey being stalked by a hungry predator than you did in this moment.
"I'm sorry," you whispered. Something in Lex's eyes softened.
"Oh, honey... don't worry," he muttered, giving you a mocking pout. His other hand reached around your waist, and you heard a soft, familiar click behind you. "You will be."
And then he opened the balcony door he had pushed you up against, pushing you with it enough to make you lose your balance and fall. You hissed in pain, cradling your elbow, feeling the stinging scratch on it from the rough balcony tiles, and you looked up.
Lex stood there, a soft, almost loving smile etched on his features.
"I hope you'll learn your lesson, sweetheart. The weatherman called for a storm tonight."
And then he shut the balcony door, locking it, effectively locking you out, in nothing but your soft, sweet, lovely dress.
----------
After tiring yourself out banging on the doors, begging and screaming for Lex to let you in, you realized it was a lost cause. No amount of crying or yelling would make him change his mind or go back on something he had already done. It was something you used to admire in him. Now, it was one of the things that frightened you the most.
You sat on the balcony floor - no chairs or couches, Lex claimed the two of you didn't need them seeing as you almost never spent any time on the balcony anyway - and sobbed. Arms wrapped around yourself, your tears wouldn't stop falling as you cried into the night. You cried until you felt light-headed, until your throat and chest hurt, until you had no more tears left in you.
And then, the sky opened up above you. Rain fell in fat drops, soaking your dress and hair, chilling you right down to the bone. At least now, you looked as miserable as you felt.
There was a flash of lightening, and a few seconds later a crack of thunder rolled across the sky. You let out a sob that sounded more like a groan, a sound from deep within your soul, as you tilted your head upwards. You makeup was most definitely fucked, and you were without a doubt going to catch a cold sitting out in the rain practically naked. The wind picked up, causing a shiver to wrack your whole body, and your mind went to a place and a time when you had felt nothing but warmth. An open fire, marshmallows on sticks, blue eyes and a bright smile meant just for you. Hot cocoa and comfort movies, sharing blankets and dinner plates. Sharing lives.
A fresh wave of tears rolled over you, and you could no longer discern what was rain and what was salt. You couldn't take it anymore.
You said his name.
Not Superman, and not loudly. No, you whispered the name that haunted your dreams and crowded your memories. The name that meant home and joy and peace.
"Clark... I need you."
It was soft, barely detectable over the downpour, and broken. Yet, you knew he heard you. Deep down in your very bones, you knew he was always there, lying in wait.
And when the wind picked up in a different way, unnatural and vertical and pressing into you, when the rain seemed to stop for just a moment, you weren't in the least bit surprised to lift your head and see him standing in front of you.
He was soaked. As soaked as you were, cape around him heavy in the stormy weather, blue and red striking against the gray backdrop behind him. His dark curls - oh, his curls - were wet and sticking to his forehead, rivulets of rain sliding down his clenched jaw. And when you met his eyes, his deep, blue eyes that were so unmistakably him, a sob left your chest.
Because Clark's eyes held so much sadness, so much pain, it was like looking into a mirror of your own soul. You stood up, and the storm seemed to stop around him as he took a step forward. It was like the very concept of time and space bended to his will.
He reached out his hand.
Thunder rolled overhead.
You licked the rain and tears from your lips, and your breath hitched.
"Clark," you whispered, and it was so quiet you were certain you mouthed it.
But it was enough for him. It was enough, because he read it on your lips and you could see how it destroyed him. You could see the agony cracking through his exterior, the furrow in his brows he got only when he was worried, the red tinge to his nose when he was about to break down into tears. And it was for you.
He was there, Clark was there - Superman was there, standing in front of you, and you had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be beheld by him. Because when Clark looked at you, it felt like being greeted by the sun. And yes, it was raining, and yes, lightning had struck again, closer this time, but you had never felt warmer in years.
It made you lose your balance. It made your knees buckle. He was there in a flash, holding you up, arms wrapped around your waist, eyes searching yours for something - anything.
"Clark," you repeated, light-headed.
You saw his Adam's apple bob. You saw his nostrils flare. His hand came up and pushed your wet hair out of your face. His head blocked out just enough of the rain for you to look at him properly, and you could've started crying all over again.
"You came."
You felt his heart beating in his chest, proof that he was here and alive and holding you.
"You called."
His voice sounded like a prayer.
"Take me, Clark," you rasped. "Anywhere, just-"
He nodded. You didn't have to finish your sentence. He could read your thoughts, just as well now as he always could.
The soft wood of barn doors and creaky front porches turned into the restless honking of taxis and a skyline that never went dark. A body that smelled like hay, apple pie and something carnally inhuman running through its veins became a body that felt cold to the touch and smelled like money, power, obsession. A body - a person - that had his fingers so deep in every fold of your brain that it was unbelievably easy for you to forget where you came from and who you were - and most importantly, who the true villain was.
Pairing: Superman x reader / Clark Kent x reader / abusive!Lex Luthor x reader
Word count: 6k
Warnings: Angst, toxic and mildly abusive relationship (with Lex Luthor, not with Clark), hurt/comfort, swearing, gaslighting, manipulation, physical violence, Lex is actually insane don't say I didn't warn you, Clark being a guardian angel as per usual, emotional trauma, crying, that's pretty much it
Notes: this is my first ever Superman fic so I hope I do him justice and make DC readers proud (David Corenswet I love you)
there will be a part two, date of release to be added
__________
"Sweetheart."
The word pulled you out of your thoughts, and your dazed look away from the windows. It was a nice name - a cute one, even, but every time you heard it, it filled you with a sense of inexplicable dread, leaving something heavy in the middle of your chest.
You were too smart to call it what it was. Fear.
"Yes?" you replied, glancing over your shoulder to find Lex standing at the bedroom door, one arm stretched towards you, palm facing the ceiling. A silent command.
"Come here," he murmured, even though your feet were already moving on autopilot towards him, your arms hugging your body in the hopes that you could minimize the contact, make yourself smaller. It never worked.
Lex's hand was cold against yours, smooth and soft. A hand that was used to other people doing the heavy lifting with just a snap of its fingers. It always unsettled you. He pulled you into himself, his other hand finding its resting place against your jaw, and his blue eyes searched yours. They were cold and sharp, just like the rest of him, and just like everything else in these headquarters.
"What were you looking at?" he asked softly. The tone of his voice was mellow, convincing you that everything was fine; that it was okay to speak your mind. Lex had that way about him. He could be so kind when he wanted to be.
You swallowed, and let out a small sigh through your nose. You were hyperaware of the possessive hold on your waist, the cold fingers skimming the side of your neck, as he waited for you to speak.
"I was looking at the city - the damage," you confessed quietly.
The corner of his mouth lifted in something that resembled a smile. His fingers still stroked your neck, leaving goosebumps across your pulse points.
"It's a lot, isn't it? Do you see what I mean?" he asked, pulling you even impossibly closer, and you could feel every inch of his body against yours. "He doesn't care about this city, or its residents. Look at all the ruin and destruction he leaves behind. Don't you see, sweetheart, that he only ever does these things for his own gain? To save face? To have people worship him, yet they don't even realize how manipulative he truly is?"
You nodded, somewhat in a daze, as you let his words sink in and wash over you. You could see the city lights reflected in his eyes as they bore down into you, the room dark and illuminated only by the ever-restless city just beyond the wall of windows behind you.
"That's exactly why," Lex continued, his fingers finding home as he snaked them around your throat, "I keep you here with me. Safe. Unharmed. Where no one can get to you, no one can touch you. You understand that, don't you, sweetheart?"
He punctuated the pet name with a squeeze to your neck, too soft to cut off airflow, too rough to be considered as anything other than a thinly-veiled warning.
You nodded again, as much as his hand would allow, and it seemed to satisfy him, because he let go, a soft smile on his face, and he took a step back. As he did, you felt your lungs fill up with air again, the rest of the room flooding into your vision.
You watched him as he walked around the bed to his side, pulling the covers back, and then he looked at you with a raised brow. Not in question; another silent command.
Walking to your own side of the bed that was perpetually cold and too big for the two of you, you crawled under the covers. You blinked, heavily, slowly, and all you could see was the damaged, ruined city in the aftermath of yet another heroic Superman battle behind your eyelids. A sigh left your lungs, then caught in your throat when you felt Lex's hand snake around your waist, turning you over and pulling you into his body.
"I missed you today," he muttered into your hair. "Let me make you feel good."
You knew what that meant. You knew what he wanted.
He never made you feel good.
As you laid there, beneath a frigid and always slightly-threatening body, letting lips kiss you and hands mold you to their will, you turned your head to the side to look out the windows again.
You couldn't help the tear that escaped your eye, nor the way your thoughts kept running back to red, blue, glasses, calloused hands, a smile that reminded you of home.
None of it mattered anyways.
__________
"Clark, that's not fair!" you shrieked, pedaling your bike as fast as your teen legs could push you, a laugh bubbling across your lips and out into the muggy, late summer air.
Clark threw you a look over his shoulder, blue eyes sparkling with mischief and something else unnamed. It was the look - his look - that he always gave you when he wanted to say: come on; I dare you; I want you to.
He was still in the lead, far up ahead, bike tires kicking up dust and pebbles off the dirt road that led to the Kent's farm, the house and barn coming up closer in the distance the faster you went.
"Come on, bluebird, you're gonna lose again!"
You sucked in a determined breath and pushed yourself to your very limit, and by the time the two of you were braking right off the side of the old barn, you were side by side.
Your chest heaved with deep breaths, thighs burning with exertion, and you shot him a look.
"You always do that, it's not fair," you huffed, and he shot you a grin.
"Is it my fault I'm just more athletically inclined than you?"
"Clark, you're superhuman."
"I'm competitive."
"You're an alien," you said, rolling your eyes as you climbed off the bike, wincing at the soreness shooting up your legs.
An hour later, the two of you were sitting on the back porch, side by side, nursing twin glasses of Martha Kent's infamous homemade lemonade. It was quiet, and warm. The type of late summer warmth that left your cheeks red and neck sweaty, but felt like a hug from someone you loved.
Clark's knee knocked against yours, and you glanced up at him. The setting sun painted strokes of orange, pink and red across his face, lighting his eyes up and making them seem even brighter than they were. Those eyes fell on you, and he gave you a soft smile.
"What's going on in that little brain of yours?" he asked, and you bit the inside of your cheek.
You tore your gaze away from his and let it fall on the horizon, grass and dirt road glowing with fire as the sun's rays said their last goodbyes for the day. You stayed quiet for a minute, willing these few moments of peace to stretch over an eternity.
His knee brushed yours again. He took the glass of lemonade from your hand and set it next to his beside him.
He didn't ask again. Clark never had to ask again. You felt the unspoken questions in the air, just like he felt you gathering up the courage to answer. You always answered Clark, so long as he kept asking the right questions.
You cleared your throat. "I wish you didn't have to go."
It felt like confessing a sin.
Clark's eyes fell to yours, and you had to swallow hard, once, twice, to keep the familiar burn behind your eyes at bay. His gaze mirrored yours. Something heavy, unspoken, all-consuming wrapped around the two of you, something you had spent years of your childhood ignoring. Now, you wished you hadn't.
"I know."
His words came out in a rasp, quiet, as if not to disturb the summer night's tranquility settled between you. They carried a weight as heavy as the world.
He may as well have shot you right through the heart.
"But you can't stay, Clark," you whispered.
He nodded. "I know."
"I wish we had more time."
"We will," he said, and he sounded so certain, so confident, it made your breath hitch and your eyes burn again.
"How can you be so sure?"
Clark lifted a shoulder in a silent shrug. "Because you and I are... we're everything. We can't end just like that. You're my best friend. You're my... my..."
He finished the sentence with a whisper of your name.
You understood.
Clark's fingers found yours, intertwining them and resting your hands on his thigh. Your head felt heavy with too many thoughts and too many emotions, so you rested it against his shoulder. You could feel him take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, your heartbeat matching the pace of his inhales and exhales.
"Promise me you won't forget how to ride a bike. And feed chickens. And milk cows. Don't turn into some hotshot city boy too good for Smallville folk."
Promise me you won't forget me. That's what you really meant. He could read between the lines, as usual.
He gave your fingers a squeeze, and turned his head to place a kiss on the crown of your head. "I promise."
The two of you sat there, unspoken words and fresh promises settling around you like dust, until the last of the sunlight disappeared behind the horizon and the breeze cooled the streaks of tears on your cheeks you hadn't realized were there. It was you and Clark, Clark and you, just like it had been for years.
You broke the silence. "Maybe I'll move to Metropolis, too. One day."
Clark said nothing for a minute. Stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. And then: "You could. I always said you were born to be a city girl."
Your lips lifted in a sad smile.
Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours passed, the two of you leaning against each other in the darkness of the farm.
"Take me home, Clark," you whispered into the night.
So, he stood up, grabbed your hand, and took you home. Just like he always did.
__________
The crash was deafening.
The shatter of glass even more so.
You winced, arms coming up reflexively to protect your face.
He missed, though. Lex always missed - on purpose. Enough to remind you that he was always in control.
Tears ran down your cheeks of their own accord, your throat closing up with panic and fear and disbelief and hurt.
"You think I give a shit about them?" Lex roared, your ears ringing with the venom in his words.
"Lex, I didn't - I only meant -"
"I don't give a fuck what you meant," he hissed. "Never again will you undermine my authority and my decisions."
You took in a shaky breath, wet with tears, and you tried not to flinch when he stepped towards you, broken glass crunching beneath his polished shoes as he towered over you.
Lex grabbed your wrists in his hands, forcing you to look up at him.
"Is that understood?" he said lowly, and you nodded.
He let out a heavy sigh then, closing his eyes. When he opened them, his entire face seemed different - softer. His gaze searched yours, almost apologetic, and he rested his forehead against yours.
"I'm sorry, I - I lost my head again, didn't I?"
You swallowed but said nothing.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, you know I didn't mean to," he muttered, as if talking to himself, and his grip moved from your wrists to the sides of your face. Placing a kiss to your forehead, he pulled you in for a hug.
It took your body a moment to catch up with your mind, still trembling and in shock from the earlier argument, but eventually, you melted into Lex's hold, resting your cheek against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady, even, calm. As if nothing ever happened.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he kept repeating, stroking the back of your head with a hand, and you let out a tired sigh.
"It's okay, Lex," you said into his dress shirt. "It's fine. I know you only want me to be the best I can be."
You felt him nod. "Yes, of course. That's right."
He held you in his arms, swaying you back and forth slightly, for a few minutes. The time trickled slowly, like sap out of a tree, and eventually you felt your pulse go back to normal. Lex cleared his throat, shattering the tense silence.
Stepping back, holding you by your shoulders, he looked at you. "I have to go now, okay? Otis has some updates for me and I was already supposed to be up there. If I hadn't gotten sidetracked-"
Lex cut himself off, clenching his jaw. He gave you a smile that looked more like a grimace.
"Clean this up, okay, sweetheart? I don't want any of this here by the time I get back tonight. I want to hold you in a nice, clean room."
He ended the command with a kiss to your lips, fast and hard, punctuating his sentence and his point: he owned you.
"Okay," you said softly, and watched as he drew in a deep breath before turning on his heels and walking out the door.
The moment it closed with a soft hiss behind him, your tears started to freefall. You glanced down at the shards of glass beneath your feet, and crouched down, careful not to cut yourself as your blurry vision found the photo.
It had flown out of the frame when Lex had thrown it against the wall by your head, its corners slightly worn from years of keepsake. It shook in your hand as your fingers trembled, your other hand wiping at your blurry eyes.
You sniffled as you stared at the picture.
It was you, on your first day of elementary school. You were just a child, hair in pigtails, missing half your teeth, yet smiling broadly at the camera.
And next to you, arm thrown around your shoulders, only slightly taller and grinning just as intensely, a 7 year old Clark Kent, backpack strapped to his back, ready for his first day.
Standing behind the two of you were none other than your mother and Martha Kent, their hands resting on your shoulders, proud smiles on both their faces as they send their babies off to school.
Lex had never bothered asking about the photo. He never wondered about the boy next to you or the women behind you, nor did he want to know. And that was fine by you, because you highly doubted you would've been able to lie about something like that. And no matter what Superman may have done, no matter how much damage he brought to Metropolis, no matter how evil his scheme of grooming the planet into complacency really was, there was a part of you that knew: there was no way in hell you were going to out Clark to Lex, not like that. If Lex found out how well you knew Superman's favorite reporter, let alone Superman himself... a chill ran down your spine at the mere thought.
It was a simple question, really.
You hadn't meant any harm in asking. You were only wondering - only looking out for others.
"Are you sure the pocket universe is a good idea, Lex?"
He froze. Turned his head slowly. "Excuse me?"
"I mean - didn't... isn't there a risk of a dimensional rift? I - I know we'll be fine, you always think these things through, but - what about everyone else?"
"Everyone... else?"
You swallowed. The flicker of your eyes to the framed photo on your nightstand lasted less than a second, yet he saw. Lex always saw your weakest spots.
You took in a deep, shaky breath and rose from your crouch, stepping over the glass and broken frame and crawling into bed. You would clean up later. Right now, you had no energy for anything other than laying under the covers, clutching your photo in your hand as if someone would steal it from you if you loosened your grip.
The adrenaline and fear from the argument must have worn you out, because before you knew it, you had drifted off into a dreamless sleep, tears dried on your cheeks, head pounding, and the familiar faces in your hand crinkling slightly under the pressure of your fingers.
When you woke up, it was still dark out. Lex hadn't come back yet - that was nothing new. Yet the realization that your photo wasn't in your grasp anymore didn't startle you as much as it should have. You merely turned your gaze to the side, seeing it laid flat on your night table, the wrinkles smoothed out as best as they could be. You sat up slowly, and then let out a sigh.
The glass was gone. Every single shard and every single tiny crumb of it was gone - swept away, as if it had never been there in the first place. You looked around the room. Everything was in its place, clean, sterile, under control. Everything except your pulse, because you knew.
This wasn't Lex, nor was it any of his servants. None of them cared enough.
Deep down, you knew who this was. Who was responsible. It wouldn't have been the first time, but each time made it more and more impossible to push back the feelings of longing and guilt.
There was only ever one person in this world who cared about you, and showed you he cared even when he wasn't physically with you, and was able to sneak in and out unheard. You pulled in a deep breath, and laid back down, sinking into your pillow and pulling the covers up to your chin.
You tried to ignore the pathetic twinge of sadness behind your ribs.
__________
Black, blue, purple, green.
The familiar colors bloomed across your jaw and down your neck as you lifted your fingers to tentatively touch the bruises that just seemed to refuse to fade away. You swallowed, then winced.
It was fine.
It was the first time in a long time since this had happened, and maybe Lex was right - maybe you did deserve it. You shouldn't have barged into his office like that. You should have knocked. You should have known he was meeting with someone important. He was always meeting with someone important.
The moment Lex's eyes met yours, you knew you made a grave mistake. You only wanted to ask him if he wanted you to confirm your anniversary dinner - something he left up to you, deeming his work too important to skip out on.
You had to call the restaurant and reschedule for next week.
That was two days ago, and your neck would only look worse before it looked better. You let out a sigh, feeling your eyes and nose burn, then turned the water on, letting it run over your fingers and soothe you.
Splashing your face a bit, just to wake yourself up from the daze you seemed perpetually stuck in, you steeled yourself, staring into your eyes in the mirror.
"How did I even get here..."
The words were soft and sad, muttered to your reflection, meant for your ears only.
When you walked out of the bathroom, you paused. Looked around the room. Listened.
Something was different.
The air felt different; heavier, thicker, as if the presence of something otherworldly pressed down on it. Your skin prickled at the familiar sensation you grew to find comfort in.
The city lights illuminated your bed, casting an orange and blue glow on your pillow, and that's when it caught your eye.
You stepped forward, slowly, cautiously, until you reached your bed.
You picked it up softly between your fingertips. A single red rose.
A smile graced the corners of your lips as you brought it up to your nose and inhaled.
Flashes of hay bales and a dirt road, fingers sticky with peaches and arms scratched up from rose bushes taken care of by a woman you loved as much as your own mother.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you stared at the rose in your hand, knowing exactly who it came from. You brought it to your lips, a tear in your eye, and then clenched your jaw.
Opening the drawer in your nightstand, you pulled out the small lighter you kept.
You flicked it on.
You brought it up to the flower, as red as blood in the dark room.
You watched it burn.
It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last. It broke your heart, watching the flower fold in on itself, consumed by the flames, slowly shrinking. The tear in your eye dripped down your cheek, across the fresh bruise on your jaw.
But the risk of Lex finding it was greater than the desire to keep it forever.
You whispered your thanks into the empty room, hoping and knowing he could hear you, wherever he was.
__________
It was quiet in the car.
It wasn't a comfortable silence, nor was it an awkward one. It was tense. The air was ballooning with something you couldn't explain, only aware that it filled you with a sense of dread.
The dinner started out fine - perfect, even.
You had worn a dress you truly loved, one that fit you perfectly. Lex had bought it for you when you first met him, claiming it brought out your eyes and made you look beautiful.
He had said as much when you stepped out of the elevator into the garage, the car and driver waiting for you.
Lex had ordered the pan-fried hake with coconut curry sauce. He ordered you the roasted chicken breast with white wine tarragon cream. He knew you liked chicken.
The evening started out fine with a bottle of dry, aged wine and a nice meal. You spoke about anything and everything - mainly listening to him talk about how successful his plans were and how well everything was going. You were glad for it, truly. You liked when he was happy.
He mentioned Superman before dessert had the chance to arrive.
You had shifted in your seat, or maybe your hand twitched in his as it laid on the table, or maybe your eyes flickered for a moment before you gathered yourself. It didn't matter; it was enough for Lex to pause. To tilt his head.
Your heart pounded in your ears, and you tried not to fidget. You wished more than anything for other people to be around you now. The solitude of the restaurant's VIP section didn't seem very romantic anymore - it seemed like the scene of something about to go very wrong.
"What was that?" Lex whispered.
You feigned innocence. Stupidity. Air-headedness. "What was what?"
He stared at you. His hand tightened its grip on yours, only slightly.
"That reaction. When I mentioned the Kryptonian. Don't make a fool out of me, sweetheart. You know how much I hate that."
You nodded. You knew very well.
"I was just..." you began, not knowing what to say; not knowing what he wanted you to say.
"Go on," Lex said, urging you to speak. To anyone else, it might have been a supportive boyfriend helping his girlfriend get something off her chest. To the two of you, it was exactly what it was meant to be: a dare.
You shift in your chair, suddenly feeling a hot flash wash over you, and you attempted to keep eye contact as you spoke.
"I just - Sometimes I wonder, Lex, if all these things and all these fights and all these plans concerning Supe- the alien... is it a bit much?"
"Why would it be a bit much?" he asked immediately, brows furrowing slightly.
You gave him a shrug. "I'm just saying, he's a very powerful being, and I'm just worried that one of these days you'll-"
"I'll what?"
The interruption felt like a knife slicing through the air, and you knew you had said the wrong thing.
"Nothing, Lex, I-"
"You think I'm not good enough, not strong enough, to beat Superman? You think one day he'll defeat me? Is that it?"
"No! No, I didn't mean it like that, Lex."
"Then what did you mean, sweetheart?" Lex hissed, and your jaw clenched. "Because it seems to me, that my lovely little darling has doubts about my performance - about my capabilities and my finesse."
You kept your mouth shut.
You kept it shut throughout the rest of dinner, you kept it shut on the car ride home. And now, you still kept it shut in the doom and gloom of your living room area, lit up only by the city outside and a small lamp in the corner giving off an orange glow.
You waited for him to snap. You braced yourself for the impact, already going through a list of first-aid supplies you would need to restock in your mind.
Instead, the blow was delivered with words, not fists.
"Give me your coat."
You stared at the back of his head, stunned.
"W-what?"
He turned towards you, hands in his pockets, the picture of casual elegance, and said, "Give me your coat."
Brows furrowed, not understanding where he was going with this, you did as he asked. You let your fur coat fall off your shoulders, exposing them to the cool chill of the night air, and walked over to him, where he stood with his hand outstretched.
He took your coat - your beautiful, black, faux fur coat, one of the first things you had bought when you moved to Metropolis - and dropped it on the floor, right next to his feet.
Your lips parted, a question already on your tongue, but then he moved. He moved - to the side, to your coat on the floor, your wonderful coat, and stepped on it. Stood on it.
Lex stood on your coat, staring straight into your eyes, daring you to protest. You swallowed the words on your tongue when you saw the look in his eye.
"Take your heels off, sweetheart."
He must have seen the confused look on your face, because he let out an irritated sigh, and repeated himself.
"Take your heels off, make yourself comfortable. I know they hurt your feet, don't they?"
You nodded dumbly, because yes, they did hurt your feet, but you had no idea why he insisted on you taking them off. Especially now, when your comfort should've been the last thing on his mind.
Still, you reached down and unhooked the straps, stepping out of them, and almost let out a small huff of relief when your bare feet fell flat on the cool tiles.
"Good girl," Lex purred, then reached his hand out to you. "Come."
You knew better than to refuse. Confused, scared and anxious, you walked to him, letting him take your hand in his and pull you in closer.
The softness of your coat on the floor brushing up against your feet was a stark contrast to the ice in his eyes and steel in his set jaw.
And then, Lex did the last thing you expected: he surged forward and pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes widened in shock and disorientation. His hands wrapped around your waist, and your arms reflexively went around his neck. He took a step forward, forcing you to take a step back.
His lips played with yours, not frantic, not slow either, rough and wanting in the way his tongue grazed your bottom lip. You tried to kiss back, you really did, but you were too puzzled and too afraid of whatever was going on inside his head that all you could do was follow his body as it led you across the room.
"Never again-" he muttered against your jaw, peppering kisses against it as he spoke.
"Will you-" a kiss to your collarbone.
"Doubt me-" a bite to your neck.
Eventually, your back hit cold glass, and a shiver ran down your spine. The soft silk of your dress did nothing to protect you from the chill.
Lex's hand then shot up and grabbed your face, hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to still feel a twinge of the bruises that had just healed across your jawline. You winced as he forced you to look at him.
"Are we clear on that, sweetheart?"
His grip was so forceful you had no room to nod, so you just swallowed, hands coming up to grab his arm, in the bare hopes of pulling him off of you.
"Please, Lex," you whimpered, as loud as his grip would allow you. He tilted his head, and never in your life had you felt more like prey being stalked by a hungry predator than you did in this moment.
"I'm sorry," you whispered. Something in Lex's eyes softened.
"Oh, honey... don't worry," he muttered, giving you a mocking pout. His other hand reached around your waist, and you heard a soft, familiar click behind you. "You will be."
And then he opened the balcony door he had pushed you up against, pushing you with it enough to make you lose your balance and fall. You hissed in pain, cradling your elbow, feeling the stinging scratch on it from the rough balcony tiles, and you looked up.
Lex stood there, a soft, almost loving smile etched on his features.
"I hope you'll learn your lesson, sweetheart. The weatherman called for a storm tonight."
And then he shut the balcony door, locking it, effectively locking you out, in nothing but your soft, sweet, lovely dress.
----------
After tiring yourself out banging on the doors, begging and screaming for Lex to let you in, you realized it was a lost cause. No amount of crying or yelling would make him change his mind or go back on something he had already done. It was something you used to admire in him. Now, it was one of the things that frightened you the most.
You sat on the balcony floor - no chairs or couches, Lex claimed the two of you didn't need them seeing as you almost never spent any time on the balcony anyway - and sobbed. Arms wrapped around yourself, your tears wouldn't stop falling as you cried into the night. You cried until you felt light-headed, until your throat and chest hurt, until you had no more tears left in you.
And then, the sky opened up above you. Rain fell in fat drops, soaking your dress and hair, chilling you right down to the bone. At least now, you looked as miserable as you felt.
There was a flash of lightening, and a few seconds later a crack of thunder rolled across the sky. You let out a sob that sounded more like a groan, a sound from deep within your soul, as you tilted your head upwards. You makeup was most definitely fucked, and you were without a doubt going to catch a cold sitting out in the rain practically naked. The wind picked up, causing a shiver to wrack your whole body, and your mind went to a place and a time when you had felt nothing but warmth. An open fire, marshmallows on sticks, blue eyes and a bright smile meant just for you. Hot cocoa and comfort movies, sharing blankets and dinner plates. Sharing lives.
A fresh wave of tears rolled over you, and you could no longer discern what was rain and what was salt. You couldn't take it anymore.
You said his name.
Not Superman, and not loudly. No, you whispered the name that haunted your dreams and crowded your memories. The name that meant home and joy and peace.
"Clark... I need you."
It was soft, barely detectable over the downpour, and broken. Yet, you knew he heard you. Deep down in your very bones, you knew he was always there, lying in wait.
And when the wind picked up in a different way, unnatural and vertical and pressing into you, when the rain seemed to stop for just a moment, you weren't in the least bit surprised to lift your head and see him standing in front of you.
He was soaked. As soaked as you were, cape around him heavy in the stormy weather, blue and red striking against the gray backdrop behind him. His dark curls - oh, his curls - were wet and sticking to his forehead, rivulets of rain sliding down his clenched jaw. And when you met his eyes, his deep, blue eyes that were so unmistakably him, a sob left your chest.
Because Clark's eyes held so much sadness, so much pain, it was like looking into a mirror of your own soul. You stood up, and the storm seemed to stop around him as he took a step forward. It was like the very concept of time and space bended to his will.
He reached out his hand.
Thunder rolled overhead.
You licked the rain and tears from your lips, and your breath hitched.
"Clark," you whispered, and it was so quiet you were certain you mouthed it.
But it was enough for him. It was enough, because he read it on your lips and you could see how it destroyed him. You could see the agony cracking through his exterior, the furrow in his brows he got only when he was worried, the red tinge to his nose when he was about to break down into tears. And it was for you.
He was there, Clark was there - Superman was there, standing in front of you, and you had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be beheld by him. Because when Clark looked at you, it felt like being greeted by the sun. And yes, it was raining, and yes, lightning had struck again, closer this time, but you had never felt warmer in years.
It made you lose your balance. It made your knees buckle. He was there in a flash, holding you up, arms wrapped around your waist, eyes searching yours for something - anything.
"Clark," you repeated, light-headed.
You saw his Adam's apple bob. You saw his nostrils flare. His hand came up and pushed your wet hair out of your face. His head blocked out just enough of the rain for you to look at him properly, and you could've started crying all over again.
"You came."
You felt his heart beating in his chest, proof that he was here and alive and holding you.
"You called."
His voice sounded like a prayer.
"Take me, Clark," you rasped. "Anywhere, just-"
He nodded. You didn't have to finish your sentence. He could read your thoughts, just as well now as he always could.
The soft wood of barn doors and creaky front porches turned into the restless honking of taxis and a skyline that never went dark. A body that smelled like hay, apple pie and something carnally inhuman running through its veins became a body that felt cold to the touch and smelled like money, power, obsession. A body - a person - that had his fingers so deep in every fold of your brain that it was unbelievably easy for you to forget where you came from and who you were - and most importantly, who the true villain was.
Pairing: Superman x reader / Clark Kent x reader / abusive!Lex Luthor x reader
Word count: 6k
Warnings: Angst, toxic and mildly abusive relationship (with Lex Luthor, not with Clark), hurt/comfort, swearing, gaslighting, manipulation, physical violence, Lex is actually insane don't say I didn't warn you, Clark being a guardian angel as per usual, emotional trauma, crying, that's pretty much it
Notes: this is my first ever Superman fic so I hope I do him justice and make DC readers proud (David Corenswet I love you)
there will be a part two, date of release to be added
__________
"Sweetheart."
The word pulled you out of your thoughts, and your dazed look away from the windows. It was a nice name - a cute one, even, but every time you heard it, it filled you with a sense of inexplicable dread, leaving something heavy in the middle of your chest.
You were too smart to call it what it was. Fear.
"Yes?" you replied, glancing over your shoulder to find Lex standing at the bedroom door, one arm stretched towards you, palm facing the ceiling. A silent command.
"Come here," he murmured, even though your feet were already moving on autopilot towards him, your arms hugging your body in the hopes that you could minimize the contact, make yourself smaller. It never worked.
Lex's hand was cold against yours, smooth and soft. A hand that was used to other people doing the heavy lifting with just a snap of its fingers. It always unsettled you. He pulled you into himself, his other hand finding its resting place against your jaw, and his blue eyes searched yours. They were cold and sharp, just like the rest of him, and just like everything else in these headquarters.
"What were you looking at?" he asked softly. The tone of his voice was mellow, convincing you that everything was fine; that it was okay to speak your mind. Lex had that way about him. He could be so kind when he wanted to be.
You swallowed, and let out a small sigh through your nose. You were hyperaware of the possessive hold on your waist, the cold fingers skimming the side of your neck, as he waited for you to speak.
"I was looking at the city - the damage," you confessed quietly.
The corner of his mouth lifted in something that resembled a smile. His fingers still stroked your neck, leaving goosebumps across your pulse points.
"It's a lot, isn't it? Do you see what I mean?" he asked, pulling you even impossibly closer, and you could feel every inch of his body against yours. "He doesn't care about this city, or its residents. Look at all the ruin and destruction he leaves behind. Don't you see, sweetheart, that he only ever does these things for his own gain? To save face? To have people worship him, yet they don't even realize how manipulative he truly is?"
You nodded, somewhat in a daze, as you let his words sink in and wash over you. You could see the city lights reflected in his eyes as they bore down into you, the room dark and illuminated only by the ever-restless city just beyond the wall of windows behind you.
"That's exactly why," Lex continued, his fingers finding home as he snaked them around your throat, "I keep you here with me. Safe. Unharmed. Where no one can get to you, no one can touch you. You understand that, don't you, sweetheart?"
He punctuated the pet name with a squeeze to your neck, too soft to cut off airflow, too rough to be considered as anything other than a thinly-veiled warning.
You nodded again, as much as his hand would allow, and it seemed to satisfy him, because he let go, a soft smile on his face, and he took a step back. As he did, you felt your lungs fill up with air again, the rest of the room flooding into your vision.
You watched him as he walked around the bed to his side, pulling the covers back, and then he looked at you with a raised brow. Not in question; another silent command.
Walking to your own side of the bed that was perpetually cold and too big for the two of you, you crawled under the covers. You blinked, heavily, slowly, and all you could see was the damaged, ruined city in the aftermath of yet another heroic Superman battle behind your eyelids. A sigh left your lungs, then caught in your throat when you felt Lex's hand snake around your waist, turning you over and pulling you into his body.
"I missed you today," he muttered into your hair. "Let me make you feel good."
You knew what that meant. You knew what he wanted.
He never made you feel good.
As you laid there, beneath a frigid and always slightly-threatening body, letting lips kiss you and hands mold you to their will, you turned your head to the side to look out the windows again.
You couldn't help the tear that escaped your eye, nor the way your thoughts kept running back to red, blue, glasses, calloused hands, a smile that reminded you of home.
None of it mattered anyways.
__________
"Clark, that's not fair!" you shrieked, pedaling your bike as fast as your teen legs could push you, a laugh bubbling across your lips and out into the muggy, late summer air.
Clark threw you a look over his shoulder, blue eyes sparkling with mischief and something else unnamed. It was the look - his look - that he always gave you when he wanted to say: come on; I dare you; I want you to.
He was still in the lead, far up ahead, bike tires kicking up dust and pebbles off the dirt road that led to the Kent's farm, the house and barn coming up closer in the distance the faster you went.
"Come on, bluebird, you're gonna lose again!"
You sucked in a determined breath and pushed yourself to your very limit, and by the time the two of you were braking right off the side of the old barn, you were side by side.
Your chest heaved with deep breaths, thighs burning with exertion, and you shot him a look.
"You always do that, it's not fair," you huffed, and he shot you a grin.
"Is it my fault I'm just more athletically inclined than you?"
"Clark, you're superhuman."
"I'm competitive."
"You're an alien," you said, rolling your eyes as you climbed off the bike, wincing at the soreness shooting up your legs.
An hour later, the two of you were sitting on the back porch, side by side, nursing twin glasses of Martha Kent's infamous homemade lemonade. It was quiet, and warm. The type of late summer warmth that left your cheeks red and neck sweaty, but felt like a hug from someone you loved.
Clark's knee knocked against yours, and you glanced up at him. The setting sun painted strokes of orange, pink and red across his face, lighting his eyes up and making them seem even brighter than they were. Those eyes fell on you, and he gave you a soft smile.
"What's going on in that little brain of yours?" he asked, and you bit the inside of your cheek.
You tore your gaze away from his and let it fall on the horizon, grass and dirt road glowing with fire as the sun's rays said their last goodbyes for the day. You stayed quiet for a minute, willing these few moments of peace to stretch over an eternity.
His knee brushed yours again. He took the glass of lemonade from your hand and set it next to his beside him.
He didn't ask again. Clark never had to ask again. You felt the unspoken questions in the air, just like he felt you gathering up the courage to answer. You always answered Clark, so long as he kept asking the right questions.
You cleared your throat. "I wish you didn't have to go."
It felt like confessing a sin.
Clark's eyes fell to yours, and you had to swallow hard, once, twice, to keep the familiar burn behind your eyes at bay. His gaze mirrored yours. Something heavy, unspoken, all-consuming wrapped around the two of you, something you had spent years of your childhood ignoring. Now, you wished you hadn't.
"I know."
His words came out in a rasp, quiet, as if not to disturb the summer night's tranquility settled between you. They carried a weight as heavy as the world.
He may as well have shot you right through the heart.
"But you can't stay, Clark," you whispered.
He nodded. "I know."
"I wish we had more time."
"We will," he said, and he sounded so certain, so confident, it made your breath hitch and your eyes burn again.
"How can you be so sure?"
Clark lifted a shoulder in a silent shrug. "Because you and I are... we're everything. We can't end just like that. You're my best friend. You're my... my..."
He finished the sentence with a whisper of your name.
You understood.
Clark's fingers found yours, intertwining them and resting your hands on his thigh. Your head felt heavy with too many thoughts and too many emotions, so you rested it against his shoulder. You could feel him take in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, your heartbeat matching the pace of his inhales and exhales.
"Promise me you won't forget how to ride a bike. And feed chickens. And milk cows. Don't turn into some hotshot city boy too good for Smallville folk."
Promise me you won't forget me. That's what you really meant. He could read between the lines, as usual.
He gave your fingers a squeeze, and turned his head to place a kiss on the crown of your head. "I promise."
The two of you sat there, unspoken words and fresh promises settling around you like dust, until the last of the sunlight disappeared behind the horizon and the breeze cooled the streaks of tears on your cheeks you hadn't realized were there. It was you and Clark, Clark and you, just like it had been for years.
You broke the silence. "Maybe I'll move to Metropolis, too. One day."
Clark said nothing for a minute. Stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. And then: "You could. I always said you were born to be a city girl."
Your lips lifted in a sad smile.
Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours passed, the two of you leaning against each other in the darkness of the farm.
"Take me home, Clark," you whispered into the night.
So, he stood up, grabbed your hand, and took you home. Just like he always did.
__________
The crash was deafening.
The shatter of glass even more so.
You winced, arms coming up reflexively to protect your face.
He missed, though. Lex always missed - on purpose. Enough to remind you that he was always in control.
Tears ran down your cheeks of their own accord, your throat closing up with panic and fear and disbelief and hurt.
"You think I give a shit about them?" Lex roared, your ears ringing with the venom in his words.
"Lex, I didn't - I only meant -"
"I don't give a fuck what you meant," he hissed. "Never again will you undermine my authority and my decisions."
You took in a shaky breath, wet with tears, and you tried not to flinch when he stepped towards you, broken glass crunching beneath his polished shoes as he towered over you.
Lex grabbed your wrists in his hands, forcing you to look up at him.
"Is that understood?" he said lowly, and you nodded.
He let out a heavy sigh then, closing his eyes. When he opened them, his entire face seemed different - softer. His gaze searched yours, almost apologetic, and he rested his forehead against yours.
"I'm sorry, I - I lost my head again, didn't I?"
You swallowed but said nothing.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, you know I didn't mean to," he muttered, as if talking to himself, and his grip moved from your wrists to the sides of your face. Placing a kiss to your forehead, he pulled you in for a hug.
It took your body a moment to catch up with your mind, still trembling and in shock from the earlier argument, but eventually, you melted into Lex's hold, resting your cheek against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady, even, calm. As if nothing ever happened.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he kept repeating, stroking the back of your head with a hand, and you let out a tired sigh.
"It's okay, Lex," you said into his dress shirt. "It's fine. I know you only want me to be the best I can be."
You felt him nod. "Yes, of course. That's right."
He held you in his arms, swaying you back and forth slightly, for a few minutes. The time trickled slowly, like sap out of a tree, and eventually you felt your pulse go back to normal. Lex cleared his throat, shattering the tense silence.
Stepping back, holding you by your shoulders, he looked at you. "I have to go now, okay? Otis has some updates for me and I was already supposed to be up there. If I hadn't gotten sidetracked-"
Lex cut himself off, clenching his jaw. He gave you a smile that looked more like a grimace.
"Clean this up, okay, sweetheart? I don't want any of this here by the time I get back tonight. I want to hold you in a nice, clean room."
He ended the command with a kiss to your lips, fast and hard, punctuating his sentence and his point: he owned you.
"Okay," you said softly, and watched as he drew in a deep breath before turning on his heels and walking out the door.
The moment it closed with a soft hiss behind him, your tears started to freefall. You glanced down at the shards of glass beneath your feet, and crouched down, careful not to cut yourself as your blurry vision found the photo.
It had flown out of the frame when Lex had thrown it against the wall by your head, its corners slightly worn from years of keepsake. It shook in your hand as your fingers trembled, your other hand wiping at your blurry eyes.
You sniffled as you stared at the picture.
It was you, on your first day of elementary school. You were just a child, hair in pigtails, missing half your teeth, yet smiling broadly at the camera.
And next to you, arm thrown around your shoulders, only slightly taller and grinning just as intensely, a 7 year old Clark Kent, backpack strapped to his back, ready for his first day.
Standing behind the two of you were none other than your mother and Martha Kent, their hands resting on your shoulders, proud smiles on both their faces as they send their babies off to school.
Lex had never bothered asking about the photo. He never wondered about the boy next to you or the women behind you, nor did he want to know. And that was fine by you, because you highly doubted you would've been able to lie about something like that. And no matter what Superman may have done, no matter how much damage he brought to Metropolis, no matter how evil his scheme of grooming the planet into complacency really was, there was a part of you that knew: there was no way in hell you were going to out Clark to Lex, not like that. If Lex found out how well you knew Superman's favorite reporter, let alone Superman himself... a chill ran down your spine at the mere thought.
It was a simple question, really.
You hadn't meant any harm in asking. You were only wondering - only looking out for others.
"Are you sure the pocket universe is a good idea, Lex?"
He froze. Turned his head slowly. "Excuse me?"
"I mean - didn't... isn't there a risk of a dimensional rift? I - I know we'll be fine, you always think these things through, but - what about everyone else?"
"Everyone... else?"
You swallowed. The flicker of your eyes to the framed photo on your nightstand lasted less than a second, yet he saw. Lex always saw your weakest spots.
You took in a deep, shaky breath and rose from your crouch, stepping over the glass and broken frame and crawling into bed. You would clean up later. Right now, you had no energy for anything other than laying under the covers, clutching your photo in your hand as if someone would steal it from you if you loosened your grip.
The adrenaline and fear from the argument must have worn you out, because before you knew it, you had drifted off into a dreamless sleep, tears dried on your cheeks, head pounding, and the familiar faces in your hand crinkling slightly under the pressure of your fingers.
When you woke up, it was still dark out. Lex hadn't come back yet - that was nothing new. Yet the realization that your photo wasn't in your grasp anymore didn't startle you as much as it should have. You merely turned your gaze to the side, seeing it laid flat on your night table, the wrinkles smoothed out as best as they could be. You sat up slowly, and then let out a sigh.
The glass was gone. Every single shard and every single tiny crumb of it was gone - swept away, as if it had never been there in the first place. You looked around the room. Everything was in its place, clean, sterile, under control. Everything except your pulse, because you knew.
This wasn't Lex, nor was it any of his servants. None of them cared enough.
Deep down, you knew who this was. Who was responsible. It wouldn't have been the first time, but each time made it more and more impossible to push back the feelings of longing and guilt.
There was only ever one person in this world who cared about you, and showed you he cared even when he wasn't physically with you, and was able to sneak in and out unheard. You pulled in a deep breath, and laid back down, sinking into your pillow and pulling the covers up to your chin.
You tried to ignore the pathetic twinge of sadness behind your ribs.
__________
Black, blue, purple, green.
The familiar colors bloomed across your jaw and down your neck as you lifted your fingers to tentatively touch the bruises that just seemed to refuse to fade away. You swallowed, then winced.
It was fine.
It was the first time in a long time since this had happened, and maybe Lex was right - maybe you did deserve it. You shouldn't have barged into his office like that. You should have knocked. You should have known he was meeting with someone important. He was always meeting with someone important.
The moment Lex's eyes met yours, you knew you made a grave mistake. You only wanted to ask him if he wanted you to confirm your anniversary dinner - something he left up to you, deeming his work too important to skip out on.
You had to call the restaurant and reschedule for next week.
That was two days ago, and your neck would only look worse before it looked better. You let out a sigh, feeling your eyes and nose burn, then turned the water on, letting it run over your fingers and soothe you.
Splashing your face a bit, just to wake yourself up from the daze you seemed perpetually stuck in, you steeled yourself, staring into your eyes in the mirror.
"How did I even get here..."
The words were soft and sad, muttered to your reflection, meant for your ears only.
When you walked out of the bathroom, you paused. Looked around the room. Listened.
Something was different.
The air felt different; heavier, thicker, as if the presence of something otherworldly pressed down on it. Your skin prickled at the familiar sensation you grew to find comfort in.
The city lights illuminated your bed, casting an orange and blue glow on your pillow, and that's when it caught your eye.
You stepped forward, slowly, cautiously, until you reached your bed.
You picked it up softly between your fingertips. A single red rose.
A smile graced the corners of your lips as you brought it up to your nose and inhaled.
Flashes of hay bales and a dirt road, fingers sticky with peaches and arms scratched up from rose bushes taken care of by a woman you loved as much as your own mother.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you stared at the rose in your hand, knowing exactly who it came from. You brought it to your lips, a tear in your eye, and then clenched your jaw.
Opening the drawer in your nightstand, you pulled out the small lighter you kept.
You flicked it on.
You brought it up to the flower, as red as blood in the dark room.
You watched it burn.
It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last. It broke your heart, watching the flower fold in on itself, consumed by the flames, slowly shrinking. The tear in your eye dripped down your cheek, across the fresh bruise on your jaw.
But the risk of Lex finding it was greater than the desire to keep it forever.
You whispered your thanks into the empty room, hoping and knowing he could hear you, wherever he was.
__________
It was quiet in the car.
It wasn't a comfortable silence, nor was it an awkward one. It was tense. The air was ballooning with something you couldn't explain, only aware that it filled you with a sense of dread.
The dinner started out fine - perfect, even.
You had worn a dress you truly loved, one that fit you perfectly. Lex had bought it for you when you first met him, claiming it brought out your eyes and made you look beautiful.
He had said as much when you stepped out of the elevator into the garage, the car and driver waiting for you.
Lex had ordered the pan-fried hake with coconut curry sauce. He ordered you the roasted chicken breast with white wine tarragon cream. He knew you liked chicken.
The evening started out fine with a bottle of dry, aged wine and a nice meal. You spoke about anything and everything - mainly listening to him talk about how successful his plans were and how well everything was going. You were glad for it, truly. You liked when he was happy.
He mentioned Superman before dessert had the chance to arrive.
You had shifted in your seat, or maybe your hand twitched in his as it laid on the table, or maybe your eyes flickered for a moment before you gathered yourself. It didn't matter; it was enough for Lex to pause. To tilt his head.
Your heart pounded in your ears, and you tried not to fidget. You wished more than anything for other people to be around you now. The solitude of the restaurant's VIP section didn't seem very romantic anymore - it seemed like the scene of something about to go very wrong.
"What was that?" Lex whispered.
You feigned innocence. Stupidity. Air-headedness. "What was what?"
He stared at you. His hand tightened its grip on yours, only slightly.
"That reaction. When I mentioned the Kryptonian. Don't make a fool out of me, sweetheart. You know how much I hate that."
You nodded. You knew very well.
"I was just..." you began, not knowing what to say; not knowing what he wanted you to say.
"Go on," Lex said, urging you to speak. To anyone else, it might have been a supportive boyfriend helping his girlfriend get something off her chest. To the two of you, it was exactly what it was meant to be: a dare.
You shift in your chair, suddenly feeling a hot flash wash over you, and you attempted to keep eye contact as you spoke.
"I just - Sometimes I wonder, Lex, if all these things and all these fights and all these plans concerning Supe- the alien... is it a bit much?"
"Why would it be a bit much?" he asked immediately, brows furrowing slightly.
You gave him a shrug. "I'm just saying, he's a very powerful being, and I'm just worried that one of these days you'll-"
"I'll what?"
The interruption felt like a knife slicing through the air, and you knew you had said the wrong thing.
"Nothing, Lex, I-"
"You think I'm not good enough, not strong enough, to beat Superman? You think one day he'll defeat me? Is that it?"
"No! No, I didn't mean it like that, Lex."
"Then what did you mean, sweetheart?" Lex hissed, and your jaw clenched. "Because it seems to me, that my lovely little darling has doubts about my performance - about my capabilities and my finesse."
You kept your mouth shut.
You kept it shut throughout the rest of dinner, you kept it shut on the car ride home. And now, you still kept it shut in the doom and gloom of your living room area, lit up only by the city outside and a small lamp in the corner giving off an orange glow.
You waited for him to snap. You braced yourself for the impact, already going through a list of first-aid supplies you would need to restock in your mind.
Instead, the blow was delivered with words, not fists.
"Give me your coat."
You stared at the back of his head, stunned.
"W-what?"
He turned towards you, hands in his pockets, the picture of casual elegance, and said, "Give me your coat."
Brows furrowed, not understanding where he was going with this, you did as he asked. You let your fur coat fall off your shoulders, exposing them to the cool chill of the night air, and walked over to him, where he stood with his hand outstretched.
He took your coat - your beautiful, black, faux fur coat, one of the first things you had bought when you moved to Metropolis - and dropped it on the floor, right next to his feet.
Your lips parted, a question already on your tongue, but then he moved. He moved - to the side, to your coat on the floor, your wonderful coat, and stepped on it. Stood on it.
Lex stood on your coat, staring straight into your eyes, daring you to protest. You swallowed the words on your tongue when you saw the look in his eye.
"Take your heels off, sweetheart."
He must have seen the confused look on your face, because he let out an irritated sigh, and repeated himself.
"Take your heels off, make yourself comfortable. I know they hurt your feet, don't they?"
You nodded dumbly, because yes, they did hurt your feet, but you had no idea why he insisted on you taking them off. Especially now, when your comfort should've been the last thing on his mind.
Still, you reached down and unhooked the straps, stepping out of them, and almost let out a small huff of relief when your bare feet fell flat on the cool tiles.
"Good girl," Lex purred, then reached his hand out to you. "Come."
You knew better than to refuse. Confused, scared and anxious, you walked to him, letting him take your hand in his and pull you in closer.
The softness of your coat on the floor brushing up against your feet was a stark contrast to the ice in his eyes and steel in his set jaw.
And then, Lex did the last thing you expected: he surged forward and pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes widened in shock and disorientation. His hands wrapped around your waist, and your arms reflexively went around his neck. He took a step forward, forcing you to take a step back.
His lips played with yours, not frantic, not slow either, rough and wanting in the way his tongue grazed your bottom lip. You tried to kiss back, you really did, but you were too puzzled and too afraid of whatever was going on inside his head that all you could do was follow his body as it led you across the room.
"Never again-" he muttered against your jaw, peppering kisses against it as he spoke.
"Will you-" a kiss to your collarbone.
"Doubt me-" a bite to your neck.
Eventually, your back hit cold glass, and a shiver ran down your spine. The soft silk of your dress did nothing to protect you from the chill.
Lex's hand then shot up and grabbed your face, hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to still feel a twinge of the bruises that had just healed across your jawline. You winced as he forced you to look at him.
"Are we clear on that, sweetheart?"
His grip was so forceful you had no room to nod, so you just swallowed, hands coming up to grab his arm, in the bare hopes of pulling him off of you.
"Please, Lex," you whimpered, as loud as his grip would allow you. He tilted his head, and never in your life had you felt more like prey being stalked by a hungry predator than you did in this moment.
"I'm sorry," you whispered. Something in Lex's eyes softened.
"Oh, honey... don't worry," he muttered, giving you a mocking pout. His other hand reached around your waist, and you heard a soft, familiar click behind you. "You will be."
And then he opened the balcony door he had pushed you up against, pushing you with it enough to make you lose your balance and fall. You hissed in pain, cradling your elbow, feeling the stinging scratch on it from the rough balcony tiles, and you looked up.
Lex stood there, a soft, almost loving smile etched on his features.
"I hope you'll learn your lesson, sweetheart. The weatherman called for a storm tonight."
And then he shut the balcony door, locking it, effectively locking you out, in nothing but your soft, sweet, lovely dress.
----------
After tiring yourself out banging on the doors, begging and screaming for Lex to let you in, you realized it was a lost cause. No amount of crying or yelling would make him change his mind or go back on something he had already done. It was something you used to admire in him. Now, it was one of the things that frightened you the most.
You sat on the balcony floor - no chairs or couches, Lex claimed the two of you didn't need them seeing as you almost never spent any time on the balcony anyway - and sobbed. Arms wrapped around yourself, your tears wouldn't stop falling as you cried into the night. You cried until you felt light-headed, until your throat and chest hurt, until you had no more tears left in you.
And then, the sky opened up above you. Rain fell in fat drops, soaking your dress and hair, chilling you right down to the bone. At least now, you looked as miserable as you felt.
There was a flash of lightening, and a few seconds later a crack of thunder rolled across the sky. You let out a sob that sounded more like a groan, a sound from deep within your soul, as you tilted your head upwards. You makeup was most definitely fucked, and you were without a doubt going to catch a cold sitting out in the rain practically naked. The wind picked up, causing a shiver to wrack your whole body, and your mind went to a place and a time when you had felt nothing but warmth. An open fire, marshmallows on sticks, blue eyes and a bright smile meant just for you. Hot cocoa and comfort movies, sharing blankets and dinner plates. Sharing lives.
A fresh wave of tears rolled over you, and you could no longer discern what was rain and what was salt. You couldn't take it anymore.
You said his name.
Not Superman, and not loudly. No, you whispered the name that haunted your dreams and crowded your memories. The name that meant home and joy and peace.
"Clark... I need you."
It was soft, barely detectable over the downpour, and broken. Yet, you knew he heard you. Deep down in your very bones, you knew he was always there, lying in wait.
And when the wind picked up in a different way, unnatural and vertical and pressing into you, when the rain seemed to stop for just a moment, you weren't in the least bit surprised to lift your head and see him standing in front of you.
He was soaked. As soaked as you were, cape around him heavy in the stormy weather, blue and red striking against the gray backdrop behind him. His dark curls - oh, his curls - were wet and sticking to his forehead, rivulets of rain sliding down his clenched jaw. And when you met his eyes, his deep, blue eyes that were so unmistakably him, a sob left your chest.
Because Clark's eyes held so much sadness, so much pain, it was like looking into a mirror of your own soul. You stood up, and the storm seemed to stop around him as he took a step forward. It was like the very concept of time and space bended to his will.
He reached out his hand.
Thunder rolled overhead.
You licked the rain and tears from your lips, and your breath hitched.
"Clark," you whispered, and it was so quiet you were certain you mouthed it.
But it was enough for him. It was enough, because he read it on your lips and you could see how it destroyed him. You could see the agony cracking through his exterior, the furrow in his brows he got only when he was worried, the red tinge to his nose when he was about to break down into tears. And it was for you.
He was there, Clark was there - Superman was there, standing in front of you, and you had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be beheld by him. Because when Clark looked at you, it felt like being greeted by the sun. And yes, it was raining, and yes, lightning had struck again, closer this time, but you had never felt warmer in years.
It made you lose your balance. It made your knees buckle. He was there in a flash, holding you up, arms wrapped around your waist, eyes searching yours for something - anything.
"Clark," you repeated, light-headed.
You saw his Adam's apple bob. You saw his nostrils flare. His hand came up and pushed your wet hair out of your face. His head blocked out just enough of the rain for you to look at him properly, and you could've started crying all over again.
"You came."
You felt his heart beating in his chest, proof that he was here and alive and holding you.
"You called."
His voice sounded like a prayer.
"Take me, Clark," you rasped. "Anywhere, just-"
He nodded. You didn't have to finish your sentence. He could read your thoughts, just as well now as he always could.
"You have enough blood on your hands that not even four lifetimes of atonement could wipe off, Barnes."
He stared at you, blue eyes critical and assessing. "Funny."
"What?" you snapped.
"Funny how you think I'm not aware."
The US Secretary of State, backed by the government, has given James Buchanan Barnes an ultimatum: spend the rest of his old, unnaturally prolonged life behind bars, being poked and prodded and tested on, or be pardoned of all charges of treason, mass murder, kidnapping, blackmail, property damage, terrorism, torture, abuse, breaking and entering, and stalking (just to name a few), on one condition: he's to live with someone who the US government deems credible and fit enough to keep him on the right path. Obviously, he chose option number two. Just his luck that the credible person assigned was none other than Tony Stark. And double that luck with you, Tony's younger sister, in the equation. As if the guilt wasn't already eating away at his soul enough.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!reader
Chapter word count: 4.5k
Chapter warnings: Swearing, mentions of minor character death, hostility, mixed feelings, angst
series masterlist | main masterlist
If there was anything Tony Stark prided himself on more than his money and his good looks, it was his genius brain. The genius brain that built an empire up from nothing, that used scraps and heaps of metal to create things the world had previously only dreamt of, the brain that earned him PhDs in physics, mechanical engineering and electrical engineering.
That same brain was the one that brought Avengers compound to life, of course, with copious amounts of help and advice from one Pepper Potts. Yet that same, genius brain was the one that decided the layout, how to maximize the size of the compound to its fullest potential, how to best make the entire place seem even bigger than it already was with an open-floor plan throughout most of it.
Right now, however, that maximized open-floor layout seemed to be the bane of his existence, fueled by the loud echoes and hysterical shrieks filling the main living area as you yelled at him. And yelled. And yelled. And yelled.
And now, Tony's big, brilliant brain was at risk of detonating.
"There's no way in hell I'm gonna be sleeping under the same fucking roof as that - that murderer!" you seethed, fists clenching and unclenching as you paced in front of your brother, trying to collect yourself and failing.
Tony sighed, pulling his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He leaned forward, throwing them on the table, and rested his elbows on his knees. "It's not like you have a choice-"
"I should have a choice! Who the hell does Ross think he is, shoving a problem like that into our lives - into our home - with no regard for our feelings or our safety?"
"He's the Secretary of State, and our feelings matter very little to people like him when they have different things to take into consideration."
"Yeah? Things like what?" you asked, hands on your hips.
Tony's voice rose steadily, parallel to yours, and you could tell he was nearing his breaking point but trying to put it off. "Oh, I don't know, maybe things like the safety of the entire country. Things like not having a pardoned criminal fresh from HYDRA's refrigerator roaming around the city however he pleases."
"So we're being punished? Is that it? Did you do something to piss him off-"
"No, I didn't." He hesitated.
You narrowed your eyes at him. "What aren't you telling me?"
Tony sighed, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. You waited, watching him.
"A few years back, before you moved back to New York, I had... a phase..."
You blinked at him. Your jaw ticked.
"What kind of phase, Anthony?"
"Well, it wasn't a phase so much as it was a hobby of sorts."
"Spit it out or I swear-"
"I spent a couple years making and selling weapons... illegally," he muttered.
You froze.
Tony looked up at you sheepishly, and scrambled to continue. "I didn't know it was illegal at the time! I only found out later, and then I cut off all ties and broke off every contract I had with those contacts. However, dear Secretary Ross has his fingers in every pie imaginable, so when he came to me and told me I had to take in Barnes, I sort of didn't have a choice."
A heavy sigh escaped your lungs, and you moved over to collapse onto the couch next to him. "So, basically he blackmailed you."
"He liked to think of it more like a favor: he's allowing me to take in Barnes, and in doing so, he'll strike every illegal job I've ever done off the records and keep me out of jail."
He leaned back to match your position, and the two of you sat side by side, staring up at the high ceiling. Silence surrounded you for a few minutes as you were both thrown deep into thought. Then, Tony broke it in a soft, tired tone.
"Trust me, I don't like it either. If I had any say in the matter, Barnes would be anywhere but here. But now all we can do is weather the storm together."
He twisted his head to look at you, and you did the same. You couldn't help the tears gathering in your eyes as you let out another sigh, this one defeated and resigned.
"I suppose you're right," you whispered, and you felt him grab your hand and squeeze it tightly, once, twice.
And then, in true Tony fashion, he ruined the moment: "And wipe your tears before someone gets here. You always were ugly when you cried."
He ran off with a smirk on his face before you had the chance to throw something at his head.
Bucky Barnes stood with all of his possessions and belongings packed tight in a small navy backpack, thrown over his shoulder just as haphazardly as the baseball cap on his head. He stared up at the looming building above him, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his anxiety from skyrocketing. Better than prison, he thought to himself as he followed his five assigned agents through the large entrance of the Avengers compound and headquarters.
Personally, he thought five highly skilled and trained agents for one of him was a bit of an overkill, but then again, what did he know about government business. If it made everyone else feel safe, he was more than happy to comply. These days, confrontation was the last thing on his mind.
One of the agents, a tall man with broad shoulders and a shiny bald head, turned around to face Bucky. His hands clasped in front of him, he cleared his throat.
"This is as far as we go."
"What?"
"Unfortunately, we're not authorized to go any further, or step foot into the compound. Mr. Stark still has some say in the matter, it seems."
Bucky took in a deep breath through his nostrils, then nodded. The agents turned to leave, falling into a single file line as they passed by him and went in the direction they came from, towards the two black vans waiting for them. He watched them go, jaw clenched and hand squeezing the strap of his backpack.
His ears picked up on a sound. A low, vibrational sort of hum, so faint he doubted he would've heard it if his hearing wasn't advanced. The hum grew closer, behind him, until it came to a stop. And Bucky knew someone was standing at the entrance behind him.
Turning slowly, his eyes followed the ground until they landed on a pair of bare feet - or, at least something that looked like feet. If feet were normally red, then yes, these would be considered feet. His brows ticking slightly in confusion, Bucky's eyes travelled up khaki pant legs and a torso clad in a black sweater, before finally landing on a face. A red face, seemingly without imperfections, with bright eyes that stared at him so intently and uncannily that Bucky subconsciously shifted in place.
"Hello," the man - robot, person - spoke. Bucky said nothing.
"Sergeant Barnes," the robot continued, voice steady and clear. "We have been expecting you."
Bucky almost scoffed at the sentence. Expecting him, as if he was a guest, here of his own free will. As if he was wanted here.
"What are you?" he asked blankly. If the tone of the question bothered the creature, it didn't show. He merely tilted his head ever so slightly to the side as he studied Bucky.
"You may call me how everyone else does."
Bucky quirked a dark brow. "And that is...?"
"Vision."
The person - Vision - turned suddenly, and it was only then that Bucky noticed his feet were a few inches off the ground. He was floating, not standing. Vision motioned with his head for Bucky to follow, and then began floating his way down the large entry hall of the compound.
"What the hell," Bucky muttered under his breath as he fell into step behind him.
Vision led him down a hallway with high ceilings and windows instead of walls, the greenery from the forest and lake outside seeping in through the glass and giving the entire space a more natural feel. Bucky supposed, in any other circumstance, the sight would be quite relaxing. They passed by multiple doors on either side, the rooms behind them closed off and teasing Bucky's curiosity with their secrecy. At last, they reached some sort of bridge structure, closed off on all sides, and as Bucky walked down it, his boots left hollow thumps with each step he took. The end of the bridge flared out into four large, wide stairs, and beyond those stairs, a magnificent sight greeted Bucky.
He slowed as he descended the steps, looking straight ahead in poorly-concealed awe. The main living area of the Avengers facility was gigantic, with an open layout and floor-to-ceiling glass windows on every side, letting in sunlight and a slight breeze from the nearby lake. Everything was sleek, modern, expensive and definitely made Bucky feel as if he stuck out like a sore thumb. The couches were white, the rugs were white, the furniture was dark mahogany, the chandeliers were large and shiny, the technology was more than he could take in. Everything was clean, bright and new, and it only amplified Bucky's feeling of being too dark, too broken, too out of place wherever he went.
His eyes travelled up, glancing at the second floor landing, the bars of the balcony wrapping around the entire area. Every single little thing was out in the open. It made him squirm.
Bucky had almost forgotten Vision was there, staring at him patiently, waiting for Bucky to take in his fill, until he spoke and broke the semi-trance he had found himself in.
"You may have a seat. Mr. Stark will be here shortly," Vision said politely, waving an elegant hand towards the sitting area. Bucky nodded mutely and, as if on auto-pilot, felt his feet carry him to the couch Vision had guided him to.
Bucky opened his mouth to say something, anything, but was interrupted by a harsh, female voice.
"Thank you, Vis. I'll take it from here."
Bucky's brows furrowed as he tried to pinpoint the origin of the voice, and his eyes scanned the area until they landed on you, standing right above him on the second floor landing, hands resting on the railing. Your eyes were already focused on him, narrowed and intense, and he narrowed his in response. Some deep instinct told him yours was not a friendly face.
Vision nodded, hesitating only a moment as he looked between the two of you, then floated off through the wall behind him. Bucky tried not to let that weird fact distract him as he watched you circle around, one hand never leaving the railing, towards the side and down the spiraling staircase.
You made your way over to him, and the tension in your body called out to the tension in his own, preparing him for a fight or a risk. He felt on edge, vulnerable in his seated position as you reached him and stood in front him him, arms crossed and glaring.
"I know what you are," you said, and Bucky's brows furrowed imperceptibly.
"Wh-"
"I know what you are, Barnes. I know what you've done, and how much of it you've done, and you're kidding yourself if you think there's any amount of community service, court-mandated therapy and apologies that'll change that."
Bucky stayed silent, but got to his feet, bringing him even closer to you. Now, your faces were inches apart, and you no longer had the advantage of height. He stood a head taller than you, making you crane your neck to keep your eye contact. Steel blue eyes bore into yours, not faltering, not backing down, as he mimicked your stance and crossed his arms.
"And what, exactly, am I?" he said lowly into the space between you.
You steadied your breathing, and clenched your jaw to keep your gaze from falling to his lips as he spoke. "A murderer. A cold-blooded killer who finds enjoyment in other people's pain and grief. That's what you are, and nobody on this God-given planet can convince me otherwise."
You stepped closer, closing the gap between you even more, until only an inch separated your angry eyes and flaring nostrils, and your next words came out in a whisper.
"I see right through you, Barnes. You can't fool me."
Before Bucky could react and do something he would've most likely regretted, a cough brought your attention to the railing where you had stood moments before.
"Barnes," Tony Stark said as he scratched the back of his neck with a wince. "I see you've met my sister."
Those words washed over Bucky like a bucket of ice water, and his eyes found yours again as he stepped back, almost stumbling. A maelstrom of emotion whipped around inside him; regret, fear, grief, pain, sorrow, anger, disbelief. All of them whirled and shot through his nerves, like fire in his veins as he took a deep breath to try to calm himself and seem more composed than he felt.
"I didn't know there was a sister," he mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. Of course there was a sister. Of course the universe liked to make Bucky's life hell even more than it already was. Of course fate would find a way to amplify Bucky's grief and regret tenfold. As if he didn't already despise himself enough, standing before him, looking at him with eyes that he now recognized as hurt, was another reason to hate himself. Another person whose life he ruined even as he tried his very hardest not to and still failed. Another person who had every right to say and do whatever they pleased to him, because he deserved it, for taking away something so precious and something so irreplaceable: your parents.
Tony sighed heavily as he came down the stairs you had descended minutes before. "Yeah, she's a real ray of sunshine."
"Fuck you, Tony," you snapped, eyes still glaring at Bucky.
You watched him, carefully. You saw the exact moment the realization and recognition flared behind his eyes, even though he tried to hide them. You saw the feelings rippling beneath the surface, locked away. And you couldn't help but feel happy about it. You hoped it hurt. You hoped it burned him as much as it burned you your entire fucking life. You hoped he would waste away in his misery. It wouldn't bring your parents back, but it would be something.
"Smalls..."
You inhaled sharply through your nose at the nickname, and shot Tony a look. "Don't."
"Please, just - just go. There's no reason for you to be here right now," Tony said, eyes pleading and sending messages he hoped you would receive.
"There's no reason for him to be here, either," you said sharply, jerking your chin at Bucky. "Yet, here he is. Standing in my living room. Free."
"Not free," Tony amended, stepping towards you and grabbing your shoulders gently. "And definitely not your living room. It's my living room, and I, of course, am just being a good brother and letting you mooch off me and my money."
You rolled your eyes and tore them away from Bucky, who was standing silent and still as a statue, eyes flickering between you and your sibling. You looked up at Tony, and softened slightly when you saw the truth behind his sarcastic attitude: it wasn't easy for him either. In fact, it was tearing him apart inside, but you had both already come to the conclusion that there was no other choice.
Tony stepped to the side ever so slightly, effectively blocking your view of the man standing behind him, and shook your arms softly. "Please, go upstairs. You'll only make it worse if you stay here, for everyone involved, and that includes you."
His words were whispered into the air, and you bit your cheek but nodded. He placed a kiss to your forehead before letting you go, and wordlessly, you retreated back up the stairs, not bothering to spare Barnes a second glance. You felt, however, the weight of his stare on your back right up until the moment you rounded the corner of the upper hallway and left his sight. And you felt it branding your skin long after you slammed your bedroom door shut behind you.
You hated him. You hated him and his stupid blue eyes that intimidated you when you stood too close, you hated the slope of his mouth that twitched when he decided not to say something. You hated those stupid leather gloves under which you knew a metal arm was hidden; a metal arm that caused so much pain and strife, and it was now living under the same roof as you.
You hated the fear you felt in his presence, something visceral and innate, rooted deep in your bones, as if every molecule of your DNA was singing the same song: danger, danger, danger.
Because, at the end of the day, that's exactly what Barnes was: dangerous. Highly skilled, highly trained, every single pore seeping with the energy of threat and peril, as if he's always ready to attack at a moment's notice. And he probably was. His ledger was dripping, and no amount of walls or security or reassurance from Tony was going to make you feel safe sleeping at night with someone like him in the same vicinity.
You let out a frustrated sigh that sounded more like a growl, throwing yourself onto your bed. When you felt tears stinging your eyes and the familiar tickle in the back of your throat, you shoved your face into your pillow and let out a long scream. You had no idea how you were going to survive living with your mother and father's murderer. You only prayed for the strength not to go insane.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
A gasp clawed its way up Bucky's throat as he shot up off the floor, scattering his pillow and blanket across the linoleum floors.
"Fuck," he whispered, running a hand through his hair, now sweaty and sticking to the back of his neck. "Fuck."
He sat there for a long while, waiting for his breathing to go back to normal, for his chest to stop heaving and his lungs to stop burning, as he stared at a patch of moonlight illuminating the floor by the foot of the bed. Trying his very hardest not to think of the nightmare that had woken him from sleep, he shook his head and stood, wobbling slightly on his feet.
Bucky interlocked his fingers and held them on the back of his neck as he walked over to the large wall of windows in the room he was given. It was nice, quiet luxury spilling out in every corner, but it was nicer than he was used to, and nicer than he believed he deserved. The bed was too soft, the rug was too rich, the view was too beautiful, the floors were too shiny.
The windows in his room gave him a perfect view of the lake behind the compound, and the forest that stretched beyond it. He had no idea what time it was, but he could now see the gray tinge covering his surroundings, showing the very first signs of dawn about to break, the moon leaving and about to be replaced by the sun.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
The night he took two lives, and ruined two more in the process.
You seemed young. Incredibly young, at least younger than Tony, and definitely younger than Bucky, and he couldn't help but wonder how old you were when you got the news that your parents had died in that crash. If his guess was correct, you were only a child, probably just starting school when your life was turned on its axis completely.
He shook out the tension in his arms and let out a heavy sigh. Bucky was certain that sleep was no longer in the picture for him, so he decided he may as well leave his room and explore his new living quarters before anyone else woke up.
He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and the first shirt he could find, going to the bathroom and splashing his face with some cold water just to try and shake the remnants of his nightmare - no, memory - from his mind.
Leaving his room, his steps were quiet as he walked down the west wing, taking in the amount of doors and windows and opulent décor that Tony obviously had no problems spending his riches on. He made his way down the staircase, crossing the sitting area and heading over to the kitchen in the corner.
Bucky paused, realizing he had no idea where things were stored here, or how to use any of the fancy machines Tony had set up, so he decided on just a glass of water. Bringing it to his lips, he took a sip and leaned against the counter behind him, watching as the breaking dawn slowly but surely lit up the compound. This was the most peaceful part of the day, Bucky thought, where the world was still asleep but the planet was just waking up, calm, quiet and unbothered by human touch and sound.
He let his mind wander as he stared at a point somewhere in the distance. He thought back to his conversation with Tony just a few hours before, and involuntarily winced.
"Listen, Barnes," Tony turned to him as soon as your bedroom door slammed shut and echoed throughout the compound. "Just because I saved you from the wrath of my sister, doesn't mean I like the fact that your here, or that I even like you. If anything, I'm only tolerating your presence because a) I don't have much of a choice, and b) consider it a favor for Rogers. Capsicle owes me a lot, but I owe him that much and then some."
Bucky's brows furrowed. "You spoke to Steve?"
"Of course. What, you think because we had a little skirmish, almost killed each other, then went our separate ways, we can't keep in touch? Be serious, Barnes."
"He - Steve knows I'm here?"
"Yep. Don't get your hopes up too much. He won't be visiting in a long while, since he's off God knows where with Natasha and Wilson, doing off-record crime fighting and do-gooding."
Bucky couldn't ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in his chest at that - he had hoped Steve's presence would act as a calming balm on his soul, maybe even help him transition into a regular life.
"Anyways, that's not the point. The point is, I'll be keeping an eye on you. This isn't going to be some sort of vacation for you, so you can relax and lounge about away from the press and prying eyes. You better watch how you act because I swear to God, Barnes, one wrong move and I'll have bullets raining into your body from every corner of this goddamn house. You'd be dead before you could blink."
Bucky sighed and finished off his water, turning to put the glass in the sink, when movement caught his eye.
In the faint first light of the morning, the soft sunrise made you seem to glow as you made your way carefully down the stairs, making as little noise as possible. Bucky stayed quiet and perfectly still, realizing you hadn't noticed him standing there yet. His body and mind already reacted, sending him into overdrive, ready to fight or flee at the first sign of trouble from you, but he stayed still, eyes following you. They trailed up your legs, bare from the mid-thigh down, the soft light catching on them as you walked. The huge shirt that was hanging on your body seemed to be three sizes too big, and made you look shorter than you normally were.
A tired yawn escaped your lips, and as you rubbed an eye, you finally focused on the figure standing like a statue in the kitchen. You froze.
Your pulse accelerated, and you didn't know whether it was from anger, surprise, fear, or a strange mixture of all three. Your eyes locked with his, and you felt as if the blood in your veins slowed to a stop. Was this what loathing felt like? You were certain it was.
Bucky continued his quiet streak, waiting for you to say something or nothing at all. You seemed content to do the same.
You finally padded over to the kitchen, closing the gap between you, and stood on the other side of the island. You stared. Bucky stared back. You narrowed your eyes. Bucky raised a brow.
You broke the silence first.
"Already looking for an escape route?"
Bucky clenched his jaw. "How'd you know?"
You rolled your eyes.
Stepping around the island, you made a point of ignoring him as you reached into the fridge for something - what, exactly, you couldn't remember. Not with his gaze bearing into the side of your face like he could see right through you. You blinked at the contents of the fridge a couple times, before giving up. Closing it empty-handed, you turned your attention back to Barnes, who was still staring at you in silence.
"If you take a picture, it'll last longer."
That seemed to do the trick. Bucky scoffed, breaking his silent streak as he pushed off the counter. "Yeah, because I definitely want that."
He stepped away from you until the two of you were standing a few feet apart, and then swallowed. He opened his mouth to say something, then decided better of it, and closed it with a barely-there shake of his head. He seemed to scoff to himself, before turning on his heel without a last look at you, retreating back to his room. It was now your turn to watch his back has he left, staring at him until you could no longer see him, all the while trying to calm your anger and slow your breathing. His presence caused you to feel unbalanced, unstable and irrational. You hated it, and everything about him.
Up in his room, Bucky paced the floor by the windows, running his hands over his face as he calmed his breath. A hot flash shot through him as the voice from his nightmare echoed in his brain, however this time it was accompanied by the sight of your furious, grief-stricken eyes, and Bucky let out a frustrated growl.
It was only later, when the sun was high in the sky, reflecting off the lake, birds outside chirping and signs of life chiming through the world, that Bucky lied in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and realized he had no idea why you were up so early, too.
"You have enough blood on your hands that not even four lifetimes of atonement could wipe off, Barnes."
He stared at you, blue eyes critical and assessing. "Funny."
"What?" you snapped.
"Funny how you think I'm not aware."
The US Secretary of State, backed by the government, has given James Buchanan Barnes an ultimatum: spend the rest of his old, unnaturally prolonged life behind bars, being poked and prodded and tested on, or be pardoned of all charges of treason, mass murder, kidnapping, blackmail, property damage, terrorism, torture, abuse, breaking and entering, and stalking (just to name a few), on one condition: he's to live with someone who the US government deems credible and fit enough to keep him on the right path. Obviously, he chose option number two. Just his luck that the credible person assigned was none other than Tony Stark. And double that luck with you, Tony's younger sister, in the equation. As if the guilt wasn't already eating away at his soul enough.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!reader
Chapter word count: 4.5k
Chapter warnings: Swearing, mentions of minor character death, hostility, mixed feelings, angst
series masterlist | main masterlist
If there was anything Tony Stark prided himself on more than his money and his good looks, it was his genius brain. The genius brain that built an empire up from nothing, that used scraps and heaps of metal to create things the world had previously only dreamt of, the brain that earned him PhDs in physics, mechanical engineering and electrical engineering.
That same brain was the one that brought Avengers compound to life, of course, with copious amounts of help and advice from one Pepper Potts. Yet that same, genius brain was the one that decided the layout, how to maximize the size of the compound to its fullest potential, how to best make the entire place seem even bigger than it already was with an open-floor plan throughout most of it.
Right now, however, that maximized open-floor layout seemed to be the bane of his existence, fueled by the loud echoes and hysterical shrieks filling the main living area as you yelled at him. And yelled. And yelled. And yelled.
And now, Tony's big, brilliant brain was at risk of detonating.
"There's no way in hell I'm gonna be sleeping under the same fucking roof as that - that murderer!" you seethed, fists clenching and unclenching as you paced in front of your brother, trying to collect yourself and failing.
Tony sighed, pulling his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He leaned forward, throwing them on the table, and rested his elbows on his knees. "It's not like you have a choice-"
"I should have a choice! Who the hell does Ross think he is, shoving a problem like that into our lives - into our home - with no regard for our feelings or our safety?"
"He's the Secretary of State, and our feelings matter very little to people like him when they have different things to take into consideration."
"Yeah? Things like what?" you asked, hands on your hips.
Tony's voice rose steadily, parallel to yours, and you could tell he was nearing his breaking point but trying to put it off. "Oh, I don't know, maybe things like the safety of the entire country. Things like not having a pardoned criminal fresh from HYDRA's refrigerator roaming around the city however he pleases."
"So we're being punished? Is that it? Did you do something to piss him off-"
"No, I didn't." He hesitated.
You narrowed your eyes at him. "What aren't you telling me?"
Tony sighed, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. You waited, watching him.
"A few years back, before you moved back to New York, I had... a phase..."
You blinked at him. Your jaw ticked.
"What kind of phase, Anthony?"
"Well, it wasn't a phase so much as it was a hobby of sorts."
"Spit it out or I swear-"
"I spent a couple years making and selling weapons... illegally," he muttered.
You froze.
Tony looked up at you sheepishly, and scrambled to continue. "I didn't know it was illegal at the time! I only found out later, and then I cut off all ties and broke off every contract I had with those contacts. However, dear Secretary Ross has his fingers in every pie imaginable, so when he came to me and told me I had to take in Barnes, I sort of didn't have a choice."
A heavy sigh escaped your lungs, and you moved over to collapse onto the couch next to him. "So, basically he blackmailed you."
"He liked to think of it more like a favor: he's allowing me to take in Barnes, and in doing so, he'll strike every illegal job I've ever done off the records and keep me out of jail."
He leaned back to match your position, and the two of you sat side by side, staring up at the high ceiling. Silence surrounded you for a few minutes as you were both thrown deep into thought. Then, Tony broke it in a soft, tired tone.
"Trust me, I don't like it either. If I had any say in the matter, Barnes would be anywhere but here. But now all we can do is weather the storm together."
He twisted his head to look at you, and you did the same. You couldn't help the tears gathering in your eyes as you let out another sigh, this one defeated and resigned.
"I suppose you're right," you whispered, and you felt him grab your hand and squeeze it tightly, once, twice.
And then, in true Tony fashion, he ruined the moment: "And wipe your tears before someone gets here. You always were ugly when you cried."
He ran off with a smirk on his face before you had the chance to throw something at his head.
Bucky Barnes stood with all of his possessions and belongings packed tight in a small navy backpack, thrown over his shoulder just as haphazardly as the baseball cap on his head. He stared up at the looming building above him, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his anxiety from skyrocketing. Better than prison, he thought to himself as he followed his five assigned agents through the large entrance of the Avengers compound and headquarters.
Personally, he thought five highly skilled and trained agents for one of him was a bit of an overkill, but then again, what did he know about government business. If it made everyone else feel safe, he was more than happy to comply. These days, confrontation was the last thing on his mind.
One of the agents, a tall man with broad shoulders and a shiny bald head, turned around to face Bucky. His hands clasped in front of him, he cleared his throat.
"This is as far as we go."
"What?"
"Unfortunately, we're not authorized to go any further, or step foot into the compound. Mr. Stark still has some say in the matter, it seems."
Bucky took in a deep breath through his nostrils, then nodded. The agents turned to leave, falling into a single file line as they passed by him and went in the direction they came from, towards the two black vans waiting for them. He watched them go, jaw clenched and hand squeezing the strap of his backpack.
His ears picked up on a sound. A low, vibrational sort of hum, so faint he doubted he would've heard it if his hearing wasn't advanced. The hum grew closer, behind him, until it came to a stop. And Bucky knew someone was standing at the entrance behind him.
Turning slowly, his eyes followed the ground until they landed on a pair of bare feet - or, at least something that looked like feet. If feet were normally red, then yes, these would be considered feet. His brows ticking slightly in confusion, Bucky's eyes travelled up khaki pant legs and a torso clad in a black sweater, before finally landing on a face. A red face, seemingly without imperfections, with bright eyes that stared at him so intently and uncannily that Bucky subconsciously shifted in place.
"Hello," the man - robot, person - spoke. Bucky said nothing.
"Sergeant Barnes," the robot continued, voice steady and clear. "We have been expecting you."
Bucky almost scoffed at the sentence. Expecting him, as if he was a guest, here of his own free will. As if he was wanted here.
"What are you?" he asked blankly. If the tone of the question bothered the creature, it didn't show. He merely tilted his head ever so slightly to the side as he studied Bucky.
"You may call me how everyone else does."
Bucky quirked a dark brow. "And that is...?"
"Vision."
The person - Vision - turned suddenly, and it was only then that Bucky noticed his feet were a few inches off the ground. He was floating, not standing. Vision motioned with his head for Bucky to follow, and then began floating his way down the large entry hall of the compound.
"What the hell," Bucky muttered under his breath as he fell into step behind him.
Vision led him down a hallway with high ceilings and windows instead of walls, the greenery from the forest and lake outside seeping in through the glass and giving the entire space a more natural feel. Bucky supposed, in any other circumstance, the sight would be quite relaxing. They passed by multiple doors on either side, the rooms behind them closed off and teasing Bucky's curiosity with their secrecy. At last, they reached some sort of bridge structure, closed off on all sides, and as Bucky walked down it, his boots left hollow thumps with each step he took. The end of the bridge flared out into four large, wide stairs, and beyond those stairs, a magnificent sight greeted Bucky.
He slowed as he descended the steps, looking straight ahead in poorly-concealed awe. The main living area of the Avengers facility was gigantic, with an open layout and floor-to-ceiling glass windows on every side, letting in sunlight and a slight breeze from the nearby lake. Everything was sleek, modern, expensive and definitely made Bucky feel as if he stuck out like a sore thumb. The couches were white, the rugs were white, the furniture was dark mahogany, the chandeliers were large and shiny, the technology was more than he could take in. Everything was clean, bright and new, and it only amplified Bucky's feeling of being too dark, too broken, too out of place wherever he went.
His eyes travelled up, glancing at the second floor landing, the bars of the balcony wrapping around the entire area. Every single little thing was out in the open. It made him squirm.
Bucky had almost forgotten Vision was there, staring at him patiently, waiting for Bucky to take in his fill, until he spoke and broke the semi-trance he had found himself in.
"You may have a seat. Mr. Stark will be here shortly," Vision said politely, waving an elegant hand towards the sitting area. Bucky nodded mutely and, as if on auto-pilot, felt his feet carry him to the couch Vision had guided him to.
Bucky opened his mouth to say something, anything, but was interrupted by a harsh, female voice.
"Thank you, Vis. I'll take it from here."
Bucky's brows furrowed as he tried to pinpoint the origin of the voice, and his eyes scanned the area until they landed on you, standing right above him on the second floor landing, hands resting on the railing. Your eyes were already focused on him, narrowed and intense, and he narrowed his in response. Some deep instinct told him yours was not a friendly face.
Vision nodded, hesitating only a moment as he looked between the two of you, then floated off through the wall behind him. Bucky tried not to let that weird fact distract him as he watched you circle around, one hand never leaving the railing, towards the side and down the spiraling staircase.
You made your way over to him, and the tension in your body called out to the tension in his own, preparing him for a fight or a risk. He felt on edge, vulnerable in his seated position as you reached him and stood in front him him, arms crossed and glaring.
"I know what you are," you said, and Bucky's brows furrowed imperceptibly.
"Wh-"
"I know what you are, Barnes. I know what you've done, and how much of it you've done, and you're kidding yourself if you think there's any amount of community service, court-mandated therapy and apologies that'll change that."
Bucky stayed silent, but got to his feet, bringing him even closer to you. Now, your faces were inches apart, and you no longer had the advantage of height. He stood a head taller than you, making you crane your neck to keep your eye contact. Steel blue eyes bore into yours, not faltering, not backing down, as he mimicked your stance and crossed his arms.
"And what, exactly, am I?" he said lowly into the space between you.
You steadied your breathing, and clenched your jaw to keep your gaze from falling to his lips as he spoke. "A murderer. A cold-blooded killer who finds enjoyment in other people's pain and grief. That's what you are, and nobody on this God-given planet can convince me otherwise."
You stepped closer, closing the gap between you even more, until only an inch separated your angry eyes and flaring nostrils, and your next words came out in a whisper.
"I see right through you, Barnes. You can't fool me."
Before Bucky could react and do something he would've most likely regretted, a cough brought your attention to the railing where you had stood moments before.
"Barnes," Tony Stark said as he scratched the back of his neck with a wince. "I see you've met my sister."
Those words washed over Bucky like a bucket of ice water, and his eyes found yours again as he stepped back, almost stumbling. A maelstrom of emotion whipped around inside him; regret, fear, grief, pain, sorrow, anger, disbelief. All of them whirled and shot through his nerves, like fire in his veins as he took a deep breath to try to calm himself and seem more composed than he felt.
"I didn't know there was a sister," he mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. Of course there was a sister. Of course the universe liked to make Bucky's life hell even more than it already was. Of course fate would find a way to amplify Bucky's grief and regret tenfold. As if he didn't already despise himself enough, standing before him, looking at him with eyes that he now recognized as hurt, was another reason to hate himself. Another person whose life he ruined even as he tried his very hardest not to and still failed. Another person who had every right to say and do whatever they pleased to him, because he deserved it, for taking away something so precious and something so irreplaceable: your parents.
Tony sighed heavily as he came down the stairs you had descended minutes before. "Yeah, she's a real ray of sunshine."
"Fuck you, Tony," you snapped, eyes still glaring at Bucky.
You watched him, carefully. You saw the exact moment the realization and recognition flared behind his eyes, even though he tried to hide them. You saw the feelings rippling beneath the surface, locked away. And you couldn't help but feel happy about it. You hoped it hurt. You hoped it burned him as much as it burned you your entire fucking life. You hoped he would waste away in his misery. It wouldn't bring your parents back, but it would be something.
"Smalls..."
You inhaled sharply through your nose at the nickname, and shot Tony a look. "Don't."
"Please, just - just go. There's no reason for you to be here right now," Tony said, eyes pleading and sending messages he hoped you would receive.
"There's no reason for him to be here, either," you said sharply, jerking your chin at Bucky. "Yet, here he is. Standing in my living room. Free."
"Not free," Tony amended, stepping towards you and grabbing your shoulders gently. "And definitely not your living room. It's my living room, and I, of course, am just being a good brother and letting you mooch off me and my money."
You rolled your eyes and tore them away from Bucky, who was standing silent and still as a statue, eyes flickering between you and your sibling. You looked up at Tony, and softened slightly when you saw the truth behind his sarcastic attitude: it wasn't easy for him either. In fact, it was tearing him apart inside, but you had both already come to the conclusion that there was no other choice.
Tony stepped to the side ever so slightly, effectively blocking your view of the man standing behind him, and shook your arms softly. "Please, go upstairs. You'll only make it worse if you stay here, for everyone involved, and that includes you."
His words were whispered into the air, and you bit your cheek but nodded. He placed a kiss to your forehead before letting you go, and wordlessly, you retreated back up the stairs, not bothering to spare Barnes a second glance. You felt, however, the weight of his stare on your back right up until the moment you rounded the corner of the upper hallway and left his sight. And you felt it branding your skin long after you slammed your bedroom door shut behind you.
You hated him. You hated him and his stupid blue eyes that intimidated you when you stood too close, you hated the slope of his mouth that twitched when he decided not to say something. You hated those stupid leather gloves under which you knew a metal arm was hidden; a metal arm that caused so much pain and strife, and it was now living under the same roof as you.
You hated the fear you felt in his presence, something visceral and innate, rooted deep in your bones, as if every molecule of your DNA was singing the same song: danger, danger, danger.
Because, at the end of the day, that's exactly what Barnes was: dangerous. Highly skilled, highly trained, every single pore seeping with the energy of threat and peril, as if he's always ready to attack at a moment's notice. And he probably was. His ledger was dripping, and no amount of walls or security or reassurance from Tony was going to make you feel safe sleeping at night with someone like him in the same vicinity.
You let out a frustrated sigh that sounded more like a growl, throwing yourself onto your bed. When you felt tears stinging your eyes and the familiar tickle in the back of your throat, you shoved your face into your pillow and let out a long scream. You had no idea how you were going to survive living with your mother and father's murderer. You only prayed for the strength not to go insane.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
A gasp clawed its way up Bucky's throat as he shot up off the floor, scattering his pillow and blanket across the linoleum floors.
"Fuck," he whispered, running a hand through his hair, now sweaty and sticking to the back of his neck. "Fuck."
He sat there for a long while, waiting for his breathing to go back to normal, for his chest to stop heaving and his lungs to stop burning, as he stared at a patch of moonlight illuminating the floor by the foot of the bed. Trying his very hardest not to think of the nightmare that had woken him from sleep, he shook his head and stood, wobbling slightly on his feet.
Bucky interlocked his fingers and held them on the back of his neck as he walked over to the large wall of windows in the room he was given. It was nice, quiet luxury spilling out in every corner, but it was nicer than he was used to, and nicer than he believed he deserved. The bed was too soft, the rug was too rich, the view was too beautiful, the floors were too shiny.
The windows in his room gave him a perfect view of the lake behind the compound, and the forest that stretched beyond it. He had no idea what time it was, but he could now see the gray tinge covering his surroundings, showing the very first signs of dawn about to break, the moon leaving and about to be replaced by the sun.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
The night he took two lives, and ruined two more in the process.
You seemed young. Incredibly young, at least younger than Tony, and definitely younger than Bucky, and he couldn't help but wonder how old you were when you got the news that your parents had died in that crash. If his guess was correct, you were only a child, probably just starting school when your life was turned on its axis completely.
He shook out the tension in his arms and let out a heavy sigh. Bucky was certain that sleep was no longer in the picture for him, so he decided he may as well leave his room and explore his new living quarters before anyone else woke up.
He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and the first shirt he could find, going to the bathroom and splashing his face with some cold water just to try and shake the remnants of his nightmare - no, memory - from his mind.
Leaving his room, his steps were quiet as he walked down the west wing, taking in the amount of doors and windows and opulent décor that Tony obviously had no problems spending his riches on. He made his way down the staircase, crossing the sitting area and heading over to the kitchen in the corner.
Bucky paused, realizing he had no idea where things were stored here, or how to use any of the fancy machines Tony had set up, so he decided on just a glass of water. Bringing it to his lips, he took a sip and leaned against the counter behind him, watching as the breaking dawn slowly but surely lit up the compound. This was the most peaceful part of the day, Bucky thought, where the world was still asleep but the planet was just waking up, calm, quiet and unbothered by human touch and sound.
He let his mind wander as he stared at a point somewhere in the distance. He thought back to his conversation with Tony just a few hours before, and involuntarily winced.
"Listen, Barnes," Tony turned to him as soon as your bedroom door slammed shut and echoed throughout the compound. "Just because I saved you from the wrath of my sister, doesn't mean I like the fact that your here, or that I even like you. If anything, I'm only tolerating your presence because a) I don't have much of a choice, and b) consider it a favor for Rogers. Capsicle owes me a lot, but I owe him that much and then some."
Bucky's brows furrowed. "You spoke to Steve?"
"Of course. What, you think because we had a little skirmish, almost killed each other, then went our separate ways, we can't keep in touch? Be serious, Barnes."
"He - Steve knows I'm here?"
"Yep. Don't get your hopes up too much. He won't be visiting in a long while, since he's off God knows where with Natasha and Wilson, doing off-record crime fighting and do-gooding."
Bucky couldn't ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in his chest at that - he had hoped Steve's presence would act as a calming balm on his soul, maybe even help him transition into a regular life.
"Anyways, that's not the point. The point is, I'll be keeping an eye on you. This isn't going to be some sort of vacation for you, so you can relax and lounge about away from the press and prying eyes. You better watch how you act because I swear to God, Barnes, one wrong move and I'll have bullets raining into your body from every corner of this goddamn house. You'd be dead before you could blink."
Bucky sighed and finished off his water, turning to put the glass in the sink, when movement caught his eye.
In the faint first light of the morning, the soft sunrise made you seem to glow as you made your way carefully down the stairs, making as little noise as possible. Bucky stayed quiet and perfectly still, realizing you hadn't noticed him standing there yet. His body and mind already reacted, sending him into overdrive, ready to fight or flee at the first sign of trouble from you, but he stayed still, eyes following you. They trailed up your legs, bare from the mid-thigh down, the soft light catching on them as you walked. The huge shirt that was hanging on your body seemed to be three sizes too big, and made you look shorter than you normally were.
A tired yawn escaped your lips, and as you rubbed an eye, you finally focused on the figure standing like a statue in the kitchen. You froze.
Your pulse accelerated, and you didn't know whether it was from anger, surprise, fear, or a strange mixture of all three. Your eyes locked with his, and you felt as if the blood in your veins slowed to a stop. Was this what loathing felt like? You were certain it was.
Bucky continued his quiet streak, waiting for you to say something or nothing at all. You seemed content to do the same.
You finally padded over to the kitchen, closing the gap between you, and stood on the other side of the island. You stared. Bucky stared back. You narrowed your eyes. Bucky raised a brow.
You broke the silence first.
"Already looking for an escape route?"
Bucky clenched his jaw. "How'd you know?"
You rolled your eyes.
Stepping around the island, you made a point of ignoring him as you reached into the fridge for something - what, exactly, you couldn't remember. Not with his gaze bearing into the side of your face like he could see right through you. You blinked at the contents of the fridge a couple times, before giving up. Closing it empty-handed, you turned your attention back to Barnes, who was still staring at you in silence.
"If you take a picture, it'll last longer."
That seemed to do the trick. Bucky scoffed, breaking his silent streak as he pushed off the counter. "Yeah, because I definitely want that."
He stepped away from you until the two of you were standing a few feet apart, and then swallowed. He opened his mouth to say something, then decided better of it, and closed it with a barely-there shake of his head. He seemed to scoff to himself, before turning on his heel without a last look at you, retreating back to his room. It was now your turn to watch his back has he left, staring at him until you could no longer see him, all the while trying to calm your anger and slow your breathing. His presence caused you to feel unbalanced, unstable and irrational. You hated it, and everything about him.
Up in his room, Bucky paced the floor by the windows, running his hands over his face as he calmed his breath. A hot flash shot through him as the voice from his nightmare echoed in his brain, however this time it was accompanied by the sight of your furious, grief-stricken eyes, and Bucky let out a frustrated growl.
It was only later, when the sun was high in the sky, reflecting off the lake, birds outside chirping and signs of life chiming through the world, that Bucky lied in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and realized he had no idea why you were up so early, too.
"You have enough blood on your hands that not even four lifetimes of atonement could wipe off, Barnes."
He stared at you, blue eyes critical and assessing. "Funny."
"What?" you snapped.
"Funny how you think I'm not aware."
The US Secretary of State, backed by the government, has given James Buchanan Barnes an ultimatum: spend the rest of his old, unnaturally prolonged life behind bars, being poked and prodded and tested on, or be pardoned of all charges of treason, mass murder, kidnapping, blackmail, property damage, terrorism, torture, abuse, breaking and entering, and stalking (just to name a few), on one condition: he's to live with someone who the US government deems credible and fit enough to keep him on the right path. Obviously, he chose option number two. Just his luck that the credible person assigned was none other than Tony Stark. And double that luck with you, Tony's younger sister, in the equation. As if the guilt wasn't already eating away at his soul enough.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!reader
Chapter word count: 4.5k
Chapter warnings: Swearing, mentions of minor character death, hostility, mixed feelings, angst
series masterlist | main masterlist
If there was anything Tony Stark prided himself on more than his money and his good looks, it was his genius brain. The genius brain that built an empire up from nothing, that used scraps and heaps of metal to create things the world had previously only dreamt of, the brain that earned him PhDs in physics, mechanical engineering and electrical engineering.
That same brain was the one that brought Avengers compound to life, of course, with copious amounts of help and advice from one Pepper Potts. Yet that same, genius brain was the one that decided the layout, how to maximize the size of the compound to its fullest potential, how to best make the entire place seem even bigger than it already was with an open-floor plan throughout most of it.
Right now, however, that maximized open-floor layout seemed to be the bane of his existence, fueled by the loud echoes and hysterical shrieks filling the main living area as you yelled at him. And yelled. And yelled. And yelled.
And now, Tony's big, brilliant brain was at risk of detonating.
"There's no way in hell I'm gonna be sleeping under the same fucking roof as that - that murderer!" you seethed, fists clenching and unclenching as you paced in front of your brother, trying to collect yourself and failing.
Tony sighed, pulling his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He leaned forward, throwing them on the table, and rested his elbows on his knees. "It's not like you have a choice-"
"I should have a choice! Who the hell does Ross think he is, shoving a problem like that into our lives - into our home - with no regard for our feelings or our safety?"
"He's the Secretary of State, and our feelings matter very little to people like him when they have different things to take into consideration."
"Yeah? Things like what?" you asked, hands on your hips.
Tony's voice rose steadily, parallel to yours, and you could tell he was nearing his breaking point but trying to put it off. "Oh, I don't know, maybe things like the safety of the entire country. Things like not having a pardoned criminal fresh from HYDRA's refrigerator roaming around the city however he pleases."
"So we're being punished? Is that it? Did you do something to piss him off-"
"No, I didn't." He hesitated.
You narrowed your eyes at him. "What aren't you telling me?"
Tony sighed, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. You waited, watching him.
"A few years back, before you moved back to New York, I had... a phase..."
You blinked at him. Your jaw ticked.
"What kind of phase, Anthony?"
"Well, it wasn't a phase so much as it was a hobby of sorts."
"Spit it out or I swear-"
"I spent a couple years making and selling weapons... illegally," he muttered.
You froze.
Tony looked up at you sheepishly, and scrambled to continue. "I didn't know it was illegal at the time! I only found out later, and then I cut off all ties and broke off every contract I had with those contacts. However, dear Secretary Ross has his fingers in every pie imaginable, so when he came to me and told me I had to take in Barnes, I sort of didn't have a choice."
A heavy sigh escaped your lungs, and you moved over to collapse onto the couch next to him. "So, basically he blackmailed you."
"He liked to think of it more like a favor: he's allowing me to take in Barnes, and in doing so, he'll strike every illegal job I've ever done off the records and keep me out of jail."
He leaned back to match your position, and the two of you sat side by side, staring up at the high ceiling. Silence surrounded you for a few minutes as you were both thrown deep into thought. Then, Tony broke it in a soft, tired tone.
"Trust me, I don't like it either. If I had any say in the matter, Barnes would be anywhere but here. But now all we can do is weather the storm together."
He twisted his head to look at you, and you did the same. You couldn't help the tears gathering in your eyes as you let out another sigh, this one defeated and resigned.
"I suppose you're right," you whispered, and you felt him grab your hand and squeeze it tightly, once, twice.
And then, in true Tony fashion, he ruined the moment: "And wipe your tears before someone gets here. You always were ugly when you cried."
He ran off with a smirk on his face before you had the chance to throw something at his head.
Bucky Barnes stood with all of his possessions and belongings packed tight in a small navy backpack, thrown over his shoulder just as haphazardly as the baseball cap on his head. He stared up at the looming building above him, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his anxiety from skyrocketing. Better than prison, he thought to himself as he followed his five assigned agents through the large entrance of the Avengers compound and headquarters.
Personally, he thought five highly skilled and trained agents for one of him was a bit of an overkill, but then again, what did he know about government business. If it made everyone else feel safe, he was more than happy to comply. These days, confrontation was the last thing on his mind.
One of the agents, a tall man with broad shoulders and a shiny bald head, turned around to face Bucky. His hands clasped in front of him, he cleared his throat.
"This is as far as we go."
"What?"
"Unfortunately, we're not authorized to go any further, or step foot into the compound. Mr. Stark still has some say in the matter, it seems."
Bucky took in a deep breath through his nostrils, then nodded. The agents turned to leave, falling into a single file line as they passed by him and went in the direction they came from, towards the two black vans waiting for them. He watched them go, jaw clenched and hand squeezing the strap of his backpack.
His ears picked up on a sound. A low, vibrational sort of hum, so faint he doubted he would've heard it if his hearing wasn't advanced. The hum grew closer, behind him, until it came to a stop. And Bucky knew someone was standing at the entrance behind him.
Turning slowly, his eyes followed the ground until they landed on a pair of bare feet - or, at least something that looked like feet. If feet were normally red, then yes, these would be considered feet. His brows ticking slightly in confusion, Bucky's eyes travelled up khaki pant legs and a torso clad in a black sweater, before finally landing on a face. A red face, seemingly without imperfections, with bright eyes that stared at him so intently and uncannily that Bucky subconsciously shifted in place.
"Hello," the man - robot, person - spoke. Bucky said nothing.
"Sergeant Barnes," the robot continued, voice steady and clear. "We have been expecting you."
Bucky almost scoffed at the sentence. Expecting him, as if he was a guest, here of his own free will. As if he was wanted here.
"What are you?" he asked blankly. If the tone of the question bothered the creature, it didn't show. He merely tilted his head ever so slightly to the side as he studied Bucky.
"You may call me how everyone else does."
Bucky quirked a dark brow. "And that is...?"
"Vision."
The person - Vision - turned suddenly, and it was only then that Bucky noticed his feet were a few inches off the ground. He was floating, not standing. Vision motioned with his head for Bucky to follow, and then began floating his way down the large entry hall of the compound.
"What the hell," Bucky muttered under his breath as he fell into step behind him.
Vision led him down a hallway with high ceilings and windows instead of walls, the greenery from the forest and lake outside seeping in through the glass and giving the entire space a more natural feel. Bucky supposed, in any other circumstance, the sight would be quite relaxing. They passed by multiple doors on either side, the rooms behind them closed off and teasing Bucky's curiosity with their secrecy. At last, they reached some sort of bridge structure, closed off on all sides, and as Bucky walked down it, his boots left hollow thumps with each step he took. The end of the bridge flared out into four large, wide stairs, and beyond those stairs, a magnificent sight greeted Bucky.
He slowed as he descended the steps, looking straight ahead in poorly-concealed awe. The main living area of the Avengers facility was gigantic, with an open layout and floor-to-ceiling glass windows on every side, letting in sunlight and a slight breeze from the nearby lake. Everything was sleek, modern, expensive and definitely made Bucky feel as if he stuck out like a sore thumb. The couches were white, the rugs were white, the furniture was dark mahogany, the chandeliers were large and shiny, the technology was more than he could take in. Everything was clean, bright and new, and it only amplified Bucky's feeling of being too dark, too broken, too out of place wherever he went.
His eyes travelled up, glancing at the second floor landing, the bars of the balcony wrapping around the entire area. Every single little thing was out in the open. It made him squirm.
Bucky had almost forgotten Vision was there, staring at him patiently, waiting for Bucky to take in his fill, until he spoke and broke the semi-trance he had found himself in.
"You may have a seat. Mr. Stark will be here shortly," Vision said politely, waving an elegant hand towards the sitting area. Bucky nodded mutely and, as if on auto-pilot, felt his feet carry him to the couch Vision had guided him to.
Bucky opened his mouth to say something, anything, but was interrupted by a harsh, female voice.
"Thank you, Vis. I'll take it from here."
Bucky's brows furrowed as he tried to pinpoint the origin of the voice, and his eyes scanned the area until they landed on you, standing right above him on the second floor landing, hands resting on the railing. Your eyes were already focused on him, narrowed and intense, and he narrowed his in response. Some deep instinct told him yours was not a friendly face.
Vision nodded, hesitating only a moment as he looked between the two of you, then floated off through the wall behind him. Bucky tried not to let that weird fact distract him as he watched you circle around, one hand never leaving the railing, towards the side and down the spiraling staircase.
You made your way over to him, and the tension in your body called out to the tension in his own, preparing him for a fight or a risk. He felt on edge, vulnerable in his seated position as you reached him and stood in front him him, arms crossed and glaring.
"I know what you are," you said, and Bucky's brows furrowed imperceptibly.
"Wh-"
"I know what you are, Barnes. I know what you've done, and how much of it you've done, and you're kidding yourself if you think there's any amount of community service, court-mandated therapy and apologies that'll change that."
Bucky stayed silent, but got to his feet, bringing him even closer to you. Now, your faces were inches apart, and you no longer had the advantage of height. He stood a head taller than you, making you crane your neck to keep your eye contact. Steel blue eyes bore into yours, not faltering, not backing down, as he mimicked your stance and crossed his arms.
"And what, exactly, am I?" he said lowly into the space between you.
You steadied your breathing, and clenched your jaw to keep your gaze from falling to his lips as he spoke. "A murderer. A cold-blooded killer who finds enjoyment in other people's pain and grief. That's what you are, and nobody on this God-given planet can convince me otherwise."
You stepped closer, closing the gap between you even more, until only an inch separated your angry eyes and flaring nostrils, and your next words came out in a whisper.
"I see right through you, Barnes. You can't fool me."
Before Bucky could react and do something he would've most likely regretted, a cough brought your attention to the railing where you had stood moments before.
"Barnes," Tony Stark said as he scratched the back of his neck with a wince. "I see you've met my sister."
Those words washed over Bucky like a bucket of ice water, and his eyes found yours again as he stepped back, almost stumbling. A maelstrom of emotion whipped around inside him; regret, fear, grief, pain, sorrow, anger, disbelief. All of them whirled and shot through his nerves, like fire in his veins as he took a deep breath to try to calm himself and seem more composed than he felt.
"I didn't know there was a sister," he mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. Of course there was a sister. Of course the universe liked to make Bucky's life hell even more than it already was. Of course fate would find a way to amplify Bucky's grief and regret tenfold. As if he didn't already despise himself enough, standing before him, looking at him with eyes that he now recognized as hurt, was another reason to hate himself. Another person whose life he ruined even as he tried his very hardest not to and still failed. Another person who had every right to say and do whatever they pleased to him, because he deserved it, for taking away something so precious and something so irreplaceable: your parents.
Tony sighed heavily as he came down the stairs you had descended minutes before. "Yeah, she's a real ray of sunshine."
"Fuck you, Tony," you snapped, eyes still glaring at Bucky.
You watched him, carefully. You saw the exact moment the realization and recognition flared behind his eyes, even though he tried to hide them. You saw the feelings rippling beneath the surface, locked away. And you couldn't help but feel happy about it. You hoped it hurt. You hoped it burned him as much as it burned you your entire fucking life. You hoped he would waste away in his misery. It wouldn't bring your parents back, but it would be something.
"Smalls..."
You inhaled sharply through your nose at the nickname, and shot Tony a look. "Don't."
"Please, just - just go. There's no reason for you to be here right now," Tony said, eyes pleading and sending messages he hoped you would receive.
"There's no reason for him to be here, either," you said sharply, jerking your chin at Bucky. "Yet, here he is. Standing in my living room. Free."
"Not free," Tony amended, stepping towards you and grabbing your shoulders gently. "And definitely not your living room. It's my living room, and I, of course, am just being a good brother and letting you mooch off me and my money."
You rolled your eyes and tore them away from Bucky, who was standing silent and still as a statue, eyes flickering between you and your sibling. You looked up at Tony, and softened slightly when you saw the truth behind his sarcastic attitude: it wasn't easy for him either. In fact, it was tearing him apart inside, but you had both already come to the conclusion that there was no other choice.
Tony stepped to the side ever so slightly, effectively blocking your view of the man standing behind him, and shook your arms softly. "Please, go upstairs. You'll only make it worse if you stay here, for everyone involved, and that includes you."
His words were whispered into the air, and you bit your cheek but nodded. He placed a kiss to your forehead before letting you go, and wordlessly, you retreated back up the stairs, not bothering to spare Barnes a second glance. You felt, however, the weight of his stare on your back right up until the moment you rounded the corner of the upper hallway and left his sight. And you felt it branding your skin long after you slammed your bedroom door shut behind you.
You hated him. You hated him and his stupid blue eyes that intimidated you when you stood too close, you hated the slope of his mouth that twitched when he decided not to say something. You hated those stupid leather gloves under which you knew a metal arm was hidden; a metal arm that caused so much pain and strife, and it was now living under the same roof as you.
You hated the fear you felt in his presence, something visceral and innate, rooted deep in your bones, as if every molecule of your DNA was singing the same song: danger, danger, danger.
Because, at the end of the day, that's exactly what Barnes was: dangerous. Highly skilled, highly trained, every single pore seeping with the energy of threat and peril, as if he's always ready to attack at a moment's notice. And he probably was. His ledger was dripping, and no amount of walls or security or reassurance from Tony was going to make you feel safe sleeping at night with someone like him in the same vicinity.
You let out a frustrated sigh that sounded more like a growl, throwing yourself onto your bed. When you felt tears stinging your eyes and the familiar tickle in the back of your throat, you shoved your face into your pillow and let out a long scream. You had no idea how you were going to survive living with your mother and father's murderer. You only prayed for the strength not to go insane.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
A gasp clawed its way up Bucky's throat as he shot up off the floor, scattering his pillow and blanket across the linoleum floors.
"Fuck," he whispered, running a hand through his hair, now sweaty and sticking to the back of his neck. "Fuck."
He sat there for a long while, waiting for his breathing to go back to normal, for his chest to stop heaving and his lungs to stop burning, as he stared at a patch of moonlight illuminating the floor by the foot of the bed. Trying his very hardest not to think of the nightmare that had woken him from sleep, he shook his head and stood, wobbling slightly on his feet.
Bucky interlocked his fingers and held them on the back of his neck as he walked over to the large wall of windows in the room he was given. It was nice, quiet luxury spilling out in every corner, but it was nicer than he was used to, and nicer than he believed he deserved. The bed was too soft, the rug was too rich, the view was too beautiful, the floors were too shiny.
The windows in his room gave him a perfect view of the lake behind the compound, and the forest that stretched beyond it. He had no idea what time it was, but he could now see the gray tinge covering his surroundings, showing the very first signs of dawn about to break, the moon leaving and about to be replaced by the sun.
Mission report, December 16, 1991.
The night he took two lives, and ruined two more in the process.
You seemed young. Incredibly young, at least younger than Tony, and definitely younger than Bucky, and he couldn't help but wonder how old you were when you got the news that your parents had died in that crash. If his guess was correct, you were only a child, probably just starting school when your life was turned on its axis completely.
He shook out the tension in his arms and let out a heavy sigh. Bucky was certain that sleep was no longer in the picture for him, so he decided he may as well leave his room and explore his new living quarters before anyone else woke up.
He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and the first shirt he could find, going to the bathroom and splashing his face with some cold water just to try and shake the remnants of his nightmare - no, memory - from his mind.
Leaving his room, his steps were quiet as he walked down the west wing, taking in the amount of doors and windows and opulent décor that Tony obviously had no problems spending his riches on. He made his way down the staircase, crossing the sitting area and heading over to the kitchen in the corner.
Bucky paused, realizing he had no idea where things were stored here, or how to use any of the fancy machines Tony had set up, so he decided on just a glass of water. Bringing it to his lips, he took a sip and leaned against the counter behind him, watching as the breaking dawn slowly but surely lit up the compound. This was the most peaceful part of the day, Bucky thought, where the world was still asleep but the planet was just waking up, calm, quiet and unbothered by human touch and sound.
He let his mind wander as he stared at a point somewhere in the distance. He thought back to his conversation with Tony just a few hours before, and involuntarily winced.
"Listen, Barnes," Tony turned to him as soon as your bedroom door slammed shut and echoed throughout the compound. "Just because I saved you from the wrath of my sister, doesn't mean I like the fact that your here, or that I even like you. If anything, I'm only tolerating your presence because a) I don't have much of a choice, and b) consider it a favor for Rogers. Capsicle owes me a lot, but I owe him that much and then some."
Bucky's brows furrowed. "You spoke to Steve?"
"Of course. What, you think because we had a little skirmish, almost killed each other, then went our separate ways, we can't keep in touch? Be serious, Barnes."
"He - Steve knows I'm here?"
"Yep. Don't get your hopes up too much. He won't be visiting in a long while, since he's off God knows where with Natasha and Wilson, doing off-record crime fighting and do-gooding."
Bucky couldn't ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in his chest at that - he had hoped Steve's presence would act as a calming balm on his soul, maybe even help him transition into a regular life.
"Anyways, that's not the point. The point is, I'll be keeping an eye on you. This isn't going to be some sort of vacation for you, so you can relax and lounge about away from the press and prying eyes. You better watch how you act because I swear to God, Barnes, one wrong move and I'll have bullets raining into your body from every corner of this goddamn house. You'd be dead before you could blink."
Bucky sighed and finished off his water, turning to put the glass in the sink, when movement caught his eye.
In the faint first light of the morning, the soft sunrise made you seem to glow as you made your way carefully down the stairs, making as little noise as possible. Bucky stayed quiet and perfectly still, realizing you hadn't noticed him standing there yet. His body and mind already reacted, sending him into overdrive, ready to fight or flee at the first sign of trouble from you, but he stayed still, eyes following you. They trailed up your legs, bare from the mid-thigh down, the soft light catching on them as you walked. The huge shirt that was hanging on your body seemed to be three sizes too big, and made you look shorter than you normally were.
A tired yawn escaped your lips, and as you rubbed an eye, you finally focused on the figure standing like a statue in the kitchen. You froze.
Your pulse accelerated, and you didn't know whether it was from anger, surprise, fear, or a strange mixture of all three. Your eyes locked with his, and you felt as if the blood in your veins slowed to a stop. Was this what loathing felt like? You were certain it was.
Bucky continued his quiet streak, waiting for you to say something or nothing at all. You seemed content to do the same.
You finally padded over to the kitchen, closing the gap between you, and stood on the other side of the island. You stared. Bucky stared back. You narrowed your eyes. Bucky raised a brow.
You broke the silence first.
"Already looking for an escape route?"
Bucky clenched his jaw. "How'd you know?"
You rolled your eyes.
Stepping around the island, you made a point of ignoring him as you reached into the fridge for something - what, exactly, you couldn't remember. Not with his gaze bearing into the side of your face like he could see right through you. You blinked at the contents of the fridge a couple times, before giving up. Closing it empty-handed, you turned your attention back to Barnes, who was still staring at you in silence.
"If you take a picture, it'll last longer."
That seemed to do the trick. Bucky scoffed, breaking his silent streak as he pushed off the counter. "Yeah, because I definitely want that."
He stepped away from you until the two of you were standing a few feet apart, and then swallowed. He opened his mouth to say something, then decided better of it, and closed it with a barely-there shake of his head. He seemed to scoff to himself, before turning on his heel without a last look at you, retreating back to his room. It was now your turn to watch his back has he left, staring at him until you could no longer see him, all the while trying to calm your anger and slow your breathing. His presence caused you to feel unbalanced, unstable and irrational. You hated it, and everything about him.
Up in his room, Bucky paced the floor by the windows, running his hands over his face as he calmed his breath. A hot flash shot through him as the voice from his nightmare echoed in his brain, however this time it was accompanied by the sight of your furious, grief-stricken eyes, and Bucky let out a frustrated growl.
It was only later, when the sun was high in the sky, reflecting off the lake, birds outside chirping and signs of life chiming through the world, that Bucky lied in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and realized he had no idea why you were up so early, too.
"You have enough blood on your hands that not even four lifetimes of atonement could wipe off, Barnes."
He stared at you, blue eyes critical and assessing. "Funny."
"What?" you snapped.
"Funny how you think I'm not aware."
The US Secretary of State, backed by the government, has given James Buchanan Barnes an ultimatum: spend the rest of his old, unnaturally prolonged life behind bars, being poked and prodded and tested on, or be pardoned of all charges of treason, mass murder, kidnapping, blackmail, property damage, terrorism, torture, abuse, breaking and entering, and stalking (just to name a few), on one condition: he's to live with someone who the US government deems credible and fit enough to keep him on the right path. Obviously, he chose option number two. Just his luck that the credible person assigned was none other than Tony Stark. And double that luck with you, Tony's younger sister, in the equation. As if the guilt wasn't already eating away at his soul enough.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!reader
Series word count: TBD
Series warnings: Enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, smut (18+ chapter will be marked), slow burn, forced proximity, PTSD, emotional abuse, physical abuse, canon level violence, swearing, extremely toxic relationship dynamic (read at your own risk)
A/N: Thank you again to those who recommended fanfics or tagged me. 💜 This week had me reading 50 fics. Absolutely amazing fics here. This has been so much fun for me and I hope you enjoy my reading lists.
As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community. 💜💜
Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.
Click HERE for past reading lists.
For my Masterlist click HERE.
Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.
Page-break by @whimsicalrogers
Header by @fictional-affairs
If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr.
I love you 3000 💜 Missy
Need You Now - (Bucky x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie
Mafia Bucky Drabble - @angrythingstarlight
Goldi locked - (Curtis x Reader x Ari x Steve) - @biteofcherry
one for you and me - (Bucky x Reader) - @mellowsaturns
no place like home - (Steve x Reader) - @mellowsaturns
Drugged Courage - (Steve x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles
Berserk Captain Rogers - (Steve x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles
Out of My Head - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
Stay - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog
Making Time - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog
Sunrises and Sunsets - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
More time - (Brock x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan
somebody else - (Bucky x Reader) - @lunarbuck
Deception - (Andy x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18
Fate Part 1 - (Curtis x Reader) - @thezombieprostitute
Fate Part 2 - (Curtis x Reader) - @thezombieprostitute
Guilt - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival
Oh My - (Jake x woc!Reader) - @syntheticavenger
hard drive - (Jake x Reader) - @syntheticavenger
Comply - (Winter Soldier x Reader) - @tumblin-theworldaway
Mafia Bucky Drabble - @angrythingstarlight
A Much Needed Reminder - (Andy x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18
Hold Me - (Ari x Reader) - @flordeamatista
Losing Control - (Bucky x Reader) - @flordeamatista
till the end of time - (Thor x Reader) - @sergeantxrogers
for so long as you live - (Bucky x Reader) - @witchywithwhiskey
"My King" - (Thor x Reader) - @fluffyprettykitty
Vicious - (Bucky x Reader) - @fluffyprettykitty
Another Ending 1 - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival
Another Ending - 2 - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival
You Should've Seen Him - (Steve x Reader) - @buckets-and-trees
I Will Always Come When You Call - (Bucky x Reader) - @eat-limes-bitches
Love Marks - (Bucky x Reader) - @flordeamatista
Betrayed heart - (Brock x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan
Hold You Tight: Part 6 - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817
