Can I get a scenario with the user overstimulating Simon? Thank you bestieeee 😝
you absolutely can 🥰
Simon Riley Getting Overstimulated 🔞
For a man of few words, when he got going, Simon was little more than a dog.
He was panting and heaving and moaning into your ear, and you’d only properly been at him for a few minutes.
“Too much, Si?” You cooed, pulling away from his thick cock to lick your lips and savour the salty essence that remained on your damp tongue.
He whined, hands fisting at your hair as you perched between his legs. He was far, far beyond comprehensible words — and it gave you such a lewd sense of satisfaction that you couldn’t help but smirk devilishly.
To reduce such a strong man to nothing but a mess was a true achievement.
“Want me to keep going?” You took another long, sultry suck down his length before pulling away again. “You’re gonna have to beg for it, gorgeous.”
“P-please…” he moaned.
“Please what, baby?”
“Please… give me more…”
“More what? Use your words, c’mon.” You fisted him quickly, and he gave another rugged groan.
“More of your mouth… god, your mouth… it drives me fuckin’ wild.”
You hummed in appreciation and obliged his request — but not in the way he was expecting. Immediately, you began to suck his cock at a formidable pace, pulsating back and forth at such a pace that made him buck his hips wildly.
“Hey— what— fuck, oh, fuck…”
Within a few moments a guttural whine left his throat, just as spurts of thick cum were squirted down your throat. You gagged instinctively, but relaxed once you paused to swallow the warm, familiar substance. “Mmm…”
Simon hadn’t meant to cum that fast — had never cum that fast, as it happened. He would’ve sworn it on everything, but the way your mouth wrapped around his length just drove him so crazy. He couldn’t help it.
“Good?” You murmured, pulling away — hair messy as you wiped some drool from your lips with the back of your hand.
“Better… than good…” he mumbled, head falling back against the wall. “Fuckin’ amazing.”
Need something from the shops? He already popped down that morning and got exactly what you needed before you even knew you needed it.
Feeling down? He’s got your favourite show queued and is ready to snuggle and talk about it.
About to put your shoes on? He’s kneeling before you in moments, looking up with those big blue eyes magnified behind glasses and wearing an expression you can only describe as puppy-like.
Everything he does is done in a way to benefit you, so much so that you sometimes felt guilty for all he did for you. But it was hard to feel bad for too long when you saw just how happy it made him to help you out.
He was like a puppy — beaming up at you the moment you praised him, big blue eyes sparkling.
was wondering if you would so kindly do a drabble on king price who is insanely possessive of his queen? totally fine if you're not into the concept, love ya lots!!
-🦄
I CAN ABSOLUTELY DO THIS RAWR forgive me for being so slow 🥺 🙏
The King’s words were slow and lethal as they echoed out into the courtroom.
“You dare disrespect your queen?”
He spoke quietly, but his tone held such a barely concealed rage that it forced the onlookers to avert their gaze for fear of being the next one to face his wrath.
The servant boy blanched. “No, sir, forgive me— all I meant was to say that she looked lovely today— that is all, I swear!”
“Then that’s you’ve done two things wrong today. Because I heard what you said with my own ears, and the disgusting phrases you used seemed to indicate something more than saying she looked lovely today.” He paused for a second, eyes darkening. “Your second mistake? Not apologising to her. She is your queen, just as much as I am your king. You will treat her as such.”
The boy seemed lost for words. “…I apologise, my queen. Please, I meant no harm.”
You could only stare, face stony, wordless.
John laughed. A loud, hearty laugh — but it held no semblance of amusement. Only pure malice. “Meant no harm… of course.”
The nobles in the audience murmured amongst themselves.
“Silence!” John called out.
Immediately, all whispers halted.
You glanced at John sideways, before subtly putting a hand on his. He let his anger control him, sometimes, and it was up to you to keep him tethered with reason.
Immediately, you felt tension in his frame dissipate, and he inhaled slowly.
“One year behind bars for contempt and blatant disrespect of your queen. Dismissed,” the King barked.
-
“Forgive me, my darling,” John muttered, voice gruff as the two of you sat on the bed in your shared chambers a few hours after the ordeal. He had rid himself of the thick cloak and luxurious velvet he previously wore, now donning only thin linen briefs and a vest. “I get… carried away.”
“Of course, John. You acknowledging it is enough for me.” You smiled warmly, curling up into his side — a gesture to which he grunted in approval, and wrapped a thick arm around your shoulders to pull you closer. “But… you don’t think that the sentence was a little harsh? He’s only a boy, after all. Defending my honour doesn’t need to go that far.”
“You should’ve heard what he was saying, though,” he added after a moment, tone suddenly far darker. “Boy or not, he needs to realise that that was unacceptable to say. About anyone, queen or not. Besides… I’d defend your honour with my life.”
You hummed quietly before laughing, melting into his touch. “I appreciate that, though that’s a little far-fetched.”
Silence stretched between the two of you.
“Forgive me again, then. I can’t help myself when it comes to you. God, the minute I think something is about to happen to you, a crazy comes over me. I can’t… help it.”
“As long as you don’t go too far, then I’m completely okay with that.”
You craned your neck to smile at him, and he grinned and kissed you greedily — the whiskers on his upper lip tickling you enough to make you giggle.
“Hey! Stop that!”
“I may be a king, but I’m not too high on my horse to not give you the love you deserve, my queen.” His voice was like velvet — deep, smooth, and rumbling.
A Superman/Clark Kent x fem!Reader fanfiction
Click here for the AO3 version
TW: violence, references to suicide idealisation
2 // previous, next
MASTERLIST
Walking — or, rather, running — into the Daily Planet, you figured your day couldn’t get much worse than it already had.
Soaking from the downpour that had unleashed itself upon you the moment you left your apartment, and scowling from the unpleasant interaction you had had with the bus driver en route, you figured that such an atrocious introduction to your new job meant things couldn’t possibly get much worse.
At least the building was nice? At first glance, the place was clean, had a gorgeous view, and an air of ease between the workers. People were chatting amicably to each other, and no one was immediately scolding you for your belated entrance.
“Hey, you okay? You’re the new photographer, yeah?” A feminine voice called out, from a desk a few feet away from you. You nodded miserably, trying to make yourself look half-decent when you locked eyes with the woman who had greeted you and realised that she was stunning.
Dark brown curls and twinkling eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. Immediately you knew that she was someone you wanted on your side. “Uh, yeah,” you replied bashfully. “I swear I’m not usually this much of a mess.”
She laughed, carefree and friendly. “Don’t worry, we all have bad mornings. On Jimmy’s first day, he managed to cause a power outage when he was toasting a slice of bread. I’m Lois Lane, by the way. Nice to meet you.” She stood up and walked towards you with an outstretched hand and a good-natured grin.
You took it graciously and offered a smile of your own.
From behind her, a man with auburn hair and covered with freckles groaned, and you could only assume that he was this ‘Jimmy’ in question. “Do you really have to tell that story to everyone, Lois?”
”Oh, yeah, absolutely.” She gave you a wink before sitting back down. “Perry — the big man — is out this morning, which means I can give you a heads-up about him and everyone else here before you get your admin sorted. He’s a big stickler for being on time, for one thing, but let me give you a little tour of everyone else here.”
She led you around the office, weaving through desks and people furiously typing away. “So, there’s Jimmy, who you just met. Please try not to fall for him, we already have too much of that in here.”
You laughed in surprise. “Uh, I’ll do my best.” He was plain, but also adorable, in a good way. Somehow, you weren’t surprised that he was a lady magnet, despite his apparent awkward tendencies.
Lois’s grin widened. “Atta girl. Then we’ve got Cat — hey, Cat — Steve, and like… everyone else. You’ll meet them all eventually.”
Nodding along, you blindly let Lois lead you around the bullpen, before she passed at a desk tucked into the side of the room — diagonally facing the most gorgeous view of the skyline you had ever beheld. Save for, perhaps... “If my sources are correct, you’ll be set up here — at least for now.”
”Are your sources the fact that my name is plastered on a sign attached to the front?” You offered shyly, looking up.
”Maybe, maybe not, all that matters is you know where you need to be and what you need to do. And the latter is basically just to get to know everyone until you form an idea of the type of photos they look for for their articles. I, for example, like action shots. Jimmy’s great at those. Someone like Clark, meanwhile — well, he’s much more emotion-focused, if you get what I mean. Likes shots that are unique, meaningful. So, whatever it is that you specialise in, know that you’ll definitely find someone who wants that.”
“Got it. And who’s Clark, again, sorry?” You asked quickly, eyes darting around the room desperately in hopes that they would fall on someone that Lois had identified.
”Oh, Kent isn’t here yet. You’ll meet him soon enough, I’m sure.”
From somewhere across the bullpen, a male voice began to emerge, full of apologies.”
“Hey, perfect timing. C’mon, newbie, let me introduce you to Clark.”
Lois took your hand and dragged you through rows of desks, as you tripped over your own feet in an attempt to catch up with her. “Hey— slow down— okay.”
“Clark! Come say hi to the new recruit! Maybe she’ll be the one that’ll give you some photos that you approve of.”
As you turned round the corner, your eyes fixed upon undoubtedly the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes on.
He was huge — built like a tank and towering far over six feet, but that wasn’t what caught your eye.
It was the bashful smile he was offering to a coworker, meek and sweet despite being easily twice their size, and the five coffees he was precariously balancing in his arms. It was his bright blue eyes, framed behind glasses with thick lenses that only heightened his charm.
You froze in surprise.
“New recruit? But I didn’t buy enough… coffees…”
His dark eyebrows furrowed as his gaze fixed upon your face. Something like familiarity sparked in his eyes, and you felt a shiver work its way up your spine. But then the spark was gone, and he was smiling and holding out a hand normally — after three other people swooped in and plucked a cup each from his arms. Casually. “Oh. I’m, uh, Clark Kent. Nice to meet you.”
You blinked. What the hell was that? Taking his hand nonetheless, you couldn’t help but be reminded of that time, years ago, when Superman shook your hand on your balcony. It was an odd sort of deja vu, but you tried to shake it from your mind because it was a stupid comparison, no matter how familiar this stranger seemed.
“Kent should become your best friend, if you’re gonna make being late a habit. Or if you like coffee,” Lois joked, elbowing your side and snapping out back out of your head. “Luckily for him, he’s a damn good writer, and he’s the only one who can get exclusive interviews with Superman, so Perry can’t complain much.”
Clark went bright red, a flush colouring his cheeks all the way up to the tips of his ears and eventually disappearing under his dark curls. “I’m not… always late…” he mumbled, but Lois had already moved on.
“You seemed interested in the photos I mentioned he looked for, so you should get to know him for that, anyway. There’s something about you that makes me certain that the two of you will make a good pair.”
You glanced at Clark, who seemed to be staring at Lois with a bewildered expression.
You shared the sentiment.
Lois was lovely, albeit a little over-eager, but her assumption seemed like a stretch.
Then again, you weren’t exactly complaining.
She nudged you with her elbow. “Go on, then. Introduce yourself. Maybe give a summary of your favourite shots to take.”
You cleared your throat nervously. “Well, um, nice to meet you too. I like to… take photos? I mean, obviously. I’d say my favourite photos to take would be… skylines, scenery, and Superman. The big three.” You grinned awkwardly. “I like analysing the emotion behind him.”
“A Superman fan, you say? God, then Clark’s really won the lottery with you. He’s basically Superman’s number one supporter.” You watched as Lois’s eyes lit up — along with Clark’s.
Clark’s cheeks reddened noticeably. “Don’t be silly, Lois. I know him pretty well from interviews, and I paint him in a light I think is appropriate for the stuff he does. That’s all. And I agree, the emotion behind what he does is… fascinating”
“Uh, knowing him is literally the same thing as adoring him. Besides, are you really about to look me in the eyes and say you don’t want some gorgeous Superman shots for your pieces?”
”…No,” Clark replied, almost bashfully. You watched him intensely — it was almost amusing, watching someone who had the opportunity and stature to be so imposing, submitting so easily. He cleared his throat quickly, before adding, “I’d really like that, actually, if you’d be up for it.” Even though he was answering Lois, he shot you a small smile that felt far too meaningful for such a small movement.
Nevertheless, you returned it. “Sure!” He immediately blushed bright pink and turned away, fiddling with the bridge of his glasses.
Lois clasped her hands together, a smug grin on her face. “That’s my work done. Now go on, you two, start brainstorming. I expect wonderful things.”
You laughed quietly under your breath, and were surprised to hear Clark do the same. He gave you a thumbs-up, and your laughter increased.
Despite your rough arrival… maybe this all wouldn’t be that bad.
Because suddenly you found yourself with a job you loved, around seemingly friendly people. All of your worries and frustrations along with everything else seemed small in comparison when you realised in that moment just how much you had achieved.
And, besides — working with a sweet and gorgeous man wasn’t exactly the worst thing in the world.
*
Now it was a month into the job, you felt you had just about got the rhythm of everything down. You knew three things for absolute sure, though, and they were all about one person — Clark Kent.
You knew that he was always late, tie askew and curly hair ruffled. You also knew that he often treated you like a scared puppy (which was quite frankly impressive, for the puppy of a man himself). And, finally, you knew that he always found a way to put a smile on your face every day.
It was silly, really, how much you had grown to depend upon those dorky grins and sparkling baby blues — and so quickly, too. He was your coworker, nothing more and nothing less, but whenever his gaze met yours all you could think about was how good he was. A good man. A sweet man. Just… pure, in every sense of the word.
There would sometimes be a coffee cup on your desk with a smiley face on a post-it note stuck to the side. Or a protein bar in the break room with your name on it. Or even a hurried excuse in your defence whenever you had bad days and found it harder to get to work on time. Whatever it was, it made warmth spread through your chest.
It also felt oddly similar to receiving the notes you used to receive on a daily basis. Not that you were complaining — it made otherwise dull work days filled with just a bit more joy and anticipation, especially after Superman’s notes began to decrease in frequency until they eventually stopped altogether.
It was time for you to move on. You knew that, and that was why it didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would.
Besides, Superman wasn't exactly mysterious — he was in the sky every other day, helping out with something or other. Even though you two hadn’t spoken in years, you still thought fondly of him as one would an old friend.
A friend. A friend of Superman. How crazy was that?
“Hey, sunny, could you send me the shots you took the other day please? Thanks.” From a few feet away, Clark called over his desk room to you.
Sunny. A nickname that had actually originated from the one and only work party you had attended, during which you had downed so many Liquid Sunshines that Loid had dubbed you, and it stuck.
“Sure thing!” You called back, keys on your computer clicking as you fulfilled his request. “Edited or unedited?”
“Edited, if that’s okay. I’m finishing the final draft for Perry.”
“Front page again?” Lois wolf-whistled. “You guys are on a roll. That’s, what, the header of the fourth publication this week?”
Clark beamed. “You know it.”
You laughed good-naturedly. “All thanks to Clark’s hard work, that is. All I’ve done is sit on rooftops by myself for hours, waiting for the perfect shot of Superman.”
“By yourself?” Asked Lois, surprised. “Kent, why don’t you ever join her? Sounds awfully dull to me. And you love Superman. Surely Superman-watching with your best partner is, like, the only thing you’d want to do.”
“Well, I usually have work to do…” Clark mumbled, pink tinging his cheeks.
“Oh, I don’t mind. It’s nice to be alone with my thoughts. Granted that I don’t have to sit there too long. Luckily, I always manage to get the perfect captures right in the nick of time.” You winked at Clark with a smile, and he grinned gratefully.
Lois stared at you, dumbfounded. “You do you, then. In any case, despite your successes, I’m sure you’ve heard people are getting kinda bored with Superman’s usual antics. You guys either need a revelationary story, or a proper supervillain, but we haven't had one of those in ages, so if you ask me your best bet is to—”
Boom.
The sheer force sent reverberations through the entire building, forcing the walls to shake and the floors to rumble. You yelped, along with a few other people.
Lois cursed, head whipping towards the west window — where a huge plume of smoke was billowing up from a skyscraper a few yards away, the cause not yet legible. “Shit, looks like I spoke too soon. Hey, at least you have your story, sunny. I don’t have half of the balls you do, so I’m gonna find the safest place I can and hide there until this is over. Bye!”
You stood there, gaping, as Lois grabbed her bag and leapt to the fire exit, before disappearing in a moment. Many others quickly followed suit as the evacuation alarm went off, blaring through the room and reducing what little order there was left to chaos.
You had experienced supervillain attacks before — if that was even what was going on. As Lois had mentioned, there had been one a few years ago, and at least five in the decade preceding that. But you had never been so close to the source — or so high in the air.
Fear paralysed you.
From beside you, Clark’s whole demeanour changed. His eyes darkened as they locked in on the explosion, and his whole body stiffened, as if readying to fight the villain himself. When a few more seconds passed and you made no move to mimic Lois, his head whipped to you. “What are you… go! You’ve gotta go!”
His order snapped you from your stupor, and you blinked at him. “But— I—”
“Come on!” He grabbed your wrist with his hand, and began half-dragging you towards and into the emergency staircase. His grip wasn’t unpleasant, but it was undoubtedly very tight. You were convinced that he didn’t even realise his own strength.
“Ow, Clark, hey — yeah, I get it, would you let go please?” You half-yelled, over the clamour and the siren, as he pulled you past hordes of other people.
Immediately, his hand retracted from you as if he’d been burned, but he continued to push through the crowds. “Uh— shoot, yeah, sorry, just— just please follow me. And fast. I need to get you somewhere safe.”
We all needed to get somewhere safe, you thought, but didn’t argue. As you made your way down more flights, another loud boom rang out, and you cringed.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t let the sirens remind you of the bridge, or the fear remind you of the initial fall, or the helping hand remind you of Superman. Getting distracted right now was the worst thing to happen. One wrong step and you’d be crushed and suffocated by the stampede.
Finally, after what felt like forever, you and Clark burst through the doors on the ground floor. He took your hand again — much gentler, this time — and pulled you into the nearest alleyway. “Stay here. Just— stay here, okay? I’m gonna go try and help more people down, but I need you to just stay. Please?”
You wanted to argue, you really did. But you were certain that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and you were going to move either way, so you decided just to let him believe what he wanted to. “I— okay. But why won’t you stay here too?”
“I told you, I wanted to get other people out.”
“Can’t I help you?”
“Absolutely not. Far too dangerous.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“Because I—“ He broke off sharply, inhaling before containing much slower. “Because I’ve worked here for ages and I’ve done this before. Trust me. I’ll be fine.”
You swallowed, looking up and meeting his eyes. Those ocean blue eyes that swirled with generosity and hope and, in that moment, determination. “…Do what you need to do, Clark. I’ll see you in a bit.”
His stoic expression broke into a hesitant grin. “See you. Stay, remember?”
You nodded, and in a second, he was gone.
You stared at your feet. Screams were all around you, and whilst no other loud noises had rung out, you had a sickening feeling in your stomach.
And where was Superman?
Did you even have your camera? Your phone was in your pocket, but the lens was nowhere near as high quality as your proper one, and…
Guilt encompassed you when you realised that your first thought was to profit off of other people’s suffering, but on a reassessment of your mind, you realised that you didn’t really want to take photos at all.
You just wanted to have the reassurance of watching him help others.
Of watching him defeat the evil and have peace — or as much peace as possible — reign again.
And the photos weren’t for profit. You would want to take and share them anyway, even if you didn’t make a single penny off of them. Because you wanted to spread the hope that Superman gave to you to as many people as possible, no matter what they were going through.
Your hand slid into your pocket, pulling out your phone.
You had a job to do, just as Clark had.
Zooming in on the closest staircase up an apartment complex across the street, you began to sprint as your life depended on it back up stairs and eventually onto the rooftop.
It was only about ten storeys high, nowhere near the workstation of the Daily Planet, but it was high enough that you had a clear view of the monster attacking — and of the superhero in the sky, fighting him.
Instantly, a weight on your chest lifted.
Because even though there was a massive dragon launching fireballs and sprawled out where the initial impact had been, you also knew there was a metahuman protecting everyone else from danger.
And hope was all you needed.
You crouched down at the ledge of the rooftop, angling your phone at the scene with trembling hands. As Superman swooped down to launch blows on the overgrown reptile, it roared and shot more flaming projectiles, to which Superman dodged with ease and continued to attack.
This game of cat-and-mouse continued for at least five minutes, a time during which you recorded everything that happened, until your worst nightmare came true.
The monster started getting frustrated.
And that meant it began charging right in your direction.
Raised up in the sky, it couldn't directly hurt you, but if its massive tail swooped out the foundations of your building?
You’d be nothing more than roadkill in moments.
And, right now, you had no desire for that to happen.
Hurriedly, you scrambled onto your feet and made for the exit, the monster’s roars growing louder by the second.
You didn't make it in time.
A piercing scream left your throat as the building lurched beneath your feet. You lost your balance as the ground rumbled again, and you fell to the floor, the grit of the concrete tearing at your flesh like thousands of needles.
In a vague, back part of your mind, you realised that your phone screen had shattered in your hand, and was cutting thin lines of blood down your palm.
You didn’t acknowledge the pain.
Adrenaline pumped through your body, even as you felt the ground give out and you began to fall, down, down, down…
And landed, albeit harshly, into someone’s blue arms.
Superman.
His wild blue eyes met yours, and began searching your face — their irises full of raw, unfiltered panic. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Anti-social, uber-secretive Ghost is quite clearly the most stubborn when it comes to getting checkups. He learnt to be independent and self-sufficient, so unless he’s got five bullet holes and two stab wounds, you won’t find him voluntarily going near the medbay with a ten-foot-pole. He’ll also make stupid sarcastic (and quite concerning) jokes about worse injuries he’d seen in the past.
I feel Soap would be the opposite — he’s quite the flirt, so getting ‘felt up’ by the nurses would most likely make his day. He is also the kind of guy to purposely hurt himself with the sole intention of receiving coos and special attention. Overall, though, the moment he gets severely injured, he’s holing himself up in his barracks and not letting anyone — not even his favourite nurse — help him out.
Gaz would be the unexpected stubborn one, I think. After being so thoroughly trained by Price and so eager to follow in his footsteps, he wouldn’t want to show weakness where possible. Fortunately for him, he soon grows fond of one medic in particular, and suddenly he’s okay with going to the medbay again — much more agreeable than he had been previously.
Then there’s Price. He’s such an old man that he doesn’t even bother hiding his wounds anymore. He’ll downplay them, of course he will, but at the end of the day he’d rather not die, and losing a lot of blood makes him feel ill. So the moment that someone calls him out, he’ll sigh and mope but will secretly enjoy the care and comfort of the medbay and nurses.
hi, I really like your fic fly, bird, fly and I was wondering if I could be put on the tag list for it? also idk if you know this, but I tested the ao3 link and it went to a cod fic instead? thank you!
you can absolutely be added to the tag list! as for the ao3 link, i realise i haven’t actually posted the fic up yet 😭 😭 so sorry, i’ll probably have it ready alongside the release of the second chapter. thanks for your support and patience!
a fem!reader x young!arthur morgan fanfiction
click here for the ao3 version
ONE: The Outlaw // NEXT
MASTERLIST
“Another great catch, eh, Missy?” Called the chief, as you strode into the jail with yet another unconscious criminal hogtied and slumped unceremoniously over your shoulder.
You gave him a small smile and nodded tersely. “All in a day’s work, sir.” There was a clank, a thump, and then another clank as you heaved the man off of your shoulder and into an empty cell with a huff, before rolling your arms and groaning softly. “Though I don’t know how on earth Skipper coped with the journey. A heavy feller, this one was.”
“He sure looked like it,” the chief chortled, one hand going up to stroke his dark moustache. “But I keep sayin’, you should really get yourself a partner to do the liftin’ for you, and soon. You’ll be as muscular as that horse in no time if you keep this ‘lone wolf’ thing up, and then you ain’t neva gonna get a partner at all lookin’ brutish like that.”
‘That was part of the idea,’ you wanted to huff in his face, but you just sighed and decided the conversation wasn’t worth your little remaining energy — and instead settled on merely shooting a subtly disdainful glance at the man and muttering, “Appreciate the tip.”
The chief nodded, seemingly pleased with himself. You wanted to throw something at him, but resisted the urge.
A prolonged silence followed before you gave him a pointed look and prompted, “So, the pay for this one? And then I’ll get going for the day, sir.”
God, even the smallest slithers of money filled men with so much greed.
With a forced throaty laugh, the chief removed both his mud-crusted boots from his desk and rummaged around in his wooden drawers for a few moments before retrieving a wad of cash and sliding it over to her. “Sure thing, Missy.” You flipped through the notes, nodded, and pocketed the money before turning to go. “But before you leave, I recommend checking the bounty board. A new one was jus’ been put up whilst you were gone, I believe for the name of one Arthur Morgan? He’s wanted alive, and the reward is a generous 500.”
Your eyebrows shot up, one outstretched arm paused just as your fingers brushed the rusted door knob whilst the other had already pulled your winter coat on. “500 dollars? The hell for?”
“Oh, murderin’, thievin’ scammin’, the whole lot. A surprising lot of train robbin’, too, for a bloke so young,” the chief replied vaguely, waving a dismissive hand in the air and putting his feet up on his desk again. Your nose wrinkled. “He’s been travelin’ round with a group called the Van der Linde gang, if you’ve ever heard of ‘em. Up and coming, they are. The Pinkertons couldn’t bother and handed ‘em over for us to deal with before they turn into too much of a problem.”
You had, in fact, heard of them recently — in passing. Or, at least, you’d heard of whom she was pretty certain was their leader, Dutch Van der Linde, and the various crimes he’d committed. You figured this Arthur character would be similar — or rather, worse, if his bounty was accurate and not just raised by some rich, pissed-off benefactor that he’d stolen from.
But regardless of his crimes, 500 dollars? That was an offer you couldn’t refuse. You’d taken down people with the same description for far less before.
And so you nodded, begrudgingly grateful for the mention, and turned to take the poster from off the wall. As the chief said, the large new addition had already been plastered up, and as the chief said, a blaring ‘$500 REWARD’ stared back at you from the yellowing paper.
Then your gaze slid down to the reference photo.
It wasn’t often that you paid much attention to the faces of the people you hunted any further than the necessary memorisation of their features when tracking, but something about this man’s face made you pause. He wasn’t perfect in any way; his stubble was rugged, his hair was unkempt, and his clothes seemed to have seen better days. He couldn’t have been much older than yourself. But there was something about his expression — his eyes, maybe, and the emotion that hid behind them — that intrigued you. It was rare for criminals to have that sort of look about them,
“Of course, the young lady immediately gets hooked on his looks,” the chief chuckled suddenly, making you start and avert your gaze back to the man that was pissing you off a substantially larger amount than usual today. “You women are all the same. Honestly, what else did I expect? I knew even an oddball like you would eventually show interest in a mildly attractive man.” The chief’s eyes lit up as a thought occurred to him. “Hey, why don’t you choose him as your husband? He may kidnap you and give you no choice if you mess up anyway…”
Calm down. He’s just a man. He’s just a stupid, silly, ignorant little man…
You would usually pride yourself on your patience and tolerance when it came to snide remarks, as well as your ability to mask your true emotions behind a blank, nervous face, given that you had to endure them daily, but the chief was really getting on your nerves today. Maybe if you hadn’t just been given the chance of getting paid 500 dollars you would do what you wanted to do during every interaction you had and slap him hard across the face.
But even then, you probably still wouldn’t. Mostly because it would leave you unemployed, and just as bad as a criminal — and after all, what good would shutting down one ideology be when the entire community shared it?
Also, you’d be lying if you said she had the strongest backbone in the world. You liked to hide behind your latter excuse of uselessness, but you did know deep down that sometimes it was pure cowardice and selfishness that led to your inaction.
“You’re right. I suppose I simply can’t help myself when faced with a big, strong male,” you deadpanned tightly. “Maybe that’s why I’m always so well-behaved around you.”
And with that, you tore the poster from off of the wall and strode out the door, leaving the chief open-mouthed at your sudden insolence.
As much as you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, suddenly terrified of getting fired, it felt strangely rewarding to finally say something. Besides, it wasn’t even that bad. He’d probably forget about it as soon as he entered the saloon to get his daily pint of beer later on in the evening, anyway.
Phew.
Your sigh of relief couldn’t have been louder as you stepped out of the sheriff’s building and closed the door behind you. It had never once been the bounty hunting that frustrated you, but rather — as was blatantly obvious — the people that came with the profession. Stupid men, more specifically, though that did then often prove in your favour when out hunting. Murderers and rapists would see you as their next meek, unsuspecting victim — until they were hogtied with a gun to their head.
Though you supposed it was only fair that there were some downfalls, because otherwise, the job itself made you feel unbelievably fulfilled. What wasn’t to like about putting criminals behind bars, in return for a decent amount of money that could add to your savings?
“You’re the only man I’ll ever truly love in this lifetime, Skip,” you sighed melodramatically, brushing some hair out of your face as you hopped down the stairs and approached your loyal horse, who neighed eagerly in response and nuzzled the palm of your hand. Most likely in the search of an apple, but you appreciated the otherwise affectionate gesture nonetheless.
You ran your other hand over his shining bronze coat fondly, before releasing him from his hitching post and swiftly hoisting yourself up onto the saddle. He wasn’t the largest of horses, but he was fast as anything and a gentle beast — something that was very necessary when Sophie and Jamie were around. Which was whenever you weren’t out hunting.
Skipper snorted at the absence of a snack, but still obediently followed your command as you tugged on the reins and steered him back down the muddy city roads of Valentine.
As you went, most people offered you warm smiles, to which you returned — and on the other hand a couple of people shot you with wary side-eyes, to which you ignored. You liked to think that you were well-respected, and the people that you had saved or protected from various criminals definitely agreed, but there were always those people that thought of the single, female bounty hunter as almost a witch.
Quite soon, the rough city landscape melted into a still forest as you rode through the evening, the dark sky bleeding through the leaves and casting blurred shadows on the country path. Every so often you’d glimpse a handful of gleaming white stars splayed out above, but they always quickly disappeared as the foliage thickened once more.
Your breath frosted as she exhaled, the chilly winter air holding the brief bubble of warmth captive. You imagined that you were a dragon, smoke curling out of your nostrils after razing a village to the ground with flames.
Finally, after a ride that seemed to stretch on for longer than usual as you stewed in your own thoughts, you approached a lone house that sat in a small clearing, soft puffs of that ashy smoke you had just been thinking of drifting lazily out from the chimney and a soft glow emanating from the windows. A swing stood on the garden out front, as well as a small picnic table, both covered in a thin layer of frost.
The house wasn’t grand by Saint Denis’s standards (‘so unnecessarily ostentatious’, your father would huff when you compared them), but by Valentine’s standards it was practically a mansion. (‘we’re people of culture, not some commoners, and you’re a lady, not a farm girl, was the other argument).
You sighed and shook your head at the thought of your temperamental father, and hopped off of Skipper to hitch him on a nearby fence post before walking up to the large porch.
“Soph, Jamie, I’m back!” You called softly as you opened the door with a creak and strode into the house. Your parents weren’t going to be back from Rhodes for at least a few more hours.
The first name you called got you no reply, however the second did, as an awkward teenager slid down the staircase to greet you, straight brown hair that had been perfectly combed in the morning and now stuck out in odd directions and bouncing with each step. “Hi.”
”Hey, Jamie. Did you do as I asked? Gave her the medicine I got? Made her a cool compress?” Was your immediate set of questions.
He groaned at the nagging and huffed meekly, running a hand through his hair jerkily, “Of course.”
You sighed in relief as you shrugged off your hunting coat and holster, pulled out your wad of cash, and bent down to uncover the floorboard under which you kept your bounty hunting equipment and money. “Good boy.”
You straightened back up again, made for the stairs, and asked the arguably more important question. “Is she doing any better?”
Jamie cringed. Your short-lived relief quickly fizzled away into a growing anxiety once again. “Well…”
Your lips pursed and you shook her head. “Nevermind, I’ll go and take care of her. Thanks, Jamie. You can go and try to ride Skipper again, if you’d like.” The boy’s incapacity to ride a horse had become a constant source of frustration for him, and so he often liked to practise with your patient stallion.
He nodded, a light blush dusting his freckled cheeks. “Yeah, I will.” With that, he shrugged on his own coat and hurried out the door.
You shook your head once more before continuing up the staircase briskly. As soon as you approached that familiar wooden door and caught the quiet moans that it held, your heart ached uncomfortably. Pushing it open, you whispered, “Hey, sweetie.”
“Hi…” A small voice mumbled in response to your greeting, delicate lashes fluttering as your sister Sophie roused from her feverish slumber in the cot she lay in. Upon seeing the still-flushed face and light curls that framed it, all plastered onto a sweaty forehead, your features creased with further concern and you immediately reached for a damp cloth that lay on the bedside table.
“Oh... Still not feeling any better?” You cooed, earlier frustration all but completely gone, wiping the cool fabric over the girl’s slick skin.
Sophie sighed softly and briefly relished in the feel of the cloth, before rubbing her dark eyes and coughing quietly. “Not really…”
Your frown deepened. You had already spent all of the extra cash you had saved that month on medicine you had found in town, and yet they all seemed to have had no effect whatsoever on Sophie’s condition. The money you had just received had to go towards food for the coming weeks, as supplies were running low as it was.
Not that you were going to tell her sister any of that.
“That’s okay, I’ll go buy some more tomorrow.” A lie. You’d more likely collect all the herbs and mushrooms you knew relieved various symptoms, turn them into a gentle soup for Sophie, and pray that it would make a bigger difference than the stupid, scam medicine from town.
Sophie just hummed weakly.
Speaking of soup, you were getting hungry after another hard day wrangling criminals. You assumed that Sophie would be, too, after spending the entire day alone in bed.
“What do you want for dinner, Soph?” You asked, once again rousing her sister who had already fallen back into an uneasy doze.
Another flutter of eyelashes. ”…’M not really hungry…”
”You said that this morning. You need to have something.”
“But I’m not…”
“Hungry, I know.” You sighed, frustrated. You knew that you couldn’t blame your young sister for not wanting to eat, but her blatant refusal just made you all the more anxious. “Please, sweetie, just a few bites.”
“…I’ll have some soup.”
You sighed wearily, turning away. “Thank you, darling.”
Every day, you prayed for a miracle.
Every day, one never came.
But with the promise of a new, hefty bounty on your hands, you couldn’t help the flicker of hope that sparked in your chest.
A Superman/Clark Kent x fem!Reader fanfiction
Click here for the AO3 version
TW: graphic depictions of attempted suicide and depression
1 // next
MASTERLIST
The first time you met Superman, you were trying to kill yourself.
You had been on the bridge for a while. For probably just short of an hour you had been sitting on the edge, watching the world go by. Listening. Thinking.
Considering.
You had never thought of yourself as a suicidal person, per se. The label felt harsh, heavy — something you’d call someone who’d been through hell and back, and lost their sense of humanity so much that they felt they could never come back. Someone the media would call troubled, disturbed — crazy.
You weren’t crazy, certainly. Just… empty. Tired of living a life you didn’t quite see the point of. Nihilistic, in a way, and looking for something more than what had been set out for you.
Or nothing at all. That didn’t sound too bad, either.
No factor had driven you to think in the way that you did. No bloody ghosts from your past haunted you — or, at least, in your opinion not to an extreme extent. And yet, you were still going to do the thing that so many had done before you.
Actually, it wasn’t even a fear of death that had kept you going all these years, and stopped you from jumping the moment you reached your destination. Death was your friend, and you had always seen it as such.
It was only a fear of the pain that preceded it.
Would it hurt, hitting the water from so high up? You peered over a little, watching the water ebb gently far, far below. Supposedly it would feel like concrete from where you were, but maybe you could convince yourself that it wouldn’t. It looked so peaceful, so gentle — maybe it would swallow you like a droplet from a drizzling cloud and you’d be gone before anything could register.
You shuffled forwards, the cold stone of the bridge scratching your thighs, and frowned. It was unfortunate, really. Why couldn’t it be easy? Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to experience such turmoil. So many days of nothingness — staring at your walls for hours on end, with only the soft throbbing of small wounds on your thighs to distract you from yourself.
Just do it.
Some disembodied voice whispered, from the depths of your mind. There was really no point stalling, now you were here. Now you had consciously reached this point. All it would take was a push, a little jump, and then you wouldn’t have to consider anything ever again.
A police siren sounded, from somewhere in the distance. A siren that would undoubtedly ring again once they found your body, washed up on a shore. A siren that would ring again for many others even after you were gone. But, then again, maybe you’d never be found, and just melt into the ground to eventually provide nutrients to a tree somewhere. That would be nice.
You moved even closer to the edge, your heart beginning to race in your chest.
One jump. Just one jump. That was all it took to leave the life you led in Metropolis. To leave the life and the people you had met forever. Daunting, maybe, but if you just did it you knew that the anxiety would go away…
You pushed off suddenly. And then—
And then you were falling.
There was no ground beneath you, only emptiness. It was an odd feeling, being weightless after living your whole life with a mass pressing onto your feet. Your chest constricted painfully as the wind hurtled past you and whooshed in your ears, arms flailing as you craned your neck to see the water’s surface hurtling towards you.
Panic immediately took hold of you in the first few blinks of an eye — because how much would it hurt? What had you done?
But then you took a deep breath, forced yourself to stare back up at the sky, and relaxed.
At last. This was it.
The end.
You had been expecting it for years. Now it was finally coming, just as you had planned it.
What you weren’t expecting, however, was to slam into something on the way down.
No — not something.
Someone.
There was a blur of red and blue, and you cried out at the painful impact of skin upon a hard wall of tissue. Suddenly, you weren’t falling down, but thrust sideways — the force knocking all the breath out of your lungs and very effectively winding you.
You screamed. You couldn’t help it. What the fuck was happening?
Wind kept whooshing past your ears, but its direction had changed abruptly, and you had the sickening feeling that you were no longer moving down.
And then there was a voice in your ear. Nervous and trembling. A voice that you recognised far too well, from news clips and TV interviews.
The voice of Metropolis’s Superhero.
“I— why were you falling? There’s no supervillain, is there? I didn’t hear anything— nothing exploded— I only managed to catch you because I happened to be patrolling—“ Superman set you down on the ground, gently, but didn’t loosen his tight grip on your waist.
You stared at him blankly, his stammers falling upon deaf ears as adrenaline and shock numbed you even more than you already were.
All you could do was watch him fumble over his words, and consider his first impression on you. The media had made him out to be level-headed, calm — a superhero through and through.
Right now, he just sounded human.
A weary face contorted into a look of pure fear, dark curls that may once have been slicked back now sticking up haphazardly, and arms as thick as logs holding you like he was afraid you’d shatter should anything else touch you.
You only realised Superman had asked you a genuine question when he snapped his fingers in front of your face and blurted, “Hey, are you— alright?”
“I’m fi…” The knee-jerk response almost left your mouth, but you managed to stop it halfway through and the words died in your throat. Because you weren’t. You knew you weren’t, but how were you ever supposed to put that into words? “…what counts as alright?” You asked instead, expression blank despite the genuineness shining in your eyes.
Superman blinked at you slowly, finally letting himself breathe once he had confirmed that you were still able to respond normally — and smiled. “That’s a good question, ma’am. Maybe I should rephrase. Are… you hurt? Physically?”
You blinked down at yourself. Apart from having the wind knocked out of your lungs, you were… fine.
Not dead.
Your breath caught in your throat at the stark realisation. Your gaze dropped to your arms, your legs — all intact. All moving. All still there.
Suddenly, you hated him. A burning, sickening hatred that poisoned your oesophagus with bile and cruel words. How could he? How could he intervene in something that had nothing to do with him? “I’m perfectly fine,” you spat out, voice wobbling.
God, you wished you weren’t.
Superman blinked at the sudden hostility, but didn’t comment. “And… there’s no monster?”
“There’s no monster.” Bitter and accusing, that was how you spoke to him. God, you couldn’t even meet his eye. Just directed your anger with a piercing gaze at your own feet, the unsaid words you wanted to say bubbling under your skin like shards of fibreglass.
No monster apart from you.
”Oh.”
When he realised the implications of what that meant — and he clearly did, because you could feel the shift in the air when his nervous smile dropped — he didn’t say it. You both knew he didn’t have to say it.
Tears began to bubble in your eyes, hot and heavy.
His dark eyebrows furrowed slightly when the first drop hit the concrete. “Hey, golly, no, it’s okay. Don’t… cry.”
”I’m not,” you lied through your teeth.
“Uh, okay. Sorry.” It was difficult for him to not come off as patronising, and although you were lucid enough to recognise that, the rage that muffled your conscience seeped through all reason once again.
“I said I’m not,” you repeated, as more tears hit the floor. “Just— just take me home, or whatever it is you do. I just want to— go home.”
“Okay, okay, sure. Where do you live?” Suddenly, Superman was on-edge — you could tell just from his voice, which had suddenly gone up an octave. Clearly, a civilian’s emotional state wasn’t something that superheroes were explicitly trained to deal with.
You mumbled an address, and he nodded quickly.
”I know the area. And are you okay with… flying?”
The glare you sent him was nothing short of venomous.
Again, he nodded. “Yep, okay, message received, you just want to go home. Got it. Um…” Hesitantly, with the movements with which one may approach a wild bunny, one of his arms shifted from around your waist to under your legs. “Hold on tight, yeah?”
And just like that, you were in the air again.
In different circumstances, maybe the situation would’ve enthralled you. Admiring landscapes had always been a hobby of yours, until this sickness took over your mind and sucked the life out of everything you tried to do. The view you held now, miles above Metropolis, captured human civilisation beautifully in shimmering shades of blue and gold and green.
Being held by a metahuman also wasn't the worst thing in the world. Superman’s grip was firm but not unpleasant — clearly he had perfected his hold on people through years of saving them from burning buildings and raging villains.
He also didn’t initiate conversation during the journey. A small mercy, to allow you to soak in your own mind for a while.
And when you arrived at that small apartment you knew all too well, he just stood there.
“Well… have a nice day, ma’am,” he said abruptly, after a moment of choked silence. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Theres nothing anyone can do for me,” you muttered under your breath, the bitterness now tinged with a sense of resignation.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I’m okay, thank you.”
You both knew he had heard it clearly with his heightened senses.
You both knew that there was no point probing further.
Superman, to his credit, had the humility to look embarrassed. For what, you weren’t sure, but it gave you a grim satisfaction to know that you had made Metropolis’s hero uncomfortable.
Yeah, he wasn't going to become a counsellor anytime soon.
“Okay, then. I’ll be on my way. See you around, hey?”
And waved at you.
God, it was odd to watch a fully grown man wave at you from less than a metre away. Though at the same time, something about it pricked the corners of your lips up ever so slightly.
You waved back wordlessly, something stirring in the pit of your abdomen.
But as soon as he left, soaring into the endless sky, rain began to lash at your window.
•
That night, once the adrenaline had completely faded and left you feeling utterly exhausted and conflicted, you cried for longer than you ever had before.
Curled up on your bed, with your room still in the complete mess it had been in when you left for the bridge, sobs overtook you with the force of a tsunami.
You didn’t know whether you were happy or sad. Angry or relieved.
You wanted to hate yourself for lashing out at Superman — really, you did — but the feat was so hard when you couldn’t even bring yourself to care about life itself. Everything felt hard when you were in this mindset — this nihilism, that consumed and destroyed every attempt at healing you made.
Outside your window, a downpour had slowly begun to subside. Thick grey clouds that had moved in soon after Superman’s departure fogged up the atmosphere with gloom and darkness, now ebbed away slowly, allowing thin rays of the moonlight to diffuse through.
Your legs twitched. They itched to move, to do something, but for the past few weeks you hadn’t been able to do much about it.
Until tonight.
Gradually, shakily — like a baby fawn stumbling away from the warm embrace of its mother — one foot met the cold laminated floor.
Then another.
And then, before you knew it, you were curled up in a blanket on the balcony.
It was peaceful here. It wasn’t high enough for you to consider jumping again, but it just scraped above the trees, where you could watch people of all types busying around with their lives.
Suddenly, you wondered why you had never spent much time out here before. Such a thought had never honestly occurred to you — but now that it had, it calmed you down. Whispers of chatters made their way upwards in lyrical waves, and the singing of birds kept a constant melody that couldn't be disrupted by anything.
Until a quiet thud rang out.
“Mind if I join you?”
You jumped. Because, suddenly, Superman was next to you. The same man you had met earlier that day — if not far more composed, now. Hair perfect and smile easy.
The difference was stark.
You were sorely tempted to decline his request. To tell him to fuck off and leave you alone to wallow in your misery. But, for some reason, the answer that left your mouth was the opposite to the one that you intended. “…no.”
The man — metahuman, whatever — slowly approached you. “I didn’t mean to make you so upset, earlier. I really am sorry. I just wanted to make sure we got off on the right foot. And, you know… check up on you.”
You stared at him blankly, not even humming in acknowledgment.
He cleared his throat, clearly feeling slightly embarrassed at your dismissal. ”How rude of me. I haven’t actually introduced myself.” He grinned almost boyishly before offering you a large palm. “Superman. Nice to meet you.”
The metal floor of the balcony made a faint clunking sound as you took a hesitant step forwards to take his hand, too nervous to break down. “…S’fine. Nice to meet you too.” You paused. “Not that I needed any introduction.”
His grin widened. You wondered how it was possible for a person to stay smiling for so long. “I figured, but didn’t want to assume too much of myself. I was humbled by a sweet old lady a few weeks ago, and haven’t been able to live it down since.”
“Oh.” What were you supposed to say to the man who stopped you from killing yourself?
“May I…” he gestured to a lone garden chair on your balcony, with a bashful smile.
You blinked. The situation was so… surreal. Almost comedic. “Uh, sure.”
Once you’d given him the okay, he sat down on one of the lawn chairs, the cheap plastic creaking loudly in protest at the weight.
Silence stretched out between the two of you. Thick and uncomfortable.
”Do you always follow people back to their homes?” You mumbled. A weak attempt at a joke, but you genuinely wanted to know his answer.
Why was he here?
Surely he didn't have time to check up on every wretched soul he saved. Or maybe people got a complimentary one for first-time occurrences, to prevent them from suing him for trauma.
Superman gave you a crooked smile. As if it actually amused him. “Only when they scare me enough that I feel obliged to.”
It was macabre, the way you almost began to laugh. Sure, he was supposed to be heroic and good, but even he should realise when people were too hopeless for saving. When people didn’t want to be saved. That anger you had felt earlier began to build up again, ugly and burning.
But then your stomach began to twist, and you wondered how many people he had actually seen die. Your first thought was that surely, for a metahuman who fought against supervillains in the streets of a human city, he had seen countless lives snuffed out in moments. But then you recalled something you saw long ago — in a newspaper or a TV broadcast, you couldn’t say — about how, during his whole time in Metropolis, only one man had ever died during his fights.
Did that make you selfish? Not considering the emotional impact on others before you acted?
You never had been good with morality.
So, instead of replying, you just nodded and turned away to face the moon.
“Why do you save people who don’t deserve to be saved?”
The words were out of your mouth before your brain could even register them. It clearly surprised him, because he shot you an odd look, with his brows high on his face. It surprised you, too, because you weren’t even talking about yourself.
Superman was known, perhaps infamously, for saving people no matter what. Criminals, thieves, the whole lot — it didn't matter. If they were in danger, Superman was there to help — albeit also to help them into handcuffs afterwards.
“Well…” His voice was soft, but not unsure. He had clearly thought about it himself before, but was trying to formulate it into words. “Life is a precious thing. If there is any chance to save those who are condemned to an early end, I will do everything in my power to stop it. More than that, I just… can’t stand seeing people in pain, and not doing anything about it.”
“But they aren’t your people.” The comment was meant to be observant, but you felt a pang of regret when he winced at the harsh nature of those words.
Everyone knew how sensitive Superman got about his mortality. But no one had ever dared to ask him a question such as that.
“…No, I suppose they aren’t, by physicality. But I’ve grown up on earth.” He paused, taking a slow inhale. “All I’ve ever known is their culture, their ways of living, their emotions. Love, hatred, everything in between — as a metahuman, I may not be able to exactly emulate that myself, but I know for a fact that it brings me joy to appreciate the joy of others. So, that’s what I try to do. Always.”
His answer was so raw — so jagged and heartbreaking but at the same time so perfect and fitting — that you could only laugh quietly. Not out of humour, but out of admiration.
“…I can see why everyone raves about you.”
He laughed himself, the deep sound reverberating through the air and settling in your bones. “Well, I wouldn’t say raves. I consider it more of a mutual respect.”
“So that harem exists for nothing, huh?”
This time, the laugh took hold of him out of nowhere. “That’s not— that’s just a joke.”
“Maybe to you. But I know enough dedicated fangirls who aren’t so humorous about it.” Your expression remained blank, but watching him laugh… It gave you a sense of satisfaction that you hadn’t felt for years.
Because who else got to make Superman laugh everyday?
He shook his head in amusement. “Golly, I don’t want to hear about it. Spare me, would you?”
“I’ll try.”
Before he could reply, a yell rang out from somewhere in the distance.
Immediately, Superman was tense and alert. His gaze locked on the direction that the yell had come from, before more began to join in.
“Duty calls?” You guessed quietly. Whilst you wouldn’t say you particularly wanted him to stay, you didn’t want him to leave even more. After being alone so long, you would admit that it was quite nice to have someone to just sit there and talk — or listen, if that was what you wanted.
”Seems like it.” His attention was clearly diverted, now. Assessing the situation even from miles away.
”Oh.” You didn’t know what else there was to say.
Superman glanced back at you, offering another hesitant smile. “From the looks of it, just a little fire, but I’d like to check it out anyway because you never know how out of hand these things can get. But, before I go…” He met your gaze, blue eyes shining in the moonlight. “I actually want to keep in contact. If that’s… okay with you?”
A surprised warmth sprang through your chest. Something that hadn’t happened in a long time. ”…okay. Yeah, sure.” You didn’t believe him, but still, the sentiment felt nice.
“Actually, I’d like you to make a pinky promise.”
”Excuse me?”
”You heard me.”
Hesitantly, you offered him your finger — unsure if he was being serious or not. But, just as he had said, he quickly intertwined his own pinky with yours. Nodded at you once as he pulled away, a clear goodbye.
Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone, just a speck of blue and red in the sky.
And he did. Keep in contact, that is. True to his word, handwritten notes would begin to dutifully appear on your doorstep whenever you were feeling down. They were almost daily at first, but as you started to put your life back together their appearances dropped slightly.
Though their sincerity never did.
They were detailed, and heartfelt, and always signed off with nothing but a curly letter S. They asked questions, to which you sometimes replied with notes of your own that you left in return, and they began to bring you immense comfort whenever you came home to find one.
They comforted you, yes. But most of all they inspired you. Because months passed, and though the notes continued to subside in frequency, you found you could gradually do things you wouldn’t have dreamed of doing before you jumped. Getting out of bed, for example, was no longer a chore. You could hum to yourself whilst running errands, think about nothing in particular, and not break down into an episode.
Maybe that’s what got you to take up photography. Superman was always asking whether you’d found anything that made you happy, aside from your current hobbies. When you couldn’t think of anything, and told him as much, he wrote you a short list of things he thought you may enjoy — and despite half of the options being complete disasters, photography was the one thing that just made sense.
You began to find yourself considering the best shots of the skyline when you stared out of the window every morning. And eyeing up photo frames that you stumbled across in shops. And even bringing home the flyer of an amateur photography course that started up in a few weeks’ time.
Even more time passed — but, with it, you began to feel better too. Day by day, the small wins added up into something much bigger. The mountain that used to loom over you dauntingly became occasional steps of tasks you completed, and without knowing it, most days you got closer and closer to scaling it fully.
Your mindset shifted, when you talked to Superman. You never saw him face-to-face since, only on the news, but that was one of the things that you liked about your acquaintance with him. He was steadfast and reliable, almost a secret confidant that you felt you could confess things to — even the dark thoughts in the corners of your mind that leered and snarled at you.
And eventually you started having thoughts that maybe — just maybe — you could get through this.
a Superman/Clark Kent x fem!Reader fanfiction
click here for the ao3 version
SUMMARY
In which Superman saves you from killing yourself, and now you have to live with the consequences.
Years after saving you from the bridge you jumped off of as Superman, Clark Kent recognises you a bit too well when you join the Daily Planet as a new photographer.
CW
heavy suicidal thoughts, depression, graphic imagery of violence, eventual smut, slow burn
Cockwarming Price, except no one on base knew that you two were fucking.
Which meant that every time someone knocked on the door — everyone someone just walked past, the echo of their shoes even from outside sounding loud against the hushed, slick noises you were making — Price had to effectively push you under his desk (much to your displeasure).
You’d mewl and whine every time, but was always shut up as soon as Price stuffed your mouth full to the point where you could only gargle and choke on your complaints, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes.
It was humiliating, being his secret, his little pet — but oddly exhilarating, too. Which was why you always came crawling back for more.
“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that— a good girl, you are,” Price grumbled, voice rough with need — the low timbre sending vibrations through your spine that pooled at the bottom of your navel in the form of pure arousal.
You could only sigh, eyelids fluttering as he shifted and the heavy limb inside of you twitched languidly, kissing your cervix with a delicious stretch. “John…”
“Don’t talk, baby, save those pretty lips for later,” he muttered, placing a thick hand over your mouth to shush you. This time, you didn’t protest — you were going to savour all the time he allowed you to sit on his meaty cock, because it felt like fucking heaven.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Fuck, I— uh— one second,” John grunted, quickly pushing you off of his lap and readjusting his posture.
“Something wrong, Cap?” The deep, accented voice of Ghost rang out, as the door swans open. Not that you could see him, much to your dismay.
If you were able to see him, you would have noticed how his eyes flicked from the flush on John’s face, to the hastily tidied papers in his desk, and then to the odd angle his desk was placed at.
“Nothing at all, Lieutenant.” He said it like a challenge. Daring his soldier to ask why the room smelled of sex, and why it was coming from Price.
“Nothing, huh?”
A pointed silence.
“Nothing.”
Ghost grunted once. “Well, maybe next time let me know beforehand. I might want to join in on morning, myself.”
I think maybe it would be beneficial for you to put your content warnings at the start of a piece, not just in the tags. Like
CW: Character death, CW: Angst no comfort because MY HEARTTT 🥺🥺 I did not mean to read something sad today
It's tough ik bc people are like "Tag your CWs and TWs" which is true, but works better on ao3 than tumblr because ao3 you see them BEFORE you read and accidentally upset yourself. I totally agree that everyone is in charge of protecting themselves from what they read, and that it isn't the writer's responsibility, but I can't protect myself if I don't know what's coming bc there are no warning to take heed of.
You know?
don’t worry, i absolutely agree, and i am so sorry I didn’t mean to do that 😭 😭
the post you’re referring to is (i think) my first true angst and character death post, and so i probably haven’t tagged it properly as you mentioned. but thanks for letting me know and i’ll make appropriate changes now <3
Everyone on base knew it — were certain of it, in fact — without the topic even needing to be brought up. It was instinctual and plain; if you even attempted to touch the huge, scary, masked man, you would end up regretting it.
It wasn’t as if Ghost made it obvious that he felt touch-starved, and isolated in the way that everyone naturally skirted around him. Why would he ever bother to expose such a vulnerability, even to his closest teammates? Besides, it didn’t matter, anyway. They were all soldiers. It wasn’t a tea party.
Which was why it was such a shock to have you join the team. You, who wasn’t even particularly touchy, but who stuck by his side as if you were glued. Who allowed your arm to brush against his chest without yanking it back, who took his hand when you wanted to show him something, who treated him like someone.
It was an odd feeling, to be wanted for the first time. Overwhelming, to say the least.
That wasn’t to say it was unpleasant. Slowly — but undoubtedly surely — Ghost began to warm back up to you in the same way that you did to him. He sat with you in the lunch hall. Made conversation after missions. Followed you around in the way a lost puppy would — so odd in such a place as this, and yet so needed.
Ghost didn’t know he was on the brink of losing himself before he met you, and you pulled him all the way back.
You taught him how to feel again, and not just in the physical sense.
Such a bond forming between two people so unlike each other is rare, but not unheard of. And so you two became more. Tentative, but there.
On every mission, you were his lifeline.
It was like that for a while. But not long enough. Never long enough.
And when he watched the last tear fall from your eyes, felt the slowing of your heart against his chest, and trembled as your hand finally fell limp cradled in his own, his world shattered completely.
First: love you, I hope your pillow is always cold and puffy
Second: can I request a silly thing for Simon? ... Like reader teasing him with something he "says" he doesn't "like" (idk smth like edging or calling him daddy or something of the sort) and he might not like it or finds it cringe but whatever, but that ain't stopping him, or damn might even give him a reason to be extra mean... OR the other way around - Simon doing it to reader?! OR alternatively Simon and reader having the conversation about what they don't like or do like in bed, and one of them is shy or embarrassed? dk I'm horny but feel silly ok!?
LOVE YOU💕💕💕 No pressure if you don't want to write this of course, you always come first ❣️
(no pun intended... If you can believe that....)
LOVE YOU TOO ANON AWWW AND OF COURSE??? IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE… you gave me so many ideas so I’ll just go with the first one for this and i may or may not do some of the others later… CW: blowjob, afab!reader, edging, general freakiness so 18+ goes without saying (ALSO I’M SO SORRY THIS SAT IN MY DRAFTS FOR MONTHS ILYILYILY I SWEAR)
Simon was close — you could tell because he had begun whining, and he’d never do that normally unless he was so blissed out of his mind that the quiet noise could escape him.
“Feel good, Si?” You gasped, pausing the bobbing of your mouth on his cock to catch your breath — and tease him.
He could only whine again, and if that didn’t turn someone on, then you weren’t sure that anything could. Meanwhile, his dick pulsed and throbbed, twitching the moment you ran your tongue down it once more. “So good… God, don’t… don’t stop… please…” His hips began to rut upwards on instinct, and you bit back a grin before slowly pulling yourself away and rubbing his slit with your thumb.
“Mmm—mph…” His eyes, previously half-lidded, widened in surprise. “What the fuck are you… doing?”
“Nothing,” you replied innocently — far too innocently — before licking him all the way up from the base at a torturous speed. “You like that? Like taking things slow?”
He grunted, letting his eyes flutter shut again — and although you could sense how you were winding him up, he didn’t snap quite yet. “Hurry the— ugh— fuck up.”
“What’s the magic word?”
He visibly tensed at that, and you gave a teasing caress to his balls before returning your focus to his tip. He was so close, and you were killing him.
“The hell?”
“What’s the magic word, Si?”
A long silence stretched out, and you gave his tip another short suck before moving again.
“…P-please…”
“Good boy,” you cooed, taking his length in both your hands and running them up and down — your mouth following dutifully.
“Fuckin’ hell… mmm…”
You always knew when he was about to cum. You could sense it in the way his balls visibly tightened, the way his breathing stuttered for just a moment, the way his eyes rolled back almost imperceptibly.
He came thick and heavy, and you moaned as it left his cock in ropes.
The moment he finished, he straightened, breathing heavy. Suddenly, there was a hand around your throat and two furious eyes locked onto your face. “Who the fuck do you think you are, edging me?”
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