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.”
A/N: this is a trope i’ve never done before but i’ve been seeing so much of it that i’ve enjoyed that i’ve decided to try out a tiny drabble — main inspiration from @softaestluv so if anyone enjoys this PLEASE check her out she has like a horde of the most delicious rambles
Deer!reader who finds yourself on a dark porch in the middle of the night — covered in blood from the wound that ripped into the soft flesh of your hind leg.
You’d whine and tremble and whimper in terror, blood seeping into the floorboards of the seemingly abandoned cottage, but the forest was empty — and the wolf that stalked you was fast approaching.
No, not approaching.
There.
Frozen like a deer in headlights was a cruel and ironic way to describe the way you felt when your gaze locked on its glinting eyes, peeking out from the inky mist in front of you. It were as if all your muscles had locked up, preventing you from fleeing, undoubtedly readying themselves for your ultimate demise.
Your whines cut off abruptly, your vocal chords refusing to work.
The wolf took a step forward. Taunting. The light of the moon gleaming on its silver-white coat, and revealing it’s muzzle stained with a deep, gory maroon.
Another step. And another.
And then it was running.
This was it. This was the end.
You curled up into a ball, whimpering, sobbing, bleating — praying for something to come and save you from the fate that stared you in the face.
So when a pair of thick, rough hands wrapped around your torso and hauled you inside, you didn’t make a single move of protest.
There was a bang — some shouts, and a loud growling sound. But it was muffled. Blocked by something — and you quickly realised that you were no longer outside, and held by something that felt much bigger than any man.
”What have we got here, hmm?”
His voice was deep — velvety and soothing in a way that calmed you immensely despite the throbbing that still plagued your leg. You offered a small bleat, still too shaken up to form words.
“A pretty wee thing you are, eh?” Another voice — different and accented, but no less pleasing, added. “Think I want to keep this one.”
“Oh, yeah. No doubt about that.” One more voice. Three, in total, you managed to work out.
You blinked rapidly, soft doe eyes struggling to make out faces in the bleak half-light. You shifted weakly, turning to face the area that the voices came from.
And the last thing that filled your mind was the image of three rugged, hairy faces staring at you — before unconsciousness overcame you and you went fully limp in the bearded one’s arms.
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.”
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.
Just imagine sleeping with bear hybrid Price. Like, that man is already a living heater, but add bear to the mix?
Heavenly snuggles.
Obviously, the constant ops mean that he isn’t actually able to hibernate properly — much to his annoyance — but it does mean that whenever he does get the chance to rest, like when he’s back home for a few days, he’s out like a light.
And he takes you with him.
It doesn’t matter what you’re doing — if Price gets the urge for any reason, his thick arms are around your torso and pressing you to his side within moments. Unfortunately for you, being his mate, his sleepiness will often affect you as well — so one moment you’ll be standing up and making dinner, and the next you’ll be crumpling limply against his chest with your eyes fluttering, already half-asleep.
You’ll sometimes complain about it, but honestly? Nothing made you feel safer than sleeping with your huge, affectionate bear hybrid husband.
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?”
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.
