sc3ptre
sc3ptre
Formerly the writer r66dus
62 posts
She/Her | I write about hot men i need badly idk
Last active 3 hours ago
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
sc3ptre · 21 hours ago
Text
By 30
Pairing: Drew Starkey x fem!reader.
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1104
Tumblr media
Classification: This has the whole package. Angst, fluff and smut and then some more fluff.
Content warnings: Talks of a bad relationship, protected p-in-v sex, nipple play, fingering.
Word count: 3,5k
Divider by me ;)
Tumblr media
You hadn’t known where you were going until the silence of the elevator engulfed you. You watched as the numbers lit up, rising one by one and with each floor, you felt less certain about what would come next. When you finally reached his door, you knocked softly. It was late, he’d just returned to the city and you felt horrible for showing up like this.
When the door opened, his eyes met yours. Red and puffy, tears still occasionally slipping down your cheeks. His heart dropped at the sight of you, immediately swinging the door open wider and gently cradling your face.
“What did he do?” Drew asked with worry in his voice, though you could still hear the simmering anger he was trying to hide. This wasn’t the first time but it sure would be the last.
You shrugged, attempting the best tight-lipped smile you could muster. “Surpriseee,” you rasped, your voice raw from crying and arguing.
Drew shook his head and pulled you inside, guiding you straight to the kitchen. He poured you a glass of water and set it in front of you as you perched on a kitchen stool. He looked down at you with such intensity you couldn’t bear to meet his gaze any longer.
You sighed, then spoke in a whisper. “I told him to leave.”
You could almost see Drew’s shoulders sink in relief. “What happened?”
A bitter laugh escaped you. “‘What happened?’ What happened is that I’m done. I can’t… I’ve wasted six years of my fucking life on that guy,” you said, swiping angrily at your tears. A pause followed as memories of the past few years flashed through your mind. You were twenty-two when you met him, back then he was exactly what you needed but he soon got lazy, maybe even bored and you overcompensated. Even after all that effort, this was how it ended. You weren’t just tired… you were exhausted.
“I caught him texting a girl,” you said quietly, barely audible as you looked up at Drew. Your frown deepened as another tear slipped free. “He went into the shower and I had his iPad for a second. The notification came through and I read everything…all of it.” You swallowed. “They’ve been fucking for a year.”
“Y/n…”
“I stormed into the shower and confronted him,” you said, nodding to yourself. “Told him I was done, that he needed to get out… . He started packing his things, complaining about where he’d stay tonight and I just… I couldn’t take it. So I left, because I’m a coward and now I’m here.”
“If you think I’m going to let you talk about yourself like that, you’re mistaken.” He wiped your tears and gently tilted your face up so you had to look at him. “I’m proud of you.”
You sniffled.
“Do you hear me? I’m proud of you,” he repeated. “Stay here as long as you need. When you’re ready, we’ll go to your place together and do whatever you decide.”
You shook your head. “No, I didn’t come here for that.” You glanced around, noticing his suitcases still near the door. You rose from the stool, but he stopped you quickly.
“Sit back down.” His tone was firm, he didn’t move until you complied. Something fluttered in your stomach, something you hadn’t felt in years with your partner. The one who made you carry all the weight, all the masculine energy, for the both of you.
“You–you just got back. I can’t do that. You must want some peace and quiet–”
“What I want is for you to stay put and recover somewhere you’re loved. I was going to come find you in the morning anyway,” he said, walking away towards the guest bedroom once he was sure you wouldn’t leave.
You snorted. “Missed me?”
He scoffed. “Always do.”
There it was again, the flutter. You fiddled with your hands in your lap, kicking your legs gently. It was only then you realized you were wearing one of Drew’s old hoodies.
“What?” he asked when he returned and saw your face.
“Nothing.” You sniffled again. “Your place looks nice, Drew Starkey.”
“Stop,” he replied softly, making you chuckle. He was rarely just “Drew” to you, most often he was “Drewbear.” You’d met before acting was ever a career path for him and though you’d never accept his thanks, you were a big reason he’d found the motivation to pursue it.
“It does look nice,” you whispered timidly, offering him a small smile. He was just glad to see you smiling at all.
He nodded, glancing around. “Why don’t you go shower? Wash the day away,” he suggested gently. “You’ll sleep better.”
He was right. After spending some time under the hot water, you did feel better. Emerging into a dimly lit apartment, you followed the only light you could see. His clothes hung loosely on your body, warm and smelling faintly of him, providing you with all the comfort you could ask for. 
You found him in his room, unpacking his suitcase and putting things away. When he noticed you, he straightened up and walked over with a soft smile until you both leaned against opposite sides of the doorframe, just like two young adults again, dancing around feelings too big to chase.
“Feel better?” he asked quietly.
You nodded and strangely so, you struggled to meet his gaze, something you’d never done before. You could feel his eyes on you, intense…gentle.
“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or do I have to ask a thousand questions?”
“There’s nothing in there,” you mumbled.
“C’mon.”
“No, I’m serious, there’s—” Then you met his eyes. There had been…nothing.
It came out as a whisper, your eyes blinking in confusion as you tried to identify this new something stirring within you. Your stomach fluttered, your breath felt hollow and he looked different. Drew stepped toward you then, cupping your face in his hands with his fingertips threading gently through your damp hair.
“Whenever you’re ready to talk, even if it’s at three a.m., you come find me,” he whispered, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. As you looked at him, it felt like only a second had passed, except it was more. Whatever he saw in your eyes was that something you could almost name now.
He leaned in slowly, as if he didn’t realize he was moving closer. Your eyelids fluttered shut, lips parted as his nose ghosted across yours. He was so close you were sharing oxygen, your senses peaking along with your heartbeat.
“Tell me this is wrong,” he whispered. And you should, you knew what he meant. Of course you did. You, in distress, at 1 a.m. at his door…this could only go one way.
“What is?”
“Don’t do that,” he murmured, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. “You don’t need this right now.”
Your hands gripped his arms, afraid he’d step back.
“One more second like this and I won’t be able to pretend anymore,” he continued, his forehead pressing gently against yours.
And then, out of fear or maybe desperation, you pressed your lips against his in a kiss that didn’t take your breath away, but revived you. Lips wrapping yours in warmth you didn’t know you had been looking for, dancing a slow dance you still remembered.
He fought hard against his desire to pull away but he did just enough to speak. Your lips chased his with a soft desperate gasp you wished you could’ve kept in.
“You’re confused.”
You shook your head, still pressed to his forehead. “I still think about it,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “The way you loved me. I regret not trying. I regret not letting myself love you and—”
When the first tear fell, he couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t stand to see you cry for that man, much less for him. His lips claimed yours again with an intensity that matched your very first kiss all those years ago. Feelings you thought had disappeared were only dormant, buried beneath the weight of a relationship that had taken away your spark.
He kissed you slowly, with care, as though he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he'd been alive. Eventually he pulled back, needing you both to catch your breath.
“Why the past tense?”
“Huh?” You were lost, floating somewhere in the clouds. He pecked your lips gingerly to bring you back.
“I still love you,” he confessed softly, “that never changed.”
You blinked, pulling back enough to look into his eyes, searching for any sign of a lie. All this time…
“All the ‘I love you’s’…”
They hadn’t been reminders of what you’d let go but persistent signals that the first boy you ever loved was still here.
He studied your face for a moment, eyes searching, hands gentle on your jaw, thumbs lightly stroking your cheeks. His forehead still rested against yours, breath mingling in the small space between you.
“Are you sure?” he asked, voice a low, careful rumble. “I want you, but only if you want this too. I need you to tell me, baby.”
Your lips trembled, slightly stretching into a soft smile at a nickname you hadn’t heard in so long. “Always wanted you, just thought it couldn’t happen,” you whispered, letting yourself finally admit it to him and to yourself.
He smiled softly, reverently, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, then another… slow, savoring the moment. His hands drifted down your sides, resting at your hips as he pressed your body back against the doorframe, molding his warmth to yours. He kissed you deeper now, tongue flicking teasingly against yours, coaxing a soft moan from your throat. The sound made him smile against your mouth.
He broke away to brush your hair behind your ear, looking at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. “If you want to stop, anytime, just say the word, okay? I need you to promise me.”
You nodded, breathless. “I promise.”
He led you to his bed walking backwards, the room as softly lit as the rest of his apartment. He took his time undressing you once you were on the bed, pressing light kisses to each new inch of skin revealed. His hands were so gentle as he slipped off your hoodie and then your shirt, his lips trailing a path down your neck and collarbone.
He cupped your breasts with both hands, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peaked beneath his touch. The sensation shocked a gasp out of you, so sensitive after so long untouched and he grinned, catching your reaction and leaning down to wrap his lips around one nipple, sucking gently before rolling his tongue against it. This was nothing like the first time with him, he was much more confident and comfortable which allowed you to turn off your brain and trust him enough to take the lead.
You shuddered beneath him, fingers tangling in his hair. “Drew…oh god” Your body arched up into his mouth involuntarily.
He looked up, pupils blown wide. “You like that, baby?”
You whimpered, nodding, unable to form words. He lavished attention on your breasts, his hands kneading, mouth switching from one nipple to the other, alternating between soft licks and firmer sucks until your hips were rocking up against him without thought.
At this, he slid his hand down between your bodies, over your stomach and down to the band of your underwear, pausing to look at you. “Is this okay?”
“Please,” you breathed, desperate.
He slipped his hand inside, fingers sliding through your slickness, warm and wet. You gasped at the contact, thighs spreading apart for him. He was so careful, gentle, exploring you with patience and no rush, like he remembered exactly what you liked. When his thumb found your clit and circled it just right, you let out a wanton moan that surprised even you.
Drew grinned, pressing a kiss to your temple. “God, you’re so beautiful. I missed you…so much.” He kept his attention on your clit, fingers working slow circles, coaxing more shameless sounds from your lips all while pressing kisses all over your face and neck.
In return, you buried your face in his neck, almost overwhelmed with some worry creeping in. “Drew, I–I haven’t…” Your voice faltered.
He pulled back slightly, concern flickering in his eyes. “What is it? Too much?”
You shook your head. “No. God, no, it’s not that. I just… I haven’t… had an orgasm in years.” You forced a shaky laugh between moans. “My ex…he didn’t really care about that or never could. I’m kind of… broken, or something. So… don’t worry if nothing happens.”
His expression softened completely. He kissed the very edge of your jaw, slowly making his way to your lips. “Hey. You’re not broken, not even close. Let me take care of you, yeah? We don’t have to rush anything.”
You nodded, tears stinging your eyes for a different reason now. Two fingers pushed into you slowly, curling up and out as he watched your face twitch in pleasure, walls fluttering around his digits as moans escaped your parted lips. He wanted to say so much. How he didn’t understand how that man didn’t worship you everyday of his life, how you didn’t know you deserved to go to sleep beautifully blissed out and drunk on sex as much as it was humanly acceptable. He also wanted to apologize for not doing something, anything, to get you away from him sooner but you’d argue, rightfully so, that it wasn’t anyone's choice but your own. 
When your whines became louder, more shameless, he pulled his fingers out, pulling his hardened length out of his boxers and coating the tip with your slick, making his breathing hitch in anticipation. He then stripped off his shirt and boxers with you watching, his body familiar and safe, grabbing a condom from the nightstand and rolling it on slowly, catching your stare with a soft smile. “Are you okay?”
You nodded sheepishly as he kissed you again, tender and deep, settling between your parted thighs. He lined himself up, pausing one more time to look you in the eyes. “Anytime,” he murmured. “You can stop this at anytime”
“I want you,” you said again, voice strong with certainty.
He rubbed his tip along your folds before pushing in slowly, stretching you in a way you hadn’t felt in so long it was almost foreign, except for how right it felt with him. He moved inch by inch, watching every reaction on your face and pausing if you tensed or gasped too hard all while your nails dug into his arms.
When he was fully sheathed inside you, he stilled and kissed your cheeks, your eyelids, your lips again and again. “You feel incredible,” he whispered. Reassurance, something you hadn’t heard in so long, caused your walls to pulsate around him, making him groan. “How are you feeling?”
“Good, it feels…” you sighed, “It feels great, overwhelming but great”
You wrapped your legs around his waist as he began to move in a slow, rocking rhythm, deep and loving but still sending shivers of pleasure through your whole body. He kept one hand twined with yours next to your head, the other splayed on your waist as he moved. You moaned wantonly into his ear, each deep stroke tugging a knot tighter in your core.
His mouth found your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth while he rolled his hips just right. Your nerves felt raw, every sensation multiplied as for once in years you only had to concentrate on him and every sensation bubbling within you. You couldn’t stop the sounds coming from your throat if you tried, every moan, gasp, and whimper echoing in his ears, even when it felt foreign to let them out.
“That’s right, let me hear you,” he urged, nipping at your shoulder. “I want to know how good it feels.”
“It’s–ugh fuck, I think I..uh!” You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the pleasure sharper and deeper than anything you’d felt in years and it was hard not to hyper focus on it. He shifted his hips one more time and his thumb finding your clit again.
That was all it took.
You came hard around him with a cry, back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over you. You called out for him as you did, moans muffled by his shoulder as you hugged him as close as you could. It was so intense you sobbed with relief, your whole body trembling, shaking apart in his arms, and of course, he held you through it, murmuring sweet nothings into your hair that meant everything, eventually slowing his thrusts until you could breathe again, making you forget how ashamed you felt at falling apart so fast.
As you came down, tears slipped from your eyes and he brushed them away gently. “See?” he whispered softly. “You’re not broken, baby.”
He shifted to kiss you again, never leaving you empty or alone. With the aftershocks still trembling through you, he rocked into you gently, his own moans joining yours as he worked towards his release, eliciting another from you. It was slow and it took time, time he had for you, along with patience and respect he communicated not only with the way he looked at you but with his words. You weren’t an object anymore, you never should’ve been in the first place.
When he finally came with a low groan of your name, you felt it everywhere. In the press of his body, the tight grip of his hand in yours, in the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered and in the “I love you's" he told, where you finally could hear and feel the love fueling them.
Afterwards, he stayed wrapped around you, kissing sweat from your forehead and whispering how proud he was, how beautiful you were and how much he loved you. He also wasn’t afraid of not hearing it back in that same tone, letting you know that you could take your time and that you’d be the one deciding the pace and direction this would take. 
And for the first time in years, you felt whole again.
Your mind screamed at you to say it back, those three words, but deep down, you knew there was still healing to do from something you didn’t break. The difference now was that someone finally cared enough to help you piece it together, someone who wasn’t going to leave just because you weren’t whole yet.
Time moved slow now and as you cuddled, Drew sighed happily beneath you and with your head on his chest, you could hear the way his heart picked up speed before he even spoke.
“I’m thirty-one,” he said simply.
You let out a tired, quiet laugh. “I know. I’ve been going to your birthday parties for the past twenty years.”
He paused. “No. I mean…I’m thirty…one.”
You lifted your head slightly, brows knitting together as you stared up at him. Maybe good sex made you a little stupid. “I heard you the first time. What’s your point?”
He didn’t answer right away, just looked at you, really looked. After a moment, without shifting much, he reached over and opened the drawer in his nightstand. From it, he pulled out a single, neatly folded piece of paper and handed it to you. You sat up slowly, a blanket tucked under your arms to cover your bare chest and began unfolding it, all while his fingers grazed your spine as he rubbed lazy, grounding circles on your back.
You recognized the paper instantly with your scrawny handwriting next to his, and at the top, in bold pencil scribble, it read:
Marriage Agreement.
The rest of the contract was vague and mostly illegible, a half-joke between two kids who didn’t know what love was yet but wanted to promise it anyway. The only clear condition was “we’ll get married by thirty”.
You smiled. “This was mine! I thought I lost it.”
“I stole it,” he admitted. “The day I helped you pack your first apartment, right before you moved in with… him.”
Your laugh was soft, disbelieving. “What? For leverage?”
He ran a hand over his face, the moment heavier now. “I don’t know. I don’t remember much from that day. I don’t know why I took it and I also don’t know why I didn’t stop you.”
Your gaze dropped back to the paper, to your childish signature next to his. You were probably nine, secretly in love with him and overjoyed that he humored you by signing.
“You’re thirty-one,” you repeated, quieter this time, now understanding what he meant.
He nodded. “Unless… unless we meant you turning thirty. Which means…”
“We’re two years away,” you finished for him, your voice nearly a whisper.
He let out a breath. “Yeah. I don’t know if contracts like this expire, so… I thought I’d ask.”
You didn’t hesitate. “Not to me,” you said, folding the paper again with care. “Definitely not this one.”
313 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 2 days ago
Note
hiii hope your having a good day!!!
i needddd a daryl fic where f!reader is very girly and feminine but knows how to kick ass. she comes back from a run covered in blood but in pink, nails painted kinda looks like sum out of a magazine and daryl is gets a little hot and bothered…possibly ending in a makeout…hope this makes sense
ofc change anything you wanna and have a good dayy!🩷🩷🫶🫶🫶
Post-Apocalyptic Barbie: Employee of the month
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1114
Tumblr media
Classification: Fluff
Temporal setting: Season 4
Word count: 0.5k
Tumblr media
Daryl knew you were tough.
He’d seen you drop a walker with a single jab of a lip liner pencil between the eyes while humming a pop song, swaying like you were just dancing through the end of the world. He’d seen you stitch up your own leg without so much as a grunt, cry over a broken nail and also once mourn a pair of ripped stockings like they were family.
So yeah…tough but never not girly.
That afternoon, when you returned from the run, Daryl was already in the yard fixing the gate hinge. He glanced up at the sound of the truck door slamming but what he saw made his hands pause mid-wrench.
You hopped out with your pink tank top soaked in blood, splattered, smeared and dripping down the front like you’d walked through a horror movie. Your matching pink scrunchie was askew on your head, long lashes still fluttering behind blood-speckled sunglasses and your nails, baby pink with glitter tips, were somehow still perfect as you wiped a smear of gore off your cheek with the back of your hand.
And you were…smiling.
“Dixon!” you called, stepping over a walker arm you must’ve dragged in behind the truck. “You should’ve seen me out there. Got five of them, one pipe and zero hesitation.”
He just stood and stared in that shameless way he always did..
You stopped short, tilting your head. “What?”
Daryl blinked, shaking his head. “Ain’t said nothin’.”
Yet he was looking, Gosh, was he looking. His jaw ticked and his eyes lingered on the blood clinging to your collarbone, on the curve of your shoulder and the way your lips were still glossed beneath the dirt.
“What?” you asked again, walking up and bumping him with your hip. “You never seen a badass Barbie before?”
He grunted, gaze dragging down to your legs, bare, scuffed and strong.
“You’re gonna give someone a damn heart attack walkin’ ‘round like that,” he muttered, voice lower now.
“By someone, you mean…you?”
He looked away, smirking under his breath. “Uh-huh”
You didn’t reply. Instead, you reached up, curled your fingers into the straps of his vest and tugged him just a little closer.
“Shouldn’t have to choose between being pretty and dangerous, right?” you asked softly.
“Nah,” Daryl said, voice rough. “I like both.”
You barely had time to grin before he kissed you. Rough hands on your waist, mouth slanting over yours like he’d been waiting a hell of a lot longer than he was willing to admit. Your fingers curled tighter in his vest, pulling him closer until the world blurred around the edges.
It was fast, hot, and a little messy with your blood-stained tank top, his calloused hands and the way he lifted you slightly off the ground like you weighed nothing at all…and when he finally pulled back, breath heavy, lips bruised, he looked down at you like he couldn’t decide if he should apologize or do it again.
You licked your lips. “Damn, Dixon.”
“Wha’?” he said with a shrug but this time he was smiling.
You bumped his nose with yours. “If this is how you react, I’m wearing pink every run.”
“You wear that pink again,” he rasped, hand still on your hip, “and I ain’t waitin’ 'til yer back behind the gates to get m’ hands on ya.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time” You giggled and Daryl Dixon, certified brooding woodsman, grinned like a man completely gone.
134 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 3 days ago
Text
Clark Kent: $ex toy connoisseur
Pairing: david!clark kent x fem!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938
A/n: I MAY BE YOUNG BUT IM READYYYYYY
Summary: Breaking news! The "Daily O" causes earthquakes between your thighs and journalist Clark Kent is eagerly ready to report!
Classification: Smut-ish +18 | Portrayal of female masturbation and orgasms, use and talk of sex toys.
Word count: 2,9k
Divider by me ;)
Tumblr media
Sometimes it was hard to believe Clark was real and not just in the sense that he wasn’t human.
Even before you started dating him, you had made peace with the idea that you’d never step into that particular mess again, you simply didn’t feel the need to. One thing being single had taught you was that if a man wasn’t making your life easier, then you were better off alone. 
Of course, there were moments when the loneliness pressed in, not so much for companionship but in the quieter ache of an untouched body. Your sex life had been nonexistent, so you invested in toys that you were sure would serve you faithfully for years to come.
Never in your wildest imagination did you think you’d meet someone who wouldn’t make you throw them all away but Clark Kent, as it turned out, had a deep appreciation for self-care.
Tonight was one of his long patrols, one of those nights where he stretched himself thin across the city, making everyone’s life just a little bit easier. Sometimes he returned at dawn with exhaustion etched into his smile, other times he slipped into bed just hours after you’d fallen asleep, curling around you like you were the only soft thing in the world. Either way, you were alone in your shared apartment and when that happened, you had your own routine to fall back on.
Self-care nights, for you, meant a little ritual: a book propped on the edge of the tub, the comfort of hot water lapping at your skin, a glass of wine within reach…and almost always, they ended like tonight, with your vibrator humming steadily between your thighs, filling the empty space where his warmth should’ve been.
The toy wasn’t from your own small collection, it was one he had gifted you. The memory was still fresh…It had been a romantic dinner at home, candlelight flickering against his glasses and then in typical Clark Kent fashion, dessert had come with a twist. Resting neatly on the plate was a wrapped box and inside, a vibrator inspired by the hero. Boldly branded The Daily O, a cheeky nod to the only newspaper he ever talked to, complete with the tagline: “Where every climax is the top story, with headlines that make you scream.”
You’d laughed so hard you nearly spilled your wine and after thanking him with a kiss, you tucked it away, promising to try it “someday.” Tonight, someday had arrived.
What you didn’t know was that Clark was already aware of exactly what he’d be walking into. Somewhere high above the city, on his flight back home, he caught the sound of your voice and moans carrying sharp and clear through the night. They wrapped around him like a magnetic pull, so loud and desperate that you hadn’t even heard him land.
He slipped in quietly through the living room window, peeling off the Superman suit in practiced silence. He reached for the slightly-damp laundry on the rack and slipped a change of clothes on, anything to avoid barging into the bedroom too soon.
And then he froze.
For a moment, he just stood there in the dim light of the living room, muscles taut, arms pinned to his sides as if the wrong movement might shatter the spell. Your moans drifted through the house even louder than before, carrying the unmistakable rhythm of pleasure. A slow, lazy smile curved across his lips as the realization finally sank in, you were indulging in one of your self-care nights and this time, you were using his gift.
He loved that you carved out nights just to pamper yourself. It was one of the things that drew him to you, the way you treated your own body with care and never apologized for needing time to yourself. And though every fiber of his was tempted to break that boundary, to step into the bedroom and replace the hum of your toy with his growing cock, he stayed put. 
Still, your pleasure threaded through him like a current he couldn’t ignore. Every gasp, every shudder and ragged whisper of his name curled in his ears, vivid as if you were moaning directly into his mouth. He busied himself in the kitchen, opening the fridge and pretending to scan the shelves for something to eat, when really he was fighting the twitch of his cock in his pants. 
The moment you came again, sharp, raw and punctuated by a low curse, his grip on the fridge handle tightened, knuckles whitening, before he tugged at it just a little harder than necessary. With a soft pop, the handle came free in his hand and he froze, eyes wide, holding the detached piece as if it were both a minor catastrophe and something he’d seen before.
A quiet groan escaped him and without missing a beat, he snapped it back into place, like this wasn’t the first time the fridge had survived one of your self-care nights.
By the time you cleaned yourself up and padded out of the bedroom, your limbs heavy and satisfied, you’d already guessed he was home because the soft snap of the fridge's handle had given him away.
“Baby?” you called, voice a little hoarse from overuse, following the glow of the kitchen light.
Clark straightened immediately, head lifting and when he saw you, hair mussed, cheeks flushed and wrapped in nothing but a thin robe and that post-orgasm glow, his heart stumbled in his chest. The fridge clicked shut, forgotten, as he crossed the room to you, his movements unhurried and familiar.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, eyes soft, lips tugging into that small smile he reserved only for you. “Good self-care night?”
Your laugh bubbled up unguarded, cheeks heating as you stepped into his arms, burying your face against his chest. His scent, warmth and steady heartbeat were always the real end to your ritual.
He wrapped his arms around you the instant you reached him, pulling you into a tight embrace. His chest shook with a soft chuckle at the sound of your laughter, clearly amused by the relaxed, sated glow radiating off you.
“Sure looks like you had a good time,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. His voice was rich with affection, that teasing warmth only he could deliver. “You look like you’re glowing.”
With effortless strength, he guided you toward the living room, never loosening his hold until he sank into the couch and tugged you into his lap.
You melted against him, limbs heavy and pliant, your giggle muffled against his shirt. You loved how easy he made it, how there wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his support, only quiet pride. 
“Thank you,” you sighed. “I had fun.”
Clark let out a low rumble of satisfaction, the sound reverberating through his chest as you molded perfectly against him. His large hands traced slow circles across your back.
 “Good,” he whispered near your ear, voice so deep it sent a shiver down your spine. “You deserve it, baby.” He pressed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck, lingering just a moment too long, lips brushing lazily against your warm skin.
“Were you eavesdropping?” you asked suddenly, tilting your head to glance at him.
“Not on purpose,” he muttered into your neck, his mouth curving against your skin. “Almost flew into a building because of it, though.”
You hummed knowingly, lips twitching. “That’s what you get for being nosy.”
His chuckle rumbled low and playful. “Can’t help it. Hard to think those moans weren’t for me.” His hand slid lower on your back, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip. “Next time, maybe I’ll try singing out loud while flying to distract myself."
Your laugh came soft and incredulous, your forehead dropping to his. “We both know that won’t work,” you muttered but your grin betrayed you.
“Kept yourself busy?” he asked then, voice gentle, the question carrying that quiet intimacy you both craved after long days.
“I ordered in, left some pizza in the microwave for you…took a bath…oh, and I finished my book too.” You hummed thoughtfully, recounting your night. “Had some wine…and watched half a movie.”
Clark listened, his gaze softening with warmth and affection as you rattled off each little indulgence. The image of you soaking in the bath, curled up with wine and a book, made him smile from deep in his chest. He genuinely loved how you took the time to care for yourself and hearing you describe it made the apartment feel cozier somehow.
“Sounds like you had a good night,” he said, corners of his mouth lifting in a lazy, satisfied grin. “Did the bath help you relax? And the book, was it any good?”
“Very relaxing,” you replied, practically melting into him. “The book was good…just a bit predictable toward the end but I’m still going to read the rest of the series. I think I’ll go buy them tomorrow.”
He chuckled softly, the sound warm and easy, shaking his head at your critique. He knew your discerning tastes in literature and hearing you discuss them with such passion never failed to make him smile.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured with gentle teasing. His hand lifted to caress your face, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Take my card, will you?” His grin deepened with playful intent. “And I’ll start prepping for the bookworm onslaught.”
You chuckled, then groaned, “Also…where the hell did you find that vibrator??”
Clark’s grin widened then, mischief sparkling in his eyes. He knew exactly which toy you meant and the memory of hunting it down for you still made him a little cocky.
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a lower, huskier tone. “That, my dearest, is a trade secret,” he replied, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s just say I have my sources. Did you…like it?”
“Did I like it???” you practically shrieked, bursting into laughter. “Baby, we have to sleep in the guest bedroom!” You groaned, shaking your head, “I didn’t think it’d be that good, so I didn’t put anything under me, and I…well, I squirted.” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before dissolving into uncontrollable laughter, watching Clark’s face as it morphed from shock to amusement.
He lost it, bursting into laughter too. The mental image of you, unsuspecting and overwhelmed, absolutely too much for him to handle. The thought alone made him shake his head.
“Golly, sweetheart,” he managed to gasp between laughs. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.”
You wiped tears of laughter from your eyes, still giggling uncontrollably. “I put the sheets in the washing machine but…the mattress is wet. I’m so sorry!” Your apology was halfhearted at best, the laughter too deep to take anything seriously.
He continued to laugh with you, shaking his head at your unapologetic tone. It was clear you were too caught up in laughter to be truly sorry about the mattress and honestly, he found the whole situation downright hilarious.
“Darn it! I should’ve been paying more attention while patrolling to hear it,” he teased, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “Here I was, hoping for a quiet, peaceful end to my night and instead I get the shocking news that the whole bed is soaked.”
“It’s your fault!” you shot back between giggles. “You got me the damn thing!”
Clark feigned shock, one hand flying to his chest in mock offense. “My fault?” he repeated, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “I got you the toy as a gift, baby. How was I supposed to know you’d have such a…uh…enthusiastic reaction?” His gaze danced over you, a mix of feigned innocence and amusement. Clearly, he was far from sorry.
You gasped, clutching your sides from laughter. “Clark Joseph Kent, are you kidding me? What happened the first time we had sex, huh, genius?”
He exploded into laughter again, the memory of your first time together flashing vividly in his mind. The sheer intensity of it had left him reeling and even now, thinking back made his chest tighten in a familiar, delicious way.
“Touché,” he admitted, raising his hands in surrender. “Point taken. Maybe I should’ve known better…but I still maintain I couldn’t have known for sure. Don’t those things come with warning labels?”
You snorted, a playful glint in your eyes. “If they do, I don’t read them…You really do know how to pick ‘em.”
He shook his head, a soft laugh slipping past his lips as his hand reached out to pinch your cheek gently, his gaze warm and full of affection.
“Darn right I do,” he said, his voice low and slightly gruff. “I already know which one to get you next, another addition to your collection… and some waterproof sheets to save our poor bed.”
You laughed, pressing closer. “Can’t wait.” Then, with a hint of guilt, you added, “I’m sorry you can’t sleep in your own bed tonight,” before giggling, “You got home hoping to relax and now we’re stuck in the guest room.”
He feigned a heavy sigh, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “Oh, the sacrifices I make for you,” he said, voice dripping with melodrama. His hands moved to your hips, firm yet gentle, holding you close. “I was looking forward to collapsing into our bed after being clawed by a very mean cat in a tree, might I add, but instead, I get the luxury of the guest room and a night on a lumpy mattress. How will I ever survive?” He paused for maximum effect, then ended the sentence with a teasing, knowing smirk.
Still holding you on his lap, he let the playful banter continue. “All because of you and that darn toy,” he murmured, giving your hips a light squeeze. “I don’t know whether to be mad… or grateful.” His hands began to trace slow, soothing patterns along your skin affectionately.
You laughed at his dramatic flair, burying your face in his neck. “I can’t do anything about the cat, but seriously… why is the mattress so lumpy anyway? We need a new one.”
Clark chuckled at your words, his hands still tracing lazy, soothing patterns along your skin. 
"Good point," he said, tilting his head to give you better access to his neck. “It’s probably just old and beaten up… maybe a little jealous since it doesn’t get the heavenly weekly spray–” He added that last part with mock irritation and a playful glint in his eyes.
“Clark!” you laughed, swatting at him.
“It’s entirely possible,” he said, raising an arm in surrender, though the grin on his face never wavered.
You giggled. “You keep getting me good toys… it’s not entirely my fault. It can’t be.”
He laughed again, shaking his head in exaggerated resignation. “Of course, blame it all on me,” he said, smirking. “It couldn’t possibly be your fault for having such an… enthusiastic response to the toys I give you.”
His hands drifted lower, caressing your thighs with firm but gentle pressure, pulling you closer until you were snug against him in his lap.
“Maybe it’s because I’m thinking of you while doing it,” you murmured, a small, teasing smile on your lips.
“Oh, you are?” he replied, tone playful, leaning closer.
You pressed your lips to his, giggling into the kiss. “I’m a little tipsy,” you admitted, nuzzling him against his shoulder.
Clark’s hands tightened slightly on your hips, his smile softening. “Tipsy and tired… sounds like the perfect combination for me,” he murmured, voice low and affectionate, holding you just a little closer.
Clark returned the kiss, his lips pressing against yours with a gentle insistence. He could taste the faint hint of wine on your breath, mixed with the subtle warmth of your skin and he smiled against you, knowing you were in that blissful, slightly tipsy haze of tiredness.
“I can tell,” he chuckled, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you close. “You’re more giggly than usual, saying everything that pops into your head…not that I’m complaining.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your hazy eyes and the soft curve of your smile. “Let’s get you to bed, baby. You look completely wrecked.” There was affection in his tone, a little pride too. He loved seeing you like this, relaxed, sated from your self-care night, a little tipsy and giddy. It was like discovering a new side of you every time and he adored it.
“Wreck me again. Maybe we can soften that mattress up,” you teased, laughing as he scooped you up bridal style, careful not to jostle you too much on the way to the guest bedroom.
Clark groaned, the familiar twitch in his boxers reminding him just how tempting you were. “You really think that’ll do it?”
You threw your head back in laughter, the sound ringing through the room. “Come on, Clark! Give me that supercock!”
“Sweetheart!” he started but the words were cut off as he kicked the door closed with his foot, grinning down at you.
Turns out, you’d both been worried about how the mattress would hold up but what you hadn’t expected was for the entire bed frame to give way beneath you, collapsing with a loud groan of wood and metal. You both froze for a heartbeat, hearts racing, before bursting into a mix of shocked laughter and breathless exclamations while tangled together on the floor.
Tumblr media
a/n: If your partner's like this, just keep your distance before i get violent (please tell me your secret, i'll make you banana bread)
341 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 6 days ago
Text
Good girls swallow
Pairing: David!Clark Kent x fem!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938
A/n: y’all, big dick’s back in town! Also can someone please tell me real life isn’t like this so I can move on? Thanks!
Summary: Clark interrupts your bathtime and a talk about your relationship ignites the kind of flame that makes his pants tighter, you drop to your knees and...suck.
Classification: Smut +18 | established relationship, BDK (big dick kent), unprotected vaginal sex, Clark can lowkey come on command, praise, blowjob and well...swallowing, fingering.
Word count: 5,8k
Divider by me ;)
Tumblr media
“Making fun of the trunks was one thing but calling me ‘Supershit’? That was completely uncalled for and before you say ‘I thought you didn’t care’...I don’t–” Clark trailed off, shifting in the chair he’d dragged into the bathroom. The light was dim and the steam curled around him like he belonged there, except he didn’t, yet his “intrusion” didn’t shock you so much anymore as this was just his version of ‘hanging out’.
You narrowed your eyes, trying to mask the way your pulse ticked up. “What are you doing again?”
“Like I said, enjoying the view,” he replied without missing a beat, his voice low and unbothered. His gaze tracked the lazy rivulets of water sliding over your collarbone, lingering on every curve the bathwater couldn’t quite conceal.
“You sick fuck.” You rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.
He only grinned wider, leaning back in the chair with the kind of composure that made your irritation feel performative. “Says the woman taking a bath with the door unlocked and wide open.”
“In my house,” you shot back, splashing water against your skin as if the motion could distract you from the intensity of his stare.
“Our house,” he corrected softly, the corner of his mouth twitching with that infuriating confidence. He folded his arms across his chest and the simple act pulled his shirt tighter over his chest and shoulders. The fabric stretched just enough to make your throat go dry and you hated how much your eyes lingered.
“You brought a chair,” you accused, narrowing your eyes further.
He tilted his head, pretending to think about it, eyes glinting with mischief. “What, you expect me to sit on the floor?”
“I wasn’t expecting you here at all.” You scooped a palmful of warm water again and let it trickle down your shoulder, watching him over the rippling surface with suspicion. “Last I saw, you were still doomscrolling the Superman hashtag.”
“I got bored,” he said simply with a shrug, though his eyes betrayed him by slowly dragging down the line of your neck and lingering over your collarbone as well as the slick curve of your shoulders above the water.
“You got mad,” you accused, narrowing your eyes. “Clark, you’ve known me for five years, we’ve been together for three of those… you can’t possibly still look at me like that.”
He leaned back, lips quirking into that wolfish smile he only ever reserved for you. “You forget who you’re talking to,” he murmured. “Five years, ten, fifty…it wouldn’t matter. You really think I’d ever stop looking at you like this?”
His gaze darkened, the teasing sliding away into something heavier, more reverent. “You have no idea how darn beautiful you are to me,” he whispered, voice low enough that it curled into your chest and made your skin prickle.
You tried to hold his eyes, tried to meet the weight of them but it was too much. Your gaze faltered first, heat creeping into your cheeks.
Clark chuckled softly, leaning forward in the chair, forearms braced on his knees. 
“Look at me,” he said gently but unyielding. The command in his tone pulled your chin up before you could think twice. When your eyes finally met his again, his were no longer just soft, they burned with hunger twisting against devotion. His smile was small but it carried so much more behind it. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he asked, his voice rougher, as though the admission alone strained him.
Propped against the edge of the tub, you tilted your chin on top of your hands and offered him a slow, knowing smile. “Really?”
“Really,” he echoed, his eyes softening as they held yours. “You have no idea how lucky I feel every time I look at you. Five years later and you still make me feel like some lovesick teenager.”
You gave him that look, the one that always said kiss me without ever needing words. Catching it, he smirked knowingly, leaned over the tub and cupped your jaw with both hands. His touch was warm and steady, tilting your chin up before he kissed you, slow and deep, a kiss that felt like both a promise and a plea.
When you pulled back, your voice was a hushed tease against his lips. “Are you done obsessing about internet comments?”
“For tonight,” he murmured, brushing another kiss over your mouth before trailing his lips lower, the words vibrating against your skin. His hands slipped from your face, gliding down your neck, to trace the slope of your shoulders, his fingertips feather-light over your arms until you shivered.
You snorted softly. “You care too much about everything.”
“Right now, I care about very few things,” he said, lips still grazing your skin as he spoke. His touch wandered in lazy reverence, every stroke meant to remind you he knew every inch of you by heart. “Those things include you… and not much else.”
Your laugh bubbled out, breathy and fond and you pressed a hand against his chest until he leaned back, though not without stealing one last kiss on his way. 
“Always flirting,” you said with a roll of your eyes, though your smile betrayed you.
He sank back into the chair with a contented sigh, his eyes fixed on you like he couldn’t look away. “It’s not just flirting when I mean it,” he said, voice still rough from your kiss. “I’ll be ninety, blind and senile, and I’ll still be flirting with you every darn day.”
You made a face. “Well, we still don’t know how you’re going to age but either way, that might look a little creepy from the outside.”
“Creepy, sure,” he admitted with a low chuckle. “But you and I will be the only ones who won’t care.”
His gaze flicked over the water’s edge, lingering with that familiar hunger. “Besides,” he added with a grin that was equal parts wolfish and boyish, “I think you’re going to be just as bad as me.”
Your smile curved slowly. “What makes you say that?”
“Oh, come on,” he teased, leaning forward slightly with an arched eyebrow. “You really think either of us is going to have less chemistry when we’re old and gray? You’ll still be throwing me those looks from across the room and I’ll still be eating them up like a starving man at a buffet.”
You burst into laughter, heat rushing up your neck. “What looks?”
"The ones that say, 'Come here now and make love to me'" he replied, heat lingering in his gaze. "The same ones that give me a hard-on in 0.2 seconds flat. Those looks."
“No. You get a hard-on because you’re you.”
"And because of who I’m looking at," he countered smoothly, eyes roaming over you again. "Can you blame me, seeing you like this?”
You glanced down at his crotch, then back up to his face. “You’re saying you have one now?”
He chuckled, utterly unashamed, leaning forward in the chair. His voice dropped to a low rumble. "I've had one since I walked in here and saw you in that tub."
You laughed, throwing your head back, shaking it at him.
He smirked, savoring the sound. Resting his forearms on his knees while his eyes never left you. “What?” he asked with a shrug. “You asked. I answered.”
“You’re insatiable,” you murmured, glancing around for a towel.
He chuckled, the sound low in his chest as he caught your subtle glance toward the counter. Without a word, he reached for the oversized bath towel folded neatly beside the sink. His movements were unhurried, like he enjoyed drawing out the small act of chivalry. When he held it out to you, his gaze lingered openly on the way droplets slid down your skin as you rose from the tub.
A slow, appreciative whistle escaped him, not mocking but hungry. “Golly,” he murmured, the word rough around the edges, as though it were pulled from somewhere deeper than he intended.
The water lapped softly against porcelain with every shift of your body and his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. You took the towel from his hands, the brush of your fingertips against his enough to make his breath hitch, then wrapped the thick fabric around yourself, securing it just under your arms.
Even then, his eyes traced every curve the damp towel clung to, following each contour as though he were memorizing it.
“Shut up,” you said with a soft laugh, though there was a playful warning threaded through your tone. You tightened the towel around your chest, pretending not to notice how his pupils darkened. “You’re already hard, you’re gonna make it worse for yourself.”
Clark’s lips curled into a grin, equal parts sheepish and shameless but he didn’t bother denying it.
He laughed, shaking his head. "Oh no, what a shame," he said, sarcasm lacing his tone but the heat in his eyes betrayed just how much he was enjoying this. He helped you step out of the tub then sat back down, shamelessly watching as you dried yourself off, every move drawing his attention. "Can you blame me, sweetheart? You’re making it pretty difficult to control myself."
You shot him a playful glare as you disappeared into the walk-in closet to retrieve a little nightdress and matching panties. When you reemerged, the sight stole his breath. His reaction was immediate.
"Sweet mercy, you are trying to kill me," he groaned, running a hand through his hair in mock exasperation.
“What?” you asked, glancing between him and the sleepwear you’d chosen. “I’d sleep in one of your shirts but it’s too much fabric, it gets way too hot at night lately.”
"It’s not just the pajamas," he murmured, eyes roaming over your body again. "It’s that you look… near edible in them."
You smiled, setting the pajamas down on the counter and reaching for your body butter, ignoring the way his gaze lingered, filled with a mix of hunger and admiration. He watched as you began applying the body butter, captivated by the slow, practiced way your hands glided over your skin. It was a simple, familiar routine but to him, anything you did was mesmerizing.
After sliding on your panties, you let the towel slip to the floor, leaving you topless as you finished rubbing in the lotion. A low, guttural sound escaped him, his eyes tracing every curve and line of your exposed body. It was as if he’d never seen you this way before, the raw need in his gaze unashamed and consuming.
You pulled the nightgown over your head, the fabric clinging to your skin as you retrieved the towel from the floor and hung it in its usual spot. Even dressed, the gown left little to the imagination, emphasizing every curve.
Clark rose from the chair, suddenly aware of the tightness of his jeans, a heat spreading through him that he could no longer ignore and with just a few strides, he closed the space between you. His hands found your hips, tugging you gently toward him, his blue eyes dark with desire, yet soft with that unmistakable, tender care only he could convey.
"Come here," he murmured, voice laced with heat.
You turned and met his gaze, letting a slow, playful smile spread across your face as you allowed him to tug you closer, feeling the firm weight of him pressing into you. The warmth of his body and solid strength in his arms, made your pulse quicken and you couldn’t help but let a shiver run down your spine.
“What now?”
He chuckled at your feigned ignorance, a deep, amused sound that vibrated through the space between you and made your stomach tighten. "You know darn well what," he growled, his lips brushing just a fraction against your ear as he spoke, sending tingles across your skin.
His hands slid around your waist, fingers pressing into your sides with a mix of strength and gentleness, pulling you flush against him. You could feel his solid bulge pressing against your hip and it made your chest ache in anticipation.
Your eyes never left his as you leaned in closer, letting your fingers work at the button and zipper of his jeans, the smooth skin beneath your touch making him catch his breath. You slid his jeans down just enough to free him, the movement slow and teasing while your proximity made every nerve in his body ignite.
"You might wanna sit back down," you murmured, your lips curving into a wicked grin as you saw his pupils dilate, the raw mixture of desire and patience in his gaze making it impossible to look away.
He let out a sharp intake of air as your hands worked, the sudden and intimate contact sending shivers up his spine. His arousal, already undeniable, surged further as he moved back to the chair, easing into it with a deep and controlled exhale. His eyes never left you as you sank to your knees, positioning yourself perfectly between his thighs, the heat radiating from him enough to make your pulse hammer. 
You wrapped your hand around his hardened cock, flicking your tongue over the pink, leaking tip. His eyes widened, caught completely off guard by it. A rough curse tore from his lips then and his fingers dug into the arms of the chair as he fought to maintain some composure. The sight of you kneeling there, the feel of your lips and tongue against him, made his head spin with desire and longing.
"Golly," he breathed, his voice low and ragged, thick with need he could no longer disguise.
Your hands found his thighs, steadying yourself as you took him in your mouth, tongue swirling all the way down while one hand slid lower to pleasure him at the base. He groaned, leaning back into the chair, head tilted and eyes half-closed, completely surrendering to the sensation. 
"You're too good at that," he gasped, hips jerking in spite of himself, his voice betraying the delicious tension coursing through him. Each ragged breath made his chest rise and fall more urgently, his entire body taut with need as your head bobbed at his preferred rhythm. 
"If you don't slow down," he warned, voice thick "this’ll be over real quick."
He watched you with a mixture of awe and desperation, the way you moved, the way your touch ignited him from tip to balls, left him on the edge, balancing between control and surrender. You met his eyes, slowing your movements as you did, letting the intensity of the moment stretch between you.
A guttural groan escaped him, his expression caught somewhere between need and raw pleasure. "There you go," he murmured. "Just like that."
A shiver ran through you at the praise and you leaned a little deeper on your knees, one hand braced against his forearm, the other still at the base, keeping him steady as you worked. His head fell back, eyes squeezed shut and jaw taut, as he tried desperately to hold onto some control. The combination of your touch and the way you responded to his words had him teetering dangerously close to the edge.
"Yeah… sweetheart, that’s how’s done," he gasped, fingers digging into the armrests so hard you were sure you heard something break. Your grip on his forearm tightened in response, matching the rhythm of his tension. A deep grunt left him then and his whole body trembled at your touch. 
"Not gonna last much longer," he rasped, forcing his eyes open to meet yours once again, desperate and burning with need. You doubled your efforts, locking your gaze with his, letting the shared intensity fuel the motions. His control slipped further, eyes glazing as desire overwhelmed him.
 "Heavens…" he muttered. "Feels… too good."
Clark leaned forward slightly, fingers tangled in your hair, holding you close with a grip that was equal parts possessive and careful. A soft whimper escaped you and he tugged just enough to draw it out further, a low, husky sound of satisfaction rumbling from his chest. 
"You like that?" he panted, eyes dark and fixed on your every move.
You rolled your eyes teasingly but the shiver that ran through you betrayed your arousal. He caught it, smirking with both amusement and pride. "Can you come like this? We’ll have to test that one day." he murmured. Your moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it, hips pressing forward instinctively, hand working at the base with increasing urgency.
A sound left him then, half groan and chuckle as he drank in the sight. "Look at you," he breathed, eyes locking onto yours. "So eager… so needy."
Your head moved with quick, urgent motions, letting out wet, muffled sounds that amplified the heat of the moment, perfectly mirroring his mounting desire. His breaths came in ragged bursts, chest heaving as his eyes glazed with pleasure. 
"That's it," he rasped. "You’re showing me how good you know me, huh? I know you do, beautiful…don't stop."
You obeyed with relentless movements and his grip on your hair tightened, holding you steady as his body tensed. "So close," he gasped, hips jerking involuntarily, every nerve on fire. "Good girl."
Each movement, gasp and heated glance pushed him further. He teetered on the edge, jaw clenched and voice a strained rasp. 
"I'm gonna–," he started, eyes rolling back slightly as he tried to hold on, caught in the storm of sensation you were driving him through.
Your mouth filled as you slowed down for him, milking him dry and teasing him just enough before pulling back and swallowing. He let out a strangled gasp, head tilting back slightly and vision blurring with desire as he watched you. The sight…the curve of your throat, the subtle shiver that ran through you and the way your lips stretched as you swallowed, was enough to ignite him all over again.
You shifted slightly, settling gracefully onto the balls of your feet. He didn’t take his eyes off you though, letting the sheer intensity of your gaze and the rise and fall of your chest imprint on his memory. 
"Goodness, baby," he muttered, his voice rough and gravelly. "My Kryptonite on earth."
You wiped the corners of your mouth with delicate fingers, then licked the remnants of his release. He watched every flick of your tongue, every subtle curve and breathless pause, molten desire still glowing in his eyes. 
"You look like a dream," he murmured, each word dripping with want. Clark leaned forward, a hand reaching down to cup your chin and thumb brushing over your bottom lip with teasing gentleness.
"Come here," he breathed, commanding yet soft, the edge of authority threading through the desire in his tone. You obeyed, letting the anticipation build with every inch, thighs pressing together subtly. He drew you closer until you straddled his lap, your body flush against his while heat radiated from both of you. His hands roamed your thighs, fingers flexing against your skin, memorizing every contour and shiver. 
"You're a little wet, aren't you?" he teased seductively. His gaze traced your neck, catching the erratic pulse beneath your skin and he inhaled subtly, tasting the arousal that clung to you like a scent only he could follow.
You gasped softly, playful defiance in your tone. "You know, you can’t talk to me like that, right? I did that because I thought… well, I just took a bath. There’s no way I’m letting him–" your words faltered as he pressed closer, heat and tension building between you, the air charged with the electricity of what was about to happen. “...fuck me.”
He chuckled, the sound low and throaty as his arms slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him  and undeniably closer to his throbbing cock. 
"You thought wrong, sweetheart," he whispered, lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours, just inches away. "The way you were looking up at me, the sounds you were making...I couldn't resist you even if I wanted to and I know that goes for you too." His voice was rough, each word vibrating against your skin and making your pulse spike which you knew he heard.
Your eyes flicked down, catching his cock already hard again, thick and leaking against his thigh. A soft, involuntary groan escaped your throat at the sight, heat pooling lower in your body. Clark chuckled at your reaction, the sound laced with both amusement and hunger.
"Problem?" he asked with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, breath warm and tantalizing now against your neck. You rolled your eyes at his teasing question, tongue darting out absentmindedly to wet your lips, a gesture so small yet so charged. He didn’t miss it. His gaze locked onto your tongue, eyes darkening further, his smirk widening as he watched the subtle, teasing motion.
"You really are a distraction," he breathed as his hands gripped your hips tighter, thumbs pressing into your skin just enough to make you gasp softly.
One thumb trailed upward, brushing against your parted plump lips, the pressure gentle yet enough to make your breath hitch. He traced the contour of your mouth slowly, almost possessively with a firm touch. "Open your mouth," he commanded, voice dipping lower.
You parted your lips slowly, savoring the anticipation as his thumb pressed gently yet firmly against your tongue. His eyes locked onto your face.
"Suck on it," he rasped, desire threading through each word.
You held his gaze for a heartbeat, rising just enough to slide your panties aside before lowering yourself on his cock, letting his girth split you open while your lips closed around his thumb like he’d asked. Heat and wetness enveloped you as your eyes rolled back in pleasure, the sensation almost overwhelming.
A guttural groan tore from Clark’s throat, his head tilting back against the chair as his vision grew hazy with need. "Oh," he gasped, chest rising and falling rapidly. He didn’t look away, keeping his gaze on your face as you began rolling your hips, his thumb still firmly lodged in your mouth while he held your jaw. His lips parted, breath ragged, as he whispered, "That's it, sweetheart. Just like that."
You gasped around him, riding his cock while rocking your hips at the base, taking all he gave while a shiver ran through you. “Goddamn it, Kent,” you breathed, the words muffled yet heavy with desire.
"Careful there," he warned. "You'll have me undone and spent before we even get started."
He withdrew his thumb and you sank against his shoulder, breath ragged and chest pressing against his as your hips worked. A soft chuckle escaped him at the sight, his hand sliding up and down your back, drawing small shivers from you while he held you close. 
"Tired already?" he teased gently, amusement dancing in the low rumble of his voice. With one hand gripping his forearm and the other pressed where his jaw met his ear, you attempted to rock faster, tiny whimpers slipping into the quiet room before you slowed. He hummed, a hand shifting to grab your hip, guiding your motion with a firm touch. 
"That's it," he murmured, breath hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Go slow, sweetheart. No rush." His words were a promise and a command, wrapping you in warmth, control and a hunger that made your body ache for more.
"You feel too good," he rasped. 
You kept rocking and rolling your hips against him, each motion slow making your breaths shallow and uneven. Both of you knew there was only so much you could take like this. 
"Is this okay?" you whispered, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck, voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and desire.
"This is more than okay," he breathed back, slightly hoarse, the rasp of his words sending another shiver down your spine. "You feel amazing, sweetheart." He shifted in the chair, subtly adjusting the angle of his body to better match your movements and maximize the pleasure of each curve and touch. 
You gasped softly at the change, gripping him tighter to maintain balance and sensation. He grunted, feeling the reflexive tightening of your hold and murmured, "Easy," his other hand rising to rest along your back, guiding and holding you close. "We've got all night."
The slow rocking continued, his hand still firmly on your hip, controlling the pace without ever stifling your own movement. "Just like that," he said, low and gruff, his voice a tantalizing mix of command and reverence. "Take your time, beautiful."
His words were almost overwhelming, pulling at something deeper than just desire. Every tremble of your body, every hitch of your breath, made the moment feel impossibly intimate, almost sacred. He could hear the subtle shifts in your breathing, the tiny quivers that ran through you in response to his touch and the way your clit rubbed against him. 
"That feel good, sweetheart?" he murmured. You whimpered in response, pressing into his neck and letting him feel your surrender. Your hands slid up the hem of his shirt, tentative yet pleading, the quiet, urgent gesture asking him to shed the barrier between you in the stillness of the bathroom, amplifying the tension and intimacy that hung thick in the air.
He understood your request immediately, a low, appreciative grunt escaping his lips as he smoothly shrugged off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor while the straps of your nightie slid down your shoulders with the movement, a soft whisper of fabric against damp skin, leaving your upper body even more exposed as you continued your slow, rhythmic rocking.
He let out a deep, guttural sound at the sight, eyes dark and hungry as they roamed your hardened nipples poking through. "Beautiful," he breathed, fingers trailing over your shoulders, gently coaxing the nightie further down until it clung only where you wanted it.
Your face remained buried in his neck, lips grazing the sensitive skin there as a low moan escaped you. He could feel the tremor of it against him, vibrations crawling through his body, sparking a shiver from his spine down to the tips of his fingers. "Sensitive tonight?" he asked, while his hand slid down to cup your ass, guiding and intensifying your movements while still letting you take the lead.
Your other hand found his, pulling it firmly between your bodies, the subtle, insistent gesture making his intentions clear without words. He responded immediately, a sharp and satisfied grunt punctuating the shift of his hand into position, now free to explore with precision.
"You want me to touch you?" he asked but already knew. His fingers circled your clit with instinctive ease, a deep familiarity born from knowing your body like his own. "Like this?" His voice was husky, low, charged with want, as if the words themselves could drive you further.
You threaded your hands through his hair, nails grazing his scalp as a whine tore from your throat, hips buckling against his hand in an effort to maintain a pace that wouldn’t hurt.
Clark continued his slow touch, every movement attuned to your reactions, listening to the soft gasps, whimper, and ragged breaths that filled the quiet room while his fingers became wetter with your shared fluids.
Your legs twitched involuntarily at the pressure he applied, failing to hold back around the chair as his hands worked expertly. A loud, ragged moan tore from your throat, your thighs trembling and quivering with the sheer intensity of sensation. 
"Let go, sweetheart," he whispered, torturing you with unyielding pressure.
You shook your head stubbornly, determined, eyes meeting his. “Not yet. You’re not done.”
He let out a soft, appreciative grunt at your defiance, adjusting his grip slightly but continuing with precision. "Don't worry about me. This is about you, sweetheart. Let me take care of you."
You rocked a little faster, testing him, urging your body to match your desire. A low growl rumbled from him as he tightened his hold on your hip, keeping you steady. "Slow down," he said, tone firm yet commanding. "I don't want you to hurt yourself."
A frustrated moan escaped your lips, the tension of wanting more mixing with the control he demanded. He could feel it all, the frustration, longing and the trembling anticipation coursing through you. "Patience, sweetheart," he breathed, his voice deep and coaxing, holding the promise of more. "We'll get there when we get there."
You kept rocking, hands braced firmly on his biceps and nails digging lightly into his skin as if to keep yourself from falling apart as your voice burst out in a breathless, “Fuck, Clark,” the sound vibrating through the charged air between you.
He grunted at the sharp, delicious pressure of your nails digging into his arms, the mingling of pain and pleasure sending sparks of heat through his body. 
“Shit, shit…” You gasped, a moan escaping you as two slow, shaky rolls of your hips left you momentarily unable to move, your body trembling uncontrollably with a nearing orgasm.
He held you firmly, yet with careful precision, his hands guiding your movements where needed, steadying you against the intensity. 
"Just let it happen, I’m right behind you." He rasped.
Every movement of his grew deliberate, practiced, as his fingers traced paths that made your pulse spike with every touch. Your moans became louder, ragged and unrestrained as you came, your body shivering against his. Breathless, you finally removed his hand, thighs trembling as you tried to even out your ragged breathing.
He watched you closely, fascination written across his face as he observed the aftermath of your release, every quiver and flush mirrored in the heated gaze he fixed on you. “Beautiful,” he whispered, his own chest rising and falling rapidly with ragged breaths of desire.
Even after the peak passed, he held onto you, pressing his body close, heart pounding with a shared rhythm of exhilaration and need. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked after a moment, his voice rough but tender, threaded with concern and longing.
You clung to his shoulders, resting your heated forehead against him, giving a shaky nod in response. He wrapped you more securely in his arms, holding your trembling, satisfied body flush against him, his warmth enveloping you. "You look even more beautiful after you come," he whispered, every word heavy with awe. "Didn't think that was possible, but you never cease to surprise me."
You hugged him close, your body melting against his warmth as a tired chuckle escaped your lips, soft and breathy. Clark smiled at the sound, the tender laugh soothing the rapid beat of his own heart. “Are you hurt?” he asked gently, his hand tracing slow circles across your back, both of you in the lingering intimacy.
“Just need a minute,” you whispered, voice soft and fragile, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. 
His ears were finely attuned to every nuance of your words, the whisper drawing him in. “Take all the time you need, sweetheart. We can stay like this all night if you want.” 
“You wish” you laughed tiredly. 
He gently pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes soft and tender, vulnerability shining through. You leaned forward, lips brushing his in a slow, tentative kiss, fingertips tracing along the curve of his jaw and scratching the nape of his neck as your tongue slipped inside his mouth.
He responded with a low, guttural grunt, his tongue meeting yours in a languid, sensual rhythm that made his cock pulse and twitch inside you. The intensity pressed deep inside, driving both of you wild. You gasped into the kiss as your walls reacted, pulsing tightly, coaxing every ounce of cum from him.
Clark groaned, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair as he held you firmly, deepening the kiss. His balls clenched in tight spasms, giving you every drop, the overwhelming release sending shivers through both of you. You threw your head back as his lips trailed down your neck, your body quivering from the aftershocks of his climax.
“Don’t know how you do that,” you moaned, eyes watering from the sheer intensity of the sensations, the mingling of pleasure, closeness and raw desire leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms.
Clark smiled against your sternum, the warmth of his lips brushing your skin sending a shiver through you. “C’mon, your body was begging for it,” he murmured, voice low and teasing.
You adjusted slightly to look at him, lifting your hips teasingly before dropping back down slowly to make sure he was done. “Sure thing, baby.” You paused. “What was that you were saying about ‘Supershit’?” you whispered, your tone playful, as if nothing intimate had just happened between you.
He chuckled, eyes lighting up as he realized what you meant. “I–I don’t know, sweetheart. That was before I had you riding me, don’t think it matters much anymore.” he replied, the amusement in his voice thick and warm.
You laughed softly, pressing your forehead to his as you whispered, “Sorry,” before giggling and kissing him again, the motion slow and lingering.
He grinned against your lips, his arms tightening around you, holding you close. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice gruff yet affectionate. “You’re the best distraction ever.”
Your hands went to his shoulders as you began lifting yourself carefully, letting out a soft moan at the loss of his warmth beneath you. He groaned low in response, his body already missing the contact as your hips lifted. “Careful,” he breathed, his hands sliding to your hips to steady you, keeping you steady.
“Can you stand alright?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over your face for any flicker of discomfort or pain.
You nodded and he moved to grab a hand towel, stepping back and gently positioning you against the bathroom counter. He ran the towel under warm water, wringing out the excess before leaning in to carefully clean you.
His touch was efficient yet intimate, his eyes never leaving your face. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your hip as he awaited your response.
Your gaze met his, filled with nothing but love and affection. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss before resting your head against his chest, breathing in the steady warmth of him.
He wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you tightly and pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. “I love you,” he smiled. “And I’ll try my best not to interrupt your bathtime again.”
“Liar,” you whispered back, a small, playful smile tugging at your lips.
“You don’t believe me?”
You chuckled quietly. “Oh, you’ll try, just not hard enough.”
Tumblr media
a/n: I have a little freaky present for y'all coming up next...😛 Thank you for reading and sharing! You guys get real bold on those reblogs, i loveeee it 👹
463 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 7 days ago
Note
Since we both love hot men and Simon Riley is like fire can we talk about his strength and like physical abilities?
I was thinking of the trend on tik tok where girls try to run away from their boyfriends to see if they are able to catch them in a chase?
Maybe it would be a cute imagine?
I am too obsessed with Simons build like I need a man the size of a tank who will be able to carry me and chase me like that. 🥵🥵🥵🥵
(Love your blog so so so much girl <3)
Catch me if you can
Pairing: Simon Riley x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1110
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
a/n: First ever Simon Riley request...kinda nervous 😛 Tried to keep it cute but y'all know where to find me if you want more
Summary: What starts as a teasing game of chase quickly turns into a test of strength, dominance and desire, because with Simon, running is never really an option.
Classification: Fluff
Content warning: Suggestive
Word count: 0.8k
Divider by me ;)
Tumblr media
You’d seen the videos a dozen times, girls sprinting away from their boyfriends only to be tackled, scooped up and dragged laughing back into their arms. It was meant to be a game, something playful, but with Simon? There was no such thing as running, not really.
“Are you sure?” He asked for what felt like the fifth time, though your grin never wavered.
You nodded, mischief dancing in your eyes. “If you catch me, then…” You gave a little shrug, teasing. “What do you want as your prize?”
His lips twitched upward, a rare curve of expression that you still weren’t fully used to, though with his military days finally behind him, you were learning to. “I’ll decide when I catch you.”
“If,” you corrected with a smirk.
“When,” he countered easily, pointing at you like he was already certain. He breathed out a low laugh. “Brat.”
Your smile widened. “Fine. I start running and you count to five before you come after me.”
“You said three earlier.”
You rolled your eyes, already taking a step back. “And I’m thinking ten would be even better, so let’s just settle on five.”
The second your feet hit the ground and you bolted, you could already hear the low chuckle behind you. His footsteps were silent, but you felt him, like the air itself shifted in his favor, like a predator toying with its prey. You dared to look back once, just once and your stomach flipped when you saw him closing the distance with that long, powerful stride that made the chase feel hopeless. His build wasn’t just for show, every ounce of that muscle, every precise movement screamed strength and control.
“Go on then,” his voice rumbled, amused, “see how far you get.”
In that moment, you were thankful for the vast terrain he called his own, every stretch of it now your playground. You pushed harder, legs burning and lungs screaming for air but it was laughable… he was barely trying and his gloved hands flexed like he was already imagining how he’d catch you. And then, just when you thought maybe you had another second of freedom, his arms closed around your waist. The ground disappeared beneath you in an instant.
Simon lifted you clean off your feet like you weighed nothing, throwing you over his shoulder with a grunt that was more satisfied than strained. 
“I was getting bored, love,” he teased, though you could tell he wasn’t entirely joking.
“Oh, come on!” you shot back, half laughing, half scandalized.
Your fists pounded his back uselessly, laughter breaking from your throat as you kicked in protest and still his grip didn’t budge. He was unshakable, solid as a wall of muscle and quiet power.
“You thought you could run from me?” he murmured, voice muffled against your thigh as he secured you with one arm, the other hand free like he could carry you all day.
He did so with ease, like you weighed nothing at all, before dropping you gently onto the cushions of the outdoor couch. The impact made you bounce slightly, your breath catching, chest rising and falling with an edge of anticipation. His eyes darkened instantly at the sight, pupils blown wide and the strain in his jeans became obvious as he adjusted himself with a frustrated groan.
“Have you thought about your prize?” you teased, your giggle breaking through the heavy air as your eyes flicked shamelessly to his hand tugging at his jeans.
His fingers moved with purpose, belt undone in a few quick pulls, button popped and zipper lowered. He looked around the patio as if weighing his options, before his gaze snapped back to you.
“I have,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, thick with intent. “Just deciding whether to take you right here, where I can replay the security footage later when you think about running again…” His smirk curved sharp and wicked. “…or carry you inside and take you on the first piece of furniture I find.”
You laughed softly, leaning back on your elbows with exaggerated worry. “Even if I did escape… I kinda moved in with you,” you said through gritted teeth, the dramatics only making his smirk deepen.
“Oh right, so that’s what all those bloody boxes are,” he drawled, sarcastic and amused. His gaze flicked down to you, voice dropping into command. “Kneel, then.”
The words left no room for debate and heat rushed through you at the order. You shifted, turning to brace yourself on the cushions with your knees sinking into the couch and your forearms resting on the headrest for balance. The position left you vulnerable and waiting with your heart hammering against your ribs.
Simon’s calloused fingers brushed over your waist, tugging the waistband of your shorts down with torturously slow precision. He leaned down until his lips brushed your ear, his breath hot and his voice a low growl that sent shivers skating over your skin.
“Fuckin’ love it when you make me work for it,” he murmured and you felt the sharp scrape of his teeth against your neck before his hands tightened around your hips, pulling you back into place like you belonged to him.
Which you did.
325 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 8 days ago
Note
Hi!! I hope you're doing well 💖 I just wanted to say that I really love your stories—I'm seriously obsessed 🥹😭 especially your Drew x Actress!Reader fics, they're my absolute favorite!! I would love to see more of them if ever you’re planning to write more 🫶 Any scenario would be amazing, but I was thinking it would be so cute to have a compilation-type video of them being adorable or just soft couple moments 🥹💘( pls ignore this if ur requests r closed :> )
Thank you again for your yummy stories, I really enjoy them so much! 💗
Through the seasons
Pairing: Drew Starkey x fem!reader.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1104
a/n: Thank you so much for reading my stories!!
Summary: Piece by piece, through grainy Instagram clips and behind-the-scenes videos, your castmates accidentally chronicled your love story...proof that sometimes the best romances don’t need an announcement, only time.
Classification: fluff
Word count: 0.9k
Tumblr media
Unknowingly, your friends and castmates had captured the two of you falling in love through the show’s seasons and Madison might’ve been the first to notice it during those early weeks of Season 1.
Her phone camera panned across a group lunch on folding chairs as the cast huddled around boxed meals and water bottles in a patch of shade. Madison joked and laughed about how everyone was half-melting, before turning the camera slightly toward you and Drew, seated side by side.
He had one foot pressed against the leg of your chair and was tearing the crust off his own sandwich before handing it to you.
“You won’t eat the crusts?” Madison asked, zooming in but before you could reply, Drew beat you to it.
“She refuses,” he said without missing a beat.
You gasped. “No, I do not! It’s a preference.”
“Still,” he added with a grin, “she also said I make the best sandwich cuts on set, so make sure you get that on camera too in case she wants to deny it in the future.”
You chewed and nodded, fighting back a smile. “Symmetrical with crisp corners... It’s a talent, really. Acting is his fallback.”
The comment made the cast laugh.
“Are you two married yet or just codependent?” Madison teased.
You both laughed in the moment but neither denied it, and that was only the beginning…
By the time Rudy caught something a month into filming Season 2, he’d already been dubbed the cast member with the worst timing and the footage proved it.
He was filming himself in front of his trailer, joking about the mosquitos and pretending to complain about going back to work. Then the camera turned, shaky and unfiltered, as he walked toward the water, talking about how happy he was to be filming at the Chateau again.
In the background, near one of the docks, you were sitting on the ground while Drew sat behind you, gently braiding your hair. No audience and no one else around,  just him, patiently looping strands while you sipped on an iced drink and leaned slightly into his legs like it was second nature. The movements were slow and practiced, like this definitely wasn’t the first time.
“You doing okay back there?” you asked, eyes closed like you could fall asleep.
“Trying not to mess up your whole career by doing this wrong,” Drew murmured.
“You already did that by joining this show,” you teased with a grin he couldn't see but heard.
Before Drew could respond, Rudy’s voice broke the moment. “You know I’m filming, right?”
Drew shook his head, snickering as he said, “No, that one was Rudy.”
“What? Guys…” Rudy laughed, feigning offense. “You two would be so adorable if you weren’t so mean.”
The more the show grew, the more you understood the phrase a picture is worth a thousand words. It was around the start of Season 3 that your career really took off. You were less active on social media then, yet your name still trended nearly every week. Especially after a picture JD posted.
A split-second capture that said everything.
Jonathan was smiling in the foreground, clearly amused by whatever Carlacia was doing and in the blurry background, there you were curled under the same blanket with Drew, both of you squeezed into a single armchair, leaning into each other. You were scrolling through his phone together, laughing at something unseen, heads so close it was hard to tell whose shoulder belonged to whom.
By Season 4, the whole thing had begun to feel more like a six-month high school reunion than just another shoot. 
On one early call time where light struggled to creep up the sky, Chase quietly recorded a clip on his phone, a moment almost too soft for words. You were wrapped in a hoodie far too big to be yours, slouched in your cast chair, half-asleep with a blanket tucked over your legs and your hair in a lazy braid that had Drew’s handiwork written all over it.
Drew crouched in front of you, tying your shoelaces with the kind of focus people usually reserved for lacing skates or signing contracts. You murmured something sleepily, too low to hear and he smiled, tightened the knot and gently tucked your foot back under the blanket.
“Back to sleep,” he said softly, brushing your ankle.
Chase said nothing in the video, just panned back to himself and smirked at the camera, like he knew exactly what he’d just caught.
And just a year later, came the most obvious one yet. The clip made it into one of Madelyn’s usual tomfoolery posts, right at the beginning of filming Season 5.
It was just a grainy little Instagram video, shot during golden hour, the kind that looked like it had no intention of going viral, but did anyway.
Drew was sitting behind you in a director’s chair on set, legs wide, hat on backwards, arms comfortably wrapped around your waist as you sat between them. You were both eating from the same takeout container, not talking, not even looking at each other, just relaxed in the kind of way people only get when the other person is home.
The camera panned to Chase, who was shaking his head at the scene. “Look at these two. Disgusting.”
Madelyn laughed behind the camera, and you, still not looking up from your noodles, flipped him off without missing a beat.
Drew kissed your temple softly and mumbled, “Jealousy’s a disease, bro.”
The video barely lasted probably nine seconds yet broke the internet for three days straight. 
Now, you’re glad those videos and so many more exist as quiet proof of something you never had to say out loud.
730 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 9 days ago
Note
Hey could I please make a request where Daryl and reader have an ice cream date in the Commonwealth, please and thank you 🍨
Two scoops and a grump
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1114
Tumblr media
Classification: Fluff
Temporal setting: Season 11
Word count: 0.7k
Tumblr media
You almost didn’t hear him knock.
It was more like a tap and when you opened the door, Daryl was already halfway turned, like he’d changed his mind about being there. He stood there with one hand hooked awkwardly in his belt loop, boots scuffed, hair damp from a recent shower and face… guarded, but different, like he was trying.
“Hey,” you said gently.
He gave a short nod, cleared his throat. “You, uh…” he scratched the back of his neck, “Ya like ice cream?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Eat tha’ sort of thing? I mean–” He gestured vaguely toward the street. “There’s tha’ stall, down in the square. Ain’t never been, but the kids have been spendin’ all my damn money there. Figured if you were…free or whatever, we could go check if I’m being ripped off.”
You had to bite your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “You’re either asking for back up or Daryl Dixon just asked me on a date.”
He looked like he immediately regretted everything.
“Forget it,” he muttered, already stepping back. “It was stupid–”
“No, hey. Slow down,” you caught his arm, tugging him back gently. “I’m teasing. I’d love to.”
He gave you a quick, sideways glance, as if double-checking you weren’t about to laugh in his face. Then he gave the faintest nod, barely-there smile tugging at his lips.
You walked to the plaza in a quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable. Daryl didn’t talk much but he kept glancing over like he was making sure you were still there, that you hadn’t changed your mind.
The Commonwealth’s ice cream vendor was posted under a red-and-white striped awning, a line of giggling kids and chattering adults crowding the counter. The world had changed but sugar still had power over people.
Daryl stood off to the side while you ordered. You turned to him, holding up two cones. “Strawberry or mint chip?”
He squinted at the pink one like it was radioactive. “Strawberry gave RJ a sugar rush last week ‘n he kept me up all damn nigh’. Ain’t eatin’ that crap.”
“Mint chip it is.” You handed it to him and took a bite of your own.
He looked down at the green scoop like it had just challenged him to a duel, then finally took a careful bite. His brow furrowed.
“…Tastes like toothpaste.”
You snorted. “You’re not wrong but you’re eating it anyway.”
He grunted, but didn’t stop. You found a bench tucked under a shady tree, just far enough from the crowd to give him some breathing room. He sat next to you, elbows on his knees and you both quietly worked on your melting cones.
“This feels weird,” he said after a while, squinting into the sun. “Like we’re pretendin’.”
You leaned back, savoring the sweetness on your tongue. “That’s kind of the point, I think.”
He looked at you sideways. “Ya dun think it’s stupid?”
“No,” you said softly. “…maybe. Depends on the day.”
He glanced down at the cone in his hands, then back at you. “Never really done this before either.”
“Gone on a date?”
He nodded. “Feels like I missed the whole chapter where people did this sorta thing. Y’know… talkin’...sittin’ close…lickin’ toothpaste off a cone.”
You smiled at him, letting out a chuckle. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think you’re doing pretty great.”
He didn’t say anything at first, just hummed low in his throat and leaned back on the bench a little more, like he was letting himself relax. A breeze moved through the trees then and the sounds of the square dulled to a soft hum. The world, just for a moment, felt calm.
You finished your cone and wiped your fingers with a napkin. “So… are we gonna pretend this is just a one-time thing?”
He looked down at his boots, then up at you. His face was unreadable at first but then he gave a soft shrug and said, “Wasn’t plannin’ on it…if tha’s alrigh’ with ya.”
Your heart thumped a little harder as you leaned in. Daryl didn’t flinch, just watched you like you were some rare animal that might spook. You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, warm and light.
His face went red instantly, but he didn’t move away.
“Ya sure ya ain’t tryin’ to kill me with sweetness?” he muttered.
You grinned. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”
He snorted, shook his head and finally leaned back beside you again, his arm brushing yours this time and he didn’t pull away. You stayed like that as the sun sank lower, just two survivors sharing a moment that felt like something from the world before.
203 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 10 days ago
Note
Can you do smut with clark Kent, he is so big so he goes to deep and has to take you to the er, even though he hurt you he is very proud of him and his dick
Three inches from heaven
Pairing: david!clark kent x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
A/n: as you can tell i'm really enjoying posting weekly extras
Summary: Every inch counts...especially when he knows how to use them.
Classification: Smut +18 | safe vaginal sex, praise, use of X-ray vision in a sexual context, depictions of bruising and visit to a hospital/ER, including unprofessional or comedic remarks from medical staff. Clark is extremely caring but also hilariously anxious, tending toward over-the-top worry and protective behavior but yk...it's Clark.
Word count: 3,7k
Divider by me ;)
Tumblr media
“Kinky” wasn’t the word you’d use, it was more “adventurous” than anything else. You’d never had a partner you could trust this much before, so when you and Clark became official, naturally, you wrote a list of everything you wanted to try sexually. It was a long one, scribbled out with the kind of excitement you’d been too shy to ever act on before and Clark had been just as eager, if not more, to work through it with you. 
He treated it like a mission dossier, equal parts thoroughness and enthusiasm, even adding his own notes in the margins sometimes. You were getting close to “Sitting on Clark’s face” which he underlined and punctuated with five exclamation points, as if to make absolutely sure it wasn’t skipped, but tonight’s experiment was prone bone.
The night began like any other with a modest dinner, small talk, him cleaning up while you lingered on the couch, a soft kiss here and a brush of fingers there. You never planned when to cross something off the list, it always came after you were already warm, flushed and at least halfway undone from the way he worshiped you and tonight was no different. 
Two orgasms in, when your muscles were loose and your mind was humming, you finally asked for it.
Face down on the couch, you gazed out at the glittering skyline of Metropolis through the wide windows of Clark’s apartment. Your chest rose and fell in steady anticipation, your body already tingling. Behind you, Clark shifted into position, his knees bracketing your thighs as he bent over you while his lips brushed soft, reverent kisses along the damp trail of your spine.
“Are you sure?” he asked for the second time, voice low while his lips pressed against your shoulder blade.
You hummed your answer but he wasn’t satisfied with just that.
“You can stop me at any time. Don’t wait until it hurts. Even if it’s just uncomfortable, you stop me. You hear?” His tone was firm but gentle, a voice that left no room for doubt.
“Loud and clear,” you whispered, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. He tilted your chin up and kissed you languidly, sealing the promise between you.
When he pulled away, he slid a pillow under your hips, lifting you just enough and adjusting you until you were perfectly angled. The cool air brushed your heated skin and then came the warmth of him. Clark’s tip nudged at your entrance, before he pressed forward with care, the stretch was immediate and the invasion enough to pull a groan from your throat and press your forehead hard into the cushion beneath you.
He stilled instantly. “Baby, you okay?”
“Yes,” you breathed, voice tight, before lifting your head to make sure he knew. “I’m okay.”
And you were. The position was intense, restrictive and it made him feel impossibly big inside you. He knew it too, you could hear it in the rough sound of his groan as he pushed deeper, every inch claiming you in slow increments. The way your body clenched down on him, walls fluttering tight around his length, had both of you struggling to catch your breath.
He inched forward until he was nearly bottomed out…nearly. You didn’t have to say a word before he was already checking with that telltale pause as he used his x-ray vision to confirm your body’s limits. His tip brushed your pelvis and he still had a few inches left, but he wasn’t about to risk hurting you.
“We’re gonna go nice and slow,” he murmured, his hand smoothing over your hip, reassuring you. His voice was steady but there was an edge of strain beneath it, like it was taking everything in him to hold in his release.
All you could do was nod, gripping the couch cushion as he began to move with careful precision, every thrust calculated and every pause a silent check-in. The city lights spilled across the room as his warmth enveloped you from behind, you felt at once completely overwhelmed and utterly safe.
Clark’s chest pressed fully to your back now, the heavy weight of him both pinning you and shielding you. Each deliberate thrust came in that slow, scooping motion and you felt it all, in the best way possible. The way he carved himself against your velvety walls, the way his hips rocked to angle deeper and the way his cock seemed to drag and nudge at every tender ridge inside you until your entire body shuddered.
“Uhhh–fuck, you’re…so deep,” you moaned, voice breaking on the words. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
You’d thought maybe after two orgasms your body would be less sensitive, that you’d float in the afterglow but the opposite was true. Every nerve was heightened, raw and open and all you could do was cling to the moment. Your focus narrowed until all that existed was him, the ridges, the veins and the delicious weight of his cock stretching you. Your nails dug deep grooves into the leather cushions, desperate for anchor, while your blurred gaze caught only fractured streaks of city lights beyond the window. Your mouth hung open, letting small hiccups of sound escape each time he rocked into you while the pleasure bubbled uncontrollably.
His lips brushed the damp curve of your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into your skin. He murmured into you like he was kissing a secret there. “You’re taking me so good, baby. So darn good.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, head tipping forward and you whispered with ragged need, “F–faster.”
He stilled just enough to ask, his voice still low and careful, “Are you sure?” Even now, even with the control it must’ve taken for him not to simply give in, he waited. He needed your confirmation.
You nodded quickly, desperately so. “Yes, Clark. Please...I- I need more.”
The change was immediate. He wasn’t ruthless, he never would be but the shift was enough that your body reeled. His pace picked up, hips rolling with heavier intent and faster, until your moans tumbled free with no control at all. Your back arched further, chest pressing harder into the couch while the tension in your body snapped tighter with every thrust.
“Mmmm–you’re so big…filling me up so good.” you cried, the words ripping free, unfiltered. You didn’t care how shameless it sounded, didn’t care if it made his ego swell, the only truth in that moment was the stretch, the fullness and the overwhelming pulse of him inside you.
He groaned against your skin, his voice dark and low as his arms locked tighter around your middle. “You’re taking it like a champ, baby.”
“Mmmmyeah?” you gasped, the syllable fractured by a sharp intake of breath.
“Mhm,” he hummed, warm and rumbling against the shell of your ear, his thrusts never faltering. His breath was hot, heavy, every exhale ragged. “I’m so proud of you.”
The words hit you almost as hard as the pleasure itself, leaving you trembling in his arms as the rhythm of his hips drove you closer to that unbearable edge.
Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long before your bodies found a rhythm that bordered on devastating. It was steady, hypnotic and deep enough to leave you dizzy. Clark’s pace never faltered, never reckless, yet it carried a precision that left no part of you untouched. The air in the apartment grew heavy and humid with the sharp mix of your moans and his groans, the slap of skin against skin filling the darkened room until it sounded like the walls themselves were trembling with you.
Then his hand slid up, warm and broad, wrapping around your throat with a pressure just firm enough to make your head spin. He squeezed lightly, careful yet commanding and your eyes immediately rolled back. 
“Fuck…I’m…Uhhh–I’m coming. Yes–” You choked.
The sensation tipped you over the edge with startling force, your orgasm tearing through you in a whimpering, broken sound that was equal parts whine and cry. It might have embarrassed you if it had come from anyone else’s touch but with him, there was only trust and relief. Only the gentleness threaded through every inch of his strength.
The pulsing of your release gripped him tight, milking him until he groaned loudly, burying himself deep as he spilled into the condom. The sound he made, low, guttural and raw, vibrated against your spine as his forehead dropped to the top of your back. Both of you were shuddering, caught in the tail end of the storm, your breaths ragged and uneven as the room gradually quieted again.
You stayed there like that for a while, two minutes, maybe more, bodies heavy and languid in the aftermath. When he finally pulled out, the absence was met instantly with the comfort of his arms wrapping you close.
As it always did with Clark, the intensity of sex melted seamlessly into tenderness. Aftercare came like instinct, his lips covered you in soft kisses while his voice murmured reassurances, his laugh breaking into warm little chuckles when you did too. There was something almost comical in the way he padded across the room, completely naked, just to grab the list and dramatically cross off “prone bone” with a grin.
You both ended the night in the shower, washing each other with lazy strokes and shared smiles, before collapsing into bed tangled together. His arms caged you gently, his warmth draped around you like a blanket and the last thing you heard before sleep was his quiet, content hum against your hair.
You slept peacefully for about three hours before the unease started creeping in. First a little shift here, a toss there and then the ache bloomed sharp enough in your lower stomach that you curled around it, clutching the spot. The mistake was letting a tiny wince slip out. It was soft, barely audible but of course, nothing ever got past Clark. He sat up so fast it nearly startled you more than the pain.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, urgent and already thick with worry.
You tried to brush it off, rolling onto your back with a weak laugh. “You and your superhearing. I’m fine, Clark. Go back to sleep.”
But “fine” had never once been good enough for him and you should’ve known better. He flicked on the light from his bedside table, casting a warm glow across the room, then promptly pushed the blanket off you.
“Excuse you!?” you protested as he straddled your hips and tugged up the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him. “What do you think you’re doing? Hey, pervert–”
He didn’t even look at your face, his mouth twitching in something dangerously close to a grin. “Funny, you didn’t call me a pervert earlier when I was inside you.”
Your cheeks heated instantly. “Well, that’s–”
But your retort cut off when he began pressing gently on your lower stomach, carefully as well as methodically, watching your expression like it was the most important readout in the world. The second you winced, he reacted like you’d been scorched. He practically leapt off of you, hands fumbling for some sweatpants as though fabric could shield you from whatever he’d just confirmed.
“Clark–”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he rushed out, voice strained as he guided your legs into the pants and tugged them up with heartbreaking gentleness. “You’re bruising. I can’t see clearly how bad, so…” He trailed off, swallowing hard before helping you sit up, his hand splayed against your back.
The soft sound you made as the motion tugged at your stomach almost broke him completely. His jaw tightened and you realized his eyes were frantic. “We’re going to the hospital,” he said firmly. “We’re making sure it’s not too bad. No arguments.”
His statement was only half a lie. Clark could see perfectly well but his mind had already jumped ten steps ahead, imagining every possible worst-case scenario.
You blinked at him, both touched and exasperated. Superman, absolutely unshakable in every other way and here he was, pale and rattled over the thought of accidentally hurting you.
“Okay then, but Clark I can dress myself,” you said as he tied the drawstring of your sweatpants, trying to act casual even though the subtle brush of his fingers against your skin sent heat racing through you.
He nodded rapidly, eyes soft but frantic. “I know, baby,” he murmured, cupping your face and pressing a string of gentle kisses to your cheeks and forehead. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I should’ve been more careful. I just—Well, it’s you and I–” His hands lingered as he slipped off your sleep shirt.
“You didn’t. I mean, not really… hard to tell when I was cramping around your dick,” you said, letting your voice take on that teasing edge, “but you know… details.”
He froze for a second, brow furrowing. “Are you… smiling? Why are you smiling?”
“Sadistic, right? Thought so,” you said with a small grin, the corners of your mouth tugging up as you watched him fumble with a clean shirt for you. “I’m trying to keep it in, but… you look really hot when you’re worried.”
Clark’s lips twitched into a nervous chuckle as he pulled the fresh shirt over your head. “Arms…I’m glad you find my worrying hot,” he said, his voice a mix of relief and self-conscious pride, before moving on to dressing himself. “But this really isn’t the right time.”
By the time you both got into the car and drove to the ER, your stomach still ached with cramps, but for some inexplicable reason, you couldn’t stop giggling. Half from discomfort and half from the absurdity of it all. His anxious nature made it almost impossible to keep a straight face. 
Clark hovered over you in the waiting room like a hawk, pacing slightly and muttering under his breath about how no one seemed to understand the urgency of your “condition.” He leaned over the receptionist counter, using his most serious, authoritative voice.
“My girlfriend was… uh… injured,” he said, trying to choose his words carefully. “It’s a… pelvis situation, very sensitive. We need a doctor, immediately.”
The receptionist blinked at him, confused. “Uh… okay… do you have an insurance card?”
Clark flinched, muttering something about bureaucracy slowing down life-or-death situations, then spotted a nurse strolling by, who he waved over frantically.
“Excuse me. Nurse!” he called, his voice full of desperate urgency. “She’s… giggling but bruised. Lower abdominal area. Pretty sure she needs professional evaluation. Stat.”
The nurse stopped and raised an eyebrow, taking one look at Clark’s intense, almost panicked expression and then at you curled slightly on the chair, clutching your stomach with a mix of pain and giggles.
She tilted her head, lips twitching. “Uh-huh… yeah, that tracks,” she said dryly, her eyes flicking back to Clark like, no wonder. “Room 3. You can wait there.”
Clark practically scooped you into his arms and carried you to the room, muttering apologies for the dramatic scene while simultaneously shushing your giggles. You could barely stop yourself from laughing at the sight of him tiptoeing as if the entire hospital were a crime scene.
Once you were settled on the hospital bed, Clark hovered like a shadow, wringing his hands and muttering, “I told the lady at the front desk, twice. I–”
“Clark, it’s a bruise,” you whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “People don’t come to the ER for bruises.”
His brow furrowed as he leaned down, lowering his voice. “People also don’t wake up in the middle of the night wincing. What if it’s not just a bruise? What if it’s a fracture? Or an internal bleed?”
You blinked at him. “You think you broke my pelvis?”
His ears flushed red. “...It’s possible.”
The nurse who had come in to take your vitals, clearly overheard and had to bite back a smile as Clark rattled off every symptom you didn’t have. “No fever, no nausea, no weakness in her legs but she winced three times on the way here and–”
“Clark,” you interrupted softly, pressing his hand, “I think I can handle answering the questions.”
“Sir,” the nurse said patiently, one hand on her hip. “She’s going to be fine. You can take a breath now.”
You tried to muffle a laugh. “Yes, do that before you get hospitalized,” you whispered, still clutching your stomach.
Then the doctor finally arrived, striding in with her clipboard and scanning the room. Her eyes landed on Clark, frozen mid-pacing next to the bed, pale and panicked and she immediately let out a soft laugh, as well as letting out a quiet comment on how giant your boyfriend looked perched in the corner, hands clasped like he was waiting for news of a life-saving surgery. 
“Oh… yeah. Okay. That’s the problem,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her. But you?” she nodded at Clark, “Anything wrong with you besides the clear panic attack?”
He shook his head dramatically. “I’m completely worried, normal, casual about this and utterly terrified. All of the above…minus a few, maybe.”
“I know for sure ‘normal’ doesn’t belong on that list,” the nurse muttered. You laughed so hard your stomach pulled uncomfortably.
“He’s just…large,” you managed between chuckles.
“Unreasonably so,” she agreed, with the solemnity of a medical observation as if physics itself should’ve intervened.
Clark flushed bright red but didn’t back down. “I’m concerned. This is a… a delicate… very delicate situation.”
The doctor shook her head, smirking. “I can see that. Let’s get her checked and maybe… keep the heroics to a minimum?”
“He’s never been very good at that.” You snickered, letting your head fall back on the pillow. Clark gave you a pointed glare but couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face as the doctor started her exam.
Even in the ER, Clark’s mix of worry, pride and ridiculous intensity made you laugh between groans and you both knew this was going to be a story retold many times, much to his chagrin.
The doctor, still suppressing a grin then gestured for Clark to step back. He hovered reluctantly, arms crossed over his chest like a storm cloud, peeking over her shoulder anyway.
“Alright,” she said, leaning over to examine you, “let’s see what’s going on here.” Her fingers pressed gently along your lower abdomen and pelvis, eyes flicking up at you with professional focus but her gaze couldn’t resist darting to Clark, who had gone completely pale.
“Uh… I’ll just… stand right here,” he muttered, inching closer than strictly necessary.
“Yeah,” the doctor said, raising an eyebrow. “This is… exactly what I expected. Very… inflamed,” she murmured, glancing at Clark. “Not from an accident, I take it?”
Clark stammered. “Uh, no! I mean–well, technically…yes? It was consensual, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“She wasn’t,” You mouthed.
The doctor tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was solving a puzzle. “It happens. It’s nothing permanent. She’s perfectly fine, just bruised.” she said, letting out a small laugh.
You laughed weakly from the bed, covering your face. “See? Told you I’m fine.”
Clark froze. “Well you know I don’t like that word.” His cheeks burned red but there was no hiding the mixture of pride and embarrassment.
The doctor handed you some ice packs and gave Clark a pointed look. “Ice, rest, maybe a bit of over-the-counter pain relief and you,” she said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder, “next time, dial it down to… human levels. Got it?” The doctor joked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Clark said solemnly, almost saluting, though his lips twitched into a grin.
By the time the nurse finally waved you both out, Clark was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had insisted on carrying you to the car to make sure you weren’t in pain, occasionally glancing at you like he might tackle anyone who even looked at you wrong.
“So…” he began as soon as you were buckled in, voice quiet but intense, “maybe we should… reevaluate the list. Make sure nothing on there…physically overpowers you again.”
You laughed, shaking your head, the seatbelt pressing across your midsection a sharp reminder of the last few hours. “Yeah… no way, I’m not gonna do that. God forbid I actually enjoy the stretch! You have a big dick, Clark, get over it! I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I wrote that list and trust me…I’m loving it so far.”
He blinked, trying to look stern but failing spectacularly. “I… okay. That’s more sincerity than I expected and I’m…very proud of you.”
“Been working on it,” you said with a playful smile.
Clark nodded, his expression softening. “I can see that. I still need to make sure you’re safe,” he murmured, tugging gently at your hand that rested on your thigh.
The doctor had insisted on rest, no activity, just to let the bruises heal but your mind had already wandered. “Which I’m sure you’ll enforce, Superman,” you said, pausing with mock seriousness. “Umm… so, about this whole resting thing…”
“Sweetheart–”
“How far are we taking that? Face sitting doesn’t really count, right?” you asked, smirking. “I mean, technically…”
Clark froze mid-hand squeeze, his eyes widening. “We’re still in the ER parking lot and you’re thinking about sitting on my face?”
“Yes,” you said, trying not to giggle. “It’s literally zero impact on the bruising. The doctor said no activity, but… come on, Clark… that face is begging for it.”
He blinked slowly, then cleared his throat, releasing your hand to push up his glasses and discreetly, or not so discreetly, readjust himself. “We’ll… uh… we’ll see,” he muttered, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as his mind raced.
“Will I… get an answer by morning?” you asked, glancing at the darkening sky where the first hints of sunrise were creeping in.
He started the car, eyes flicking to you with that mix of exasperation and mischief only he could pull off. “Baby, you’ll get an answer when I stop… leaking into my underwear,” he muttered, voice tight with effort. “Then I can think straight.”
You bit back a laugh, trying not to let the growing smile take over your face. “Will that be… soon?”
He shot you a glance, one brow quirking and lips twitching as if he were fighting his own amusement. 
“It’s unlikely,” he said flatly, though his eyes betrayed every ounce of delight and torment you were causing and you understood then, with a devilish grin, the absolute importance of depth. 
Clark clearly took it very seriously and you intended to test every inch of it.
Tumblr media
A/n: If you had to write your own list, what are the top three things you’d put on it? I'll go first! 1. Having the guy wear a ghostface mask, motorcycle helmet or literally anything that covers his face while we... yk, 2. Cockwarming, 3. Watching my partner jerk it *bites finger* (If you judge me you'll have diarrhea for a month straight) Anyway!!
Thank you lots for reading, reblogging, commenting, requesting and following guys! love interacting with you all. See you later this week! 🫶
3K notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 12 days ago
Text
Superfreak
Pairing: david!clark kent x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938
Tumblr media
A/n: This is what i think living with a man who loves you looks like (which i've been told is incredibly delusional and clearly just a fantasy of mine but #needthat) Also quick question, English is not my first language and i've seen people write "come" and "cum" which one is used more? or more correct? i feel like i should know this 😬
Summary: Clark being a handsy freak, fully devoted to the art of making you come.
Classification: Smut +18 | Fingering, nipple play, dry humping and praise + depictions of female orgasms
Word count: 2,2k
Divider by me ;)
Tumblr media
You had never been one to orgasm easily. You’d had them before on your own, in quiet and careful moments but never with a partner and certainly never this often, this intensely. That changed the moment you started dating Clark and now that the two of you had moved in together… It felt like it happened all the time.
On weekday mornings, you and Clark usually fell into a comfortable routine where one of you would shower while the other made breakfast, trading off depending on who needed to leave first. But when Clark was the one manning the stove, there was always the risk that he’d cheat the system.
Steam was curling lazily around you when the sound of the shower curtain rings rattling broke through your thoughts, right before a rush of cooler air slipped in as the curtain was pulled back and in stepped a very naked, very unapologetic Clark. His hands were already eager and insistent, sliding along the damp curve of your hips.
“What about breakfast?” you asked, not turning toward him, though you could practically feel the grin stretching across his face.
“That’s what food delivery is for,” he murmured against the back of your neck, his voice deep and playful as his fingers curled around your hips and pulled you flush against him. You felt the solid press of his body almost overwhelming in the misty space. “We’ve got fifteen minutes.”
“For?” you breathed, though your voice betrayed you, already breaking under the anticipation.
His hands drifted lower, one steadying you while the other slid between your thighs. Two deft fingers parted your folds with unhurried confidence, finding your clit with an accuracy that made your knees threaten to buckle. The first sweep of his touch had you gasping, the sound bouncing sharply off the tile walls.
Even Clark’s breath hitched as his sensitive hearing caught every shift in your voice and every stutter in your breathing. It fed something primal in him and you felt it in the way his body tensed behind you. His cock was unsurprisingly already hard, pressed against the curve of your ass but he never pushed for his own release. 
His focus was entirely on you, on wringing every desperate sound from your lips until you were shaking against him. His excuse? You deserved to start the day relaxed, unrushed and thoroughly loved on, body and soul, until there wasn’t a trace of tension left in you.
His touch was unrelenting yet precise, coaxing you toward that sharp, dizzy peak you’d once thought impossible to reach with anyone else…and with Clark, you knew it was only the beginning.
You didn’t know people could genuinely come from nipple play, until it happened to you.
You’d been holed up in the study for four straight hours, eyes glued to your laptop, fingers tapping away as you chased one piece of research after another. Clark had brought you lunch earlier, leaning down to kiss the top of your head before quietly leaving again, but when he returned to collect the now half-eaten plate, he caught the sound of a quiet, weary sigh on his way out. 
He stopped at the doorway, watching you for a beat before striding back in. “Can you please stand?” he asked, his tone calm but carrying that subtle authority that made your pulse skip.
You glanced up, brows knitting, waiting for an explanation that would never come…unlike you. “Clark, I’m in the middle of–”
“I won’t ask you twice,” he interrupted smoothly, voice firm. “You know I can do it myself.”
You chuckled under your breath because you knew exactly what that meant, he wasn’t above simply picking you up and moving you, he’d also do it with infuriating gentleness. Still, you rose, only for him to drop into your chair and tug you effortlessly onto his lap.
“What’s this about?” you murmured, already melting a little against him as his large hands settled on your waist.
“Taking a break,” he said casually, as if the way his palms were sliding under your shirt was perfectly normal. “Tell me about your research.”
So you tried, words spilling haltingly as his warm fingers traced slow, deliberate paths up your ribs until they cupped your breasts. His chin rested on your shoulder, his voice a low hum of encouragement while his thumbs brushed over your now hard nipples.
When you faltered mid-sentence, breath catching, he murmured, “Keep going. I’m listening.” And he was, though mostly listening to every change in your breathing and every subtle shift in your voice as he rolled your nipples between his fingers with expert precision, coaxing wave after wave of heat through you.
Your body tightened in response, thighs pressing together reflexively as the pressure kept building until you were trembling, head tipping back against his shoulder. He never rushed you, never broke his steady rhythm, just kept you balanced perfectly on that knife-edge until pleasure rolled through you sharp and sweet.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered, one hand splayed firmly over your belly as if holding you together just to make you fall apart again. “Relax. You know I don’t like seeing you stressed.”
And you could only lean into him, boneless and dazed, wondering how on earth you’d ever get any work done in this house again.
Other times, it wasn’t stress or work keeping you up, it was that restless, inexplicable inability to fall asleep. You’d toss and turn beside him for what felt like hours, huffing in frustration before flopping onto your side with a loud sigh.
That was always Clark’s cue.
Before you could shift again, he’d hook an arm over your waist and pull you flush against him, caging you in like you were some wayward blanket he refused to let escape.
“You’ve been at it for 20 minutes,” he whispered into your hair, his voice a warm rumble. “What’s wrong? You’re not cold, it’s not too hot and your heart’s at a normal rate, except for a few jumps every time you flip over.”
You squinted into the dark. “Are you using your powers on me?”
“I always use my powers on you,” he mumbled and you could practically hear the grin.
You rolled your eyes and got more comfortable in his arms but the movement pressed your hips more firmly back against him. The low, involuntary groan it pulled from his chest made your clit pulse.
“Are you frustrated about somethin’?” he asked, voice going a touch lower.
“Just go to sleep, Clark. I’ll go take a walk or something.”
“Or,” he interrupted smoothly, “you could get off on me. Same effect, faster results and you stay where I can see you.”
You were about to scoff but the heat already curling in your belly told a different story and so you did. Tangled in his arms and unable to move more than your hips, you grinded against the hard length straining against his boxers. The restriction made it all the more maddening, making pleasure coil tight until it burst over you and not just once either.
By the third orgasm, your limbs had gone boneless and your body melted into the bed as sleep pulled at you with irresistible force.
The only one left wide awake, aching and frustrated was Clark. His powered stamina meant he could’ve gone for hours but with nowhere to put it, all he could do was lie there with his boxers damp from a twice-over release.
If there was a hell designed specifically for the superpowered, this might’ve been it.
But your favorite of those random orgasms was definitely movie night.
Dinner had gone smoothly and now the two of you had settled on the couch with a blanket tossed over your laps. No matter how sprawling the couch seemed, you always ended up in the same spot, curled against him.
Under the blanket, his hand slipped under your underwear, his large fingers sliding in and curling just the way you loved. You weren’t ashamed to admit that you had never been this sexually satisfied in your life.
He couldn’t resist watching your reactions, the way your body quivered under his touch and how your breathing caught in little hiccups that made his own pulse quicken. His lips brushed your temple, nuzzling into your hair as his fingers worked, coaxing pleasure from every nerve ending.
“You like that, baby?” he murmured, his voice low and rough against your ear. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
You nodded, thumb brushing over his forearm in a silent affirmation. This wasn’t just about physical satisfaction, it was the intimacy of it and the way he could make you melt while you were both just existing together. Clark loved having you this close and feeling every subtle tremble and shiver that ran through your body at the slightest touch. You whimpered softly, a quiet sound of surrender that made him grin against your skin.
"That's my good girl," he cooed, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. "I love how responsive you are to me."
You hummed in contentment, eyes half-lidded as the TV flickered in front of you, though your attention was far from the film. Every slow blink, every parting of your lips and shiver of your body under his touch was a testament of your trust in him, allowing yourself to be consumed by the sensation rather than thinking about the ending. 
Your legs shifted slightly then, opening more as you relaxed fully into him, your body responding eagerly.
Clark smiled at the sight, his lips grazing, nuzzling and pressing soft kisses as his fingers continued their steady intrusion. He always wanted to prolong this, draw it out, teasing and building you bit by bit while feeling the way your nails dug into his unbreakable skin as your pleasure grew. He savored how your muscles tensed and quivered under his touch, each gasp and whine only spurring him on while guiding him to just the right pressure and rhythm.
"Enjoying the movie, baby?" he teased, his voice low, though he already knew the answer. Your gaze was fixed on the screen sometimes but your mind and body were entirely elsewhere. 
His fingers moved faster now, skilled and confident, curling, pressing and drawing you higher while his thumb circled your clit in a steady, rhythmic motion.
You threw your head back, letting out a moan that rang clearly through the room, your body arching into his hand as your knee splayed against his thigh. Every nerve seemed on fire, every inch of your skin alive with sensation as Clark held you close while he pushed and pulled, coaxing you closer to that familiar edge again and again, by then the flickering TV ceased to exist. 
You were lost in him and he reveled in that total, perfect surrender.
"Such a beautiful sight," he awed, lips brushing along your neck in a tender kiss, teeth grazing ever so lightly. "All soft and blissed out… and I’m not even done yet."
“Unghhh, fuck. Clark–” you gasped. “I–”
"I know, baby. I know," he said in a mock empathetic tone, fingers continuing their unrelenting assault. "Feels good, doesn’t it? You like what I’m doing to you?"
Your breath hitched and moans spilled freely from you, every sound a confirmation of the pleasure he was giving. “You’re so good to me,” you whispered more to yourself than to him, voice trembling with need.
"You deserve it, baby, don’t you think?" He paused. "I’ll give you anything you want, anything you need. You know that. Just keep making those pretty noises for me, yeah?… let me take care of you."
You quivered in his grasp, hips tilting slightly against his hand. “’M close,” you moaned, voice breaking as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, each sound feeding the fire that built between the two of you.
Clark’s grin was audible in the warmth of his low chuckle, his hands expert and insistent, holding you on the cusp while making sure every moment stretched deliciously, until your entire body surrendered in shivers and cries that filled the room.
You gasped and trembled, hips pressing insistently against him, letting out the loudest, most unrestrained moan yet as your body arched and your thighs closed around his forearm. Clark drank it in while a mix of awe and satisfaction flooded his chest. He could feel your tension breaking, releasing under his touch and it made him ache with pride and want.
"So darn gorgeous," he murmured against your temple, lips brushing lightly over your skin as his fingers slowly coaxed you through your release. His free hand slid into your hair, threading through the strands, cradling your head and keeping you pressed securely against him, holding you even as your body shivered in the throes of pleasure.
You let out a deep, shuddering sigh as the last waves of sensation rolled through you and only once he was sure you were completely spent did he withdraw his hand. Bringing two soaked fingers to his mouth before licking them clean with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He wrapped his arms snugly around you and placed an affectionate kiss on your forehead.
"Told you I’d take care of you, sweetheart," he said, voice rich with satisfaction and tenderness, fingers now tracing idle, gentle patterns along your back. "Feel good now?"
You sighed, closing your eyes as you sank fully into the afterglow, letting your breath find a steady rhythm. “So good… missed half the movie, though.” you admitted, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips.
Clark chuckled quietly, nuzzling the top of your head as he held you close.
"Look at you, all blissed out already and the night just started," 
“Give me five minutes and I'll take more than two fingers. ” You mumbled, voice still thick with lingering pleasure.
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, ma’am, you will.”
Clark Kent loves nothing more than making you cum. His excuse? You make him feel human.
Tumblr media
A/n: Don’t hesitate to let me know in the comments if you guys want the extended version of any of these scenarios!
1K notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 13 days ago
Text
Swear jars and tiny titans
Pairing: dad!clark kent x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
A/n: Posting something extra this week!
Summary: When Kryptonian DNA and science collide, one thing becomes clear: parenting just got a lot more complicated.
Classification: Fluff
Word count: 3k
Divider by me ;)
Tumblr media
The morning had been quiet in that deceptively sweet way only weekends could be. Sunlight warmed the hardwood floors of the apartment as your daughter sat plopped in the middle of her soft play mat, babbling to herself in between stuffing an unreasonably large plastic block into her mouth and furrowing her brows when it didn’t quite fit.
She was almost one, her soft curls still sparse and eyes bright and mischievous with fingers constantly grabbing, exploring and throwing. She wasn’t walking yet, not really talking either and while part of you sighed in relief that she hadn’t developed powers yet, you both knew that moment could come and likely would…eventually.
Clark was nearby, folding tiny shirts and onesies into neat piles on the couch with a domestic precision that somehow didn’t rob him of his ridiculous otherworldly charm and you were pacing slowly behind the coffee table, one eye on your child and the other glaring at the TV screen currently filled with faces you didn’t like at a panel of politicians and pundits. All shouting over each other while throwing around words like “meta-human danger”, “genetic unpredictability” and “public safety risks,” all while their faces remained calm and composed, pretending the entire conversation wasn’t built on paranoia and ignorance.
Your arms crossed, uncrossed and then waved in frustration. 
“They keep talking like it’s a disease,” you said, gesturing toward the screen like the people behind it could see you. “As if powers make someone dangerous by default and as if everything good Superman has done can just be…erased because one of them got scared of someone who can fly.”
Clark looked up from the laundry, his hands stilling on the tiny shirt he’d been folding, watching you with that almost-smile he got when you said something that hit him right in the chest. It wasn’t pride exactly, it was deeper than that, warmer…like the look of a man silently confirming to himself, ‘Yeah… I married the right person.’
“And you know what pisses me off?” you continued, louder now, voice shaking just slightly, not from fear but from frustration that had been slowly curdling in your chest for weeks. “They never talk about the people who get saved, or how the government fails its citizens until someone like you has to step in. They only talk about the ‘threat,’ never the source of the danger. It’s not the powers, it’s the people in power who are the problem. Jeez, it’s like we’ve been through this a hundred times and they’re still…still–”
Your hands flew out in an exasperated motion, fingers splayed and trembling slightly as you gestured at the screen, your heart hammering in your chest so loudly that Clark drowned in the sound, a rapid, insistent drum that made him instinctively want to step closer and tell you to take a breath but before he could say a word, a soft clatter that hadn’t come from your mouthy toddler echoed through the room and objects began to lift, hovering in the air.
He turned slowly, now with the soft fabric of a tiny sock half-folded in his hands. His eyes darted toward the block that had been in your daughter’s grip just moments ago…suspended now, mid-air with no visible support, rotating slowly. But then it wasn’t just the block, no, now it was the stack of clean laundry still unfolded that slowly rose beside him, a few pens on the nearby side table and even the edge of the area rug drifting upward like caught in a soft breeze that didn’t exist.
You kept talking, not even noticing, so caught in your own momentum that you didn’t realize the world around you was bending. “I swear, if one more senator uses the word ‘mutation’ like it’s a death sentence, I will–”
Clark stood up cautiously, like one wrong move might scare the whole scene away or make it worse, his eyes flicking from your daughter to the floating toys and laundry, then back again.
He approached the nearest object, a stuffed giraffe lazily bobbing in the air and poked it with one careful finger. It drifted in a slow circle before sinking and plopping to the floor beside her.
With a furrowed brow, he bent to pick it up, then tossed it gently upward, almost like a basketball free throw. It sailed… and promptly dropped right back down at his feet. Now he was frowning in full, grabbing a block next and trying again before facing the same result.
“Sweatheart…we have a situation,” he said softly, but you didn’t hear him yet.
“It won’t be anything illegal, I assure you. I know I'm not above the law, I’m usually quite literally under it–”
“Sweatheart?”
“Yes, baby?” you answered first without looking but then when you finally turned, you followed his gaze to the toys, the laundry, the everything hanging motionless in the air. Your gaze settled on the block, now spinning lazily midair in defiance of gravity and just bellow it, your daughter was sitting calmly, watching with her mouth still open around the corner of another toy.
Your heart stopped.
“Is that her?” you asked, a little too loudly, looking down at your child like she'd just grown wings.
Clark was already crouched next to her, brows knit as he studied her expression. She blinked up at both of you, curious and maybe a little confused, but completely still. Not even reaching for the toy she'd just lost.
That’s when you finally lowered your arms, your hands falling to your sides with the heavy weight of disbelief…and just like that, everything dropped.
The toy clattered back onto the play mat, rolling until it bumped against your daughter’s foot. Socks fluttered down to the couch and the pens clicked against the coffee table before rolling out of sight. Then, almost comically, a tiny lavender onesie drifted in the air for a beat longer than everything else before plopping right onto Clark’s head like it had chosen him on purpose.
There was a beat of stunned silence until your daughter’s whole face lit up and she let out a full, bubbling belly giggle, the kind that came from deep in her tiny chest and made her wobble over on her hands. She smacked the play mat with both palms like she’d just witnessed the greatest slapstick comedy of her short life, her little squeals filling the room.
Clark froze, the soft fabric obscuring his eyes and you stared at him trying hard not to smile at the ridiculous picture he made with baby laundry on his head, your heart still thudding from the realization of what just happened.
“Holy shit,” you blurted without thinking, the word slicing through the moment like a stone in a still pond and that’s when your daughter, still watching the both of you with open amusement, kicked her little feet, clapped her hands like she’d just been given the best show of her life and repeated, clear as day, in a proud little voice:
“Sheeh!”
Clark slowly stood to his full height then reached up, grabbed the shoulder of the onesie and peeled it off his face. He looked at you with a raised brow, his mouth twitching between a smirk and a lecture before pressing into a thin line and then, without saying a word, he pointed toward the swear jar sitting on the kitchen counter.
You groaned, already leaning over to snag his wallet from where it sat on the arm of the couch and flipping it open like this was the most normal thing in the world. Clark didn’t even blink, just stood there pointing and holding the onesie in one hand while you thumbed through his cash, plucked out a bill and crossed the room to shove it into the swear jar with practiced ease.
“Happy?” You asked.
He didn’t have to say a word; his expectant silence was enough to make you roll your eyes and fish out a second bill, also from his wallet, for the baby. She let out another delighted squeal at the sight of the green paper disappearing into the jar, as if she somehow knew she was part of the joke.
Clark’s arms dropped to his sides, shoulders slack, making you want to bite back the laugh threatening to bubble up but letting it slip only as a quick, quiet chuckle that you immediately smothered behind your hand before straightening your posture and trying to look like the composed parent in the room.
“She said her first real word!” you defended softly, marveling that it wasn’t just another “mama” or “dada.”
“Which was profanity,” he replied flatly, the faintest twitch of his brow betraying that he was not amused, at least not yet.
“She’s a genius then, wise beyond her years.” You turned to him, arms crossed like you were ready to die on this hill. “This feels like a parenting win to me.”
He just shook his head, letting a slow grin spread across his face, the warmth behind it melting away the last frayed edges of your nerves. “We’re gonna need a bigger jar,” he said, voice soft but amused, eyes flicking to you with a teasing glint.
Then he scooped your daughter into his arms, still giggling and kicking like she hadn’t just mimicked your cursing and possibly witnessed the laws of physics bend around her parents.
“When I said we needed to start saving for college,” he murmured to her, still grinning, “I didn’t mean it like that.”
You stayed rooted near the kitchen, heart slowly returning to its normal rhythm with your hands pressed to your hips like they might hold you together. “So…are we sure that wasn’t her?” you murmured, almost hoping he’d say yes just so the world would feel normal again.
Clark glanced at you over his shoulder, one eyebrow arched in that really? way. “Unless she’s secretly channeling your stress hormones like a tiny Kryptonian lightning rod, no.”
You blinked, trying to find humor in the sudden swirl of confusion, awe and cosmic implications.  “Cool, cool, cool…” you murmured finally, the words tasting odd in your mouth, like trying to talk with a mouthful of marshmallows. “You could also lie to me… it’s fine, you know?”
Clark didn’t reply at first, just crossed the room in that unhurried, steady way of his, to press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before plucking the car keys from the counter. With a slight tilt of his head toward the front door, he shifted your daughter in his arms, bouncing her gently as she blew spit bubbles, blissfully oblivious to the fact her parents were quietly recalibrating their entire understanding of reality.
“Where are we going?” you asked cautiously, your voice somewhere between curiosity and wariness.
“To see Uncle Terrific,” he said with a small grin, brushing a thumb over your daughter’s tiny fist before tickling her belly. She squealed and kicked her legs, giggling like nothing in the world had changed because, for her, it hadn’t. “And maybe run a few tests.”
You nodded slowly, letting the words settle. “So… just a normal Tuesday, then.”
“Just a normal Tuesday, my love,” he assured, voice warm and certain in that way that always made you believe him, even when the air still felt charged from whatever had just happened. “Everything will be okay.”
Tumblr media
The lab was all smooth chrome, glowing screens and quiet humming tech, the kind of place where even a sneeze felt like it might cost thousands.
You sat on the edge of the exam bed, legs swinging while watching your daughter sit contentedly in the middle of the lab floor, chubby legs splayed and tiny hands busy in her own little world. One of Mr. Terrific’s T-spheres hovered nearby, its soft LEDs blinking like a tiny planet within reach. She leaned forward in that wobbly toddler way, tongue poking out in concentration and let out a delighted babble as if sheer will alone could draw it closer. The sphere drifted an inch too near and she clapped, ecstatic, fingers stretching with fearless curiosity that you recognized as equal parts of both of you.
“She’s going to find a way to get drool on that thing,” you warned without moving, half a laugh stuck in your throat because nothing about the day had been normal.
“It’s fine,” Mr. Terrific said without looking up from his console, voice dry. “They’re durable. Also waterproof.”
“She’s teething, so it’ll be a lot more than you think.” Clark added from beside you with one hand sliding across the small of your back and up between your shoulder blades in a slow, steady stroke designed to ease the jitter in your ribs without breaking whatever tiny spell of composure you were clinging to.
“I’m the one who spends hours cleaning them after your visits, Clark, it’s always bad,” Mr. Terrific grumbled but even his complaint had softened at the edges as your daughter squealed and reached again.
You smiled faintly, the nervous flutter still lodged somewhere in your chest. You wanted answers, wanted clarity but weren’t entirely sure you were ready for the implications. “Will this take long?” you asked, voice small over the gentle hum of the lab and the hovering T-spheres your daughter was mesmerized by.
“I hope not,” Mr. Terrific replied dryly, not even glancing up from his console. “I’ve got work to do, and I don’t exactly make house calls.”
He then leaned back, folding his hands together and launched into an explanation that sounded like a lecture from a university you’d never attended. “Given the inheritance of kryptonian genome vectors interlaced with retained paternal DNA post-partum within your own cellular structure, it is plausible that latent metahuman potential was both preserved and modulated in your genome, resulting in a phenotypic expression triggered by acute emotional stimuli.”
You and Clark exchanged a look, Clark raising an eyebrow as if to say here we go and you cleared your throat. 
“And for people with an average IQ?” you asked, half-smiling.
Mr. Terrific leaned forward, tapping a pen against the console. “In more accessible terms, what we’re seeing is a form of microchimerism. Cells from one individual persisting in another long after birth. In your case, paternal cells remained within your system and under the right stress or stimuli, they manifested in ways that produced metahuman abilities. Essentially, the leftover DNA from Clark acted like a latent switch, waiting for the right signal to activate. Smaller activations may have happened before but they were beneath the threshold of detectability.”
You swallowed, feeling your pulse still trying to catch a normal rhythm and Clark gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “So… I’m basically a Kryptonian-powered mutant now,” you murmured, half in awe, half in disbelief.
“Exactly,” Mr. Terrific said, tilting his head with a small nod. “Welcome to the club.”
Clark’s brow furrowed slightly as he glanced at you, concern mixed with curiosity. “You said mutation… so it’s not going away?”
Mr. Terrific shook his head slowly, folding his hands over his lap. “No, not at all. In fact, it’s likely to continue evolving over time, adapting in response to both internal and external stimuli. Think of it as a dynamic trait rather than a static one.”
You felt a shiver of awe and a hint of nervousness at the idea and Clark’s hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze as if silently promising, we’ll handle this together.
That’s when it happened.
The T-sphere hovered a little higher, drifting just out of your daughter’s reach yet she didn’t seem to notice. Her tiny hands reached up again and suddenly she wasn’t on the floor anymore.
She was floating a few feet above the ground, her hair lifted gently as if underwater and her round cheeks flushed with delight. She giggled, kicking her legs while lazily spinning in a slow, carefree circle.
Clark straightened instantly, eyes wide, while you stayed frozen on the edge of the exam bed.
All three of you just stared at her and then at each other. Clark and Mr. Terrific’s gazes found you at the same time, their expressions a mix of disbelief and that slight “what did you do?” tension.
“That’s not me,” you said quickly, raising both hands in surrender before rapidly lowering them just in case.
Your daughter clapped her hands and that tiny movement made her twirl a little more, laughing fully with pure joy.
Clark reached up carefully, catching her midair and lowering her gently into his arms, his smile breaking into a wide grin. “Look at ‘er, flying already,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Who’s daddy’s best girl?”
The baby responded with a full, belly-deep giggle, her tiny hands waving excitedly in the air as if she knew exactly what she had just accomplished. You shook your head, half-laughing, half-panicked and jabbed Clark lightly in the ribs. “Wipe that grin off your face, mister. We are so in over our heads.”
He just chuckled, bouncing her lightly. “And I'm loving every second of it.”
You turned to Mr. Terrific, arms crossed and voice steady despite the adrenaline still humming through you. “Whatever you had planned today? Cancel it. We need to figure out how to baby-proof the sky.”
Clark added with a smirk, still holding your daughter, “And of course, baby-proof the apartment again for our newly powered toddler.”
Mr. Terrific groaned dramatically, running a hand down his face before nodding, clearly conceding to the chaos. He started pulling a tablet from his workbench then. “Fine, fine… now that this happened, as a late push present, here are the initial designs for your daughter’s super suit–”
Both you and Clark yelled in unison, “Nope!”
Instinctively, you raised your hand and a faint, shimmering aura radiated from your tingling fingertips, bending the light around it ever so slightly. The tablet lifted gracefully, hovering toward you as if drawn by invisible threads, until it settled securely in your grasp, a visible confirmation that your powers were evolving exactly as Mr. Terrific had predicted.
“Not even as a Halloween costume?” Mr. Terrific asked, amusement sparkling in his eyes, clearly enjoying the display.
“Too soon,” you said firmly, eyes narrowing in mock seriousness. “Now let’s get to work before I start to panic.”
Clark let out a soft laugh, resting a hand on your back as he watched you and in that moment, it hit him: you were very much in over your heads.
Tumblr media
A/n: Telekinesis inspired by a conversation with @fire-joestar :) thanks for sparking the idea!
1K notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 14 days ago
Text
Fallout pt.2
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
⟡ Part 1 | ⟡ Main Index | ⟡Archive for Earth-1110
A/n: Here it is! I've never written anything this long but i think it was worth it :)
Summary: Amid dangerous covert operations and a web of shifting loyalties, morally grey operatives navigate the razor’s edge between survival and desire. Passion collides with betrayal, blending angst, smut and fleeting moments of tenderness in a high-stakes military spy thriller.
Content warning: Graphic sexual content (dom/sub dynamics, praise and dirty talk, gentle manhandling, fingering, oral and unprotected vaginal sex) Violence (hand-to-hand combat, use of weapons, injuries, m*rder and blood) and use of Strong language 
Word count: 13,7k
Divider by me:)
Tumblr media
The door to the interrogation room slammed behind you with a mechanical hiss that sounded far too final, even with your heart still pumping and your wrists still stinging from the cuffs. The air outside was drier, thinner somehow like it had been scrubbed one too many times while the hallway in front of you was bathed in the pale, flickering hue of emergency lighting. Red, then white, then red again. It made the walls pulse like a heartbeat and your shadow twitch like it was trying to flee ahead of you.
Simon moved without hesitation, his boots silent over dusty tile.
He didn't wait to see if you followed, he kept close to the wall with one gloved hand brushing it now and then as if counting doors, gauging depth, mentally building a map of the facility he hadn’t been given. His sidearm was ready and slightly angled downward, the barrel moving with each controlled breath.
You trailed behind, your own weapon heavier than usual now in your palm while the silence between you stretched like a taut wire.
Sirens wailed in the distance, long looping tones meant to signal breach protocol but the floor you were on felt abandoned, untouched, like it hadn’t seen proper foot traffic in months. Dust coated the corners of the corridor and small spider cracks spread like veins across the neglected tile. The overhead lights hadn’t fully powered, flickering like broken neon in some forgotten back alley of a dying city.
"Where the hell are we?" you murmured, more to yourself than to him, your voice swallowed by the dry walls.
"Sublevel," Ghost answered without looking back. His voice was low, "Old wing. Never finished construction. Probably rerouted us here on purpose."
So they could disappear you in silence.
Your fingers tightened on your grip. 
Suddenly, a voice crackled in his comms, it was Soap, tense but not panicked.
"Ghost, you movin'?"
Ghost paused just long enough to hit the side of his comm with his knuckle, shifting so his body shielded you from the open stretch of corridor ahead.
"Moving. One with me."
"Containment breach got two floors on lockdown. Feeds are fucked. Lost you for a second."
"Keep it that way,” Ghost muttered. “ETA to exit?"
"Seven minutes if you keep right but you’ve got heat."
Ghost glanced back at you then, just once and you saw it in his eyes, even through the mask…the tightening, the recalibration, the shift from controlled retreat to active defense. You didn’t ask if he was surprised because you weren’t.
You ducked into the hollow shell of what had once been a surveillance station with glass long shattered, wires snaking like veins out of gutted panels and a low metallic drip echoing from somewhere just outside the broken doorframe. The smell of dust and rusted copper clung to the air like a memory gone sour and for a moment, the silence between you was louder than the sirens above.
Simon scanned the corners first, clearing them without needing to speak. You followed, spine tight and eyes flicking to the corners of the cracked ceiling. There was no movement, no cameras or fresh boot prints in the dust. Ghost finally turned, the shadows under his eyes deep and his mask damp around the edges with sweat that hadn’t been there ten minutes ago. 
“I started digging the second they pulled you off active rotation,” he said, voice low and grating, like gravel ground under pressure. “Didn’t have full clearance, not to the server node they flagged, but I got… enough.”
You leaned against the wall across from him, head tilted, heart still running from the adrenaline of escape but beginning to twist now slowly and painfully with the burn of anticipation.
“How much is enough?”
Ghost glanced at you and something in his posture shifted. He wasn’t a soldier in that moment, he wasn’t even your extraction, he was someone who’d seen the edge of something and couldn’t look away.
“They accessed the Jordan node remotely,” he said and his voice came slower now, each word picked like a lock. “Encrypted keys matched your terminal ID, but the breach itself came through a dead IP string, burned, from Belarus.”
“No one’s run Belarus in five years,” you whispered, pushing off the wall, the name tasting like old ash in your mouth. “They purged the cover circuit after Moscow.”
Ghost nodded once. “Exactly. Which means someone’s repurposing old access…old fingerprints.”
Your breath caught and held. “Someone’s trying to make me look like I resurfaced a dead route,” you muttered, thinking aloud. “Like I went back to mop up what was left behind.” You looked at him. “But why now? Why this? What the hell are they trying to drag me into?”
Ghost hesitated just enough to make your stomach dip.
“There’s more,” he said. “Someone deleted the camera logs from the London debrief.”
You went still. “All of them?”
“All of them.” His voice was flat. “Only footage left is the timestamp metadata. Enough to suggest you might’ve been in the room but not enough to prove it.”
Your jaw clenched, the room spinning just slightly with the sheer weight of how carefully this had been orchestrated. Just how clean and cruel it was.
“So they put me in two places at once,” you whispered. “Made it look like I logged in from Jordan while I was getting debriefed in London, then deleted the proof.”
Ghost nodded. “They’re not just trying to frame you for the breach.” His voice was quiet now, dangerous. “They’re trying to erase you entirely.”
You stared at him, the panic finally catching up to you sharply, but buried under years of training not to flinch.
“They’re tying it all up in a bow,” you said bitterly. “The old access points, the vanishing alibi, the classified files I can’t even check anymore. This wasn’t random or a mistake.”
“No,” he agreed. “It was planned.”
You turned away, breathing slow and shallow, trying not to let the walls close in. Ghost didn’t speak again right away. He let it settle, let the gravity of it pull everything downward.
“There’s no walking this back,” he said eventually, voice lower now. “You’re not just benched. You’ve been burned.”
The words landed like a pin pulled from a grenade. You felt the blast in your chest first, not panic…not even fear but that cold, splitting realization that whatever lines you’d drawn between your real life and your mission life had just been scorched down to ash.
Then, wordlessly, he pulled something from inside his plate carrier, a data slate, cracked at the corner and covered in dust like it had been ripped from a place no one wanted found. He swiped across the screen and turned it toward you.
It showed a string of unfamiliar documents, heavily redacted. Names, times, codenames in a language you hadn't spoken in years. Mostly numbers, file designations, asset tags and operational corridors that didn’t match any Western system you’d ever seen. Even the formatting was wrong, it was too clean, too controlled.
Your brows furrowed. “What is this?”
Simon watched you closely, waiting for something, recognition, alarm…anything, but all you gave him was quiet confusion and a frown tightening between your eyes.
“This was buried inside a blacksite archive, thirty floors beneath an embassy that doesn’t technically exist,” he said, like he was walking on ice. “Your name’s not on it. Not directly but the timelines, the crossings… someone wanted this tied to you.”
You tilted the slate toward the light, scanning it again and still nothing. Just lines of data, disconnected and cold.
“I’ve never seen this,” you said, honestly. “And I wouldn’t forget something like this.”
Before Ghost could respond, the comms in his ear crackled to life with a low burst of static.
“Ghost, you’ve got movement headed your way. I count four, maybe five, not on usual patrol paths. Moving fast. Infrared tags are cold, but they’re armed.”
Simon’s jaw shifted beneath the mask. “ETA?”
“Ninety seconds, if that. They’re not stopping. Whatever they’re after, they want it now.”
You watched Ghost tilt his head slightly like he was calculating three plans at once. He tucked the slate away and met your eyes. “Time’s up.”
You nodded, pushing away from the wall. “Then let’s move.”
Ghost turned, hand already brushing over the small of your back in a way that wasn’t quite tactical, wasn’t quite intimate either, just enough pressure to say stay close.
As you both stepped out of the room into the corridor, the low hum of the facility grew louder with a mix of emergency klaxons muffled behind bulkhead walls and the distant thunder of boots on metal grating, like something vast and hungry was stalking just out of sight.
The hallway stretched long and empty, bathed in flickering emergency light. Ghost led, every step was calculated, his boots landing soft despite the weight he carried. You followed tight behind, past long-forgotten server bays and sealed steel doors that hadn't opened in years. Dust curled up beneath your feet in soft spirals, disturbed by the passage of people who weren’t supposed to be here. It felt like walking through the veins of a body that didn’t know it was dead yet.
Simon’s voice was low again, just for you. “Whatever this is…” he said, glancing over his shoulder briefly, “it’s been building for a long time.”
You didn’t answer.
Tumblr media
The hallway gave way to a junction, a reinforced double-door cracked open just enough to reveal the skeletal frame of a service stairwell, all iron rails and exposed conduit, the kind of architecture that echoed gunfire and snapped necks alike.
Simon moved first, slipping through with the practiced ease of a man who’d survived more than one ambush in a place just like this. You followed, boots light, every muscle coiled tight with the kind of readiness that came from training burned into your bones, not memorized. The air was cooler here, stale in a different way, like this stairwell hadn’t seen traffic in months either, maybe even decades and the dust was thinner, the scent more copper than concrete.
You didn’t make it past the second landing before the first shot rang out.
It cracked the air like a whip, echoing up the stairwell in warped ricochets, not from above but from behind. Down the hallway you’d just exited, shadows moved fast, too fast and then the fire came in earnest. Muffled shouts, tactical signals, boots slamming against the floor with urgency that wasn’t just pursuit, it was containment…constriction.
Your body moved before your mind finished the thought, spinning toward the gap in the stairwell wall where the first round had sparked against the metal rail. A second hit the wall beside you, sharp but wrong, there was no bloom of heat, no spray of sparks or shattered concrete.
Then a third hit your leg fast and hard, like a thrown rock against your thigh. The burn came soon after but not the kind you expected. You didn’t bleed.
You looked down and caught the round mid-spin as it fell, its plastic casing cracked.
They were training rounds, non-lethal.
You pressed your back to the stairwell wall, adrenaline still roaring and flicked your eyes toward Simon, who was crouched beside the wall two steps up, already tracking the incoming positions.
“They’re not aiming to kill,” you said low, holding the cracked round between your fingers like proof.
Simon’s eyes flicked from your hand to your face. He didn’t speak, but you saw the shift in his body…not relaxed, never that, but something more precise. It held less urgency and more calculation.
He touched his earpiece.“Soap. Confirm. Non-lethals?”
The reply was immediate, clipped with confusion and static.
“What? Negative, mate. Live rounds on our side. You sayin’ you’re not getting hit?”
You glanced down the stairwell again as a figure moved in the dark below, leaned against the rail and fired two more rounds. One shattered on the wall beside you, the other landed near Simon’s boot. There was no follow-up, absolutely no rush to approach.
It became obvious then that they were herding, not hunting.
“They’ve got a no-kill order,” you said, voice quiet but sharp. “They’re not even shooting at you, Simon…just cutting off exits.”
He turned his head toward you slightly, the skull on his mask seeming more like a question than a threat in this lighting. Then, slowly, he lowered his weapon and you mirrored him.
Both weapons holstered with the kind of quiet choreography that could only come from shared understanding, where trust wasn’t discussed but proven.
The heavy silence in the stairwell was shattered only by the soft scrape of boots on concrete, barely a whisper beneath the flickering emergency lights that casted long, jittery shadows up the peeling walls. The lead figure of the opposing team, took a cautious step onto the first rung of the staircase, muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. In that heartbeat, your body moved before your mind fully registered. Your leg snapped forward with fierce precision, the sharp arc of your kick catching him squarely in the ribs. The sudden impact buckled his knees and sent a grunt of surprise tumbling from his throat.
Without hesitation, you planted a firm hand on the cold metal railing for balance and using its leverage, propelled yourself in a swift, fluid motion downwards. Gravity and momentum became your allies as you swung like a pendulum, landing directly in front of the fourth man in the formation. Your knee smashed into his chest, the force driving him backward into the grimy concrete wall with a wet, gasping cough as the air was forced from his lungs. His eyes widened, panic flooding them as he collapsed in a heap, momentarily winded and vulnerable. The stairwell echoed faintly with the sound of his labored breathing, but the fight was far from over.
Ghost’s movements were a blur of controlled aggression, his boots pounding the concrete steps as he charged toward the first two figures standing guard a few steps down. His approach was deliberate, each calculated step closing the gap with relentless purpose. The first man barely had time to react before Ghost was upon him, hands striking out with precise, methodical blows, a brutal mix of jabs, elbows and swift takedowns drawn from years of brutal training. The first opponent staggered back, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, a sharp grunt escaping his lips as Ghost twisted his arm behind him and sent him crashing down the stairs with a bone-jarring thud, but the second man was no fool. He met Ghost’s assault with equal ferocity, dodging the initial strikes and countering with sharp, brutal hits aimed to incapacitate rather than kill, clear evidence of the no-lethal orders in play. 
Ghost quickly realized raw power alone wouldn’t win this fight; each attacker was skilled, anticipating his moves, forcing him into a dance where every punch needed to be calculated and efficient. He shifted tactics seamlessly, blending close-quarters grappling with joint locks and throws, turning the opponent’s momentum against him. His breathing remained steady, eyes sharp and focused as he maneuvered to disarm and disable without crossing the fatal line.
The fourth in the formation lunged forward, a wild swing aimed at your head. It was sharp, fast and clearly meant to catch you off guard but you dropped low instinctively, the muscles in your legs coiling like springs as you ducked beneath the blow, your back pressing hard against the cold, rough concrete wall. The sudden proximity made every breath shallow and every sense razor-sharp.
Before you could pivot, the third in the formation charged down the stairs, his steps silent with a taser flickering cold blue in his clenched fist. His eyes locked onto you with cruel anticipation, a predator confident in his advantage. The moment he raised the weapon, you twisted sharply, elbows cocked like loaded pistons.
Your strike landed with brutal precision, elbow sinking deep into the soft, vulnerable hollow between his legs. The sharp, guttural groan that followed was drowned out only by the sizzling sparks erupting from the taser, its metal prongs arcing dangerously close to your face, casting eerie blue shadows on the stairwell walls.
Using the stunned moment to your advantage, you yanked him forward with a fierce grip, pulling him off balance and down the steps, his taser flaring wildly. The electric discharge shot forward uncontrollably, striking the fifth operative who’d just been closing in. He convulsed as the charge hit him square in the chest, both attackers tumbling down a flight of steps in a tangled, groaning heap, bodies writhing and twitching as the shockwave left them incapacitated.
The fourth operative, who’d been bent over the railing moments before, straightened abruptly, spinning on his heel just as your eyes caught a flash of movement from above; the second in formation tumbling uncontrollably down the upper stairs, a bruised testament to Ghost’s brutal efficiency.
Without hesitation, you shifted your weight forward and unleashed a rapid-fire punch combo, jab, cross and then uppercut, each strike precise and unrelenting, pounding into his ribs and jaw with the controlled ferocity of a weaponized storm. The final blow, a sharp spinning hook aimed at his temple, sent him staggering backward, eyes wild with surprise.
Before he could recover, you followed up with a hard, sweeping kick to his knees, the impact connecting with a sickening crack as he pitched forward and began to cascade down the stairs. Gravity and momentum took over, his body tumbling head over heels with a thud that rattled the walls.
The third and fifth operatives, rattled but not defeated, began to climb up with raw determination driving them forward despite their earlier shocks. The fourth operative, still disoriented from the fall, collided clumsily with the third, sending both sprawling in a tangled mess halfway down the stairwell, their momentum broken earning you a few extra seconds of advantage.
You took a breath, eyes flicking swiftly to the fifth who was now pressing upward alone and turned your full focus on neutralizing the threat before they could regain control.
As the fifth operative lunged upward, the glint of a blade caught the dim emergency light, sharp and deadly. You barely had time to react before the blade sliced through the stale air, a whisper of cold steel aimed for your side. You twisted, muscles coiling like a spring, but the momentum threw you off balance; the edge grazed your ribs, a hot sting blooming beneath your jacket. A grunt escaped you, more from surprise than pain.
Summoning every ounce of control, you pivoted sharply on the balls of your feet, using the stair’s narrow width to your advantage. With a brutal sweep of your leg, you caught the attacker’s ankle mid-lunge. The world tilted as they crashed backward, down a few steps, your foot dragging him off balance. His head cracked against the metal railing with a hollow thud that echoed through the stairwell, body going limp before hitting the landing.
Your ribs burned but adrenaline masked the ache and you knew there was no time to nurse wounds. You spun, eyes locking on the third operative who was just regaining footing, snarling with frustration.
“You bitch!” he spat, lunging forward with desperate fury.
“C’mon man, I know you don’t get paid enough for this,” you said, voice steady but laced with exhaustion, shaking your head as you dodged his wild swing.
He growled, swinging again, claws brutal, fast, but predictable. You slipped beneath his arm, your fingers hooking behind his elbow, twisting sharply. A sick crack echoed and he howled, stumbling forward.
Meanwhile, above, Ghost moved like a shadow made of precise angles and silent force. The first operative, stunned from your earlier kick, barely had time to react before Ghost’s arm wrapped tightly around his neck in a swift guillotine hold. The grip was unyielding, bone and muscle locked in a crushing embrace and within seconds, the man sagged limp, sliding down the steps in a defeated heap.
The second operative struggled to stand after the tumble but found himself facing Ghost’s knee driving mercilessly into his midsection. The breath whooshed out in a sharp gasp as Ghost followed with a spinning elbow that landed flush on the jaw, an impact that snapped the head back and sent the second operative sprawling again, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Back at your feet, you planted yourself firmly, ready to take on the third, the faint pulse in your ribs reminding you how close the edge was but you let the burning fade beneath your focus.
The third operative hesitated for a fraction too long, eyes flickering with impatience and frustration as he saw his teammates fall like dominoes. He lunged forward, blade now clenched tightly in his fist, aiming to catch you off guard with a vicious downward slash.
You ducked low, the blade slicing through the stale air just inches above your head, the metallic hiss like a serpent’s warning. Using that momentum, you sprang up, driving a brutal palm strike into the attacker’s sternum with the force of a hammer blow. The air exploded from his lungs in a sharp whoosh as he staggered backward.
Before he could regain balance, you moved fast, too fast, snapping your elbow into the side of his ribcage, hearing the satisfying crack as it connected. He doubled over, gasping, the pain momentarily overwhelming his senses.
Not giving him a moment to recover, you grabbed his wrist and twisted hard, forcing the blade hand up and behind his back with a sharp pop of strained joints. The pressure was unrelenting; his protest a strangled grunt.
Your other hand slid behind his head, yanking it forward in a sudden judo-inspired throw. His body arced through the air, slamming hard onto the unforgiving concrete landing with a bone-rattling crack. For a breathless second, the world tilted, the scent of dust and sweat thick around you.
He didn’t move and you stood over him, chest heaving.
“Told you no paycheck’s worth that…” you gasped, voice rough but steady, the taste of iron sharp on your tongue.
Silence settled over the stairwell like a heavy, suffocating fog, broken only by the ragged, desperate rhythm of your own breathing echoing off the concrete walls, each inhale sharp and every exhale trembling with adrenaline and exhaustion. The sharp sting of bruises and strained muscles screamed in protest with every heartbeat but your senses remained alert for any sign of movement.
Then, somewhere above, a door creaked open, the soft scrape sending a cold ripple of tension down your spine. Instinctively, your hand snapped to your side, fingers curling around the grip of your weapon, the familiar weight comforting you even as your pulse quickened.
Before your fingers could draw the gun free, your eyes met Ghost’s, steady and unyielding, halting the motion with quiet authority.
“Wait,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, eyes scanning the shadows beyond.
The tension in the air shifted, a breath held in the pause.
From the dim corridor stepped a figure, silhouette sharp and unmistakable even in the half-light.
“Gaz,” Ghost acknowledged quietly, relief threading through the tautness in his stance.
You released your weapon, pulse still pounding, as Gaz’s presence offered a brief, fragile moment of safety amid the chaos.
“A bit late to the party, don’t you think?” you muttered with a dry chuckle, the sound surprisingly light against the stale, heavy air of the stairwell. Gaz’s smirk was just barely visible in the shadows as he stepped closer, the faint echo of boots on concrete punctuating the moment.
Simon’s eyes never left the corridor beyond, voice clipped and sharp as he broke the silence. “Sitrep. Any movement, contacts, or routes blown?”
“Negative. No issues so far,” Gaz replied, voice steady and calm under pressure. “Perimeter’s clear. No heat on comms. All green on tactical feeds.”
You nodded, appreciating the momentary reprieve but knowing it wouldn’t last. The faint hum of distant alarms still vibrated through the building’s bones, a reminder of the storm gathering beyond the narrow confines of your hiding place.
Turning back to the stairs, your gaze dropped to the unconscious figure sprawled against the cold concrete; the second in formation, his face slack and breaths shallow. As you knelt beside him, the low emergency lights cast a sickly glow that flickered like a dying candle, painting long, restless shadows across the walls.
Your fingers moved quickly, rifling through the operative’s gear with the precision and urgency that had become second nature. Then, something caught your eye. A folded piece of paper, tucked carelessly into the inner lining of a jacket pocket, worn and almost faded but definitely out of place amid the tactical rig.
You pulled it free, unfolding it slowly as if it might shatter under the weight of what it held. Sparse markings, codes, coordinates and a barely legible symbol, cryptic enough to mean nothing to anyone else but screaming volumes to those trained to read between the lines. It was enough, just a whisper of a lead, a thread to pull that might unravel the next layer of the tangled web you’d just been dragged into.
Tumblr media
“Keep your heads on a swivel,” Gaz murmured, his voice pitched low, each syllable carrying the weight of someone who knew just how quickly a hallway could turn into a kill box.
Before Ghost could reply, the comms crackled in his ear, Soap’s voice cutting in sharp and urgent. 
“We’ve got movement, multiple, fast. You need to move, now. Routes are gonna close in on you in less than two minutes.”
Gaz’s footsteps echoed softly ahead of you, weaving through the dim corridors like a ghost himself, alert and moving with a predator’s patience as he scanned every corner, every flickering light and shuttered exit. The stale air hung thick with the lingering scent of tension, mingling with the distant thrum of boots and murmurs beyond the walls of patrols circling like sharks, hungry and relentless. Each step was measured, a dance of silence and shadow as you skirted closer to the perimeter, moving through the building’s skeleton that was slowly bleeding into the cold night.
You slipped out a back door, a narrow gap bathed in the sickly glow of flickering lights and suddenly the claustrophobia of concrete gave way to an open field that stretched wide and dark under the indifferent moon. The grass, damp with dew and cold with early autumn, whispered beneath your boots, a muted soundtrack to the escape. The fence ahead, chain-link, rusted and weathered, loomed like a last sentinel between you and fleeting freedom but Gaz was already ahead, moving to a break in the metal where the fence had long since been torn open, an unspoken invitation to disappear into the night.
Beyond the breach, a car waited, sleek, black and low-profile, its engine ready. Gaz’s hand brushed over the door handle, opening it with the quietest click and the scent of leather and cold metal greeted you.
A crackle hummed through Ghost’s comms then, breaking the fragile quiet like a distant gunshot. Soap’s voice, dry and tinged with wry humor, cut through the tension. 
“You made it out, eh? Didn’t think you’d actually pull that off. Listen, the plan’s still shaky…we’re patching together whatever’s left, but if we get burned this time, at least you won’t be the ones catching the heat.” 
The tone was casual but beneath it lay the weight of countless missions gone sideways, the ever-present danger of disappearing without a trace.
“Watch your back, Lt. Take care of her.”
“Thanks, Johnny.”
You exchanged a glance with Simon then and your voice was low but steady as you spoke, “Thanks for having our backs, Gaz…and Soap too. Couldn’t have made it out without you.”
There was a pause, the kind that stretched across invisible miles and unseen battles fought in the shadows. Then Gaz’s voice softened, a rare vulnerability threading through the static. “Just keep your heads down. We’ll try to fix this from here. Stay sharp, both of you, I’m not planning on attending any funerals anytime soon.”
“Who’s talking about funerals?” Soap asked alarmedly.
“Nobody.” Ghost’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing and yet there was something almost… grateful in that glance he shot your way. “Watch your backs. They’ll go after all of us…they’ll want to clean up after themselves.” he said, voice rough, before cutting the comm.
There was no goodbye, no drawn-out words or last looks. You and Ghost simply slid into the waiting car like it was just another exfil, another night where leaving without ceremony meant you still had a chance to come back.
The car moved steadily through the night, tires humming softly against the cold, cracked asphalt as the facility’s distant glow faded behind you. At first, the silence between you and Ghost was thick and unyielding, broken only by the faint hum of the engine and the occasional shift of his hands on the wheel. It was the kind of quiet that pressed into your skin, making every breath feel loud, every heartbeat a reminder of how thin the line between safety and ruin had become.
But as the miles slipped away from that place, the weight of the immediate danger lessened, if only slightly and the quiet began to loosen, like a taut wire slowly unwinding. Ghost’s eyes kept flicking to you, his gaze unreadable, as if measuring the space between what had been lost and what might still be saved.
Finally, you broke the silence, voice low and rough against the dark. “I’ll owe you forever but Simon, this was stupid. What you did…risking everything for me. It was reckless and stupid.” You let the words hang there, the harsh truth burning between you. “You could lose everything. Your career, your clearance… your future.”
He didn’t answer right away, fingers tightening on the wheel as if wrestling with the weight of your accusation. Then, without looking away from the road ahead, he said quietly, almost to himself, “I think we have different concepts of that word.”
There was a pause, heavy with unspoken meaning before he spoke again. His voice softened, almost gentle, cutting through the quiet. “Are you okay?”
You swallowed, the knot in your throat twisting tighter but you forced the words steady and sure. “I’ll be fine…or dead. Don’t know which one first.”
But inside, your mind was racing, calculating, planning and wondering what came next in this endless game of shadows and smoke. The walls closing in, the secrets yet to be uncovered and the uncertain path that lay ahead. You leaned back against the seat, eyes tracing the blur of passing streetlights and let the night swallow you whole, knowing this was only the beginning.
THE PORT – TWO HOURS SINCE ESCAPE
Ghost eased the car to a silent stop next to some abandoned vehicles, their rusted shells swallowed by the gathering darkness, while the muted glow of distant streetlights cast fractured shadows over cracked asphalt. The sharp tang of salt hung heavy in the air, carried on a brisk sea breeze that whispered faintly through the empty docks, mingling with the distant creak of moored ships and the low, restless murmur of waves against weathered wood.
His gloved fingers moved slowly, peeling away the skull mask with a faint sigh, revealing the hard line of his jaw, the tense set of his mouth and eyes that flickered briefly with something unreadable, before he stepped out into the cool night air, the chill immediately biting through the thin fabric of his jacket.
You remained inside a moment longer, hands slipping instinctively into the worn, weathered duffel bags Gaz had left wedged beneath the backseat, each item packed with surgical precision: forged IDs, untraceable cash bundled tight, burner phones glowing faintly with muted screens and a collection of small, sharp tools that felt almost too clinical in their cold necessity.
Before you could fold the pack closed, the silence was broken by a gruff voice cutting through the quiet. From the shadows emerged a lean, sharp-eyed man whose presence radiated quiet authority, someone who thrived in the blurred edges between law and survival.
“Ghost?” he greeted with a crooked grin, eyes flicking to you briefly before settling back on Simon. “You two the happy couple who couldn’t afford a proper honeymoon?”
Simon’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “Neither of us are much for vacations,” he said quietly.
The smuggler chuckled softly, lighting a cigarette with hands worn from too many cold nights. “Price sends his regards. Said you’ll need every advantage you can get.”
The cool night air wrapped around you as you slipped out of the car, the distant creak of the harbor mixing with the soft slap of water against the dock. The salty tang of the sea clung to everything…the wooden planks beneath your boots, the worn ropes coiled beside rusted bollards and the heavy, humid air that whispered of long journeys and faraway places. Simon moved with practiced ease beside you, a shadow blending into the night as you both headed toward the waiting boat, its hull cutting a silent silhouette against the dark water.
Tumblr media
Days slipped past in a slow, unsteady rhythm aboard the vessel, time blurring into a hazy pulse of cold mornings and damp nights. The sky above shifted from bruised purple to muted grey and back again, while below deck, the gentle sway of the boat rocked you in a restless, perpetual half-sleep. Conversations between you and Simon were rare and small, clipped words exchanged only when necessary, the weight of unspoken fears settling between you like a heavy fog. When the subject of why you were running surfaced, it felt like scraping against a rusted edge, bringing nothing new, only reminders of the tangled mess you couldn’t yet unravel.
NORWEGIAN SEA –  48 HOURS OUT FROM OSLO, DAY 3 AT SEA
The cramped space below deck was lit only by the faint glow of a small lamp, casting long shadows against the worn wood. You lay on your cot, eyes tracing the dark shapes on the ceiling as the boat rocked gently, the distant creak of the rigging and the muted slap of waves were the only sounds accompanying the steady hum of the sea outside. From your spot, you could see Simon across the narrow aisle, still awake, staring into the dimness. Quietly, you broke the silence.
“Simon,” you whispered, voice barely carrying over the soft creaks and hums of the ship. A low grunt was his only reply, but it was enough to pull you back from the haze of exhaustion pressing against your mind.
You hesitated, then dared to ask, “Do you remember... that mission? The one in–”
Your words caught in your throat, swallowed whole by the sudden flood of memory that pulled you back like a tide.
Suddenly, the cramped quarters of the present dissolved and you were pulled back through time, the floor replaced by threadbare carpets, the stale air heavy with whispered plans and restless energy…
PRIPYAT, UKRAINE – 9 MONTHS AGO
The remaining of the 141 lay scattered in a tangled mess of sleeping bags and makeshift beds, breaths slow and even, lost to exhaustion. Only you and Simon remained awake, side by side on a narrow mattress pushed against the wall.
The room was cloaked in shadows so thick it felt like the night itself had settled in with you, but in that darkness, there was a fragile kind of peace. Simon’s jaw was tense, his breathing steady but shallow, the faint rise and fall of his chest barely visible under the dim glow of a single, flickering lantern. You reached out hesitantly, fingertips tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone, the rough stubble of his jaw, the faintest pulse fluttering beneath his skin.
He didn’t pull away.
The moment stretched as your hand moved to rest against his face, the warmth seeping through the cold like a lifeline. For the first time, the barriers cracked. The weight of the world, the endless danger, the silent walls of duty and expectation all faded into the background.
You caught a glimpse of something behind his eyes then, something raw and unguarded, a flicker of trust that dared to bloom in the darkness. His fingers twitched slightly, brushing your hand, surrounding you both in the quiet stillness of that small, shared space.
In the hush between heartbeats, your faces drew closer…so close that your breaths mingled and your lips–
PRESENT DAY
You blinked and just like that, the room faded back in. You cleared your throat then, caught between two worlds, a small, unexpected smile tugging at your lips.
“It was bound to happen,” you whispered, an almost laugh warming your voice.
Simon’s reply was a low, quiet chuckle, “Wrong by the book…right by me.”
The past slipped away but the warmth lingered, wrapping around you like a shield against the night ahead.
NORWAY – DAY 6 SINCE ESCAPE
The cold bite of the Scandinavian air hit you like a sharp exhale as you stepped off the ferry, the scent of salt and pine weaving together beneath an overcast sky. The harbor was quiet, muted except for the occasional cry of distant gulls and the faint slap of waves against weathered docks. You pulled your jacket tighter, eyes scanning the fog-wreathed coastline where rugged cliffs jutted into the restless sea, a landscape both beautiful and unforgiving.
Beside you, Simon moved with practiced ease, the weight of what you’d left behind settling heavily but without surrender. The silence between you was no longer strained; it was understood. The days at sea had stretched thin words until they broke, leaving only glances and shared breaths to carry the unspoken.
“Home sweet home,” you muttered, a dry smile tugging at your lips as you breathed in the crisp Norwegian air. “Well, one of them…Smells like I remembered.”
Norway had been your idea. A plan hatched in the quiet hours on day two at sea, when the endless gray waves left you with nothing but time to think. You had a small house there, tucked away among dense pine and birch, far enough from prying eyes, far beyond the reach of the agencies that hunted you both. It was a place where the rules didn’t follow, where the long shadows of jurisdiction couldn’t stretch. You didn’t have leads, nothing concrete, just burned trails and dead ends that left you circling the same mysteries without catching the prey. This wasn’t surrender, not yet. It was simply a breath… a moment to gather your scattered pieces, to think without the world shaking beneath your feet and without the relentless churn of the structures you’d both been tethered to.
Simon’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, a flicker of curiosity mixed with something softer. “You still haven’t explained that part,” he said, voice low but steady.
You met his gaze, feeling the weight behind his question, the quiet pull of the past catching up with the present. “I lived a lot of lives before I met you, Riley,” you said, voice rough with years of stories left untold.
The narrow gravel path crunched softly under your boots as you and Simon made your way through the quiet outskirts of the small Norwegian village, the air crisp and tinged with the scent of pine and damp earth. The trees around you swayed gently in the cool breeze, their dark silhouettes stark against the pale afternoon sky. Ahead, nestled between towering evergreens and a blanket of moss, stood the weathered cottage of the old woman you were here to see, a place as much a relic as the secrets it guarded.
Simon glanced over his shoulder, brow furrowed. “What exactly are we doing here?” His voice was low but edged with curiosity and a hint of caution threading through the calm.
You paused for a moment, letting your gaze settle on the chipped paint and sagging porch of the cottage. “She keeps my car on her property,” you said quietly, “Safe, out of sight. In case I ever came back.”
Reaching the front door, you knocked firmly but there was no response, only the faint creak of the wind pushing through the trees. The silence stretched on, like the calm before a storm. With a practiced ease, you rounded the house, deftly slipping inside through the unlocked door you’d been told about, a courtesy born from years of trust.
Minutes later, you rounded the corner of the street with a smile barely held in check, seated on the driver’s seat of the rusted old Jeep that had been parked discreetly behind the house. The engine coughed with a low rumble, the worn leather seat creaking under your weight whenever you moved.
Simon, still standing just outside the front gate, watched you with a mix of relief and skepticism.
 “This old thing still runs?” he asked, eyebrows raised even as he got into the passenger seat.
You gave him a quick grin, hands steady on the wheel. “More than you’d think. She’s got a few miles left in her, she’ll have to do.” The Jeep’s headlights flickered briefly, cutting through the gathering dusk and with a low growl, you eased the vehicle onto the winding dirt road, the faint echoes of the forest swallowing the sound as you disappeared down the path.
The Jeep’s wheels crunched over the gravel road as you guided it through the quiet village, the fading light casting long shadows from the tall pines that lined either side of the narrow path. The air was sharp with the scent of damp earth and distant smoke from chimneys beginning to stir with evening fires. You’d made a quick stop in the village center to pick up essentials: canned goods, fresh bread, a few fruits and other necessities that would stretch out your quiet reprieve.
Simon sat beside you, his posture tense, eyes flicking occasionally to the passing trees, as if searching for silhouettes in the gathering dusk. The silence between you was comfortable and unburdened by pressure, a rare moment of peace you both knew was fragile.
After the brief errand, you made your way back along the winding path to the small house nestled deep in the woods, its modest frame barely visible against the darkening sky. The windows glowed faintly from within, promising warmth and sanctuary from the chill that crept over the land. Parking the Jeep near the porch, you took a moment to breathe in the crisp air, the scent of pine and wood smoke wrapping around you like a protective cloak.
Inside, the routine settled into an uneasy rhythm. 
THE HOUSE – 15 DAYS POST ESCAPE
Weeks had passed since the escape, precisely fifteen days of quiet tension and hope. Simon claimed the worn couch in the living room, curling up beneath a heavy blanket each night, while you took the bedroom. Days drifted by in a blur of reviewing dead-end leads, tracing burned-out contacts and scanning endless files that seemed to close tighter with every passing hour. 
Tonight, as the sun sank behind the horizon and the last threads of twilight bled into night, you stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, the wood beneath your boots creaking softly with each step. Somewhere in the yard, the steady rhythm of chopping wood echoed. Simon was out there methodically splitting logs, the muscles in his arms flexing with each strike.
You watched him for a moment, focusing on the way the firelight flickered across his face and the quiet concentration in his eyes. It hit you then that you’d been avoiding the truth between you for far too long. The heavy silence, the sidestepping around feelings neither of you had dared to name…
It had to stop.
Stepping closer, you called out softly, “I think we have enough firewood.”
He didn’t miss a beat, lowering the axe for a moment and shooting you a glance edged with dry humor. “I’m aware. There just aren’t any gyms around here.”
You chuckled, stepping even closer, letting your voice take on a teasing edge. “I know. I’ve just been wondering why you don’t do it shirtless.”
Simon looked up from the woodpile, eyebrows raised in that familiar expression, half amusement and half incredulity, like he wasn’t sure if you were serious or just trying to rile him. 
“It’s seven degrees out.”
You hummed in acknowledgement, then turned toward the warmly lit windows of the house behind you, the faint smell of dinner drifting through the night air. “A little cold never hurt anyone. Come on, dinner’s ready.” Your voice was softer now, more sincere and it held an invitation to close the gap that had stretched between you.
For a moment, the night wrapped around you both and there was something waiting in that space, just beneath the surface and you were ready to face it.
The meal was winding down and the clink of cutlery against plates was the only sound in the room aside from the quiet hum of the evening outside. You sat across from Simon, the half-empty dishes pushed slightly aside but your attention was nowhere near the food. Your fingers absently toyed with the fork in your hand, tracing the rim of the plate, nudging a piece of bread back and forth like a restless child trying to focus. The silence between you was heavy, nowhere near uncomfortable but charged.
You caught him watching you, eyes flickering in the dim light, glinting with something unspoken whenever you looked away, and when you glanced back, the two of you locked eyes.
You broke the silence. “You said the word ‘love’.”
He blinked, as if trying to catch what you’d just thrown across the table like a grenade. His face tightened just a fraction, like he was weighing whether to deny it outright or retreat into silence. You could almost see the walls going up, the carefully constructed armor that kept so much locked away.
“In the interrogation room,” you pressed gently, voice steady but soft, almost like you were reminding yourself just as much as him. “I called you an asshole, and you said–” you hesitated for just a heartbeat, savoring the moment, “’Takes one to love one.’ Love. You said... love.”
Simon shifted in his seat, the muscles in his jaw tightening as if chewing on his own thoughts. Then, without meeting your eyes, he stood and began gathering the plates and cutlery, stacking them with mechanical precision, as if cleaning up the dishes could somehow sweep away the weight of what had just been said.
“I said a lot of things,” he muttered, voice low and almost clipped, a carefully chosen deflection that hung in the air between you, unfinished.
You rose too, stepping closer, your gaze fixed on him, steady and unwavering. “Yeah,” you said quietly, “one of those things was ‘love.’” The word lingered, filling the space between the clatter of plates and the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet.
For a long moment, he didn’t respond, just stood there with the dishes in his hands, his eyes finally meeting yours, uncertain but something deeper flickering just beneath the surface. The room seemed to shrink around you, the outside world fading away until it was just the two of you.
The air between you thickened, a tension neither of you could or wanted to break. Simon’s eyes searched yours in a way you hadn’t seen before, as if years of steel and silence had finally cracked. You stepped closer, the warmth radiating from his body pulling at something deep inside you.
“I didn’t say it back,” you whispered, voice trembling just enough to betray your own fear. “And it wasn’t because I didn’t want to.”
He swallowed hard, jaw clenched, like the words were a weight he’d been carrying alone. “I know,” he said quietly.
You reached out, your fingers brushing the edge of his cheek, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with a tenderness that startled you both. “I just…I didn’t know if you meant it how it sounded.”
His breath hitched and for a moment, his walls crumbled. The vulnerability in his eyes was like a silent confession, an admission you hadn’t dared to expect. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice breaking. “How to let someone in without losing myself.”
“Then let me find you,” you said, stepping even closer, the space between you shrinking until there was nothing left but the steady beat of two hearts racing in sync. 
He abandoned the dishes in his hands without a second thought, letting them clatter softly onto the nearest countertop. In the next breath, his palm was on your jaw with fingers splayed and a firm grip, holding you in place like he was afraid you might vanish if he didn’t anchor you there. His gaze burned into yours for the briefest heartbeat and then his mouth claimed yours.
The first press of lips was almost hesitant, a careful test after so many days of silence and unresolved tension but the restraint fractured quickly, giving way to something sharper, hungrier. His mouth moved against yours with unspoken frustration, a need that had been starved far too long. You felt it in the way his thumb stroked your cheek almost tenderly, even as his other hand cupped the back of your head, deepening the kiss.
When his tongue brushed yours, it was like a provocation, a question to see if you’d follow him into this and you did. You leaned in, closing the space completely, your arms sliding around his shoulders, the familiar breadth of them under your hands sparking muscle memory you hadn’t realized you still carried. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt then, nails dragging lightly down his back as if relearning every line and contour.
The kiss turned into a quiet battle, lips and tongues clashing in a push for dominance neither of you seemed willing to surrender. Simon’s hand slipped to your waist, urging you backward with steady insistence until the solid edge of the dining table pressed into the back of your ass. The brief halt only let you register the raw heat in his stare before he swept you upward in one fluid motion.
Your ass met the cool surface, his hands firm on you as he stepped in closer, slotting himself between your legs like he belonged there. The wood beneath you was hard, the air around you taut with the sound of breathing that was no longer steady. His lips found yours again, rougher this time, swallowing whatever words might have threatened to break free, leaving only the taste of him and the pounding rhythm in your chest.
He fit perfectly there, his presence filling every inch of space, his clothed hardness pressing close but not quite touching like he wanted you to feel the restraint. His hands braced against the table’s edge on either side of you, caging you in without force, only intent.
He didn’t rush. Instead, his lips wandered, brushing the curve of your cheek before dipping lower, tracing the line of your jaw. The faint rasp of his stubble scraped across your skin, sending small shivers down your spine. When his mouth found the slope of your neck, his breath warmed your skin before he spoke.
“Felt like a punishment,” he murmured, voice rough, words rumbling low enough that you felt them more than heard them. “Being so close to you… alone and not being able to touch you.”
You grinned, the corners of your lips tilting up in a challenge, tilting your head just enough so your mouth hovered over his, close enough to brush but never settle. “Been sleeping with the door wide open, hoping you’d get frustrated enough to come in.”
His answer was a low hum, deep and tinged with something darker than amusement and dangerously close to want. One of his hands finally left the safety of the table before sliding to your hip, his palm burning hot against you. His fingers tightened, a possessive squeeze in the soft curve before slipping under the hem of the oversized shirt you’d stolen from him.
His other hand stroked slow, lazy circles against the bare skin of your thigh, dragging upward until it met the edge of your booty shorts. He didn’t stop and surely didn’t give you time to catch your breath, just kept moving up, brushing past the hem so his fingers grazed the inside of your thigh, each pass a little higher and a little bolder, until your pulse was thundering loud enough to drown out the rest of the room.
“I want to lose myself inside you,” he said, simple and direct, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding.
Your breath caught, the words settling deep in your chest. “Bedroom’s the other way.”
He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm between you, then brushed a lingering kiss against your lips before trailing lower down the curve of your jaw, over the slope of your collarbone, until he reached your chest. His hands pressed gently but firmly against your ribs, guiding you backward with unspoken intent.
“No dessert tonight, huh?” he asked, his voice carrying that teasing edge he always had when he knew you’d cave. You’d gotten into baking lately and he’d made a ritual out of expecting something sweet after dinner, something new only you could make. “You know I have a sweet tooth, love. Where’s dessert?”
Your back met the table with a faint thud, the cool wood seeping through your shirt as you blinked up at the ceiling. “On the table.”
“That’s more like it.” His smile was quick but full of promise. He pushed his chair back just enough to sit, the scrape of wood on the floor solidifying the moment. With steady hands, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and tugged them down, your panties sliding along with them in one smooth motion.
The cool air kissed your skin, drawing a sharp breath from your lips but he didn’t give you time to dwell on it. His hands were already guiding your knees apart, thumbs pressing into the soft inside of your thighs, urging them wider until he fit perfectly between them again. Then, with a slow shift, he lifted your legs, resting them over his broad shoulders, settling in like he intended to take his time.
His gaze locked on you, dark and unblinking, pupils blown wide like a man starved finally seated before his feast. His arms slid around your thighs, pulling you just that fraction closer until your hips met the edge of the table. One calloused thumb traced the soft swell of your pussy, the touch so light it sent a sharp shiver up your spine and made your muscles twitch in anticipation.
In your old life, he’d drawn these moments out with merciless precision, teasing and coaxing, showing you exactly how much you ached for him while never letting you have enough. But tonight, there was no patience, no carefully measured restraint. Tonight, the hunger in him burned too hot to be contained, the kind that made a man claim rather than wait.
He had you now, right here, legs spread for him and he’d be damned if he didn’t make this his every day and night. 
Two fingers slipped between your folds with practiced ease, spreading you open like a gift only he was allowed to unwrap. The slick warmth that coated them drew a low, satisfied sound from his throat and he took a long moment just to look at you, to drink in the sight of your body already yielding to him.
He dove in without hesitation, his mouth sealing over you like a man claiming what was his. His tongue drew an unhurried path upward, tasting every inch until it found that sensitive bundle at the top. The moment his lips closed around it and he gave the slightest suck, your sharp gasp cut through the room. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as if to keep you from pulling away, not that you had any intention to.
Then he moved lower, the wet heat of his tongue sliding between your folds, savoring the slickness that greeted him. He tasted you like he’d been parched for years, each lap deeper and hungrier than the last. His sharp nose brushed the very top of your pussy, sending bursts of hot air across your most sensitive spot, making your hips twitch helplessly, chasing that heat.
The sensations built fast, almost too fast. Heat curled low in your belly, spreading up your spine, each flick of his tongue turning that coil tighter. His pace quickened, the rhythm deliberate but relentless and your back arched clean off the table, muscles trembling with every stroke of his velvety tongue. Your fingers threaded into his hair then, clutching tight.
Your lips parted in ragged breaths, eyes glassy with pleasure as the edges of your vision blurred. The orgasm was coming quicker than you wanted to admit, shameful in its swiftness, but his name kept tumbling from your lips in broken gasps, only driving him to push harder.
Your hips moved without thought, grinding gently into his mouth, seeking more of that unbearable friction. He groaned low in his throat at the movement, the vibration making you cry out while the sound only spurred you to pull him closer, your grip on his hair tightening as if you could fuse him to you. One of his hands slid up, palm flat against your stomach, the heat of his touch intensifying the fire already building inside you. You whimpered unabashedly through your orgasm, hips pressing harder against the relentless motion of his tongue, riding the waves of your mounting pleasure. 
His lips found your swollen clit at the perfect time, planting slow, teasing kisses that sent sparks shooting through every nerve ending.
Then, almost reluctantly, he began to rise from the chair, his hands gently straightening your legs as he kissed a trail up your thighs, each kiss soft, yet charged with a promise that made your skin tingle. His eyes never left yours and they were full of a raw desire that made your breath hitch.
“I’m a liar,” he murmured, voice rough and low as he hovered above you, chest rising and falling in sync with yours.
You blinked up at him, heart pounding wildly. “What do you mean?” you gasped, still struggling to catch your breath.
His lips curled into a teasing, almost wicked smile. “I’ve been telling you your pastries are the best thing I’ve ever had,” he said, voice thick with unspoken confession. “But the truth is... I just couldn’t have the baker.”
You chuckled softly, the sound low and intimate and Simon groaned in response, like that laugh had been a promise he’d been holding onto since the first moment he saw you in handcuffs all those weeks ago. His pelvis pressed firmly into the backs of your thighs and you immediately felt the undeniable hardness pressing against you, throbbing with an urgent pulse. 
With deliberate care, Simon lifted your legs higher, gripping your ankles with one hand to give himself better access. The other hand disappeared from your sight for a moment, slipping beneath the waistband of his charcoal gray sweatpants and boxers. He eased them down slowly, the cool air grazing over his skin before his length was fully revealed.
Then he did that thing he always did, dragging the tip of his cock lightly along the slick folds of your swollen and aching pussy. His eyes locked onto yours, smoldering with hunger and something softer, something like worship. The tip glistened with his own precum, catching the dim light as he spread it along your core with slow, tantalizing strokes.
He positioned the head of himself right at your center, tilting his head slightly to the side so he could watch every flicker of reaction that crossed your face. You felt his breath warm on the skin of your legs, his focus so intense it made your heart hammer harder. Then, inch by agonizing inch, he pressed forward, his hips moving with a patience that bordered on torture.
Your lips parted, a quiet gasp escaping as your fingers stretched and curled against the cold surface of the table, desperately searching for something to hold onto but finding only empty space. Your body tensed, every nerve ending alive with the slow, exquisite stretch of him penetrating you.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, his breath warm against the side of your ankle, the words carried on a fragile thread of air that seemed to pulse with every heartbeat. Gradually, Simon began to push deeper inside you, making sure you felt every ridge and vein that traced the length of his girth, pressing all the way to the very hilt. You gasped sharply as his tip brushed deep against your cervix with an exquisite mix of sharp pleasure and sweet ache that took your breath away.
He held himself there, still and heavy, letting you both catch your breath in the thick silence between you. Slowly, he pulled back, every inch as careful as his entrance, until he was fully withdrawn. His cock gleamed with a slick shine, wet with your own desire and his essence, catching the soft light in a manner that made him dizzy.
“Fuck, Simon,” you cursed, voice rough and ragged, not as a complaint nor a plea, but more like a prayer, a worship to the man who had become your everything, your entire religion in this fractured reality.
Without breaking eye contact, he spread your legs wider, palms pressing firmly on each thigh, pulling you closer to his sides. Simon’s hands supported you as he helped you rise into a more upright position, your palms braced behind you on the cool surface of the table, steadying yourself. His tip rested wetly against your pelvis, still leaking warm precum as he lifted two fingers slowly to your lips, his gaze commanding. 
“Open,” he murmured, the single word carrying an undeniable weight that made your heart race.
Without hesitation, you parted your lips, the soft warmth of your mouth inviting him in. His fingers slid inside gently, coated with the slickness of your saliva and you closed your lips around them, tongue swirling over them.
With a teasing pop, you released his fingers, watching intently as he brought them down to his cock, spreading your wetness along the length of him. His hand guided the tip of his cock to your entrance once more, the cool air mingling with the heat radiating from your skin.
Before he pushed in, his lips found yours in a deep, searing kiss meant to silence the gasp you were about to release and to tether your breaths together in perfect sync. The taste of him, mixed with the sweetness of your own release, sent a shiver down your spine.
This time, his entry was less tentative but still tender, a careful exploration that bottomed you out with a slow, full thrust. He pulled back slightly, then drove forward again, each movement precise and measured, his cock brushing against every sensitive ridge inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious ache that made your body open wider, welcoming him deeper, each stroke painting a vivid picture of selfish need.
His hips rocked steadily, a rhythm that was both relentless and gentle, coaxing every inch of pleasure from your intertwined bodies. The air around you thickened with anticipation, your breaths mingling in a shared dance of passion and vulnerability. Every movement sent waves of electricity coursing through you, binding you closer with every push and pull, every shallow gasp and whispered moan.
The stretch was perfect, always had been, like you were made to fit together in this way. Simon buried himself deep, groaning low and guttural as he sank to the hilt, every inch claiming what was his. You tilted your head back, exposing the tender skin of your throat, aching for that familiar, delicious scratch that set your nerves ablaze. Without hesitation, he pressed his lips there, trailing fiery kisses that stung just enough, occasionally biting down with controlled hunger as he drove powerful, relentless thrusts into you.
The room filled with the raw symphony of skin against skin and of slick, wet sounds underscored by your soft cries and his ragged breaths. He moved slowly at first, each stroke painstakingly measured so you could savor every sensation, every slick inch sliding inside you. The friction sparked a fire deep within, the first ripples of an orgasm beginning to bubble, teasing and coaxing your body closer to the edge.
When he wasn’t pressing his lips to your skin, his eyes locked with yours, intense and unblinking, drinking in every flicker of pleasure, every shiver that ran through you and every involuntary gasp that spilled past your lips. It was like he was memorizing your body, committing every response to memory and it only fueled the fire burning between you.
“Been prayin’ for this,” he growled, voice rough with need, almost reverent but laced with something dangerous. Your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure nearly overwhelming. Simon wasn’t a religious man and yet here he was, like a sinner worshipping a sanctuary. 
“So good for me,” he breathed, the words heavy with possession, driving you further over the edge.
One of your hands clung to him with fierce intensity, your nails digging into the taut muscle of his bicep as the waves of pleasure crashed harder with every movement. His pace quickened, no longer gentle but urgent, each thrust driving deeper and more demanding. The heat between you grew unbearable but it was the touch of his other hand, slipping boldly between your bodies, that ignited a fire you couldn’t control. His thumb found your clit, moving in perfect, practiced rhythm, pressing and circling just right to send electric jolts straight to your core.
The combination of his deep, relentless thrusts and the teasing pressure on your clit sent you spiraling toward your orgasm faster than before. Your toes curled tightly and your lips parted, breaths coming out in sharp, ragged gasps as your body trembled with mounting tension. Every nerve screamed, every inch of your being focused on the intoxicating sensation building to an overwhelming crescendo.
His low groan rumbled deep in his throat as he felt the pressure of your orgasm pulse around him, tightening and squeezing in ways that made his cock twitch uncontrollably inside you. 
“Ugh, love,” he snarled, voice rough and raw, full of need and primal hunger. He couldn’t stop himself; his hips continued to drive forward, each thrust sloppy and desperate as his climax spilled over. You could feel the warmth of his release coating him and mixing with your own slickness.
Your prolonged orgasm didn’t relent, waves of pleasure crashing and receding, leaving you breathless but electrified. 
You shattered, every muscle in your body clenching instinctively around him as waves of pleasure tore through your core like a tempest. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, breath catching and then spilling out in ragged gasps as the intensity overwhelmed you. The world narrowed to nothing but the electric fire racing through your nerves, the tight grip of his body pressing into yours and the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure that left you trembling.
Simon’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, hips stuttering as he groaned your name low and ragged into the tender hollow of your neck. His breath was hot, feather-light against your flushed skin, sending a new current of heat rippling through you. His fingers dug into the small of your back, even as his own body tensed in response to the tidal wave of your release.
“That’s my good girl,” he rasped, voice thick with raw need and something softer beneath the hunger. His lips brushed along your jawline, trailing down the curve of your throat as he whispered, “Let’s make up for lost time, yeah?”
You nodded against him, breath still uneven but filled with anticipation, the wordless answer sparking a fresh fire between you. You were ready to lose yourself in this moment, to find forgiveness in endless orgasms. Tonight was yours, a night of passion, reclamation and healing, where every touch was a vow and every movement a testament to what you both had missed and desperately needed.
‘Love’ had been in fact the right word to use.
Tumblr media
The morning broke softer than either of you expected. Pale gold sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, catching on the dust motes that floated lazily in the warm air of the bedroom. You were tangled together, legs brushing beneath the covers, Simon’s arm heavy around your waist, his forehead resting against yours in that unspoken way that said neither of you had any plans to move. For a few blissful moments, it felt… normal. Like maybe this could be life now, quiet mornings, shared warmth and the chaos of the past nothing more than a bad dream you’d both managed to outrun.
Then the hum that had been faintly buzzing in the background since you arrived, stuttered once… twice… and died completely.
Your eyes opened and Simon groaned low in his chest, already knowing what it meant.
You both got dressed and stepped outside, the chill of the morning biting against your skin. The old generator sat near the side of the house, silent and stubborn. You crouched, flipping open the metal panel. “Well, it’s not the wiring,” you muttered, running a hand along the components. “Either something fried or…” You popped the gas cap open, peered inside and exhaled sharply. “Or we’re just dry.”
Simon crossed his arms, looming behind you. “So? We’ll figure it out.”
“Figuring it out means getting fuel and since the nearest station’s in town–”
“I’ll go,” he cut in. You both steered clear of town whenever possible, wary of stepping into an unpredictable environment.
You straightened, turning to look at him like he’d just suggested wrestling a bear for fun. “No offense, Simon, but you don’t exactly blend in.” You gestured at him, broad-shouldered, stoic and wearing a coat that screamed military man in hiding. “And you don’t know the roads here.”
“Been in worst places.”
You smirked. “Yeah and every single time you’ve been shot at, stabbed or nearly blown up… I’ll be quick.”
He shook his head, jaw set. “It’s not about quick. It’s dangerous and I…” His voice faltered just slightly before he covered it with a rough exhale. ‘Can’t protect you’ 
The look he was giving you stopped you for a second. You met his eyes, softening. “Simon, I’ve lived here. I know the town, I know the faces and I know how to keep my head down. No one’s going to look twice at me. You?” You tilted your head. “You look like you’re hunting someone…or being hunted.”
His lips twitched in that almost-smile. “Old habits.”
“Exactly. So let me handle this.”
There was a pause, long enough for the wind to whistle through the trees. Finally, he muttered, “Bloody stubborn.”
You grinned. “Takes one to love one.”
He gave you that look, the one halfway between exasperation and amusement before finally sighing and nodding. “Fine, but you don’t stop for anyone.”
“Copy that, Lieutenant,” you teased, leaning in.
He caught your chin with his fingers, kissed you like it might be the last time and then let you go reluctantly.
You smirked against his lips. “I’ll be quick.”
“Better be,” he murmured, watching you with that sharp, measuring gaze as you headed for the car.
Simon stood at the edge of the porch, hands in the pockets of his jacket, watching as the Jeep rumbled down the narrow dirt road and disappeared into the tree line. The faint growl of the engine lingered for a few moments before it was swallowed by the quiet of the forest. He stayed there longer than necessary, scanning the path like he could still catch a glimpse of you, jaw tight and shoulders tense. Only when the silence became absolute did he turn back toward the house, muttering something under his breath about “thirty there, twenty in place and thirty back.”
The ride into town was easy, the landscape shifting from thick pines and frost-tipped fields to the clustered houses and uneven cobblestone streets of the little village. The air was sharper here, tinged with woodsmoke and the faint briny edge of the fjord.
Your first stop was the gas station, barely more than a squat, weathered building with a single pump out front. The old man behind the counter barely looked up from his paper when you walked in, only grunting a greeting before you paid for the jerrycan of fuel. You stashed it in the Jeep, tightening the cap, then locked up and made your way toward the small shop two streets over.
The bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped inside, a wave of warmth and the faint scent of cinnamon hitting you immediately. The store was one of those places that sold everything, shelves crowded with kitchenware, stacks of winter coats, baskets of socks and a cramped aisle lined with tools, lamps and random knickknacks no one really needed but everyone seemed to buy.
“God morgen,” you greeted the man at the register, offering a quick smile as you stepped deeper into the maze of goods.
It didn’t take long to find the slippers with soft wool on the inside and sturdy leather soles. You picked out a pair in dark gray, imagining Simon finally not prowling around barefoot in the cold like some stubborn bear but when you held them up, you frowned. They looked… small.
Carrying them to the counter, you set them down in front of the shop owner. “Are these the biggest you’ve got?”
He glanced at them, then up at you. “How big?”
You tilted your hand in a vague gesture. “About…three sizes bigger than these.”
The man chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry. Not here but–” he pointed toward the window, down the street, “...end of the road. Blue door. They will have big ones. Maybe big enough for your…husband.”
You smiled faintly at that but didn’t correct him. “Takk,” you said warmly.
He nodded once. “Vær så god.”
You tucked the slippers back onto the counter, offered him a polite wave and pushed the door open, the bell chiming again as you stepped back into the crisp winter air. The street ahead was quiet, just a few bundled-up locals moving along the icy sidewalk, the blue door he’d mentioned barely visible through the mist curling in from the fjord.
Your boots clicked lightly against the uneven cobblestones, the crisp air biting at your cheeks as you made your way toward the end of the street and for a moment everything felt still…mundane. The smell of fresh bread drifted from a bakery two doors down, mingling with the faint tang of salt and cold iron in the air.
You were halfway past a narrow, unmarked doorway when it burst open with a violent slam. A figure stepped out, tall, lithe, all coiled energy and before you could register her face, a flash of silver sliced toward your ribs.
Instinct took over. You twisted away, the blade grazing your jacket and catching the fabric with a sharp shhhht. Your back foot pivoted, weight shifting low as your hands came up defensively.
The woman came in fast, her knife a blur striking in a tight, efficient rhythm with slashes aimed at arteries and stabs meant to puncture deep. You blocked the first two with your forearm and the heel of your palm, feeling the shock of metal against bone, then redirected the third upward, stepping inside her guard and ramming your elbow into her sternum.
She barely flinched, absorbing the impact with a grunt before twisting, catching your arm and dragging you forward into a tight elbow strike toward your temple. You ducked, feeling the rush of air as it missed you by inches, then drove your knee into her thigh, forcing her to stagger back a step.
You both circled now, eyes locked, your breaths condensing in the frigid air. The rhythm was familiar, her footwork, her economy of motion…it was almost like looking into a distorted mirror of your own training.
Then she shifted, hand dipping into her coat and came up with a gun. The black steel caught the light for an instant before you slapped it aside, grabbing her wrist and twisting hard. Her fingers spasmed, the weapon clattering to the cobblestones. She lashed out with the knife in her other hand but you trapped it against your forearm, feeling the sting as the blade scored a shallow line along your skin.
You went for your own pistol, drawing fast but she caught the barrel and wrenched it sideways, her thumb slamming into the mag release. Your gun hit the ground with a heavy clunk.
For a moment it was all elbows, knees and the rasp of coats tearing. She caught you across the cheek with a backhand, the sting blooming hot and you answered with a headbutt that snapped her head back. She retaliated with a hook that caught your jaw just enough to make the world tilt for a second.
You both broke at the same time, rolling forward and away on opposite sides of the street. The wet cobblestones bit through your palms as you scrambled, each of you diving for your respective weapons. Fingers closed around cold metal as you clicked the mag back in and you turned, both snapping your arms up.
Two barrels and steady gazes leveled in unison.
You stood in the mist, chests rising and falling hard, breath hissing through your teeth. The silence was deafening, just the sound of your breathing and the faint, distant call of gulls. The bruise was already swelling along your jaw and a thin trickle of blood warmed the cut on your forearm.
She looked at you like she knew every secret you’d ever tried to bury.
Her smile was slow, curling like smoke, it was satisfaction laced with the thrill of a hunt that hadn’t ended as easily as she’d expected. Her voice, when it came, was sharp, each syllable cutting through the cold air like glass.
«Тебе не стоило предавать своего создателя, моя сестра.» “You shouldn't have betrayed your maker, my sister.”
The words hit harder than the blows she’d landed minutes before. Your eyes widened, just enough for her to notice and for a fraction of a second the rest of the street faded away, the cobblestones beneath your boots, the sharp sting of the gash on your arm, even the biting air in your lungs. You hadn’t spoken that language in years. You’d buried it with the rest of the past, in a grave you thought was too deep to be unearthed.
The weight of the gun in your hand seemed heavier now. Every muscle in your forearm tightened until your knuckles went white against the grip. You weren’t just staring at an enemy, you were staring at the embodiment of every shadow you’d run from, every aspect that refused to stay dead.
The mist curled around her like it belonged to her, like she’d walked out of another world entirely. Her tone softened but the malice in it was almost affectionate.
«Рука, что сбилась с пути, должна быть отсечена. Ты–»“The hand that strays must be severed. You–”
Your finger squeezed the trigger. The recoil snapped up your arm in a punishing manner, the bark of the shot splitting the cold, damp air with a violence that felt final. Muzzle flash lit her face for the briefest instant, her eyes wide and lips parting around a breath she would never finish, before the bullet found its mark.
Her head snapped back, the force jerking her whole body a half-step before it gave way. For the smallest fraction of a second, she remained upright, as though her will alone could hold her there. Then gravity took her, dragging her down in a boneless collapse. Her weapon slipped from her hand mid-fall, clattering against the wet cobblestone before spinning to a dead stop.
The mist swallowed the sound almost as quickly as it had erupted but the image wouldn’t leave you: the neat, dark hole just above her brow, a thin crimson ribbon snaking down over her temple, catching in the pale strands of her hair. Her eyes, still faintly open, stared at nothing, her expression frozen between rage and a satisfaction you couldn’t quite understand.
Your breathing came in hard uneven bursts, each inhale loud against the sudden hush of the street. You became aware of how still everything was, the way the fog seemed heavier now, wrapping the narrow alley in a shroud. 
Your finger reluctantly eased off the trigger before finally lowering your weapon, your grip loosening as the adrenaline began to drain, leaving raw ache blooming through your bruises and cuts. Each breath was shallow, your body reminding you of every strike it had absorbed,but your mind stayed razor-sharp, fixated on the fragile silence now stretched between you and the fallen figure at your feet.
Slowly, you let your lips part, tasting the foreign yet hauntingly familiar tongue as the words slipped out, low and bitter in the darkness.
 «Сучка...» (Sooch-ka) “Bitch…”
The word rolled off your tongue like a curse wrapped in old wounds, a single syllable heavy with all the anger, pain, and betrayal you’d carried for so long.
You let your gaze drift to the empty street, shadows swallowing the path you’d come. It was a reminder that to move forward, you’d first have to face everything you’d left behind.
Tumblr media
Likes, reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you so so much for reading :) 💛
And a special thank you to the people who wanted a part 2 and/or commented on part 1: @nebelsgaze  @fruitymoonbeams-blog @hyperfixiation-station @ghostlythots
110 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 15 days ago
Text
500 days of forever
Pairing: Drew Starkey x fem!reader.
Tumblr media
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1104
Classification: Fluff
Content warnings: Brief mention of previous bad examples of love.
Word count: 1.2k
Divider by me ;)
Tumblr media
Cameras flashed in a chaotic rhythm, voices calling out your names from every direction, but all you felt was the quiet steadiness of the man beside you. Drew stood close, his arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you in the storm of lights and noise.
His touch was familiar and the calm you always returned to. The weight on your finger tugged gently at your hand, the glint of the ring catching every camera flash. It was boulder of commitment and love, now worn with ease, its heaviness something you had quickly come to cherish.
You’d been married for over a year now, quietly, intimately, blissfully and finally, the world knew.
Making it public had come with months of conversation, hesitation and careful planning. Your relationship had always existed outside the spotlight, nurtured in private spaces where only the people who truly mattered had access. Now, with the news out, the world was buzzing with theories, timelines and assumptions. You doubted you’d ever offer clarification, some things were better kept sacred.
You’d met in 2019, just before filming Outer Banks. It hadn’t taken long. What started as shared scenes and late-night read-throughs turned into inside jokes, knowing glances and a connection too rare to question. Your bond had deepened quickly, wrapped in long walks between shoots and quiet dinners away from set. And then, a few years in, one evening on one of those getaways you took just for the two of you, he had dropped to one knee. No grand announcement, no spotlight, just him, looking up at you with wide eyes and steady hands, like your answer held his entire future…the same way he already held yours.
Now standing beside him on the carpet, surrendered by chaos but entirely at peace, you couldn't help the smile that touched your lips. You glanced up at him and he was already looking at you, like he always did, like no one else was in the room.
As a little girl, you’d never dreamed of this. No wedding dress moodboards, no carefully curated Pinterest boards of honeymoon scapes…Love had never seemed real enough to imagine. You hadn’t grown up believing in it, not the fairytale kind, not even in the durable, everyday kind. So when you said yes, when he slipped that ring onto your finger and smiled like the world had finally made sense, reality hit you like a tidal wave. Not just the ring or the vows or the logistics of it all but the magnitude.
Because he was the one who made you believe. He was patient with your doubt, gentle with your scars… .You learned how to love by watching him love you, with consistency, with care, with the kind of devotion you’d only ever read about in books and quietly scoffed at.
With him, you grew. You unlearned the fractured definitions your parents left behind and in their place, he helped you build something new, something right and now, here he was, offering you a life that looked nothing like the one you came from and everything like the one you wanted.
As the two of you approached the next set of interviewers, his thumb traced slow, reassuring circles along your back, a silent reminder that you weren’t doing any of this alone.
You moved apart briefly for individual press spots. Even though the media had been instructed to keep the questions focused on the film, the topic of your marriage still managed to sneak its way in. Disguised as compliments, sly transitions or “just one more thing”.
Your agent was already motioning you forward, gently guiding you toward the next outlet, while the woman in front of you, charming and persistent, pleaded for one last question. You smiled, poised and gracious and nodded, offering her a soft, “Of course,” even as you felt the weight of your husband’s gaze just off to the side, watching you the way he always did, quietly, supportively…lovingly.
“You look really happy and the ring is gorgeous. Congratulations.” the interviewer beamed.
“I am,” you said warmly, a soft smile blooming across your face. “Thank you.”
She nodded, then leaned in slightly, her voice more thoughtful now. “A few years ago, you were very open about not looking for anything serious. You said you wanted to focus on yourself, on building your place in this industry and now…well, you’ve shocked the world with this revelation. You never wanted to be anybody’s girlfriend and now you’re somebody’s wife.”
You gave a small shrug, your smile widening despite yourself “It surprised me too.”
“So,” she said with a curious tilt of her head, “How did that happen?”
You took a quiet breath, your gaze softening as your thoughts settled on Drew. “Well… the right person stayed. Through all of it. I mean, he’s my co-star, my best friend…and now, my husband.”
There was a pause, a shift in the air as the words hung gently between you and the crowd of listeners just outside the frame. 
“He taught me everything I know about love,” you continued, your voice steady but tender. “He showed me that it’s okay to want more. To need more. That being consumed by love, by something safe and honest and raw, doesn’t have to mean losing yourself.”
You smiled again, this time a little slower, a little deeper “Someone will meet you there, you just need to love yourself enough to wait for it.”
The interviewer looked moved, blinking quickly as if she hadn’t expected something so raw and maybe neither had you but the truth always has a way of sounding like that…clear and unshakable.
As you finished speaking, the interviewer offered a gracious thank you but before you could fully process the moment, Drew was already at your side. His hand wrapped around yours with practiced ease, pulling you gently but firmly onto him.
“Wife?” he said with a soft grin, eyes sparkling.
You arched a brow playfully. “Husband?”
“I just told about five different people how utterly obsessed with you I am and i'm just getting started”
A laugh bubbled out of you. “Did you answer any questions about the movie?”
He halted mid-step, looking genuinely bewildered. “Wait…is that why we’re here?” You gave him a slow, exaggerated nod. His eyes widened in mock panic. “Shit...I told you I’d get distracted,” he said, bringing you in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I just have so much of you in my heart…if i don't let it out, it’s hard to breathe.”
Your laugh this time was full-bodied, not because you doubted him but because he meant it. That was always the thing about Drew. He didn't just love you quietly, or conveniently. He loved you loudly, even when no one was listening. Especially then. This wasn't fate or luck or destiny, this was hard-won. You had willed this love into being, through doubt, through pain, through the cracked and broken parts of yourself that had once sworn you’d never let someone in and then he came along. With hands steady enough to hold all the jagged pieces without ever trying to smooth them down.
“I’m keeping you” you whispered, repeating the phrase you had first said years ago, when it was just a joke between friends, a half-truth neither of you were ready to name out loud.
“Forever” He promised, without missing a beat.
Just as he had back then. Just as he always would.
Tumblr media
Likes, reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you so so much for reading :) 💛
396 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 16 days ago
Note
Hello!!
So I’m a glasses girly (with thiccc lenses, my eyes suck) and I haven’t come across many Daryl/Reader fics where Reader has glasses.
I was wondering if I could request a fic with a glasses girly. Maybe a little angst with her lenses breaking during a walker attack and someone being an asshole and wanting to leave her behind cos now she’s blind af and can't tell a walker from a person with a limp? And lots of fluff and protective!Daryl being her eyes and teaching her how to survive despite being criminally nearsighted? Please?
Go buck-wild with it.
In his line of sight
Tumblr media
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1114
💌 a/n: What's funny is that i've been wearing glasses since I was 7 and never once have I imagined myself in the apocalypse with them on. Mind you I daydream a whole lot and can't see shit without em.
Classification: Fluff
Content warning: none.
Temporal setting: Season 4
Word count: 0.9k
Tumblr media
You heard the crack before you felt the sting. Your body had slammed against the tree harder than you realized, your glasses bouncing right off your face and hitting the forest floor with a muted crunch beneath someone’s boot. You scrambled forward, hands out but it was too late. The right lens was cracked straight through and the other was just...gone.
“Shit,” you breathed, blinking hard. The world around you smeared into a watercolor painting gone wrong…shapes, shadows and motion but nothing clear, nothing safe.
The walkers were still behind you, close. You staggered sideways, trying to orient yourself, trying to find the group but everything was wrong. Every sound felt like it was coming from two directions and every branch that snapped made your heart slam into your ribs.
You turned, nearly colliding with a figure.
“Don’t move!” you cried. “I–I can’t see. Just say something!”
The figure hesitated so you raised your gun with firm hands. Whether you could see or not, it was them or you and you’d empty the whole magazine to make that choice for the both of you if needed.
“Say something if you’re not a walker!”
“You’re slowin’ us down,” someone snapped to your left. 
Rick’s voice? No. Too young, too smug. Jared, the asshole from that supply run a few weeks back. “We should’ve kept moving.”
“I just need a second.” you begged, reaching out again.
“No. You need new eyes.” And then he was walking, no, running away. Footsteps fading, leaving you alone like a coward, until suddenly, you weren’t.
A rough hand caught your arm and a low and familiar voice followed. “Easy,” 
“Daryl?” Your own voice cracked. “I–I can’t see. They stepped on my glasses and now I’m–”
“I know.” His hand wrapped around your arm, eyes taking in your distressed state. “Yer okay. We’re gonna move real slow now, alrigh’?”
You nodded, blinking rapidly, tears burning your eyes from more than just the cold air. “I can’t tell what’s a walker anymore. Everything’s…shapes. Just shapes!”
“I know, I know. I gotcha.” His hand didn’t leave your arm. “Y’ain’t gotta see, just listen t’me.”
The walk was slow, cautious and his voice became your tether.
“Root there. Step over.”
“To yer righ’. Hear it? That ain’t us, stay low.”
“Don’t swing ‘til I tell you.”
Somehow, you made it back to the safehouse. Your legs were jelly, your ribs ached and your broken glasses were clutched in your fist like a useless charm but you were alive because of him.
That night, while the others argued around the fire about whether you’d be “fit” for future runs, you sat quietly in the corner, wrapped in one of Daryl’s flannels, blinking into the blurred orange glow but you could hear every word.
“It’s too risky.”
The redhead agreed. “She’s basically blind without ‘em.”
“Look, I ain’t heartless but come on, this world needs people who can keep up.”
That same guy, scoffed and flippantly raised his pistol in your direction, more out of mockery than intent yet Daryl’s reaction was instant and his crossbow was aimed between the guy’s eyes before the idiot even registered what he’d done.
“Ya ever point tha’ thing at’er again,” Daryl said, voice low and dangerous, “I’ll rip ya apart with my own hands. You’ll be dead before you hit the ground. You understand?”
The guy froze and so did everyone else.
“Yeah,” the guy muttered quickly, lowering his weapon. “I understand.”
Daryl didn’t lower the crossbow until he’d turned his back. Then, finally, Daryl spoke again.
“She sees more than any of you sorry assholes.” He paused, making sure everyone got every word. “She stays and if ya dun like it, door’s righ’ there…hell, I’ll help ya out m’self.”
The silence after that was heavy and later, once the fire had burned down and the others drifted off, you felt someone kneel beside you.
“Ya okay?” he asked.
You sniffed, laughing bitterly. “Sure. Can’t see past my own hand, but sure.”
He was quiet for a beat. “Y’know... my brother used to say I couldn’t track for shit…Said I was dumb for watchin’ the dirt.”
“Were you?”
“Nah.” You could hear the shrug in his voice. “Just took me longer t’ learn. That’s all this is.”
You finally looked up, or at least toward the shape of him. “You’re saying I’m not useless?”
“Mhm.” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. You squinted. “Found this on our way back. Ain’t much, but...”
He pressed something into your palm. A glasses case, bent and dirty. But inside? A pair of reader glasses, not your prescription, quite far from it frankly, but close enough that the world shifted into a somewhat dull focus.
You blinked fast. “Daryl…”
“I know. Ain’t perfect,” he muttered, looking away. “But it’ll help ’til we find better…’m thinkin’ retirement homes is where we’ll find our happiness…no offense.”
“None taken.” You chuckled. “I thought you didn’t believe in luck.”
“I don’t.”
You smiled, his face becoming clearer from how close he sat. “Then what was this?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “I dunno. Care? Or sumthin’ like tha’.”
He stood to go but your hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve.
“Hey,” you said, your voice small but steady. “When you said I see more than them… what did you mean?”
He hesitated at first, then spoke quietly. “You saw me…since Atlanta, even when I couldn’t.”
Your breath caught and you didn’t let go of his sleeve as tears started to blur your vision further.
321 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 17 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Welcome to EARTH-1110 | Navigation by M.I.R.A
M.I.R.A: Good news, traveler! We’ve arrived, welcome home... Bad news? This world’s at war, so watch your 6, soldier. Lieutenant Riley’s on comms, shall I patch him through?
Divider by me :)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Safehouse quickies - ♠
The forbidden fruit - ♠
Fallout - ☹♡
The silence we chose - ☹♡
Coffee breaks before sunrise - ♡
A lieutenant’s midnight snack - ♠
Undercover and under your skin - ☹♡
Classified affairs - ♠
On laundry duty - ♡
The man next door - ♡
Fallout pt. 2 - ☹♠♡
Catch me if you can - ♡ NEW!!
46 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 17 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Welcome to EARTH-1104 | Navigation by M.I.R.A
M.I.R.A: This timeline runs very close to ours but the sun shines a bit brighter here. Is it love or fame in the air? ETA to the Hollywood Hills: 30 minutes...Is that your name I see on the Walk of Fame?
Divider by me :)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
In the noise, you - ♡
How well do Y/n Y/l/n & Drew Starkey know each other? - ♡
Sundress season - ♠
‘Big news for the unemployed’ | Hot ones versus - ♡
OBX cast reveals uncomfortable truths in the hot seat - ♡
In her light - ♡
I loved you here - ♡
The match point was you - ♡
Y/n Y/l/n and Drew Starkey play Truth or Drink - ♡
No regrets - ♠
Y/n Y/l/n and Drew Starkey take Buzzfeed's Rizz quiz - ♡
Whipped before breakfast - ♡
500 days of forever - ♡
Through the seasons - ♡
By 30 - ♠ NEW!!
93 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 17 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Welcome to EARTH-1114 | Navigation by M.I.R.A
M.I.R.A: This Earth runs close to our own timeline but the year of arrival is 2010. I’ll get you as near to the quarry as possible but you’ll need to continue on foot. The air smells of pine and campfire smoke… keep your wits sharp and knives sharper. Welcome home, survivor.
Divider by me :)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Season 1: "No" is a full sentence - ☹♡⚠ "No" is a full sentence pt.2 - ☹♡⚠
Season 2: Lessons in riding - ♡ Lessons in riding pt.2 - ♠
Season 3: New bruises, old stories - ♡
Season 4: Picture perfect - ♡ The right person - ♡ In his line of sight - ♡ Post-apocalyptic Barbie: Employee of the month - ♡ NEW!!
Season 5: Dinner for two - ♡ What remains in our blood - ♡
Season 10: Spring into summer - ☹♡ Unfair negotiations - ♠ Full house - ♠
Season 11: Two scoops and a grump - ♡
DARYL DIXON SPIN-OFF
Season 1: What comes after - ☹♡
RICK GRIMES
Season 4: A little more tenderness - ☹♡
41 notes · View notes
sc3ptre · 17 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Welcome to EARTH-181938 | Navigation by M.I.R.A
M.I.R.A: Turbulence detected! Classified as sonic disruption of codename: Superman. Initiating descent to troposphere; handoff protocol engaged for final homeward guidance. Welcome home, traveler.
Divider by me :)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Off the record - ♠
A healing touch - ♠
Where love lands - ♡
Between love and hate (ft. Lex Luthor) - ♠
Superdad in training - ♡
Bombshell: Attorney at law - ♡
Swear jars and tiny titans - ♡
Superfreak - ♠
Three inches from heaven - ♠♡
Good girls swallow - ♠♡ NEW!!
Clark Kent: $ex toy connoisseur - ♠♡ NEW!!
162 notes · View notes