strnqer

[strnqer]

"the lady over there just asked if we were a couple." "well, we did just kiss." "i know but it's still cool that we've finally been asked, don't you think?"

this screams buck like he’d be the YES THATS MY PARTNER guy 🫙

ahhh stop that's so cute!! i'm gonna be so fr when i first read that one it screamed whitaker to me, but imagining it with buck also makes me !!!!!

"the lady over there just asked if we were a couple." "well, we did just kiss." "i know but it's still cool that we've finally been asked, don't you think?" from this post

with it being so hot in LA in the dead of summer, you and buck decided to spend your day at the pier; playing games, going on some rides, and getting some ice cream.

now that buck had finally won you a stuffed bunny from the ball toss, it’s time for you to sit down and relax rather than watching and laughing at your boyfriend every time he tries and fails at a kids game.

you sit on one of the benches along the pier with your ice cream cones; yours strawberry, and his chocolate, enjoying the warm sun on your skin and the sound of music and people's laughter filling your ears.

"we should do this more often," he says after a few minutes of silence, looking over to see you with ice cream dripping down your arm and trying desperately to clean it up with the single napkin that you grabbed from the ice cream stand.

buck's sentence was cut off with a laugh, and he shook his head at the sight, then took his own napkin and handed it to you, holding your cone for you while you cleaned yourself up. when you were finally clean, you shot him a playful glare and grabbed your ice cream back from him.

"don't laugh. it's not my fault i don't inhale ice cream like you do. i actually want to enjoy it," you say, a fake pout on your face.

he laughs again and rolls his eyes, but before he can respond, you take your cone and bring it up to his face, covering the tip of his nose in pink ice cream.

he lets out a "hey, hey!" as he tries to dodge you, and when he hears your loud giggle, he can't help but laugh too.

"don't take your anger out on me! i'm not the one who dripped ice cream down your arm!" he says, and all you do is laugh in response, then grab his chin and bring his face to yours. you stick your tongue out and lick the ice cream off of his nose playfully, then give him a quick kiss, barely able to contain your laughter for a second as you do.

when you pull back, you give him a cheeky smile, and he returns it, shaking his head playfully.

"you want the rest of that? I think it sort of destroyed now," he teases, eyeing your cone. there's not much cone left, and even less ice cream; it's seemed to all seep out through a hole in the bottom.

when you nod, he takes the cone and the dirty napkins from you and gets up to throw them up and grab some more napkins while you stay on the bench; saving your seat.

when he comes back two minutes later, he has a big grin on his face, and you eye him warily, unsure of why his grin is twice as wide as when he left.

"you see those two old ladies over there? they just asked if we were a couple!" he says as he sits down, handing you the napkins.

"well, we did just kiss," you say back, raising a brow as you eye him. he looks so happy about it, and it makes your stomach flip.

"i know but it's still cool that we've finally been asked, don't you think?" he says with a sigh, leaning back against the bench as he admires you. even with your arm still a little sticky from the ice cream and your face damp from sweat, you still look gorgeous.

"i feel like it's obvious. we're not exactly hiding it," you say with a laugh, looking over at him with a loving look.

"i know. i just- i like when people ask about you. everyone at the station is kinda sick of me talking about you," he says a little sheepishly. you can see his ears turning red at his admittance, and it warms your heart. it sounds so cheesy, and you used to hate couples like this, but with buck it feels so good.

"i love you," is all you say back. you could tease him about it, but you know there's no point, because you do the exact same thing when you go to work.

[strnqer]

unfold your love

pairing. clark kent x fem reader

jimmy olsen and the mystery of two idiots who are definitely not in love / 6.8k

tags. coworkers with history + the junleb trinity of stolen glances/pretend apathy/nosy friends. daily planet silliness

— i've been wanting to write a fic like this and david's sweet kind face said yes…. kisses 2 oomfs irl for beta <33

Jimmy watches as Lois throws her hands up, exhausted. “I'm killing someone after this.” 

“Please don't,” Clark pipes up from the coffee machine. Darkness has set in over Metropolis, decorated with the year-round Christmas lights of traffic and skyscraper displays. It’s late enough that the graveyard janitors are starting their shift.

Clark scoots back over, gingerly balancing three steaming Styrofoam cups, sure to join the hundred others stacked up in the corner Lois’ desk. Jeez, she’s a great writer, but Jimmy’s kind of worried about her coffee addiction. 

“You know who we need?” Lois asks, accepting the cup. She leans back in her chair, takes a sip and peers over the rim with her eyes narrowed down. Then she jerks her finger toward a desk, empty, but piled high with camera bags. 

Oh. You. 

Clark must be tuned into the same wavelength that Jimmy’s on, because they’re both sharing a look and adamantly shaking their heads. 

It’s not that Jimmy hates you. In fact, you’re admirable, even though he doesn’t get the chance to talk with you much. He doesn’t know about Clark, but since you transferred from the Gotham Gazette, the office has been...weird. 

You make a point to move if Clark sits a chair too close during meetings. And yeah, Clark can be clumsy, but accidentally hip-checking your desk on the daily is too suspicious. 

Hell, when Cat Grant is making theories, it’s serious—I bet the lore is deep, she said at Mr. White’s surprise, in-office birthday party, like, plagiarism and CIA assassination deep. 

Even if you and Clark weren’t mortal co-worker nemeses, the two of you are on opposite—no, completely different spectrums. For Superman’s sake, you’re a World Press nominee, one of the highest recognitions in photography. And Clark is...well.

Clark is just himself with all his slouched, ‘I’ve got a really weird intuition thing’ glory. 

And he’s also Jimmy's best work friend, minus the fact that he’s MIA for what seems like half the work day. 

“You know we need her,” Lois mutters bitterly, taking another slow sip. Clark looks anywhere but at her, shifty. “Come on, just for one photo. It’ll really help the exposé.” 

She says it in that hint-hint, nudge-nudge way, the subtle singsong tone she takes when she knows no one would ever think about disagreeing with her. It’d be great ifs and could you help withs, that’s Lois Lane. She’s used it plenty of times, mostly during interviews to get a quote she wanted. 

Jimmy, an unwilling victim, has learned that Lois is very persuasive when she wants to be. 

Eyes crinkled with mirth, she smiles at the two of them, close-mouthed. Jimmy doesn’t know how she does it, spending days hammering away at an article and still having the energy to throw her weight around. 

“Just this once?” 

He looks at Clark, who looks back at him. A kind of silent pact forges in their sidelong eye contact, trying to see how long they can go resisting Lois. Her smile widens by a fraction, knowing that it’s just a matter of time. 

Clark breaks first, running a hand through his dark, unruly hair. 

“Okay,” he sighs out, collapsing in the nearest chair. It creaks under his weight, threatening. Speaking of which, Jimmy doesn’t really get how the biggest guy on the block can still be a loser dork (affectionate). A mystery for the greats, he supposes. 

“But,” Clark says, scanning Lois over the rims of his thick glasses. He tugs his collar by a smidge, faintly displeased, or uneasy, “I’m doing it tomorrow.” 

“Fine by me,” she grins, reaching over to shut down her monitor. It goes dark, sapping the blue glow that Jimmy’s gotten so used to. He blinks a few times to get rid of the spots that dance in his vision, then stretches. “Take Jimmy with you. Some people just need a face like his for some convincing.” 

Jimmy perks up at the mention of his name, arms still raised up. The idea of him being attractive to you is slightly scary. Even more so than the unanswered girls in his DMs, because you're like, the greatest of the greats.

...Okay, subjectively speaking. But he’s been subscribed to your photo collection for years when you were still with the Gazette. You’re the camera Superman of the modern generation to him. 

So excuse him when he jumps for the chance, eager. 

“Yeah, Clark,” he blurts. “I’ll help!” 

Lois grins, smug. Aw, shit. Jimmy’s fallen into the trap for Clark—hook, line and sinker. 

— 

“So, what's the deal with him and…” 

Hint-hint, nudge-nudge. 

Jimmy doesn’t want to say your name too loud, lest Clark’s weird hearing picks it up. Even though said man is halfway down the street in the opposite direction, he’s heard stranger things from farther and louder places before. 

A little bird told me, and all that.  

On late nights like this, it’s customary for Lois to walk Jimmy to the station downtown since she lives there. It’s the nearest part of the central city to Bakerline, where the island and mainland are connected by bridge and underground train.

They worked out this routine months ago, and it’s well-oiled enough for Clark—the Midtown Man—to know that Jimmy is in safe-ish hands, if he doesn’t get baited into an impromptu investigation. 

Lois exhales through her nose, amused. “You really haven’t seen it?” 

“I mean,” Jimmy stutters, dragging the scuffed soles of his sneakers along the downhill sidewalk. A loose pebble of concrete skitters away, landing in a patch of weeds sprouting from between the pavement cracks. “I know they’ve got some weird thing. Cat thinks it’s gotta do with the CIA.” 

She laughs, fuller and louder. Jimmy checks over his shoulder—safe. Clark, silhouette now smaller, is still walking straight on, probably whistling a tune to himself. 

“Kind of. Not really. Cat thinks a lot of things,” Lois decides. Objectively correct: Cat drinks rumors for breakfast. Not enough for the front page, but enough that Steve has a crazy long browser history trail because he actually believes her. 

She squints and tilts her head to the side, thinking. “Clark never really said much about it, but I did find a polaroid of them in his wallet. Captioned cider and cowboy, whatever that means.” 

Ah, the perks of being an award-winning journalist. Clark probably forgot that ratty leather thing on his chair again, leaving Lois to stake her claim on the prime real estate of other people’s business. Jimmy wouldn’t be surprised if his own wallet had been in her hands. She probably knows more about him than even Clark does. 

Jimmy whistles, “So, bitter exes?” 

“Maybe from a long time ago,” she agrees, nodding lightly. “They looked pretty young, like high school.” 

“Oh, bitter sweethearts.” That’s a hundred times worse. No wonder you both act like you’ll catch the plague being around each other. 

Weirdly, he can imagine it. Clark, skinnier and in the threadbare red flannel from Smallville that Jimmy spotted one winter, layered under Clark’s suit jacket for warmth. You, probably with your arms around each other, in the same Midwest, buttfuck nowhere fashion. 

“Mhm, that’s what I was thinking.” 

Jimmy’s still trudging forward when he notices the weird silence. He glances back to see that Lois stopped ten feet away, a curious glimmer in her eyes, jaw shifting. She looks at Jimmy, that mastermind smirk already blooming on her face. Jimmy stares, questioning, and kind of worried. 

She catches up with a full-blown grin and her hands in her pockets, posture too wound up to be casual. 

“Why are you—oh no, don’t look at me like that. I’m not good bait!” 

“How do you feel about a little case on the side?” 

— 

When Clark Kent enters the office, it isn’t without a wall of apologies as he squeezes between his coworkers. Almost six and a half feet, so he sticks out painfully, like Superman in a sea of civilians—except there’s no way he’s Superman, of course. 

(It’s kind of ironic once you think about it, how big Clark is. You don’t really realize it until you’re turning away from a conversation and bumping those thick glasses right off his nose. How long has he been standing there? No one knows.) 

Jimmy chases him into the revolving door, the lemonade he picked up from the bodega across the intersection sloshing around in its waxed, paper-plastic cup. Skidding to a stop, he catches his breath as Clark apologizes in a low voice for taking up space in the doorway. 

They scoot forward, shoes squeaking against the marble tiles of the entryway. Foot traffic is slower than usual today, aggravated by the door. Jimmy thinks to tell the Chief that the rotator mechanism needs oiling, but he knows it’ll only get done six months after he brings it up. 

“You’re not late this time,” Jimmy quips, inching along. The wings of the door finally open, washing a fresh wave of air over him. Thank god, he was about to start sweating through his shirt. 

Clark lets out a breathy little laugh, not quite believing it himself. “Yeah.” 

He looks kind of…excited? Kiddish, if that’s the right word. Posture finally having an effort put into it and head held high, like he’s searching for something. 

Oh. 

Did Clark get up extra early—or rush through his morning routine, or run instead of walk to work, et cetera et cetera—just ‘cause he finally has an excuse to talk to you? Jimmy can’t quite believe it either. 

Clark Kent, the supposed bitter high school ex of yours doesn’t seem so bitter anymore, grinning wider than he has this entire week.  

They squeeze into the elevator together, pushed against the back wall where the speakers croon corporate, scrubbed jazz into Jimmy’s ears. He grimaces at the artificial saxophone riff, too clean without the surrounding chaotic raff that he loves in improvised jazz. 

“It’s just for five minutes,” Clark mutters, craned weirdly with his satchel clutched to his chest, shoulders titled at an absurd angle as to make sure Jimmy can hear. “Small talk, right?” 

“Exactly. Nothing to worry about,” Jimmy replies, sloshing his lemonade around to see how much he has left. Half a cup, which will last him thirty minutes before he needs to run for the nearest vending machine. Maybe he could ask an intern instead—they like him a lot. 

The mental plan to get hopped up on soft drinks for the whole day doesn’t deter Jimmy’s pondering about your and Clark’s relationship for long, though.  

“...Do you hate her?” 

Clark goes silent for a moment, pondering as a plucked bass melody joins into the sax’s fray. Quiet, “I don’t hate her. We just…haven’t spoken in a while.” 

“Bitter breakup or something?” Jimmy tests. 

Clark doesn’t scowl or push his hand up under his glasses for an eye rub. He just sighs, a heavy and burdened kind of exhale. Forlorn, gaze unfocused and directed at something on another plane entirely. 

“Not really. I don’t know, maybe?” A defeated sigh. “I guess you could say that.” 

The elevator lets out a pleasant ding when they get to their floor, and Jimmy dogs behind a slumped Clark. 

Just a minute ago, he was all sunshine and smiles about you. Flipped the script and shot the plot, and now he’s moping his way into the office at the slightest suggestion of feeling hatred. Fuck, this guy’s a total sap. 

“Come on,” Jimmy says. He slaps a hand onto Clark’s back, urging him along toward your desk. “Just think about it this way: if you start talking again, maybe you’ll be on better terms.” 

Clark picks up speed, just a little. Still hiding the pep he wants to put in his step, but Jimmy can tell all the same. 

Your desk hasn’t changed in the ten or so hours since he left last night. Still a whirlwind of organized chaos, every corner still stuffed with camera equipment. 

Except, you’re there now, computer screen painting your face in bright blue light instead of the empty chair Lois had pointed at earlier. And the stupid thing is, Clark starts lagging behind Jimmy, suddenly enthused to stay the reserved man everyone thinks he is. 

He stutters in his gait, runs his fingers through messy hair once, then twice, and then gingerly—so slow and delicate—unwinds his arms from around that old satchel. The leather bag peels off the front of Clark’s chest comically, like a poster slowly falling off a wall. 

Jimmy almost snorts. 

Lois is right. Once you start looking, you can’t unsee it. 

(“I’m just saying,” she said last night, boots clicking against the pavement. Hands stuffed in her pockets, too restrained to really be casual conversation. Jimmy knows that look on her—she’s hooked on a story, and trying to sell it at the same time. “They look at each other like they’re still in love.” 

He scoffed. “No way.” 

“Just see for yourself,” Lois shrugged, pulling ahead. Then, like nothing had ever happened, like the notion of you and Clark together despite it all had never existed, “Come on, you’re gonna miss the last train.”) 

Jimmy is pulled out of his flashback by a cough. Back to present. 

You’re turned around in your chair, monitor displaying a default login screen. Vaguely, he remembers you tapping the lock button on your keyboard the moment he stepped within five feet of your desk. 

Jesus, insanely private people these Gazetteers are. Jimmy’s heard stories of coworkers sniping each other's scoops in Gotham, but he didn’t think it’d translate into borderline supersenses. Good thing you’ve moved to Metropolis, where the only journalists you’ll be afraid of are Lois or Cat trying to worm a confession out of you. 

“Hi, Olsen. Need something?” You give him a mild, porcelain-polite smile—typical Gothamite manners. Doesn’t quite reach your eyes, which are low lidded in the daylight and rimmed with a faint red. 

You look exhausted. As if you haven’t really gotten used to the light in Metropolis, squinting because not being in the dark of Gotham is hurting your eyes and circadian rhythm. 

He lets out an embarrassing ‘uhhh’ before his thoughts can catch up. Then, he does as Lois does, and jerks Clark forward by the elbow. The man’s body protests more than Jimmy thought it would, shoes super-glued to the floor. 

What the hell is this guy made of? 

Jimmy tugs again, and Clark finally snaps into it, stumbling forward like a thrown ragdoll. His glasses sit lopsided on his face as he stares. 

You give him a look, one that seems almost telepathic, and the words just start pouring out. 

It’s like Jimmy never existed. He watches as Clark mumbles out his words, little fragments of ‘Lois wanted’ and ‘sent me’ and ‘it would be…appreciated,’ said in the way questions are reluctantly asked. 

You look at Clark, and only Clark. Head tilted, elbow propped on the edge of your desk and temple cradled by your fingers. Eyes never leaving, like his voice is the only sound in the world. Like you’re trying to cling onto every single one of his words so you can commit them to paper later. 

And Clark doesn’t even look at Jimmy for help, eyes naturally attracted to yours. He can’t pull away, it almost seems like.

Launching into a soft-spoken spiel about the background of Lois’ exposé, he details sources and photo-ops and how he ‘really shouldn’t be telling you this because it might be dangerous, but I wanted you to know that—’ 

Now Jimmy’s sold on Lois’ side-quest, or whatever she called it. 

If there are any other explanations in the entire universe for two people looking at each other like it’s the last time, speak now. No? Going once, going twice? Alright: it’s love. 

Let's put aside the mysterious estrangement and the tense incidents that have everyone convinced of your mutual hatred. Despite it all, you’re still looking at Clark with the sweetest face Jimmy has ever seen on you, and Clark is standing up taller, chest almost puffed out. 

"We’re talking about it over dinner on Saturday, if you wanna come,” Clark says, a soft sort of grin lighting up his face. It’s not the awkward, left side of the face scrunched smile that usually comes when someone cracks a bad joke. This one is kinder, shredded wide-open. 

Yearning. 

“You sure?” 

“Lois won’t mind,” he shrugs, and holy shit—Jimmy did not know Clark’s pupils could dilate like that. Like dinner-plate wide, leaving only a thin ring of blue around an uncanny pool of tar. Kind of alien, if he really had to put a word to it. “It’ll be like the old days.” 

Your hand falls slowly to rest on your desk. You sit up straight, posture conditioned. Just like that, you’ve hardened back up again, porcelain-polite mask sitting over your face. Cracked over the mouth, just a little, clay falling apart in the way your lips curve sadly down. 

“I just saw Lois,” you breathe out with a half-hearted head tilt. Jimmy follows it, and sure enough, a familiar dark-haired troublemaker is squeezing out of the elevator. “I’ll talk to her about it.” 

“Great,” Clark says, morphing back to his usual posture. “That’s great.” 

You swallow, giving him a single, curt nod. “See you.” 

Copying you, he draws his mouth into a terse line. Softly, with a sick gleam in his eyes that could make Jimmy almost throw up at, “Yeah.” 

Clark moves faster than he can say ‘Daily Planet.’ Jimmy looks back, incredulous, at how fast the man skitters back to his own desk without bumping into a single person. 

He has half the mind to ask what the hell is going on. 

Instead, he scoots on over to Cat’s desk, weaving through a group of interns who smile and wave and offer him a coffee. The gossip writer is already staring at him, eyes wide behind her huge cat-eye glasses as she fiddles with her golden earrings—a habit when she knows she has a story. 

“I rescind my CIA theory,” she whispers, twirling a strand of hair around her painted finger. Cat nods as if she’s trying to convince herself of it. “They’re definitely dating.” 

“Nah,” Jimmy says, leaning an elbow on the wall of her cubicle. “Hear this: bitter exes.” 

She gasps. Actually looking concerned, she hides her mouth behind the back of her hand. “No.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Really?” 

He nods, glancing back for a moment. Clark is trying to hide it, but he’s never been the subtle type—answering a phone call, he leans back in his seat, and Jimmy can trace his gaze right back to you talking with Lois.

Jimmy kind of wants to hit the two of you over the head for being so stupid. 

Cat hums, clearly seeing it too. Grimacing, she taps her index finger against her chin. “Oh, yeah, definitely.” 

— 

This must be karma with a side of cosmic comedy. 

Jimmy supposes that while it’s one thing to speculate that his co-workers are in love with each other, it’s an entirely different thing to spy on them. But it isn’t his fault. Scout’s Honor! 

If anyone should receive fury from the gods, it’s Cat. She made him do it. 

…And he complied. Just one picture, though. Nothing more, nothing less, but it was enough to capture evidence of you and Clark, frozen in surprise on the six-inch display of Jimmy’s phone. 

(“Take it!” Cat hisses, nudging him below the ribs. Ouch—sharp elbows. 

“I don’t have my camera!” Jimmy panics, patting himself down like a swarm of ants are crawling all over his body. Where is that damn phone? 

The photo-op before them: Clark, hunched over his keyboard, picking out the words in his article one by one; you, giving him a hard sidelong stare over the lip of your coffee cup. This has happened multiple times in one way or the other. 

Clark looks at you, and you look at him—never at the same time, though. It’s always with some wounded, twisted kind of longing in both of your eyes, one that reminds him of an animal trapped in the bushes. Scared of stepping out but needing it so badly at the same time. 

“Hurry,” Cat urges, gesturing her arms in your direction. She's like an animated Italian grandpa, Jimmy thinks, fingers finally wrapped around his phone. He can see Clark shaking his head to himself, not quite happy with his article, and you smother a smug grin into your coffee. “She’s looking!” 

Clark spins around immediately—as if he heard the gossip columnist’s urgently whispered cries from across the damn newsroom and needed to see it for himself—and freezes when he makes eye contact with you. You nearly choke, eyes wide, brows furrowed.

Jimmy’s thumb finds the shutter button. 

End of story.) 

What he doesn’t get is why the hell it isn’t his phone, but his cameras that are cursed. He almost cried handing over his two beloved Nikons to the repairman and sobbed for real into his pillow when he found out both their mirrors were jammed and needed to stay in the shop for a business week. 

“But it only took a few hours last time!” he protested. The repairman just shook his head sadly and stuck his thumb over his shoulder to the rack of repairs, nearly buckling under the weight of fifty-something cameras. 

Now, back at the office with zero equipment and a hundred photo-ops, Jimmy feels peeved, and kind of crazy. 

Lois frowns, leaning back in her rolling chair. Clark is out of the office for lunch again, an occurrence that’s become too common. He’ll probably be back in ten minutes, saying that the foot traffic was terrible because Superman was doing loops in the sky. 

“I did say that mirrorless cameras were better,” she says, giving him that I told you so look. “Less moving parts and a better sensor.” 

Jimmy sulks with a soda in hand, sucking air through the straw and making the wheezing, burbling sound a finished drink always makes. He mutters, mostly to himself, "A mirrorless isn't as romantic as a DSLR.” 

Lois’ face pulls in on itself—definitely judging. “You’re gonna say some shit like ‘a camera is like a woman,’ aren’t you?” 

He nods, solemnly clutching his fist tight and placing it over his heart. “A camera is like a woman.” 

“I have to say that I agree.” 

Jimmy nearly shrieks and jumps in his chair, a shiver ripping along his spine.

You’re leaning your right elbow on the short, thick wall on the side of his desk with a small smile cracking over your lips. An old-looking camera bag is slung across your body, the dark strap stark against the washed-out maroon of the crew neck sweater you’re wearing. 

(Smallville Giants?) 

In the background, Lois chuckles and crosses one leg over the other, ankle on knee. 

Embarrassment burns through him. 

“Exactly,” he huffs out, flashing a full grin. His leg starts bouncing out of control, and he digs his fingers into the orange plush of his chair’s armrest. “God, I—you kind of scared me.” 

You’ve warmed up since the day he and Clark stumbled around your desk like fools. Cracking a smile here and there, telling jokes steeped in dry Gothamite humor. Sometimes, Jimmy swears he can hear a tiny Midwestern twang fighting the polished city accent you have. 

“Sorry,” you say, head tilting as your grin widens. “Heard you don’t have a camera.” 

Jimmy nods, not trusting his mouth to say anything else. Lifting the strap over your head, you place the bag on his desk. By the sound, it’s heavier than it looks. 

He gazes at you with stars in his eyes. “Seriously?” 

“D5. You can borrow it for now,” you tell him. Casual, like you aren’t handing over a precious relic. He almost feels a prick of jealousy in his heart. Back in school, the wealthier kids were too stingy to even let him near theirs. 

He still loves the D500 he managed to scrounge up the money for as a broke college kid. But this...he might start salivating and floating like a Looney Tunes character. 

“For real?” Jimmy can’t believe it. Maybe this curse has a silver lining that’s too good to be true. 

“I’m trialing a Sony mirrorless right now.” And then you lean a little closer as if this is just a secret shared between the two of you, blocking the side of your mouth with a palm, “Personally, not as sexy as a DSLR.” 

The Kansas accent that he’s only ever heard from Clark bleeds into your words, just slightly. 

Bingo! 

Jimmy slaps his thigh with a wide grin and points at Lois, victorious. “Told you so!” 

You laugh as you slip away. 

— 

The sands of time run quicker when he has a stellar camera in his hands. 

He spent the entire day wandering around the city until his feet went sore, the camera strap tight to keep it as close to his chest as possible. There is no way in the entire universe that something is going to happen to the D5. He’d die before that happened. 

Even from the tiny display window, which is smeared with permanent fingerprints—believe him, Jimmy already tried everything to wipe them off—he can tell the difference between your and his equipment. Especially for Superman photos, he notes. 

Now, alone in his room, parents already put down to bed, Jimmy longingly runs a finger down the worn leather grip of the Nikon you passed to him. It’s a good model, one of the best. He’s yearned for something as good as this since high school. 

Fighting sleep, he springs the hatch in the side of the camera’s body and pops out the memory card. 

Wait. Blink three times. It isn’t his, and it’s older than the ones he uses by a lot. Hell, this is ancient. 

Jimmy is rocketed out of his grogginess, back going ramrod straight. 

If this is your SD, and it’s this old...what photos do you have? 

It’s a natural thing for journalists to speculate, he justifies, knowing full well that he’s been infected with the investigative virus. 

Invasion of privacy—invasion of—invasion— 

His hesitance is interrupted by the faces of his two nosier co-workers. Cat, ever the devil on his shoulder, telling him that a peek doesn’t hurt. Lois, hands on her hips and head shaking left to right, saying, “Journalists dig deep.” 

He boots up his computer, vision seared with the annoying flash of white that always precedes the login screen. Jimmy follows the motions: insert the card, scroll to find his files, select the—almost two-hundred shots—he took and move them to a local folder. 

Meanwhile... 

He almost sprains his wrist with how fast he scrolls back into the card’s history. 

The first one he finds is approximately dated to when you and Clark were in high school. Far too early for a kid to own a D5, and the quality proves it, grainy enough to be from an amateur camera. 

Clark is without his signature glasses in this one, the edges of his body burnished in white-gold. He’s still pretty big, but he leans more to the gangly side with the way his clothes aren’t as filled in. His hair is longer, not as curly, but his dimples are the same. Smile kind, bright blue eyes turned to crescents. 

Handsome, in a way Jimmy never expected him to be. 

He’s lying on his side in bed, surrounded by a gingham-flannel duvet and a striped pillowcase. Pale light streams in from a blurry window, thin beige curtains fluttering in the corner. His hand is buried in the long hair of a border collie as he looks up at the camera with a glint of tender fondness in his eyes. 

Jimmy can tell you’re the one who took this, even though the composition is kind of clumsy. Explaining it is hard, but it’s just a feeling. You always take pictures that make people feel romantic about the world. 

Next. 

This one is around fifteen years from today, and it’s Clark who’s taking this one—he's talented with his words, but it seems that photography has never been his strongest suit. 

Your face is rounder, younger, nose crinkled in displeasure about being half-buried in a pile of loose hay. Still, the corners of your mouth are angled up as if you’re happy to see Clark on the other side. 

Dirt is smeared on the front of your shirt, and the rest of the details are hard to make out, but Jimmy thinks you’re on the floor of a barn. Someone else’s cut-off leg stretches from the side. The angle of the shot is tilted, like Clark had fumbled with the shutter and almost dropped the camera.  

All the way to the bottom now. 

Jimmy feels a strange wave of nostalgia wash over him. Spending his entire life as a born-and-raised Metropolitan sounded so perfect, but now he isn’t so sure. He’s almost envious of what you and Clark had. 

The colors of everything are faded together, except for the sky, which is exceptionally blue and clear. You’re both about four, or five—kindergarten age, completely oblivious about your futures. Standing in a field of brown-green grass and dirt, you wear matching white Little League jerseys. 

Smallville 1 and 2, emblazoned across your backs in red. A glove and bat are laid to the side. Clark’s neck-length curls spill out of his cap, and you’re just an inch taller than him. Your small hands are clasped together as you both watch the field, like if either of you let go, the other would disappear. 

He ejects the memory card and wipes his eyes. 

Fuck. What went wrong? 

— 

Apparently, further intruding on your and Clark’s personal life means rigging the Saturday work dinner, if hanging out at a bar could be considered that. 

“It’s the perfect excuse,” Lois mutters to herself, hands stuffed into her pockets. She has that scheming expression on her face again; narrowed eyes, tongue caught in the pocket of her cheek. “They have to sit next to each other, so make sure you’re not late.” 

She was ecstatic to hear about the pictures harbored in your SD. The ever-changing theory has now gone from co-workers with deep hatred to bitter exes to sad, estranged childhood friends who never had the time to fall in love.

Good thing he didn’t tell Cat, because she would have gone running to the nearest movie studio to pitch a romcom idea. 

“Are you sure this’ll work?” Jimmy asks, falling in step next to her. Just to be safe, he checks over his shoulder. As per usual, Clark is already nowhere to be seen, having already turned the corner. 

Briefly, he wonders how long it takes for Clark to get home, if you live in Midtown too, and if you ever pass by each other on the way to the store or something. That would be awkward. 

Lois hums, a hesitant sound. She tilts her head, suddenly interested in studying the non-existent stars. “Like, seventy...five percent sure.” 

“Seventy-five?” 

“Alright, eighty,” she decides. For real this time! is what goes unsaid. 

Jimmy sighs and kicks a pebble down the smooth sidewalk. 

— 

“Sorry, am I late?” you ask, rushing over from the door. 

Wow. The sunshine in Metropolis can really change a person. A time where you would sit straight-backed and stone-faced at your desk has been long forgotten. You look brighter now. The exhausted weight you used to carry around the office has disappeared, and you walk over with a pep in your step. 

The heavy slab of glass and wood swings close behind you, dimming the light available in the bar. Jimmy notices that your shoes are more casual than the ones you take to work, and you’re wearing the same Smallville Giants sweater. 

You weave past a group of college kids playing pool, the sound of your steps masked by the loud clack of an eight-ball being sunk and the cheers that follow. 

“No, no, you’re great,” Lois says, sliding out of the booth. You wrap an arm around her shoulders for a quick hug without an ounce of hesitance. 

Jimmy, stuck next to the wall, politely waves at you from behind Lois, to which you respond with a small grin. Placing your bag on the bench opposite from them, you slide into the booth and take in the warm light of the bar, how the air smells like alcohol and salt. 

“How was the camera?” 

“Amazing,” he blurts, palms glued to the tabletop, a little damp from the last wipe-down. The nerd in him is so psyched out right now. “Like, wow. I’m not betraying my D500s, but that’s a dream camera right there.” 

There’s no indication that you know anything about the childhood photos you accidentally left in his hands. You laugh, a soft sound that comes whispering under the rock song playing from the old jukebox in the corner. “This your regular spot?” 

Lois flags down a waiter, nodding with a grin that matches yours. “Yeah, this is an official invitation to join our long-running tab.” 

“If this were Gotham, we’d be jumped in an alley two weeks ago,” you say, looking around the bar with a sort of wonder in your eyes. Jimmy supposes things aren’t like this in Jersey, but then again, the rent is cheap, the architecture is gorgeous, and the jazz is sexy.  

Besides, it isn’t like Metropolis doesn’t have her own handful of nutjobs. They’re a lot more partial to obliterating Superman and ruling the world than gassing an entire city, but tomayto-tomahto. 

Lois orders the sweet wine she always does—ever the sugar addict—and Jimmy gets himself a beer, much to your and the waiter’s surprise. He has to flash his ID to prove that he is indeed older than twenty-one. 

“Is it mean if I thought you were a cub until last week?” you ask. Then you turn to the waiter. “Sparkling cider, but water if you don’t.” 

The server nods and turns back to the main bar. 

Jimmy gets the hint-hint, nudge-nudge look from Lois, her brows raising as she looks at him from the corner of her eye. She serves it with a sharp jab of her elbow into his side. Ouch—once a victim, always a victim. Good thing he has a thicker jacket on to soften the blow. 

“Apple cider?” Lois frowns, inquisitive—extra verbal emphasis on cider. Jimmy runs back his mental film reel, trying to remember why the hell the association of you and the drink is so familiar. “I don’t suppose you’re abstaining.” 

You rest your chin on your right hand, elbow propped on the tabletop. The moisture that Jimmy felt earlier has long dried up. You get a wistful glimmer about your face, eyes flicking up to the corner of the room where a baseball game is airing. 

“I’m not,” you explain, tearing your attention off the screen like it’s hard. “I just like it. Reminds me of home, you know?” 

“Right. Perry told me about your file,” Lois says, ever the confession-puller even though she acts like she isn’t doing anything. “The Planet has Smallville One and Two now.” 

A frown pulls at your face, not quite sure if you heard her right, “Sorry?” 

“You know, like Thing One and Two.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile, but it’s a little shakier. Miffed, Jimmy seriously considers bumping Lois’ foot with his own. 

Luckily, she doesn’t press any further, letting the conversation flow naturally from your mysterious origins to current world events—the drinks come now, numb to the touch and beading on the glass, and your eyes are sparkling just like the cider before you—to the exposé. 

The reason why the three of you are here in the first place, sharing anecdotes related to the scandal about to be thrust upon the world. It has something to do with widespread corruption in the precinct that patrols the ports, and in the three times Lois has almost gotten herself killed, she’s connected it to a Gotham cartel. 

Jimmy tells a wild, borderline tall tale about being chased down Main Street by a gang of cops. He had to hide in the alley behind his favorite bodega for an hour before slinking back to the office. Mr. White wasn’t very happy about that. 

(“Great Caesar’s ghost!” he exclaimed, acrid cigar smoke puffing everywhere.) 

You pull up pictures on your phone of suspicious activity you’ve captured in the area, from police loitering for too long in corners to pristine vans driving through the city across the bay. 

Perks of being connected, you say, keeping your voice low, Gotham isn’t as bad as most people think. Sources are basically endless. 

The bell at the door rings, though it’s barely heard over the din and racket of pool-playing jocks and the jukebox, now playing some Beatles song that Jimmy can’t remember the name of. Lois slouches in her seat, slowly peeking out from the booth to check who just came in. It’s Clark. 

He stumbles over in a pair of slacks that don’t look tailored enough and the knit sweater Lois called ‘sick of the laundry machine’ the last time she saw it on him. She gives him a curt once-over, disapproving. 

“Sorry,” he breathes out, finding the floor exceedingly interesting. His glasses are askew, sliding down the bridge of his nose like he’d just shoved them on and his curly hair is whirlwind-messy. “Foot traffic. Superman.” 

“It’s always him,” Jimmy drawls, knocking back a sip of his beer. 

You look up at Clark. Eyes shining like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him, you pinch your mouth into a tight line. 

Clark, still in his typical daze, wonders out loud, “Cider?” 

He says it in a feather-soft tone, quietly poking. As if he’s a kid again, Little League glove resting in the dry grass, tugging at your arm when a teammate steals a base and making sure you saw that too. 

Your drink is half-finished on the table. There’s a ring of room-temp water around the base, sure to join the hundred others etched into the wood. A pearl of condensation rolls down the side, chasing the bubbles still fizzling in the ice. 

The puzzle pieces in Jimmy’s head finally click together—the polaroid Clark allegedly keeps in his wallet. Cider and cowboy. You and your childhood best friend. 

It could be considered a miracle in itself how fast you react. Jimmy notes the heavy way you swallow, throat bobbing as you reach for your bag, draw it toward you, and— 

You let Clark in. 

Apprehension hangs in his body as he slides into the booth. Clark sits board-stiff, unsure of his standing with you. You elbow him, harder than Lois would do to anybody, and the man doesn’t budge. 

His face just keeps getting ruddier by the second. If this were a cartoon, his glasses would for sure be misted with the same steam pouring from his ears. 

Lois coughs. “Right. Could we get to fact-checking the piece?” 

“Yeah,” Clark squeaks. The leather of the booth’s cushion makes the same sound when he scoots a little closer to your side. 

Your elbows end up bumping somewhere between the second round of drinks—Clark and the weird looks he gets for drinking fucking milk are hilarious—and Lois going on a tangent about how Central City is a great place at this time of year. 

Clark stills, watching your reaction, but you don’t need words. You don’t jump back like you’ve been burned. You just settle into some kind of semi-normal truce area.

Relaxation finally melts into Clark’s bones, and he stumbles into the conversation with a banging opener about meeting a brilliant college kid there. 

“I think his name was Allen?” 

Lois laughs, fingers wrapped around the stem of her glass. “We should all cover the science fair they hold next year, then. Just to confirm your source.” 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes darting to the space where your elbow meets Clark’s. “We should. It’s close to home too.” 

Jimmy catches Lois' eye. Can you believe this?

He realizes that his investment isn’t so much about the mystery anymore. That’s something you two could keep to yourselves, because there’s no way in hell Jimmy would willingly learn the painful lore. 

It’s more about the way you glance at each other. Held-back, ready to run full-tilt without hesitation if someone gave the green light. You’re clearly in love, and everyone can see it. 

Now, the real mystery is how long it’ll take for you both to admit it. 

—

notes. please lmk if u enjoyed my sweet childhood best friends who fold despite being estranged... if i do write a second part it'll prob be in his or reader's pov ⭐⭐

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Maid For Pleasure... In The Servant's Quarters

Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem! reader

Summary: You may have been dismissed for the night, but that does not mean the Viscount is done with you...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Power imbalance (housemaid!reader), dom/sub dynamics, no use of “y/n”.  Somnophilia, rough vaginal sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, biting, orgasms, smidge of spanking.

Word Count: 1.9k

Author's Note: Here's the first standalone fic in this series for our delicious Viscount. There may be a short interlude before the next fic. Thanks, as ever, to my awesome and supportive beta, @colettebronte. Enjoy! <3

As you reach your quarters, you remember to oil between your legs, as required, and quickly peel off your stockings. Then, you stumble onto your bed, burying your face in the pillow. 

The room is warm: it’s in the attic and the chimney breast behind the wall radiates heat, so you feel no need to get under the covers. In fact, you feel much more comfortable lying atop them.

Across the room, behind the privacy partition, you sense your roommate, the scullery maid Mary, already sleeping soundly. Recalling that the agreement you have just signed means you will likely be moving soon, a room all to yourself, no less. The largest and best servant's room you are familiar with is the one recently vacated by your mother's friend, who retired. It's also the one closest to the stairs, as she was always the first to wake, often making bread before dawn. Part of you hopes that it will be yours, its oval window offering a wonderful view down to the lake.

As you settle, exhaustion and arousal war within you. Such a momentous day, and then the whiplash of being so close to orgasm but denied by Anthony. However, exhaustion wins out; you do not even have the energy to masturbate yourself to satisfaction silently. You will do so in the morning, is your last drowsy thought…

…Your dream feels odd. And so vivid.

Like you are riding a horse, even though you have never done so, your body rolling in a choppy wave, legs parted around a muscular beast. Somehow, your breath feels muffled, as if something is over your face as you ride, perhaps a scarf. It feels good, though. Letting your body move rhythmically over and over in a pleasant wave. Each gallop is better than the last, something delightful building in your body. 

Then the dream starts to crack, splinter, flicker….

….The motion is still there, but the visuals and sensations rearrange. Your eyes flutter open, and you are in your bed. It is still night, the room dark.

There is indeed a muscular creature between your legs, but you are definitely the one being ridden: your hips propped high with your spine bent.

You are being fucked.

Hard.

Your cunt being invaded by a cock so large that your whole torso is being driven repeatedly into the mattress, your breath only able to escape your lungs in ragged pants under the pressure of being held down. 

But god, does it feel good. 

So, so good.

As you fully come to your senses, you realise you are mounted in a position you cannot escape, arms caged on your lower back, a large, hot mass of masculinity covering yours, pinning you, your face mashed into the pillow as he fucks you. 

From cologne alone, you know it is the Viscount - Anthony.

“She awakens,” he chuckles, his breath hot on your neck, his brocade waistcoat rasping your spine. At least he has removed his jacket, is your first thought.

He must have sensed it by the change in your body's pliancy, muscles tensing briefly. You twist to look sideways at his face; can just decipher in the pale moonlight that he is already flushed with exertion, a bead of sweat on his brow. So handsome that you clench around him reflexively, making him groan loudly. You have no idea how long he has been on you, in you, taking you without mercy. And something about that is so stimulating. 

You sense he wants you silent, even though he knows you're awake. Play up as if still unconscious. So you don’t say a word, just let out quiet puffs of air, yielding yourself entirely as he cleaves you open in a way you never have been before.

It was in the agreement you signed. You just didn't consider that these men might do precisely this within hours of the ink drying: use your body as you sleep. Thinking, mistakenly apparently, that perhaps they would let you build up to such a novel experience. Maybe even let you see his cock before it is inside you, rearranging you. 

But it feels so perfect. This is what you have been missing up until now: a solid girth that pushes you wide open with every stroke, tugging the folds around your clit taut as you stretch to accommodate him.

“Your cunt feels glorious,” he flatters, his teeth skimming up to nip your earlobe. “As I knew it would.”

You want to compliment his cock, how it feels, but do not feel it's your place to do so. He likely knows. Has the swagger of a man with equipment he knows can destroy.

The frame of your simple bed squeaks under the duress of your combined weight and motion as he speeds up, angling his hips differently, his meaty thighs pushing yours out even wider under him. Beyond the edges of your narrow mattress so that your feet dangle in the air, jostling with each thrust he takes.

“I shall have to purchase something bigger and sturdier for my little doe,” Anthony gusts into your temple.. “For fucking you while you slept is too delightful for me not to repeat….”

A rush of heat under your ribs at the idea that this is how you could be awoken many times in the future. By either of them. Perhaps both at once, if you are so fortunate. 

Anthony also seems unperturbed that you have a roommate, who has likely been awoken by the noises emanating from your side of the room by now. Indeed, when your eyes fly to the partition between your sleeping quarters, there, peeking over the top, is Mary. Wide-eyed in shock, her mouth agape, no sound coming out. 

You have no idea how long she has been there. Watching. But it must be a sight indeed. The master of the house, trousers around his ankles, based on the fuzzy thighs you feel pressed into your own, but otherwise dressed. You spread-eagled naked under him, facedown and being fucked to kingdom come.

I am well, you mouth at her, trying to be discreet, but Anthony sees it, and his eyes track your sightline.

“Go back to bed, Mary,” he orders, not wavering in his pace, not explaining anything either. “I will dock your wages if you tell anyone what you see here,” he adds threateningly.

She scurries out of view.

“We had better get you that private room posthaste,” he murmurs into your ear, sounding amused. “I will fuck you in front of almost anyone, but perhaps I should draw the line at a devoutly religious little virgin.” 

He chuckles but continues unabashed. You can't help but let out a little giggle, too, which he seems so pleased by. A shared moment of levity that seems significant in some way. 

“I do love what a wanton little whore you already are, though,” he moans, stubbled chin jutting into your vertebrae. “I just know you want an audience….”

You never even knew you had such a proclivity before, but when he says it, you know it to be true. Aroused by the idea of people watching you like this, pinned, fucked, taken, eyes rolling with how good it feels to be fully controlled and possessed by a powerful man such as Anthony.

“Fuck,” he growls, as you ripple around him, consumed with your wayward, debauched thoughts.

It makes him go faster. Setting a harsh pace now, snapping his hips so forcefully your bottom jiggles as he ploughs into you, you lying still and pliant, letting him take his fill but unable to stop the whimpers that escape your lips. Feeling your juices dripping onto your bedspread, the sound of your own cunt so loud when being taken so vehemently.

You wonder if, sometime, you may sleep the entire way through something like this. Maybe drink so much that you are in a stupor. Or ask him to give you a substance that will ensure you are unconscious. So you can awaken to your hips propped up higher than your head, a trail of his cum trickling down your back, pooling around the back of your ribs, a delicious ache between your legs, having been fucked so roughly your cunt and pussy lips are swollen and slick, perhaps even having orgasmed without you even knowing, if that is possible.

Just these thoughts alone have you desperate to do just that - orgasm, ideally while he is still inside you.

“May I touch myself, my lord?” You appeal softly, the only words you have spoken aloud.

He smiles against your nape.

“What a perfect toy you are,” he praises, pulling one of your hands out from where he has them trapped. “I’m close now, so go ahead. See if you can make me cum with your little cunt.”

You burrow your hand between your belly and the mattress, reaching down to your clit, loving how messy and swollen you are from his thorough treatment, feeling his cock ramming close to your fingernails. 

You begin to strum your pearl with vigour, muffling your cries into your pillow as he curses and goes rougher, the bedframe protesting loudly now. Creaking noises that suggest it may not withstand much more, slamming into the wall so severely that tiny flecks of white paint puff into the shaft of moonlight from the small, high window nearby.

His breath is laboured, almost a continuous groan, too, only interrupted by curses, as he seems to be skating the edge; his thrusts becoming erratic, his cock feeling punishing, steely, harsh, leaving its mark inside you.

He bites down fiercely on your shoulder, and you are gone. Flung into the stars as if there were no roof above your head, every cell of your being feeling strung with fireworks, blood racing and pounding. Your cunt clenching and bearing down so hard he roars into your hair. But you are suddenly convulsing around nothing, him rapidly withdrawing, then a spurting rope of warmth splashes up your bottom cheek and another onto your lumbar spine, his tight fist buried into the mattress beside your ribs, his entire being heaving.

He curses, winded, then collapses all his weight on top of you so you can barely draw breath. 

“You are mine. I will be inside you every waking day.”

The possessive patter makes you whimper, little aftershocks causing all your limbs to tremble. Even after Anthony climbs up off you, slaps your backside and stands to pull up his britches and right his clothing, you do not move.

“That’s it, little doe,” he rounds the bed and ruffles your hair. “Sleep just like that, covered in my seed. Just as you should be…”

You do exactly that. Don't even close your legs; leave your feet hanging off either side of your single bed. A large part of you craving that his cum was instead leaking out of your pussy as you lay there, face down, utterly fucked out. 

He spanks your bottom one more time for good measure as he passes by with a victorious chuckle.

“‘Night, Mary,” he calls genially. “You will have a new roommate soon,” he adds as he heads out the door.

You do not even raise your head to check if she is there or even awake, you just sigh contentedly, unmoving, letting his cum and yours dry tackily on your skin.

And you have the best night’s sleep of your life.

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

Anthony taglist pt1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @divaani @musicismyoxygen84 @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @fern-reads @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog @y0ur-favgerman @sya-skies @urfavnoirette @cinnamoodles @blackdxggr @alexandrainlove @witty-wallflower

[strnqer]

take a breath, and let the rest come easy

— clark kent x fem!reader

— synopsis: sometimes sunlight just isn't enough for superman to heal. so there's a reason why he comes home to you every night. 

— a/n: title taken from dear maria, count me in by all time low. just a little domesticity for u guys

his feet meet the ground of the alley lightly, like a feather falling. clark sighs in relief, placing his suitcase on the ground and unclasping it to see the work clothes he'd worn earlier today. 

and he thinks of how he just can't wait to see you tonight.

how he could finally untauten his muscles, let himself melt into your skin, feel like he didn't fall from space on a random day and deem himself a normal human being who was tired from work. 

well, he is tired from work. just not the kind of work other people do. 

clark changes behind a dumpster and hopes no one would look out a window and see a half naked man holding superman's suit. though if the situation does happen, he'd already thought of an excuse: "i'm his assistant and i do his laundry." 

(he does, in fact, do his own laundry.) 

when he arrives at your home—the one you share through combined salaries and scraps of savings—he gives you that all too familiar knock that has you opening the door not even a second later. 

his heart flutters at your smile when you see him—that all so welcoming gleam that comes with a hug; clark wraps his arms around your waist, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck and doesn't care that he'd have to bend down uncomfortably to do so. he inhales your scent, eyes fluttering shut as he did so, letting your fingers wander into his tangled mess of curls. 

"you're home," you beam. clark pulls back to look down at you, his dimples deep from a soft smile. you twirl the sweat doused curl in your index, flicking your eyes back and forth from his right to left. clark's eyes twinkle the way a sun ray would. "i cooked your favorite."

"breakfast for dinner?"

"yep!" you pull away from him. he gently kicks the door shut with the heel of his foot before toeing his shoes off. "eggs, bacon, toast; still slicing the avocados, though."

"i'll handle it." he rolls up his sleeves up to his elbows, entering the kitchen. you dangerously hand him the knife—slinging it back with a lazy wrist, blade pointed directly at his chest. clark's eyes widen, carefully taking the knife from you. "how's your day?"

you push yourself up the counter, taking a bacon and biting, the crispy meat kissing your taste buds. "filtering pictures, as usual." you say, semi-muffled. 

clark turns to you and wipes the oil off the corner of your mouth. "got any pictures of me mid-fight?"

"it's hard to take a picture of you when you're flying here and there, y'know?" you playfully roll your eyes. clark gapes, slicing down the middle of an avocado, twirling by the time he reaches the bone. "all i get is a blur of red and blue."

"well sorry, maybe i should stop mid flight and pose for you." clark holds two avocados in his hands. he walks to stand between your legs, nuzzles his nose against yours, before giving you a quick peck. "thank you for dinner." 

when the toast is popped up, he takes it with ease like the heat doesn't burn his fingertips. you take an avocado from him and replace it with a butter knife, each of you spreading the fruit onto the toast. 

"how was yours?" you ask him. clark helps you down the counter even though your toes have reached the floor, leaving one hand on the dip of your spine, the other taking his plate. 

"entertaining," he begins, guiding you to the living room. "today, krypto led me to a testing lab that had a lot of beagles in it."

you look up at him in shock the moment you plop yourself back down onto the couch. "where'd you take them?!"

clark sets his plate on the coffee table, sitting comfortably beside you, arm behind your head and a hand on his lap. "local shelter. scientists weren't pleased, though."

"should've taken me one."

"i don't know, honey." he leans forward, putting an egg on his toast before taking a bite. "taking care of a dog is a huge responsibility." 

you give him a deadpanned look, taking a bite of your own. "you sound like my mom."

"you'd have to take them out on walks, clean their poops, feed them. i mean it's just a huge responsibility, my love."

"you're saying that because you can't take care of krypto."

clark frowns, waving his hands in the air like he doesn't have a toast in his hand. "have you even been with that dog? he's a menace. he peed on my cape." 

you laugh lightly, leaning back to rest your head on his shoulder. he sets his plate back on the table, and tilts his head down to look at you. 

"i missed you." you sigh out. "even though we were together at work earlier."

he kisses the space between your eyebrows, placing his arm again behind your head, hand reaching down to scratch your shoulder. "you can keep missing me. but at the end of the day–"

clark tilts his head sideways, to give himself a better look of your face. his heart beats in a rhythm he can't describe– it's like the feeling he gets when he flies into space; exhilarating, freeing, euphoric. like his soul is dancing with peace. 

and then there's your ever gentle smile. it's the kind of smile that's only tilted upwards just a little, your chin digging on the muscle between his chest and collarbone. your lashes flutter from each loving blink, pupils dilating slowly, irises akin to the shades of a flower field. and god, clark could just stare at you all day if he could. 

"i'll always come back home to you."

you kiss him.

kissing you was clark's most favorite form of intimacy. the way that even if his lips were a little bit bigger than yours, they fit perfectly against his mouth. the way it was just the right amount of innocence in its ardor and the neediness that's been born from constant yearning. 

he loves the way kissing you would orchestrate every fibre of his body to create sparks of energy to kiss you even more. he loves the way your face would fit in his palm perfectly and the way your hands would move from his neck to scratching the back of his neck. 

and he loves the way all the tension in his body would unclasp themselves, letting him soften and melt in your touch the way a doting man would. it's one of the ways he shows you how much he loves you. and if he could find more, he would.

he will.

clark sighs lovingly, pulling you up to straddle his lap. his head falls back to the back of the couch, tilting his head slightly. the soft clicks of your joint mouths tickling his ear the slightest. and with his eyes closed, he could feel every single part of you. 

"clark, baby," you whisper against his mouth. you only want him to hear your voice. "dinner."

"technically it's breakfast." he chuckles against your mouth. he rubs circles on your mouth. "do you want me to make you some hot cocoa?" 

"could you put ice cubes on them?"

he pulls back and gives you a befuddled look, kiss bitten lips forming an amused grin. "but it's hot."

"it helps it warm up just a little."

your eyes travel upwards. they settle on the dried blood just above the worry lines and below his hairline. you tut, wiping the blood with your thumb.

"gotta be more careful out there, clark." you scold lightly. "i can't heal you the way the sun can."

clark snorts. "darling, you don't know how much stronger you are than the sun."

your eyes meet his. they look surprised in a way that your heart seemed to have crawled it's way out and onto the palm of his hand. 

"maybe you just gotta rest with me," you reply, pushing his hair behind his ear. clark's hands run up and down your back, keeping you warm. "they're being really mean to you out there."

he chuckles and kisses the tip of your nose. "yeah well, i have you anyway. who cares if the whole world hates me when i have your love?"

your eyes roll. you settle your hands just above his heart, scratching the skin. "well how 'bout you make me some hot cocoa to keep this love?"

though tired, clark comes home to you for a reason. he wraps your legs around his waist and walks to the kitchen. you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

he just can't seem to let you go.

a/n: james gunn made a playlist for clark and god it's so cute

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THE SPACE BETWEEN FRIENDS

bsf!clark kent x reader | notes: how i yearn for best friend clark kent😭

“you’re telling me,” you furrow your brows. “that you’ve never kissed anyone before?” your voice isn’t judgmental, it’s just surprised. wide-eyed and honest in the way only you can get away with.

clark shifts beside you on the couch, suddenly very aware of how close your knee is to his. the cushion dips between you, and it’s almost comical how stiff he goes when you lean in, just slightly, waiting for an answer. he clears his throat. scratches the back of his neck. classic stall. “no, i’ve kissed someone before.” he finally sputters out. he doesn’t continue. so you just look at him. head tilted, brows raised. after a beat too long, he caves. “just…not in a long time.”

your lips part. a smile tugs at the edge, soft and amused. “how long is ‘a long time’?”

he squints, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on his sleeve. “senior year.”

you blink. “high school?”

“…yeah.” his voice is an octave higher. he tugs at the loose tread until it pulls away from his sleeve. you sit back a little, processing. not because it’s weird, but because it’s him. clark kent. six-foot-something, save-the-world-on-weekends clark kent. the man who picks up your favorite takeout without asking and always remembers your deadlines better than you do.

you’ve kissed a fair number of people. not recklessly, but you’ve lived. you’ve loved a little. you’ve made mistakes. and somewhere along the line, you learned how to be sweet about it. and now he’s sitting beside you blushing and nervous. all broad shoulders and big hands, like he doesn’t realize how stupidly kissable he is.

you tilt your head again. “can i ask why?”

he shrugs, eyes still on his sleeve. “i guess i just…haven’t wanted to. i haven’t had the time.” the room feels smaller, or maybe he feels out of place. his palms are suddenly clammy. he wipes them against his pants and prays you didn’t notice. “when’s the last time you kissed someone?” his voice is sheepish.

“i don’t know.” you lie. you know exactly when it was, but you don’t want to upset him. he exhales deeply. he can hear your heartbeat increasing, the blood sloshing a little faster in your body.

“y/n,” he raises a brow. “you’re a horrible liar.”

you smile, small and caught. “okay. i know when it was.” your eyes flick to the floor. he waits. doesn’t press. doesn’t rush you. but he’s looking at you now—really looking. like the world might tilt depending on what you say next. “a few weeks ago,” you admit. “some guy from a club. it was—it was nothing.”

he nods, slow and unreadable. his eyes drop for a second. something pits in his stomach—mean and sour. he swallows harshly. he hates how your answer affects him. it shouldn’t. you’re just friends. but the thought of you and some other guy makes it hard to breathe.

“clark?” your sweet voice brings him back to reality. his gaze moves back to you. your closer than he remembers. you smell like vanilla and something addictive. “it meant nothing.” you reassure. your hand rests on his. his skin tingles where you touch.

he nods once again. his eyes flicker between your hand and your lips. something possessive rushes over him and before he can stop himself, he leans forward and captures your lips. you gasp, the sound swallowed into his chest.

clark’s not thinking anymore. he’s moving on instinct, driven by desire months in the making. his mouth presses against yours like a confession. like he’s trying to say i want you without using words he’s not sure he deserves to speak. you don’t pull away. you should, maybe—just to get your footing, just to think. but your hand tightens over his instead, and when he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, you let him.

his hand ghosts up to your cheek, hesitant but warm, the way a man might hold a thing he’s spent his whole life aching for. your lips part, slow and cautious, and he makes a quiet sound at the back of his throat, like this is the exact taste he’s been dreaming about and finally, finally, he gets to have it.

the kiss doesn’t burn. it blooms. it’s steady and warm, curling through your chest like light flooding into a room that hasn’t seen morning in years. when he finally pulls back, just a few inches, his forehead rests against yours. his breath is ragged. yours isn’t much steadier. his eyes are closed. like he’s scared to open them. “i’m sorry,” he whispers. “i didn’t mean to—I didn’t plan to-”

“don’t apologize,” you say. your voice is breathy, lips still tingling. “you didn’t do anything wrong.” his eyes open then and there’s so much in them. longing, relief, a kind of fear you can feel in your own bones. “you meant it, right?” you ask quietly. “the kiss?”

he nods instantly like there was never a question. “i’ve wanted to kiss you for months,” he says. “i just didn’t know if i should. or if you’d let me.”

your smile returns, just a little crooked now. “i was starting to think you never would.”

he lets out a soft, nervous laugh. “i didn’t think i was your type.”

“you’re not,” you say, teasing, fingers brushing lightly up his arm. “you’re even better.” he blushes something fierce. you meet his eyes, and for once you don’t look away. you lean in again. when your lips meet his again, there’s no hesitation left. just want. just warmth. just him.

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like i promise im not the same girl

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౨ৎ‧₊˚ i would rather eat a brick than be forced to say hi to them

[strnqer]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ the same night you met john b , you end up at his place for an after party. only to be the only one in attendance.

author’s note . . . based off of this daydream bc @stinkinfist in the replies convinced me and i didn’t forget about him just bc i had the worst writer’s block ever

warnings . . . underage drinking , john b is a boob guy what can i say? , smut 18+ ( drunk pinv , unprotected pinv but he pulls out! , kinda? size kink , marking )

you knew the moment john b started fiddling absentmindedly with your fingers and you let him , you were going home with him. no matter how mad your dad would be when you got back , though that usually didn’t deter you anyway. no matter how desperate you may look. you were going home with him.

and it seemed he was just as determined for that outcome as you were. “party’s kinda dyin’ out here , huh?” he observes , running his smooth hand over the expanse over your lower back. left , right , left , right. the touch alone making you more intoxicated than the several drinks you had earlier throughout the night. his voice however , that makes your brain buzz.

“yeah,” you agree , beaming up at the puppy dog-eyed man next to you as your eyes fail you and fall to his lips.

“yeah?” john b simply repeats , nodding closer to you to finally make a move. he’s been twitching with his hands all night , touching you as much as he could to make up for the fact that his tongue wasn’t down your throat yet.

to be honest , he’s impressed that you’ve lasted as long as you have without giving him a go ahead , but his eyes were watching yours all night. waiting for the exact moment they move to his lips. john b is a patient man— he fishes. there’s no problem on his end to wait as long as need be to get a bite.

your fate was sealed as soon as you told him about your father’s no dating rule. of course , you only challenged him more— albeit unknowingly , as your conversation went on and you complained about how strict your father was.

“john b…” you tut , still smiling as you pull away from the kiss.

and he physically deflates when you break away. “what , baby?” he croons , kissing at your jaw instead as you giggle. the sweet noise getting him to let out his own drunken chuckle.

“i don’t like pda,” you tell him in a hushed tone like it was some secret , leaning your forehead against his, “even if the party’s dying down.”

“no?” his eyebrows quirk up in question, “you’ve been lettin’ me touch ya all night though.” john b’s hands shift from your hips , migrating lower until he could very firmly grab at your ass. you let out a squeal at the action , head thrown back in a laugh right after. “only things i haven’t gotten my hands on yet are right here,” he starts , leaning down to kiss the tops of your breast that spill out of your neckline, “and…”

before his hands can move lower you push them to his sides and stepped back. “take me home , john b?” you ask , catching your breath. seeing you all flustered only makes his fingertips tingle , eyes watching your chest rise and fall.

“yeah , let’s getcha home,” he decides , clasping your outstretched hand and leading you away from the dwindling party.

after stumbling your ways to john b’s van he named the twinkie , and driving to the chateau , you were pushed up against the sliding door. “thought we were getting me home? yet we’re outside,” you tease him , hands coming to his hair as he sucks down your neck , leaving marks in his wake.

“needed to get in on these real quick,” john b mumbles , kissing at your tits he had pushed up out of your shirt even more, “just a second. then we’ll head in.”

now that you’re at john b’s house , you don’t have any worries about anyone seeing him latched onto your now fully exposed breasts , you can’t help but let your head fall back as you moan. “just a second,” you echo lazily , holding him close as he mouths at you.

it’s several more minutes of john b leaving hickeys on your exposed skin before he readjusts your top and pulls away. “couldn’t help myself,” he grins , brushing some of your hair out of your face before pecking your lips quickly, “c’mon!”

you’re both giggling as you make out on the way up the front porch. john b silently thanks the gods that jj hadn’t come here after the party. because the moment you make it through the door , you’re pushing him down on the couch and straddling him.

your hands are everywhere. john b’s hair , his arms , his chest , the raging boner he sports under his shorts. you can’t get enough of him. while john b got to feel you up all night at the boneyard , you wanted to wait until you could truly feel all of him in the privacy of his own home.

“someone’s excited,” john b points out as you practically rip the buttons off his shirt to open it before a quiet , low moan leaves his mouth when your nails rake down his chest.

your ears burn at his comment and how unfair it is that he’s acting so nonchalant now. his hands only slowly run up and down your thighs while you put your soul into grinding down onto his dick for some sort of relief.

and maybe it’s a little douchey to poke fun at you , but john b has an empty house , a horny you , and all night long. he isn’t worried about rushing it. he had his quick fun by the van. he can wait longer , wear you down. though , you’re less than patient as your hands fumble with his belt.

“hey , hey,” john b’s smooth voice cuts through your horny haze.

“want you so bad right now,” you mewl , meeting his eye as his hands distracted you , bobbing them at your sides— fingers intertwined.

“i want you too,” he assures you , dropping your hands to bring his own up to your cheeks, “y’so fucking sexy , baby. i wanna devour you,” he growls , grip tightening on your head a little. it’s almost possessive. you whine , eyes fluttering shut at his admission. “but we got allll night,” he smiles up at you.

after what felt like eons , john b drags you to his room. and he swears seeing you laid up in his bed with his bite marks covering your neck and breasts and lower stomach is the best sight on earth. especially when he notices how fast they were bruising.

“gorgeous girl,” he coos , running his hand up your stomach to push the material of your shirt over the curve of your tits, “m’so done being patient,” he adds , crawling over you on the bed.

“really?” you perk up, “me too.” you roll your eyes playfully , pulling john b lower to wrap your legs around his waist , securing his proximity for the moment before kissing him again.

he groans into the kiss , hands tightening on the fat of your hips. “i want you so bad,” he breathes out with a laugh , moving his lips to your neck and sucking at your skin before sinking his teeth into the same spot.

you wince at the sting , but it feels good right after. “you have me right here,” you whisper , hands coming down to push at your waistband, “so what are you waiting for?”

john b pulls back at the remark , smile widening as he watches you hook your fingers into your panties too. “straight to business,” he nods , licking his lips.

“any complaints?” you ask with a raised brow and big smile as you kick your shorts and thong to the floor.

he lets out a whistle , scratching at the back of his neck while he gets a good look at you. “no , ma’am,” he answers before shuffling to get his pants off while you rip your top the rest of the way off.

and all you can think when john b hovers over you , shrugging his hawaiian shirt all the way off is ‘sarah cameron is batshit crazy for leaving him,’ just from your experience tonight alone. you know for a fact , anyone that ever got a taste of john b routledge and let him go is clinically insane. when your eyes trail down his body and focus on his hand stroking his cock in front of your spread legs , your mind goes blank.

“it’ll fit , baby,” he replies before you can say anything , seeing the way your jaw drops a little, “jus’ trust me,” he adds with a hiss as he guides his tip up and down your folds slowly.

“john b—“ you breathe out , pushing up on your elbows to watch. he simply hums , free hand cradling your cheek as he focuses on where you connect. “put it in then!” you whine , head leaning into his hand as you watch in anticipation.

john b’s big , brown eyes flicker up to you for a second , and you swear there’s a genuine sparkle in them. “put it in?” he mocks you , thumb pushing down on his length to catch his tip in your tight , clenching entrance.

the girth alone stretches your walls. “oh , fuck!” you pant , head falling back. just as your eyes close , he shifts forward more , rough hands pushing your thighs up to your chest before he presses into you completely. it’s slow and painful and mind numbing , but god , you’re in heaven. you feel so full , you can hardly even clench around him. it’s like you can’t breathe.

“shit— y’re not a virgin , are you?” john b jokes as he sucks a sharp breath in at the feel of just how tight you are around his length. it sends a shiver down his spine.

“shut up,” you giggle through a moan when he pulls back a bit to thrust into you again. he chuckles with you , drunken smile gracing his lips. it’s a soft moment that’s destroyed as soon as he looks back down at where you’re sucking him in.

“yeah , i’ll shut up,” he nods , bringing his hips back to slam into you all over again. his trusts are harsh and fast— you can hardly keep up , hands holding onto his navy blue sheets.

your mouths drops open in a gasp after a particularly hard thrust , moans filling the air in his room. “oh , fuck,” you cry as your hands try to push at his hips, “shit— john b!”

“who can’t shut up now?” he smirks, hips never slowing as he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. his lips move down your neck as you cling to him , moaning with every movement he makes.

you feel his teeth sink into the curve of your breast , wincing at the sting before moaning when john b soothes the bite with his tongue. “they’re sore,” you whimper , pulling at his hair.

“i know,” john b grins back , shifting up and gripping at both of your tits, “i want them that way,” he assures you with a grunt as he slams into you. he groans when you yelp at the force. “shit— take it just like that,” he moans , dropping one hand from your chest to rub at your puffy clit.

“john b!” you moan , trying to scoot up and away from his hips , but his rough hands grip your tits harder, pressing your deeper into the mattress so you can’t run.

“what?” he coos in faux sympathy , looking down at where you connect, “you’re taking it just fine, baby. you’re all stretched out for me,” he points out with a moan as his hips slow to focus on the sight. his grip on your chest loosens , now free hand lowering to spread your folds. he leans forward a bit, letting his spit drop onto your clit before his thumb rubs it in.

“oh , my god,” you hiccup, eyes screwing shut as he keeps his slow, deliberate pace, “jombee,” you whimper, thighs trembling as you feel yourself unravel.

“uh uh,” he shakes his head, fucking into you harder, “just a second, baby,” he grunts out, hips stuttering while he tries to finish too.

you smack at his wrists urgently , eyes screwing shut in pleasure. “fuck— pull out!” you gasp , hips still rolling down to meet his as much as possible.

“oh , shit,” john b practically growls as he does as told. he shifts to straddle your waist , fervently fisting his cock until he comes in thick, white ropes onto your chest with a broken grunt.

instinctively, your mouth opens in hopes preparation. your heart sinks a little when he finishes on your tits , wanting to get your mouth on him too. john b notices— not too busy rubbing his cum into your skin with his tip. “suck it then , baby,” he breathes out lowly, hand coming to the back of your head to push you forward enough.

you choke a little when he shoves into your mouth , but as soon as you realize you’re getting what you want , your eyes flutter shut. you suck on his tip like a lollipop , moaning as you taste him dripping on your tongue.

“you’re such a little freak,” he nearly whines , cock twitching in your mouth as he brings a hand back to your folds and taps your clit.

your hips stutter at the sting , pulling off of his length with a gasp. “sensitive,” you tell him hoarsely , smile still on your spit covered lips.

“i bet,” john b coos with a light chuckle , moving off of you and grabbing a shirt from the floor, “took it like a champ though,” he adds with a grin , knuckles gently knocking at your jaw as his other hand cleans your chest.

“i’m never fucking anybody else again,” you tell him , catching your breath. your eyes trail over him as he chuckles breathily in response. “seriously,” you add , pulling your eyes from his bobbing cock to meet his.

“you , missy , are gonna get me in trouble,” john b hums , tapping your nose affectionately before hopping into the bed again and yanking you into his side.

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just a taste 𐙚₊˚⊹♡

babydaddy!jj + babymama!reader

warnings: nipple play, lactation, mention of pregnancy

word count: 514

jj couldn't help but stare at the way your enlarged breasts sat in the tank top you wore, your nipples peeking through as the faint drops of milk drench little wet spots.

if he was a farmer, he would have milked you dry by now, but he wasn't sure if you'd even be into the idea. though, seeing you waddle around with his infant inside you, stomach blown up with your hair messily sitting on your head as if you hadn't cared for it in days, he couldn't help but be painfully hard in his boxers.

as you sat in the bed, putting pillows behind you to prop yourself up, he gently settled beside you, rubbing on your stomach as he kissed down your neck.

as one of his hands settles on your hip, the other trails down to squeeze your sensitive breast, earning a low moan from your lips.

"j, what are you doing?" your breath was ragged as he massaged you, his eyes darkening as he settled on your soft expression, your eyes closed, jaw slack and your eyebrows furrowed.

"i been looking at these milkers all day--i want a taste mama."

he uses his strength to pull you on his lap, pulling your weighed down tits out of your top.

"god, they're so big~" he groaned, holding both of your tits into his hands. his hands squeeze you, his thumb circling over your nipples as the buds harden from his touch.

"you’re so fucking full, baby. so soft...i can't stop thinking about it--just one taste mama, please?"

"is this not weird j? i dont know..."

he's salivating so heavily, his tongue brushing over his lips as he stares as your leaking buds, small drips falling onto your tummy.

"baby, these were my tits first--worshipping whats mine is never weird. so, just relax, and let me have taste."

as your body eases, jj 's tongue swirls over the tender nipples of your breasts, latching on as he practically drools from the contact. as this happens, your body arches into him, your head thrown back as your jaw goes slack from the sensation of him sucking the drops of milk he could from your tits.

"f-fuck, jj slow down..." you whimpered, but his yearning for your juices overruled the pleasurable pain you felt from his sucking. jj begins to move his hips, his aching cock pulsating with pre-cum as he rubs himself against you, almost as if he's getting off from draining your tits.

"so sweet," he murmurs, his mouth latched onto the breast closest to him as his cheek lies on the plump fat of your chest, as if he's the child himself. his large hand massaging the other as he drinks up.

your soft sounds encourage him even more, his cock close to coming in his own boxers just off the sweet, milky taste of your liquid in his mouth. small dribbles fall down his chin as he looks up at you with desperate eyes.

you cursed under your breath as you looked down at him, almost as desperate as he is. "is it really this good babe?"

"mhm' mama, i have to fuck you now--wanna feel your milk on my tongue while i make you cum."

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caught ya' maybank

cw: bsf!jj x reader, smut, getting caught, oral (m. & f.) !

summary: bsf!jj gets caught by you. MDNI

< getting caught, premature ejaculation (he makes up for it!), subby!jj, dom!reader, creampie >

a/n: happy valentine's day!! inspired by this request !

It was so wrong, So nasty, Even borderline perverted, the way jj saw you. He isn't supposed to want to drench his bestfriend in his cum every time he saw her. It wasn't right- but it wasn't his fault, he couldnt help himself near you. He'd been crushing on you since he could walk. But the small innocent crush soon turned into wet dreams and boners as you grew up, And it didn't help that you were always in a bikini either.

And thats how he ended up here. His hand wrapped around his dick and your name on his lips. You had been parading around him all day in the skimpiest bikini he'd ever seen. He was trying not to pounce on you the whole day and he couldnt help himself anymore, He had to do something about how turned on he was by you or he would explode.

You guys were having a movie night at your house. Your idea. Thankfully for him, you forgot popcorn- which meant you had to make a quick run to the grocery store. This was his moment. He was so desperate. He just had to fuck himself.

As soon as he heard your car leave the driveway- his hands beelined to his crotch. Palming himself as he opened instagram. He opened on your profile, clicking mainly on the posts of you in bikinis.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander as his hand pushed his shorts down and tightened around his dick. Up-down, up-down, he stroked himself hoping it was your hand that was doing so. He wanted to fuck all of you. From your mouth, to your tits, to your hands, to your pussy, to your thighs and your ass. All of it.

Unbeknownst to him, the phone he was clutching in his other hand, had accidentally called you.

You answered the call, assuming he probably wanted something from the store but shock hit you like a whip when you heard him moan out your name on the other side. Desperation leaking out of his voice. Your name in his mouth like a chant.

You couldn't say a word. It was hypnotising to hear him moan your name. You were still only halfway to the grocery store. Fuck the popcorn- You decided and turned back. You'd wanted JJ for so long you weren't gonna let a moment like this slip. Every skimpy bikini, every too tight tank top, too short skirt, it was all to get his attention. And turns out your plan had worked.

You were quickly back at your house, You'd made the 15 minute drive into 5 minutes. JJ who was too busy chasing his high had missed the sound of your car pulling into the driveway.

"Caught ya' Maybank" You say as you walk into the room. His eyes shoot open a pathetic whimper leaving his mouth as you walked toward him.

"In my house? Really? Without me?" You questioned, leaving him no chance to answer your questions before the next one rolled out.

Getting caught was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him, he couldn't lie about it and neither could his cock. He had got even harder, if that was even possible.

He stared at you speechless as you kneeled in front of him, pushing his knees open as you settled in between, his dick straight in your face.

He couldn't believe his eyes—was he dreaming? You were always beautiful, he knew that, but nothing could compare to the sight before him now. He was utterly spellbound by you. Your innocent doe eyes starkly contrasted your sinful actions.

You wrapped your mouth around him and moved your head, He hit the back of your throat with every bob of your head, his quiet mewls turning into loud moans.

Your name fell out of his mouth like it was his mantra.

You let him slip out when u feel him nearing his climax. Pleading whines leave his mouth as climb on top of him, his sensitive dick was now wedged between himself and your denim shorts.

"You wanted me so bad you could've just told me baby" You hum to him as you push strands of hair off his forehead, feeling the sheer layer of sweat that had claimed his forehead.

"w-want you s-so bad" he whines, his hands helplessly rub at your side. Pulling and tugging softly at your clothes. His mind was so hazy he could barely form a sentence.

A relieved sigh leaves his mouth as you rise from your seat on his lap and undress in front of him. He reaches a hand to fondle you but you swat it away, You were in charge here. Not him. And now that he knew that, He would let you do anything to him.

You straddle him again, slipping off the last piece of your clothing. A smile tugs at your lips as you take in his disheveled state—his shorts bunched up at his ankles, restricting his movement; his shirt rucked up to his collarbones; strands of hair clinging to his face and his hand now resting on your hips. He put light pressure on your hips, a quiet plead for you to give him the pleasure he so badly craved.

You can't help but give in to him, You reach down and align his dick with your entrance.

"Is this what you want darling?" you whisper in his ear, a chuckle leaving your mouth as he nods rapidly. You slowly lower yourself onto him. His bubblegum tip nudged at your cervix as you sink fully on top of his dick.

JJ's fantasies were bring fulfilled right in front of his eyes as you fucked yourself on him. He was entranced at the sight of your tits bouncing in front of his eyes. The way your pussy fluttered around his dick, The way your eyes rolled back into your head, the pain of your nails digging into his shoulders- It was just all too much. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he shot sticky ropes of cum into you without warning.

"Oh fuck-" he whimpered as you slowed down. He quickly lifted you off his dick, placing you beside him on the couch as countless im sorry's left his mouth.

"It's ok Jay-" You reassure him, a smirk tugging at your lips, amused that he couldn't handle you. But you're quickly cut off by his lips.

"Let me make it up to you" He says, maneuvering himself so his head is now in between your thighs.

He takes a sharp breath as he sees his cum seeping out of your hole. "Let me make it up to you" He mutters again as his fingers push his cum back into your cunt and his mouth latches onto your clit.

He sucks on your clit as his fingers curl up inside you, small im sorry's that were still leaving his mouth sent vibrations and waves of pleasure through your body. Your loud moans and pants only egged him on more as he ate you out like his life depended on it.

He used his free hand to take his place on your clit as he rose up to suck on your tit, moaning into you as he engulfed your hard nipple in his mouth and sucked.

His actions quickly pushed you over the edge, You finish on his fingers with a loud moan. His fingers stuttered inside you as your walls clenched around him tight.

He smiled up at you from his place as you catch your breath and tap the space beside you on the couch, gesturing him to sit beside you. He takes your signal and slouches beside you on the couch, his head rests on your shoulder. Smiles claim both your faces as you calm yourselves.

"I think we're still on call" You say breathlessly, a giggle leaves you as you see the confused look on his face.

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[strnqer]

Rafe x reader x JJ

JJ who struggles with the fact that he always receives expensive gifts from Rafe when he can't get similar gifts for Rafe. JJ who struggles with the fact that he can't take you guys out to the sorts of restaurants that you're both used to. He hates that he can't shower you in jewellery and clothes the way that Rafe does, he hates that he can't take you both on the fancy dates that Rafe does, the ones that JJ thinks are more romantic than any he could plan.

Rafe who feels like he has to get expensive gifts for you both and feels like he has to take you guys out to fancy restaurants because he doesn't know how else to show his love, he's never been taught any different. He hates that can't plan casual dates at the beach like JJ can, he hates that he feels too insecure to just take you guys surfing or for a drive and call it a day.

You who cherishes every gift they give you, whether it's a diamond necklace from Rafe or a bracelet of braided fabric from JJ because anything from them comes from a place of love. You try to show Rafe that he doesn't have to spend extortionate amounts of money to show you and JJ that he loves you both. You try to show JJ just how special the dates he plans for the three of you are by telling him that just because its the beach and not a fancy restaurant that its not any less special. You who loves them both unconditionally and do everything in your power to make sure that they never forget that.

[strnqer]

What if sweetheart kook’s male cousin visits and JJ and JB spot them together at the mall. And they look like friendly and all cause they are relatives but JJ doesn’t know it so he gets insecure thinking the reader finally realised he is not enough for her. When the reader invites him over he thinks she’s gonna break the news of break but instead he meets her cousin, gets relieved and they have a movie night.

jj maybank x sweetheart!reader | resolved angst | (jealous!jj, misunderstandings, reader & jj being a bit oblivious, fluffy ending!)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

“This is so fuckin’ boring,” JJ complained for the sixth time in the last hour. John B needed a perfect gift for Sarah’s upcoming birthday, and apparently that meant JJ had to spend his Saturday afternoon in the mall. The only person he’d go to the mall with without complaining was you.

“Just shut up. I told you I’d buy you churros,” John B sighed, looking through the array of necklaces that the girl behind the counter had gotten out for him. The majority were out of his price range, but it was still nice to get ideas for the future.

As JJ leant against the wall, subtly hitting his vape under his sleeve, he felt his mind go to you. He’d texted a few times, asked if you wanted to come over before he knew he’d be stuck with John B, but you’d said you were busy. He assumed that meant hanging out with the few Kook girls you actually liked. He was halfway through thinking about if he should buy you something when he looked up and out the shop window, his eyes landing on a sight he never wanted to see.

You sat on a bench, a boy next to you showing you something on his phone. You were giggling, swatting at his arm as the two of you shared some fries. JJ’s face fell, his stomach dropped and he suddenly had an urge to throw up. Sure, you weren’t his girlfriend, but it was a known fact that you liked each other. It was just a waiting game at the moment, him trying to plan how to gain the confidence to pop the question, but maybe he’d left it too long. Maybe you’d thought about it and realised you didn’t really like him. He was a Pogue, that was all he’d ever be.

“I’m leaving,” JJ announced, catching John B’s attention who turned to him in confusion. He looked past JJ, seeing the same thing the blonde was staring intently at.

“Shit, Jay,” John B muttered, placing his arm on his friend’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s not what it looks like. They’re just talking.”

“Fuck that,” JJ scoffed. “I’m not a mug. If she doesn’t want me, fine, but I’m not lettin’ myself be played by a Kook.”

“Hey. Don’t talk about her like she doesn’t mean shit to you when we both know she does. Let her explain, alright? Don’t blow your shit and ruin this, okay? You’ll regret it,” John B warned.

Thankfully, John B picked out a necklace and the two of them were back at the Chateau within the hour. JJ sulked in his room, smoking a joint and thinking about the way that boy had you giggling. You’re not the kind of girl to lead someone on, he knows that, that’s why he’s so confused. If you were seeing someone you would have told him… right?

It was half seven when his phone pinged, your contact showing up on the screen with a text. ‘come over for a movie night? my parents aren’t here <333’. What was this? The other dude gets you for lunch and he gets you for dinner? How is that fair? He wanted to ignore you, but the little hearts you’d added to the message had him softening. Before he knew it, he was on his bike heading over to your place.

You opened the door within seconds, little pyjamas on with a sweet smile playing on your lips. You squealed, happy to see him as you threw your arms around him like it had been weeks since you last saw each other. As hurt as he was, he couldn’t help but hug you back — inhaling the scent of your vanilla shampoo.

“Missed you,” you murmured, smiling up at him like you hadn’t been with another man all day.

“Yeah, uh, missed you too,” he muttered. Your face scrunched up in confusion, he was normally a lot more reciprocate of your excitement.

Your hand wrapped around his arm, pulling him inside your house. You lead him into the living room and he froze. The boy was sat on your couch, scrolling on his phone. What was he doing here? Had you invited JJ over just to break the news that you just wanted to be friends? He’d try, sure, but he wasn’t sure he could go back to being just friends.

“Oh! Jay, this is Daniel. Daniel, this is JJ,” you introduced, a smile on your face as you looked between them.

“Ah, this is JJ,” Daniel smirked, a teasing tone to his voice that had your cheeks heating up.

“Yeah, yeah. Can you go upstairs? We’re having movie night,” you explained. “I mean… you can stay, I guess. But you won’t want to, we’re watching rom-coms and you hate—”

“I can take a hint,” he interrupted with a chuckle, getting up from the couch. He gave JJ a warm smile and ruffled your hair as he passed. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He called as he disappeared up the stairs.

“What is he doing here?” JJ didn’t mean to sound so aggressive, but he couldn’t help it. Why were you acting like this was completely normal?

“Hm?” You hummed, turning to look at him worriedly. “Um, he’s visiting for the week from college.”

“Your parents know he’s here?” Now he knows he isn’t going to win this competition. He hasn’t even met your parents! How is this fair? The first girl he properly falls for and she’s got some secret boyfriend.

“Well, yeah.”

“And they’re just fine with that?” He scoffed, pulling away from the hold you had on his arm.

“Well, he is my mom’s nephew,” you mumbled, looking at him anxiously. You weren’t sure what you’d done wrong. You knew you hadn’t seen JJ today, but you hadn’t seen your older cousin since Christmas and you didn’t think it was polite to not spend at least one day showing him around the island.

JJ’s head snapped towards you. He was silent for a moment, before a laugh left his mouth. Daniel was your cousin. JJ had spent the entire day freaking out over you having a boyfriend when said boyfriend was your cousin. “Fuck, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I was a dick.”

“I’m confused,” you said softly, stepping towards him hesitantly.

He strode over to you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed an apologetic kiss to your temple. “I saw you earlier, at the mall—”

“You were at the mall? Without me?” You pouted, interrupting him.

“It was torture, trust me, but not as fuckin’ torturous as me thinkin’ you had some secret man that you’d kept from me,” he confessed.

“Did I… did I not mention I was hanging out with my cousin?” You were sure you’d told him, but now that you really thought about maybe that was Sarah you’d told he was coming to visit. Your cheeks heated up, maybe because you felt guilty but also because you couldn’t help the flutter in your chest that had appeared once you realised that JJ had been jealous.

“No, baby,” he chuckled, looking down at you. “I should’ve asked, though. Shouldn’t have been a dick, ‘m sorry. And when your cousin comes back down I won’t stare at him like I’m gonna kill him.”

“Mkay,” you hummed with a giggle, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Only want you, Jayj. Thought you’d have worked that out by now.”

This time it was his turn to blush. He rolled his eyes, but a smile played on his lips as he lifted you up and sat down on the couch with you in his lap. He kissed your jaw, stroking your cheek as he stared at you in awe.

“You’re the only one I want, too.”

[strnqer]

𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠  ୨୧ ˖ ࣪ . . . 5.4k. black fem!reader ◞ countryside setting◞ lowercase intended ◞ soon to be married◞ rough sex ◞ unprotected ◞ age difference ꒰ 36 + 25 ꒱ ◞ praise ◞ oral ꒰  f. ꒱ ◞ fingering + finger sucking◞ hair pulling ◞ creampie ◞ pet name usage ꒰ darling, baby , sweetheart, old man ꒱ ◞ manhandling ◞ choking + spanking ◞ overstimulation ◞ minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs & comments are appreciated <3 𓊇ྀི

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . my first rick fic soo i’m hoping i did his characterization well ! here’s some visuals for theme . <3 ‘n here’s the smut linkies > > ( ❤︎. ❤︎.)

the black 1967 chevy impala quietly pulled into the gravelly driveway of a small cottage nestled within a tiny town. the neighborhood’s always silent around these hours, only semi-peaceful disturbance of cicadas bellowing in the freshly mowed grass. the worn out cowboy boots on rick’s tired feet stumble up the main entrance of the home, keys jangling from the loop he had his finger secured in. when entering his house, it’s nearly pitch dark had it not been for the kitchen light being lit. an old white, floral printed couch that was usually wrapped in plastic was now pulled out to reveal a bed where two women slept peacefully in silk pajamas. your best friends, and bridesmaids. 

tomorrow was a special day. a wedding was to be held at a cathedral not too far out of town. something small, something memorable. he was never one big on attention, though family was sacred. he’d already planned to have a separate gathering for either side of your families to celebrate the marriage. the thought of being wed to you tomorrow brought joy to his heart. he’s waited so long to fully make you all his. he would’ve married you from day one had you not been difficult to lock down. however, he loved the chase. 

heavy feet thud up the old wooden staircase, nowhere near as quiet as he seemed courtesy to the alcohol running rampant in his veins. pushing forth the bedroom door, rick’s instantly soothed when he catches sight of you. sitting on the floors that bear the gentle patina of age by your side of the bed, a plush area rug in earthy tones providing a cozy contrast to the cold hardwood beneath. the large four-poster bed dominates one wall, its rich, arched mahogany frame polished to a warm sheen. soft, billowy curtains in a subtle floral pattern hang from the windows, filtering the moonlight into a cool glow. 

in the corner, there’s an antique sewing machine that sits atop an oak nightstand. you’re surrounded by spools of thread, sequins, and scissors. occasionally, you’d sip on your mug, or his since it read ‘daddy of the year’ — containing raspberry leaf tea. the fluff of your curly ponytail swings as you turn to face your fiancé, a smile beaming bright from his presence. there’s two long tendrils of hair that frame both sides of your pretty face. lashes still curled and brushed with mascara, and lips pigmented with liner and gloss. a natural beauty. 

rick notices you’ve got on a shirt of his. it’s nothing out of the ordinary, but it gets him out of character suddenly. he’s got a deep grin on his face, smile lines puncturing and blue eyes twinkling. you let him greet you with a hand patting at the top of your head, his hand easing down to cup your face before he’s plopping down on the floors before you. 

“hey there, darlin'," he slurred, his speech slightly slowed from the alcohol. 

calloused hands brush along your knee, your hands intricately stitching final touches to your wedding gown. his thumb absentmindedly rubs circles on your thigh, resting on his elbow as his gaze lazy drifts over your features. you always knew when he had a good time with the guys because he’d come home smiling like a lovebird just because he missed you. they were nice to be around, but nothing compared to coming home to you. 

“hi, baby. how was your night?” the delicate tone of your voice instantly brings peace, rick humming elatedly. 

“night was good. knocked back a few cold ones. even caught the falcons game. a damn tragedy,” rick says with a suck of his teeth at the end. 

“yeah? you bet money?” 

“only ‘bout twenty.” 

“mm, good thing it wasn’t nothin’ too drastic,” you go to cup the underneath of his jaw, holding the needle and thread in your other. you shift his jaw from side to side, the cap on his head hiding his eyes that haze over. you caught a whiff of beer and cigs on his breath and clothing mixed with his cologne. “can smell it on you for sure. got some tea on the stove if you want.”

rick pulls back slightly, chuckling. “sorry ‘bout that. i’ll take some in a minute.” 

his eyes drift along your figure, his baby blue button-up you wore hugs every curve of your body tight. a few buttons undone that shows your cleavage, a silver necklace or two swinging. the high pony on your head that’s curled at the ends sway around you heavenly. 

“played pool and stuff?” 

he blinks, humming, “yeah, shot a few rounds. daryl cheated though, swears he didn’t but y’know i can catch me a liar like nothin’ . — this shirt looks good on you.” 

rick’s voice is a low purr, fixating on the softness of your thighs he continues to rub on, a decadent scent resembling tiramisu casting over his nose. eyes even catching some glitter on your skin. “think you could show me what’s underneath this garment, sweetheart?” 

smiling, you continue sewing. “don’t try to turn this about me. you’re an hour late.” 

a contrite expression overtakes as he knocks his head back to look up at the clock on the wall, now realizing it’s way past the hour he promised to be home. rick sighs, lifting the brown cap on his head to run a hand back, curly ringlets sitting at the nape of his neck. “shit, i’m sorry, sweetheart. you know i always stick to my word.” 

a giggle escapes. “don’t beat yourself down, old man. it’s alright. i’m glad you had a good time with the boys.” 

“you a ‘lil jealous?” he tosses his hat aside, bringing himself closer to you to kiss your knee. 

rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “i was with my girls. we had a good time, too. couldn’t sleep, though. got an idea to add some embroidery to the dress.” 

it didn’t occur to rick that you’d let him see the dress this early on. honestly, you didn’t care too much for old traditions. they say it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress, but superstitions didn’t bother you none. it was already untraditional that you were being wed without family. it was a plan you had for a long time. for your first wedding, you just wanted it to be something small with each of your close friends. run away together after. come back in two weeks and have a family gathering, then a couple years in, possibly five — you’d renew your vows with a bigger setting. and by then, hopefully, a big family of your own. 

“it’s lookin’ gorgeous, you did a good job.” 

“thank you, baby.” 

his touch maps the contours of your body through the fabric of the shirt. you’re sitting on your bottom but your left leg is folded in, foot resting on your other thigh. rick leans back a bit to adjust where he laid, catching sight of white lace underneath. he hinders himself. 

“i saw a few new homes they’ve been building in the newspaper. i figured we could go view them, you know, after we find some time.” 

rick nodded thoughtfully, now tracing patterns over your arm with his fingers. “yeah, that’s soundin’ good anything in particular you're looking for? big backyard for a garden? a nice kitchen so you can bake your famous pies?” 

“hmm, i’ve been wanting something really vintage, something built in the 70s. ‘bout forty acres, enough to have a garden and an area for you to grill with the boys . . and the kids to play,” you smile dreamily at the thought. “i love our home here, but a bigger space would be nice. that’s always been the plan, right?” 

rick nods assuredly. “right, we always talked about that. we can make that happen. i w’na make you happy. you deserve the big house with the wraparound porch, and the giant kitchen so you can bake me pies.” 

“you hungry or somethin’? you keep talking about these pies,” you joke. 

“i repeated myself? whoops,” rick palms his forehead, the both of you laughing. “guess i am. i need to sober up. c’mere.”

rick remains rested on his elbow, fingers trailing closer under your shirt, grazing your tummy and inching his face closer to your thighs. your back rests against the bed, biting your lip with a giggle as you clamp your legs shut.

“no, no, mister. save your energy. we gotta be up bright and early.” 

“gimme one of those sweet kisses, it’ll wake me right on up,” he’s playfully biting at your hips now, the dress you held in your hands now displayed on the floor. 

the quickness of heat encasing your face makes you shift back, stirring your waist unwittingly. full bearded face that grows like nothing, giving him a trim just a few days ago, patched with stubborn grays tickle your inner thighs the further he spreads them and the harder you clench them to stop him.

“nuh-uh, not when you’re like this. one kiss will lead to ‘em sneaking somewhere else. and you know it.” 

“mhm,” it’s like he’s not listening. “one little kiss, huh sweetheart?” his voice was a low rumble, body practically thrumming with tension and need.

pushing away your dress and tools so neither of you would get hurt, or your dress ruined, you nod for his approval, “just one, rick.” 

he couldn’t help the cocky smirk displaying as you relented, eyes glinting with triumph. “that’s my girl.” 

hands roaming your body possessively, each touch inflames you both, gasping as his rough hands grope your waist and leads up to your tits he kneads in his palms. rick loves to touch you, even if it’s for a simple kiss. they encapsulate yours with hunger, whimpering into his mouth when his tongue touches yours, tasting liquor and tobacco. tea tree scent of beard butter on his facial hair still strong and it weakens you. the kiss gets messier, rick grabbing at your neck as you lean your head back and accept every rough suck of your lips he takes. the two of you are eating at each others faces like it’s the first time you’d gotten to. 

he could feel the heat building between you, his restraint slowly ebbing away. he had broken the kiss to catch his breath, eyes darkening with raw pleasure, "damn, ꒰ ♥︎ ꒱',” he rasped, his voice rough. “i want you so goddamn bad right now.”

pawing at his chest, black shirt enveloping his muscles, you gnaw at your lips. “said one kiss. gettin’ greedy, rick.” 

rick’s lips trailed a path from the pulse points on your neck to just below your ear, his breath giving you goosebumps. “i said i need you.” 

as he sits on his knees before you, his big hands are tugging at your panties, face stern as he pulls them down your ass as you lift, the pads of his fingers digging into the plump of your ass. looking up at him in a daze, your mouth drops in submission once he’s tearing them off your skin, gasping from the air your slick folds are exposed to. without being aware, you’re full on soaked. lips between your teeth, you study the way rick lowers himself before you, crouching at your pussy’s level.

“let me see you, baby,” he whispered, lifting your legs and pressing them up to your chest. “hold ‘em f’me.” 

your face is in a pout, gyrating your pelvis forward, fingers hanging in your mouth with the gleaming, princess cut diamond ring stunning in view. raising your legs, you keep them straight, high, and pressed to your chest. opening yourself up for him, head resting on the edge of the bed. rick felt the way his dick twitched from the sight, indenting his fingers into your plush skin, guiding his thumb up and down your wet slit, knuckle delicately pinching at your clit, pulling back a bit to see the string of cum follow. you always kept her trimmed clean and smooth, shiny under the lamps light.  

“look at that, s’fuckin’ precious,” he grunts, your frustrated whines catching his full attention. sounding like a fragile little puppy. “oh, i get it. want me to shut up and get t’the good stuff, yeah?” 

you’re staring down at him in a haze, eyelids lowered and nibbling at your nails with your mouth hung, nodding with a pant. 

“don’t chew your nails like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice close to a growl. “givin’ me all kinds of ideas.” 

“mmm, like what?” you tease back.

“like having that pretty little mouth occupied. but it’s not ‘bout me right now.” rick’s teasing, landing a soft smack on your inner thigh close to your pussy. you jump, leaking down to your ass cheeks. it’s a sticky mess he created. “she needs it bad?” 

“y-yes, rick. need it now,” you admit. 

rick’s huffing out a chuckle, sucking on his thumb to get a quick taste before he’s groaning, ducking his head down to give your pussy a full, sloppy, open mouthed kiss. it sounds like water, his saliva leaking onto you.  “always taste so good, can’t wait till tomorrow baby.” 

“yeah?” it comes out in a nasally whimper, delving your manicured nails into the backs of your thighs. “a-are you happy?” 

“it’s g’na be the best goddamn day of my life, sweetheart.”

his admission makes your face heat up even more, grinding towards his in a desperate, silent plea. it gets rick off, honestly. seeing how fueled you are for touch now. the desire to eat at you is threatening to overwhelm him, so he engulfs you into his mouth without another thought. a small sob crawls in your throat, rick’s eyes primal as he catches yours while a guttural growl rumbles in his chest. teeth sinking into your lip, you whimper and continue holding yourself open for him, jaw dropping and panting heavy from every gentle lick he gives your clit. you gasp when his mouth trails up your inner thighs, spanking them on either side as he shifts his head to catch your bud into his mouth once again, pulling it between his lips gently before releasing and swallowing you up wholly. 

the method of his tongue starts off soft, then transitions to teasing laps followed by firmer, more demanding sucks, determined to wring every last drop of cum from you. with your stomach caving in, a high-pitched whine escapes your lips as he devours you, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you try to escape the intense sensations crashing over you. using your strength to keep your legs in the air, your fingers thread through his hair, tugging harshly as you grind down onto his face, chasing the pleasure building in your core. losing balance when your knees bend, rick guiding his face all over your pussy, allowing you to use his face. the disgusting noise of rick slurping you up and matted beard scraping at your skin makes you lose your mind. 

“rickkk,” you’re crying softly, hiccuping and melting into his touch the more he molds at your flesh with his rough hands and sucks on your pussy. 

“y’cummin’, sweetheart?” his tongue continues to work, steadily sloshing it after pulling back the hood, tears welling in your sockets and feeble, whiny sobs surpass the lewd sound of spit swapping with cum. 

“mm—h-hmm. y-yes.” 

“c’mon, then. fuckin’ gushin’ all over my tongue. gimme somethin’ sweet to slide into.” 

with eyes rolled back, you mindlessly move your waist that stutters from every lick, sitting in a puddle of mess. frantically, your palms slam on to the backs of your thighs to hold them still as they tremble, smacking at them yourself to coax vibration towards your sensitive pussy all the while urging your fiancé to land a hit where you needed it. and he hits hard in repetitions on either side again like you love. the tickles of his beard makes you incredibly wetter as it scratches all the right parts. it’s getting creamier, and rick knows because there’s a sweeter taste on his palate, and when he goes to curl his fingers into you — pushing and pulling, and because the angle in which you sit is adding pressure to your tummy, it’s all on his hand. gooey and delicious. rick grunts, rubbing your clit with his thumb adjacent to fucking you with his fingers. 

“awee, fuck! g-god, baby,” your heartbeat picks up quicker, gasps flowing in the air as you grab his wrist and clamp your legs together creating more tension as you cum. 

it takes you quite a while to ease, arching your back off the side of the bed as your stomach presses into his face, rick smelling your lotion and kissing your belly. your eyes can’t help but stare in a daze, every rise and fall of your chest is followed by wheezily pants. legs shaking and skin getting sweaty. the shape of your eyes are daunting. biting your lip as you scratch at his semi-soaked beard to pull him in for a kiss, staring him down with blown sepia pupils and low lids mimicking feline. 

rick takes the way you look at him as a threat. 

“keep staring at me like that ‘n i’m liable to fuck you right now,” his voice is hoarse. 

“g’na keep staring ‘cause i love you,” grinning, you continue to play with him. you liked making him mad. 

“mhm, you love your old man?” he muttered gruffly, his grip on your hips getting tighter. 

your heart skips a beat, chest tightening with emotion. eyes fluttering closed briefly, then snapping back open to stare at him intensely. “yes, i love you.” 

it’s swift when rick goes to lift you up. scooping you up by the column of your underarms as if you were a small pet and placing you down onto the mattress that your body bounces onto gently. giggling in your state, you hum drunkenly as rick’s hands roam over your hot skin, turning you so you’re laying on your stomach with one of your knees raised by your side. the button-up you wear is well over hiked up your full ass, clenching your fist holding the material with visceral appetite, wiggling your butt and hearing your slick that’s glued to your inner thighs. 

rick’s got his neck bent slightly to the side, eyes squinting, your act of seduction only worsening his need to roughen you up a bit. he stays silent, unbuckling the hefty black leather belt on his waist and dragging down the zipper ever-so slowly. the lust in the room rises, the alcohol still thrumming in his system as he pulls out his cock. it’s . .  fat. pulsing visibly with a swollen head and dense veins — could be a replica of his forearm, really. it’s hanging halfway out of teal boxers, pubic hairs dark and unruly. pulling them further down his crotch so his balls fall out and jolt for your joy. loving the feel of them plopping against your sticky clit from behind. 

the sound of him patting the heftiness of it along the plump of your butt ricocheted in the small room. rick’s palming the arch of your back, pushing it deeper so he’d get you in the angle he wanted. bent just enough so he could catch a glimpse of your cunt soddened and open. 

“s' thing real pretty, ain’t it?” rick wets his lips, curls falling in front of the frame of his face as he gets a closer look like he’s never seen her before. or, like his face didn’t reside there only five minutes ago. “g’na get fucked real nice.” 

being under his monitor always felt nerve-racking. he’d take his time observing your body to see what makes you react to what, or simply get a kick out of the squirming and mewling you act out when peevish. stepping out of his boots and bottoms, he’s allowing you to feel just how scorching his skin was on yours. 

“rick.” there’s that crankiness he was talking about. it comes out as a solid groan, continuously swaying your legs side to side even though he’s got your waist locked. 

rick lowers his chin, spitting directly on his dick before wrapping his veiny hand around and pumping over the length of it, stroking over the sensitive head before he’s aligning the tip with your dripping entrance. the pink of it showing a tight ring after careful back and forth insertions. a sharp cry ripples from your throat as he fills you completely, walls stretching to pull in his size. you can feel every throbbing inch of him buried deep, the sensation bordering on yummy in its intensity. your nails dig into the sheets as you adjust to the sudden intrusion, body trembling with the effort of relaxing around him. unable to make a noise, you bite down on the sleeve of your shirt as your eyes falter shut. after a few moments, a dull ache of fullness only serves to heighten your arousal, breathless in his possession. 

“g’na fuck you so dumb, make you s’full,” rick hisses, sliding halfway out before plunging forward again. 

you push back against him, encouraging him to start moving as your pussy clenches greedily around his shaft. turning your head to look at him over your shoulder,

you keep your eyes on his, lashes kissing your cheekbones delicately while you see rick shuffle his black t-shirt up his midsection a bit more, drooling at the sight of his tanned chest and hard stomach. a stripe of hair leading down from the navel, strong arms with light brown frizzy hair, and deepset eyes that lure you in to danger. you fucking loved this man. 

“those eyes of yours, darling,” he announces almost with warning, wrapping his fist around your ponytail to pull your neck back for a quick, harsh peck to your full lips. 

letting go, his hand finds a new place to grip, and that was your neck. holding you in place while grinding his dick into you. your vision starts to blur as his hand compresses tight around your throat, clawing at his wrist as the pressure exceeds. the weight of your ass claps back onto his groin as the two of you rock together. rick’s thrusts rough and steady, pounding his cock into your pussy depravedly. 

“atta girl. take it all.” 

unexpectedly, your mind goes blank from the intensity of it all, and just a few thrusts sends you hurtling towards another orgasm, eyes scrolling back and sobs ensuing. rick’s hold on your throat loosens just enough to allow you a precious breath, but the momentary reprieve only fuels his own lust. he watches, transfixed, as your face contorts in pleasure. gasps coming out in ragged breaths, the sudden influx of oxygen only serves to amplify the sensations, and you stutter out his name as you gush and cum hard. pleasure ripping through you, pussy clamping down on his dick tightly. 

“ungh, f-fuck — ooh fuck.” 

you go to cover your mouth to muffle the sounds, not wanting to wake your friends sleeping in the living room, almost forgetting they were here. 

rick’s eyes narrow at your attempt to be silent. “ uh-uh, darling. i don’t give a fuck about waking your friends. don’t cover your mouth.” 

whining once again, your favorite, rick gropes your neck to keep you fully still as he fucks harder into you. “eyes on me. look me in the face.” 

doing as he says, you maintain eye contact as best you can, screwing your face up the deeper his dick hits inside of you, moaning when he goes to slap your cheek gently and clawing at the sheets in response desperately. every pound gets greedier, a sheen of sweat on rick’s forehead as he prolongs groans and grits his teeth while his hips slam against your ass. a particular noise you make full of broken moans ruins him. 

“yesss, good girl,” his brows are knitted, voice getting gruff and guiding your body to bounce back on his dick. 

“s’s-so — deep,” the broken tone of your voice emits, crawling your way forward for a sense of relief. just needing it a bit. 

“you ain’t goin’ nowhere, girl,” rick grumbles, pulling you back so both of your legs are straight now, grinding his dick into you before removing his hand from your throat to capture your ponytail to yank your head back. 

“p—lease, baby,” you beg. 

“just a lil’ more. just a little more,” rick nearly pleads, voice softening and turning into whimpers as he grounds his dick into you, lifting his weight off a little before crashing his hips back down again and again. “ugh, shit.” 

there’s specks in both of your visions, finding yourself sucking on your fingers as rick licks and nips at your neck, relishing the moment. the moonlight that was once outside began to disappear, clouds settling slowly into dawn. you don’t know how long it’s been since he’s stepped foot into the room, but you knew for sure that you’d both be ridiculously tired by morning. 

rick builds up the strength to let you go, for now that is. pulling out tenderly, he’s bringing you up off the bed and lifting your frame in his arms. with your arms draped over his shoulders, you nuzzle your face within the crook of his neck as he goes to sit on a wide wooden chaise facing the opposite side of the room. getting comfy for you both, rick’s got two of his palms on either side of your face to give you a few more sweet smooches. joining in soon was raw, wet kisses. descending his hands to smooth down your backside before kneading the doughy flesh of your butt. manspreading, he’s making sure you’ve got enough room to move, balancing yourself above him using the throw pillows as leverage for your knees. 

“drop down slow, baby — slow. listen to your cum coatin’ my dick,” rick whispers, hips stuttering, trying to find his own willpower in not fucking up into you. 

the moment narrows down to the pressure of splitting yourself open on him, the musky scent of his skin filling your nostrils, and the steady pulse of his heartbeat against your palms. arousal sticky and loud all over you both. weak whimpers spew as you sink further and further down to the hilt, taking your time and grinding your hips. a soft moan escapes your parted lips as you revel in the warmth and stiffness of him inside you, your pussy clinging to every throbbing inch like a second skin.

“baby, you’re in my tummyyy. you’re so deep. feels so good.” 

"you’re stuffed full, baby?”

“mmmhmm,” you murmur, eyelids drooping as you let yourself melt into the feeling of being so deeply filled by his dick. your hips continue to undulate slowly, grinding against him in a hypnotic rhythm that seems to draw him further under your spell.

switching up, you arch your chest towards his and keep your hands on his chest, driving your ass up and down on him to keep the tip of his dick nudging at your spot. it made you both feel good, rick’s touch back on your ass as you gyrate and fuck him. 

“get it,” rick grunts in your ear, guiding you up and down while easing his way into thrusting his hips upward, fingers sinking into your supple hips to urge you on.

the way you fuck him is steady and mildly rough, every pop of your ass onto his muscular thighs resounds in the room along with rick fucking up into you to match rhythm. the fat of your ass claps on his skin just as loud, rick raising two hands and slamming them down together before helping you fuck him. up and down, harder. he keeps you where you want to stay, but couldn’t fight the urge to grope your brown skin ravenously before pivoting his groin and beating his dick up each time you plummet. 

“r-rick, fuck babyy — mmmgh.” 

rick’s gaze is riveted to your face, breathing heavily into each others mouths as your bodies connect lewdly in the quiet confinement of your shared bedroom. birds began to chirp on the outside, and the light hitting your bodies felt poetic. his hand takes your ponytail and pulls your head back, your arch getting sharper and your mewls never ending. 

“w’na marry you right now,” you whisper out of high, giggling when his mouth laps at your collarbone. 

“you’re silly, sweetheart. you’d w’na get married while i’m fuckin’ you like t-this — fuck.”

“yess, with your dick in me. i love ittt!” 

rick gives your ass a playful spank, voice husky as he chuckles and keeps you grounding on his dick. his eyes blaze with unbridled lust and love as he watched you succumb and go dumb, body writhing. 

“you can marry me again with my dick in you later, yeah?” 

“yess, promise, baby?” you pout.

fuck, you really had a way with making him submit to your every wish. “long as you let me fill you up. c’mon, milk it baby. it feels so good. be a good girl. you’re doing such a good job.” 

the more he praises you, the weaker your body grows. you wanted to make him happy, and you wanted your promise granted, so you do what he needs you to and that’s bounce on it faster. rick chokes, jaw lowering as you lift and clench your pussy tighter, fucking him good. 

“mmm, fuck yeahh, just like that," rick growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "ride it nice ‘n good, darling. show me how much you want it."

he leans forward, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss as he continues to guide your movements, his tongue delving to tangle with yours. the chaise creaks beneath you, the wooden frame somewhat creaking and scraping against the tile floor with each frenzied bounce.

“i fucking love you,” you cry out, thighs trembling and close to giving out. that bubble ready to burst. 

“i love you too, darling.” 

rick delivers loving kisses to your lips, sucking and pulling at your lower lip and rushing tongues. he feels close to cumming as well, shoving your chest to his and planting his feet flat while leaning his back fully against the chair for sturdiness before he’s rutting up into your pussy as you claw at his skin. it wasn’t intentional for you to scream the way you did, certainly needing to apologize to the girls once they wake up — but he felt so, so fucking good. fucking you just the right way. 

spurts of cum trickle down his groin and thighs as you mindlessly find yourself squirting, biting at his shoulder with tears in your eyes. from the mirror nestled in a corner across the room, he could see you dripping down his dick along with your cream. 

“ooo, give it to me. give it to me.” 

every spoken word is aggressive with despair, rick fucking every ounce of cum out of you that he could get you to produce before he’s nutting warmly into you. jaw clenching, fingers embedding into your skin harder as if scared to let you go. thick ropes spurting and pussy sloshing over wetly mingled. 

he’s got his forearm thrown around you, cradling you into his arms warmly, and it’s comforting. resting his chin on your shoulder, he’s intaking your scent — a scent he’d have forever being married to you starting today. he had such a soft spot for you. you run circles on his back, staying put in the embrace, smiling stupidly. 

rick pulls back to see your face. “are you okay, baby?” 

nodding, you smile tiredly. “just sleepy.”

“mm,” rick scans the room for the clock on the wall. “it’s close to seven. i’ll make sure to get up and let the girls know you’ll need a lil’ more time before getting ready.” 

pawing at his jaw, you give him one big kiss. “you’re so sweet, baby. thank you. can’t wait to marry you.” 

rick smiles, adoring that you keep reminding him of that. it makes him feel ultimately secure. “twice, right?” 

“mhm, twice.” 

© 𝓢𝓣4𝓡𝓑𝓦𝓡𝓡𝓨! all rights reserved. please do not copy, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[strnqer]

oh dear god thug jj save me

[strnqer]

bf!hamzah x gf!reader headcannons `✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

bf!hamzah who is your #1 supporter and is soso proud of any accomplishments you make, no matter how small, he will take you out to dinner to celebrate

bf!hamzah who will carry you if you two are walking and your feet start to hurt

bf!hamzah who knows you more than you know yourself, from your favorite movie, down to your favorite pair of socks

bf!hamzah who will do everything he can to cheer you up if you’re having a bad day, imagine him running you a bubble bath and when you get out he already has a pillow fort set up with all your favorite snacks for you guys to binge watch a new tv show. omg

bf!hamzah who is so proud to be your boyfriend, trying to show you off in every way possible

bf!hamzah who could listen to you talk for hours and will stay attentive to the things you say, even if what you’re saying is half nonsense, he loves when you tell him about your day or even random lore about something you saw on tiktok, he just loves knowing that he’s the first person you come to when you need to rant

bf!hamzah who will always be down to build legos with you, even if it takes you half the day and you had to restart twice cause you kept messing up

bf!hamzah who will not shut up about you, no actually. when he’s filming with martin and you were at home or working, he will take every opportunity he gets to talk about how much he misses you

bf!hamzah who will buy everything for you even tho you can afford it yourself, don’t even try opening your wallet around this man

bf!hamzah who will show his love and adoration to you in every way possible, whether it’d be kissing every inch of your face or holding your hands when you’re in a crowd

bf!hamzah who will always give you updates and send cute little pictures of red and blue if you’re not home with him

bf!hamzah who never lets your flowers die, will get you a new bouquet every week and make sure he picks out a different variation every time (never neon flowers)

hiiii guysss! i had so much fun writing this and i still have so many more ideas so let me know if you want a part twoooo

also send fic requests cuz i’m in my writing grind :pp