It's not the plane, it's the pilot

Kira | 22 | She/her | Requests are open | MINORS DNI | BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

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[dragon-kazansky]

This has come to my attention through my friend. I am appalled. Disgusted. Devastated that they would even do this to anyone, not just Val. But Val was an artist in every way that counted and they are going to do this??? There is nothing anyone can say or do to justify this!!!

I am so mad!!!

Fuck AI.

[calmdowngorgeous]

Destroy the myth that libraries are no longer relevant. If you use your library, please reblog.

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Christmas on Call | Rhett Abbott

Summary: You have to work a twelve hour shift on Christmas Eve. Rhett brings you something to eat so that you're not stuck with hospital food. Content warnings: None Pairing: Rhett Abbott x f!nurse!reader

12 Days of Ficmas Masterlist

Buy me a coffee

With every holiday that rolled around, the hospital was jam packed with emergencies. Most of them were nonsensical - dad cut his finger while chopping vegetables, or someone slipped on a patch of ice. Luckily, you were one of the head nurses in the pediatrics unit. You had always wanted to work in pediatrics because of how sweet all of the kids were, and you were allowed to decorate for each holiday.

You had a twelve hour shift on Christmas Eve. It was going smoothly for the most part. A couple of allergic reactions here and there, and a broken bone from ice skating, which was about the worst of it. A few of the more serious cases that had been in the hospital for a few days had to be checked on every few hours, but you never minded that part of the job. 

“Do you have any plans for after your shift?” One of the charge nurses asked.

“Well, by the time I get out of here, it’ll be Christmas. I’m probably gonna go home and sleep until my niece wakes me up at the crack of dawn,” you said.

Your coworker chuckled and handed you a piece of chocolate before you continued your rounds. All of the kids in the unit were doing well, and some were getting ready to be checked out. One of the moms came out of a room and handed you and the other nurses gift cards for coffee.

“You guys have been doing such a great job. I just wanted to say thank you, and happy holidays.”

You thanked her and slid it in the pocket of your coat. 

“Oh my gosh. Do you guys remember when we read all of the kids a Christmas story last year?” You asked the nurses while you slid one of the tablets into the hanger by the door.

“Yeah, why?”

“I was thinking maybe we could do that again this year, but I don’t know. Our beds are full, and it’d be hard to get everyone out of their rooms and in the lobby.”

“Shit, you’re right. We were only able to do it last year because we had, like, four kids. I might have a better idea.”

You watched as the other nurse pulled up a bunch of holiday themed coloring sheets and sent them to the printer in the staff lounge. While she was doing that, you felt your watch vibrate with a notification. Rhett had texted you, asking when you were going to eat lunch or dinner. Once you replied to him, he started to put his plan together on what he was going to do for you while you were at work.

You ended up skipping your lunch by accident. One of your patients was having a little bit of a crisis, but everything ended up being okay by the time it was resolved. You didn’t realize that you missed your lunch until it was almost time for your second break.

“You, eat, now,” a nurse told you as you walked back to the desk. You promised her that you would eat after you finished your paperwork, just in case someone needed your help. The elevator behind you dinged, signaling that the doors were opening. People went in and out of the unit all the time, so you usually didn’t think anything of it.

“Merry Christmas… Eve,” a familiar voice said. You immediately turned around and got up with a smile on your face. Rhett had come by to bring you something to eat.

“Oh, I love you, I love you, I love you! It’s like you knew that I desperately needed to eat something,” you said as you walked over and gave him a hug.

“I brought you meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and some cookies. You left without your lunch box earlier and I didn’t wanna stick you with the questionable food from the cafeteria.”

The comment made you chuckle as you walked back to the staff lounge with Rhett. He sat with you while you ate to keep you company, and you shared some of your cookies with him. By the end of your meal, you were ready to get back to reading the book that you kept in your purse for when you had the extra time.

“I love you. Have a good rest of your shift,” Rhett said as he gave you a kiss after collecting the empty food containers.

“I love you, too. Merry Christmas Eve.”

“Merry Christmas Eve.”

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Happy New Year, Happy New Year | J.H.S

Summary: You're still able to make it to Jake's holiday party for work even though you're less than a month from your due date. The baby comes with perfect timing, just before the new year. Content warnings: Pregnant reader, jokes about reader wanting to drink (reader does not drink during the pregnancy), fluff Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x f!reader

12 Days of Ficmas Masterlist

Buy me a coffee

Holiday parties with Jake’s team were always something to look forward to. This was your third party with the Navy, and the first one where you were less than a month from your due date. You had a pretty “easy” pregnancy with a couple of months of morning sickness and mild pain. You brought two gifts for the white elephant exchange and Penny handed you a gift personally.

“It’s for you and the baby. Good luck with his family on Christmas,” she said. You chuckled and gave her a hug before taking the gift bag and peeking inside. You could see a little stuffed elephant and a post-partum care kit. You thanked her and put the gift next to your coat and purse before meeting up with Jake near the food table. 

You filled your plate with a few slices of pizza and veggies with ranch before grabbing a bottle of water and sitting at one of the tables. Phoenix walked over and talked to you for a while, and you joked about wanting to drink when Jake’s family came over for the holidays. There was a lot of mingling as people ate and waiting for the white elephant to start. 

By that point, you were getting tired, and it was obvious to Jake that you were at that point. You had been standing up for a lot longer than you were used to at this point in the pregnancy, but it felt good to stand. Jake wrapped his arms around you from behind, and lifted your belly to take some weight off of your shoulders. You felt instant relief at this, and your shoulders slumped. 

“That was nice, thank you,” you said as you made your way to one of the cushioned chairs. You were certain that if you sat on the floor, you would not be able to get up. Jake helped you steal during the white elephant exchange, and you got a kick out of watching everyone ruthlessly steal from each other in the final round of the game. You ended up walking away with a couple of mini puzzles, and Jake got a set of The Grinch coffee mugs. 

You left after another fifteen minutes, with it taking a while to say goodbye to everyone. When you got home, Jake put the gifts away and got things ready in the guest room for his parents. They wanted to stay until the baby was born to help around the house, which you didn’t mind at all. For a while, his parents seemed pretty cold and distant to you and Jake, but the news with the baby seemed to bring them back around. Jake always told you that the distance was because his siblings went on to be doctors and accountants, and he enlisted, choosing not to go to college.

The baby ended up coming about two weeks early, and it was a girl. Everyone was obsessed, and you felt like the timing was kind of perfect with her being born on New Year’s Eve. Jake sat next to you on the bed, holding the baby, as you pulled up Phoenix’s contact card and hit the FaceTime button. She answered on the second ring, which wasn’t surprising.

“Hey! We’ll miss you tonight at the party! Wait, are you wearing a - hang on, did you have the baby?!” She exclaimed. She must’ve noticed that you were wearing a hospital gown.

“Calm down,” you said, “there’s something we want to show you.”

She gasped as you panned the camera over to show Jake holding the baby. You chuckled as you saw the tears brimming her eyes.

“She’s beautiful. Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m about to cry. Congratulations, you two. Am I the first to know?”

You and Jake nodded your heads as the baby cooed in his arms. Phoenix’s smile only grew, and you could tell that she was about to jump up and down with joy. Penny and Mav were the most excited out of the whole group, and they were already starting to ask when they could meet the baby. Even though everyone outside of the immediate family had to wait a month to meet the baby, they were all offering to bring food so that you could soak up as much time with the baby as possible. 

You watched as the clock struck midnight, and Jake kissed you after you both kissed the baby.

Divider credit to @saradika-graphics

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@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07 @bradshawseresinbabe @atarmychick007 @3sriracha @genius2050 @halstead-severide-fan @withakindheartx @Lolliepops2501 @avengersfan25 @genrockstar @kmc1989 @hiireadstuff @theforevermorereject @stinky-bean-mishacollins @mylifeisanoxymoron21 @disappearintofanfiction

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Snow Day | Hughie Campbell

Summary: A massive snow storm leaves you and Hughie stuck inside Content warnings: None Pairing: Hughie Campbell x f!reader

12 Days of Ficmas Masterlist

Buy me a coffee

You were almost completely snowed in. The reasoning behind you being effectively stuck in the Vought building was honestly pretty ridiculous. Everyone knew about this snow storm that was coming, and you planned on spending the day in your apartment with Hughie, but Ashley texted you and said that you were needed.You thought that it was fucking stupid.

“Need a ride home?” A-Train asked as you looked out one of the windows.

“Yeah, but it’s fine. I’ll text my boyfriend to see if he can pick me up.”

He looked at you like you were stupid.

“I don’t think anyone wants to drive in that mess. Let me run you home.” You were kind of reluctant to let A-Train do this, but you eventually let in. Besides, Homelander was really the only member of The Seven that you were afraid of. He knew where he was going since you had hosted gatherings at your apartment in the past. And you worked for Vaught, there was really no hiding from them. 

You thanked him for taking you home and walked inside of the large apartment complex. Your place was on the fifth floor, which wasn’t ideal on days where you had a lot of groceries, but there was an elevator and the unit had everything that you wanted at a semi-reasonable price. Hughie was working on making cookies when you came in, surprised that you were home so early. He was even more surprised when you told him that A-Train took you home. You set your bags down and hung up your coat before walking over to glance at the recipe that Hughie was using for the cookies.

You started to boil potatoes to make homemade mashed potatoes for dinner while the cookies were in the oven. The plan was to put leftover chicken in the air fryer and have skillet roasted vegetables. It was one of your favorite meals to have on a cold day, and it was so easy to make.

The two of you sat on the couch and watched a new episode of your show while you ate dinner. The oven went off while Hughie was walking over to put the dishes in the sink, which worked out perfectly. It didn’t take long to prepare the frosting for the cookies, but you had to wait for them to cool enough so that the frosting didn’t melt. It didn’t take long to realize that you had made more cookies than you thought, and that the two of you would need to take some to work. Hughie was already talking about how Frenchie would be all over the cookies, not giving much thought to Butcher’s reaction over so-called “holiday joy”. 

It took a few days for the snow to stop and the roads to clear, and you were surprised that the admin team at Vought told you not to come in. You were usually going in no matter what, because you liked the job, but there was no way that anyone could safely drive the roads by your apartment. Hughie was also granted a couple of days off, even though his line of work was a lot different than yours. Until the snow finally cleared, you and Hughie spent days on the couch watching holiday movies and eating through the freezer. Once everything cleared and you were able to go back to work, there was a lot of debate over who took the most cookies with them. It ended up being you, of course.

Surprisingly, Homelander grabbed a few cookies from the platter that you brought. That was the real Christmas miracle.

Divider credit to @saradika-graphics

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@idontcare-11 @starrymactavish @disappearintofanfiction @spacepastiche @stinky-bean-mishacollins @kmc1989

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700 followers!

Thank you! Writing these silly little fanfics is what brings me joy and pulls me away from reality for a little bit. Even when I disappear off of the face of the earth for a little bit, you're all still here. I love sharing my works with all of you!

Pretty much everything that I do on here is on a whim, and I love doing it. (Even when I can't follow through all the way, but that's neither here nor there.)

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Christmas Tree Farm | Bob Floyd

Summary: Bob helps you get a real Christmas tree after realizing that it didn't seem like you had any decorations for the holiday. Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x reader Content warnings: Fluff

12 Days of Ficmas Masterlist

Buy me a coffee

“Hey, it’s me. I realized last night that you don’t have a Christmas tree set up, so I was wondering if you wanted to go pick one out tonight? Everything is on me,” Bob said in the voicemail that he left you. You smiled as you listened to it during your lunch break, and you texted him shortly after.

The two of you were going to a Christmas tree farm in the area to pick out your tree, and then to the store to pick out some decorations. You had a desk tree and some tiny ornaments, as well as some white string lights that were somewhere in your closet, but you never really took them out. Mainly, you didn’t really see a point to decorating for Christmas when you lived alone. First, he took you to get food. It was important that you weren’t hungry when you went and picked out the tree, because Bob knew that you would be cranky and impatient. 

The warmth in California kind of took away from the dreaminess of the idea of picking out a real Christmas tree, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you were doing all of this for Bob. (And you liked not having to pay for your dinner some nights.) He managed to do enough convincing to borrow Rooster’s truck, since his car was too compact for a real tree. 

“What if the tree is too tall?” You asked.

“Well, let’s think about this. I’m about 6 feet tall, and I can fit through all of your doorways just fine. I think the average ceiling height is what, eight or nine feet? So we’ve got about a foot and a half of wiggle room,” he said. You thought that you were dating a genius at times. It seemed like he just rattled out the facts so naturally. 

Bob helped you pick the right tree by standing next to each one so that you could figure out how tall it was. You loaded the tree into the bed of the truck and went to the store to pick out some ornaments. 

“Should we get tinsel?” He asked. You looked at Bob with a scowl on your face.

“Not that silvery shit. I’ve always hated it.”

He chuckled at the statement and watched as you walked around the garland section to find the right one. You decided to keep it simple with gold beads that looked kind of pearlescent. The same went for the star on top, too. You didn’t want one that could light up in different colors. The contrast of the warm white lights that you had and the obnoxious colors that these stars were putting out sounded headache inducing at best. With all of your Christmas tree decorations in the cart, you and Bob went to the wine section of the store and picked out a bottle to share.

Once he got the tree inside of your apartment, you put on a holiday movie while you worked to unpack everything. Bob was putting the tree in a container that would hold it up and feed it water from the base, so that you didn’t have to worry about trying to keep the damn thing alive. It took maybe an hour for you to fully decorate the tree the way that you wanted it, and you were so excited.

“This was a good idea,” you said after a sip of wine.

“Thanks. I was thinking that this could be sort of our tradition, maybe?”

“Picking out a tree every year?”

“Yeah. I know we haven’t been together for very long and it’s probably too early in the relationship to start traditions like that, but it’s just an idea.”

You smiled and set your glass down before wrapping your arms around Bob’s neck.

“We’ll definitely be together for many more Christmases, I can tell. So, I’ll accept the idea of making it a tradition. The hardest part will be remembering that we had this conversation, though. I think that both of us put together barely have a working short-term memory.”

Bob laughed and gave you a kiss, telling you that you probably weren’t wrong. There were times that you could tell that work had fried his brain for the day, and you frequently experienced decision fatigue from your job, as well. You ended up watching two Christmas movies that night, and you both fell asleep on the couch after a few too many glasses of wine.

Divider credit to @saradika-graphics

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@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07 @bradshawseresinbabe @atarmychick007 @3sriracha @genius2050 @halstead-severide-fan @withakindheartx @Lolliepops2501 @avengersfan25 @genrockstar @kmc1989 @hiireadstuff @theforevermorereject @stinky-bean-mishacollins @mylifeisanoxymoron21 @disappearintofanfiction @starrymactavish

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Opalite | B.R.B

Summary: Bradley gets hurt right before Christmas Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x f!reader Content Warnings: Angst with a fluffy ending

12 Days of Ficmas Masterlist

Buy me a coffee

You were making cookies with your mom and the kids when your phone rang. Your hands were covered in raw cookie dough as you kneaded it in the bowl before you could mould the cookies and put them in the oven. Your mom was helping the kids get out the supplies to decorate the cookies while the phone was ringing, so you pulled your hands out of the cookie dough and had her answer the phone as you washed them.

“It’s important,” she said as you dried your hands. You nodded and took the phone from her, glancing at the caller ID. Mav never called you, so that was strange.

“Hello?” You asked.

“Hey, how soon can you get to base?” Mav asked.

“I don’t know, about thirty minutes? Did something happen?”

Mav sighed, and you could hear people rushing around in the background. Someone yelled something about vitals, and your heart dropped. You were turned away from the kids, so you went into the bathroom and shut the door behind you.

“There was an accident. Bradley’s jet got hit by dry lightning, none of us saw it coming,” he said. You grabbed the edge of the sink and tried to breathe.

“Oh, God. Is he okay?”

Mav didn’t say anything at first, and all you could focus on was what was going on in the background.

“Pete, I need to know if my husband is alive or not,” you sternly said.

“He’s alive. He’s getting checked out.”

You hung up the phone and busted out of the bathroom. Your mom looked up at you with wide eyes, with the kids coloring at the kitchen table while she finished with the cookie dough. As you grabbed your purse, you quickly explained the phone call to her.

“I need you to watch the kids while I’m gone. Mav said that he was getting checked out, so I’m guessing that means that he’s fine, but I don’t know. There’s only so much that they can say about things like that. I’ll text you with any updates, but don’t say anything to the kids. I don’t want them to worry about him until he’s home.”

Your mom gave you a quick hug, and you told the kids that you had to run to the grocery store for something. The drive to base was hell, and being stressed out about Bradley’s condition seemed to make everything worse. You could see the lightning strike periodically, but the lack of rain was confusing for everybody. This type of thing didn’t happen very often, but the air had been super dry. You made it to the base and you were let in easily, but all of the security knew you and they knew that you were coming.

Phoenix walked you to the infirmary to see Bradley. She looked pretty shaken up, too. She had mentioned something to you about Bradley doing flight exercises with Jake, but Jake made it down before he did. You walked in and Bradley was sitting on the hospital bed with his legs dangling off of the edge.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” You expressed as you tried not to laugh.

“What? I got struck by lightning,” Bradley said.

“Mav made it sound like you were at death’s door. You look like you’re about thirty seconds from walking out of here,” you said. He chuckled and held your hands as he looked into your eyes.

“I’m okay. Doc says I have whiplash, but the jet took the brunt of it. I just have to fill out some paperwork and I should be good. Congratulations, Mrs. Bradshaw, I’m all yours for the next… Two or three weeks,” he said as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer to him.

“Honey, it does not take you that long to recover from whiplash. I’ve seen you recover from worse in a much shorter amount of time.”

“You’re right, but I figured I’d use some PTO while they work on getting my jet fixed. Now, let’s go home and be with your mom and the kids.”

You drove so that Bradley didn’t have to strain his neck to look at the road. When you walked into the house, Nick was the first one to run up and ask if his dad was okay. Of course Bradley told a white lie and said yes, even though you knew that he was tired from the adrenaline rush. The kids dragged him over to the counter where all of the cookies laid out, and your daughter, Piper, tried to give Bradley a cookie.

“Not now, sweetheart. I’ll try one after dinner, though, okay?”

“Okay, daddy! Can you help me wrap presents for mommy and GiGi before I go to bed?”

You tried to suppress a chuckle as she kept on asking him questions, not being able to understand that he was tired from the events of the day.

“Piper! Come play Legos with me!” Nick shouted from the living room. She shouted that she would be there, and you watched as your three-year-old ran to where your son was in the living room. Bradley finally had the opportunity to take his shoes off and get ready to lay down.

“Thanks for picking me up today. I’m sorry I stressed you out.”

“Oh, it wasn’t you that stressed me out. It was Mav. I’m gonna beat his ass at the Christmas party.”

Divider credit to @saradika-graphics

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07 @bradshawseresinbabe @atarmychick007 @3sriracha @genius2050 @halstead-severide-fan @withakindheartx @Lolliepops2501 @avengersfan25 @genrockstar @kmc1989 @hiireadstuff @theforevermorereject @stinky-bean-mishacollins @mylifeisanoxymoron21 @disappearintofanfiction @starrymactavish

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"It's Practically Here!" | JCM

Summary: Coyote visits your kindergarten class on the last day of school before winter break and reads them How The Grinch Stole Christmas. Content Warnings: None Pairing: Javy "Coyote" Machado x f!reader

12 Days of Ficmas Masterlist

Buy me a coffee

“What happened then? Well, in Whoville, they say that the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day!” Javy said. The kindergartners that all sat in front of him gasped and smiled out of excitement. You were starting to giggle as you put coloring sheets at their desks. It was the last day before winter break, and it was an activity day. Javy had the day off, so you asked him if he wanted to come in and read to the kids.

As he finished the story, he told everyone to go back to their seats for the coloring activity. You passed out little bags of rainbow Goldfish for the kids so that they had something to snack on while they colored and watched the movie. This was your first year teaching full day kindergarten, and it was still a little bit of an adjustment. The kids were always antsy around holiday breaks, but you couldn’t blame them. To be completely honest, you were ecstatic for two weeks off. 

“What specials do they have today?” Coyote asked you as you worked on emailing parents the weekly newsletter.

“Library. I don’t know how that will go since they won’t be able to check out books. It’ll probably be more reading or free choice.”

“Can I take them?”

You smiled and told him that he could take them if he wanted to, but he didn’t have to stay for the whole day. It was surprising that he told you that he actually was planning on staying for the whole day, because he knew how excited the kids were to be around him. Plus he really wanted to help you around the classroom, because there was some cleaning and sanitizing that needed to be done at the end of the day.

He took them to the cafeteria for lunch, and played with them at recess. It looked like he was having a great time, which wasn’t the least bit surprising. He was carrying a paper chain when they got back from library.

“It was so cute. She had them write their favorite things about Christmas or winter on these strips of paper and they made the chain.”

“I said that my favorite thing was the snow! It doesn’t snow here but it does where my grandma lives!” One of the little boys yelled.

“Oh, really? You know, one time, I had a special mission and I got to fly over some snowy mountains.”

“Did you beat the bad guys?”

“I did.”

Javy told the kids a little bit about what he did in that mission, but not too much. He didn’t want to emotionally scar them or get fired if Cyclone found out. The kids were in awe of him, and they always were. As the end of the day got closer, you and Javy got all of the kids ready to go outside and wait for their families or buses. Once everyone had left, you and Javy went back to your classroom to clean and get your things to go home. He sprayed down the high-touch surfaces while you put most of the toys and pillows in one of the extra trash bags that you had in your desk.

He put the bag of things to be washed and sanitized at home in his truck, and offered to pick up dinner. You got home and showered about an hour before Javy did, but he mentioned something about running to the store for a last minute gift on the way home.

When he got home, you and Javy sat on the couch and ate the slices of pizza right out of the box and watched a Christmas movie. You were having so much fun that neither of you made it to bed until well after midnight, between playing board games and wrapping gifts for your families.

Divider credit to @saradika-graphics

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07 @bradshawseresinbabe @atarmychick007 @3sriracha @genius2050 @halstead-severide-fan @withakindheartx @Lolliepops2501 @avengersfan25 @genrockstar @kmc1989 @hiireadstuff @theforevermorereject @stinky-bean-mishacollins @mylifeisanoxymoron21 @disappearintofanfiction @starrymactavish

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Go Go Juice | Clark Kent

Summary: You get a little too drunk at the Daily Planet holiday party Content warnings: Drinking alcohol (everyone is 21+), almost smut so MDNI, almost dubcon, fluff

"Ain't nobody safe when I'm a little bit drunk!"

12 Days of Ficmas Masterlist

Buy me a coffee

Holiday parties at The Daily Planet were something that you looked forward to each year. It was actually where you met Clark five years ago, as you were Jimmy's plus one. The day of the party was always a work from home day for everyone, because the catering crew had to get set up and someone had to finish putting decorations up. 

Surprisingly, you were ready to go before Clark was. You were wearing a maroon dress, and Clark probably spent thirty minutes looking for a tie that would match. When he was finally ready, you slid your heels on and grabbed your White Elephant gift before heading to his car. 

Perry greeted you as you walked in, and someone snapped a picture of you and Clark before you walked over to the food. Lois took your gift and put it under the tree before telling you how to make one of the drinks on the menu. You figured you were going to skip the cocktails and stick to beer or champagne for the night. 

By the time the gift exchange was over, you were pretty trashed. You got a candle that turned into massage oil as it melted, and Clark's face turned crimson as you jokingly told everyone that you would be using it later. Clark got a bag of coffee beans that had a Jitters gift card taped to it. 

You became more affectionate when you were drunk. Almost everyone already knew this, but it was still kind of surprising for Clark to hear you ask Steve for a piggyback ride. You were going to need to go home soon with how you were acting. For some reason, Steve did end up giving you that piggyback ride, even though his back would hate him for it in the morning. 

“I think we should go now,” Clark said as he handed you a bottle of water. Everyone laughed as he practically had to drag you out of the building because you kept on insisting on “one more drink”. You were going to be drinking water for the rest of the night, whether you wanted to or not. When you and Clark got home, you started taking all of your clothes off on the way to the bedroom. 

You were a giggling mess when Clark walked into the bedroom all ready for bed. He pulled the covers back and crawled into bed next to you, with the lamp next to him casting a soft glow through the room.

“What’s got you laughing so hard?” He asked. You giggled some more and took a breath before looking at him and grinning from ear to ear.

“We should use that candle that I got,” you said. Clark raised his eyebrows and chuckled at your request.

“I think we will eventually, but you’re pretty drunk right now. No funny business.”

You actually pouted at him before you started to rake your nails up and down his chest with a pleading look in your eyes. He gently grabbed your wrists and kissed you before turning the light off. 

“Okay, party pooper,” you said before rolling over and pulling the covers up to your neck. Clark chuckled and wrapped his arm around you before you fell asleep.

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[callsign-joyride]

Angel Tree | Rhett Abbott

Summary: Rhett has to work on Christmas, but you still find a way to surprise him. Content warnings: Fluffy goodness, firefighter!Rhett

12 Days of Ficmas Masterlist

Buy me a coffee

You loved helping the fire station with the Angel Tree project that they did every year around the holidays. Given the nature of Rhett’s job as a firefighter, whether or not he was working on Christmas was quite unpredictable. He had gotten lucky the past few years and had been able to get the holiday off, but you both had a feeling that you wouldn’t be as lucky this year. You knew what he was going to say when he walked into the house after his shift with a disappointed look on his face. You put the scissors and tape on top of one of Amy’s toys before getting up.

“How was your shift?” You asked.

“Pretty good for the most part. We had to pull someone out of a car that got wrapped around a pole, but everything was okay otherwise. And I got my schedule for the holiday. Looks like I’ll be pulling a 24-hour shift on Christmas.”

You were disappointed, but not surprised. Of course you understood, because this was what you signed up for, in a sense. 

“I feel stupid for being upset,” you said.

“Oh, honey, don’t. This isn’t your fault and you know that I would stay home with you and my family if I had the choice. It just didn’t shake out that way this year, but you know that you can celebrate without me.”

“No, I know. But it won’t be the same, and that’s why I’m stupidly upset.”

“It will be okay. We can move some things up and celebrate a little early. Plus, I’m sure that Amy would love to have a snow fight with you.”

So, that was what you did. You were able to move everything up, and went around Rhett to talk to his chief. You knew that Angel Tree pickup was on Christmas Day, and you wanted to do something special for those kids and the department. It was all just a matter of contacting the other families of the station to get everything together. 

One of the probies had texted you that mostly everyone had left the station for a call, and that was your chance. All of the families pulled into the parking lot at the station and you greeted them with the probie.

“Looks like they’re about ten minutes out. We’re short on time, everyone, let’s get moving!” You yelled as you started to get everything set up. It was amazing that everyone got things set up so fast. You were stringing up a paper chain on the railing of the stairs when Rhett and his team pulled in.

“Oh my God. This is amazing,” the chief said.

“We’ve got tons of food upstairs and the Angel Tree families are on their way,” you said. Rhett walked up to you and picked you up, giving you a kiss. Everyone started doing their protocols after a call as you took Rhett upstairs to show him what you put together. He truly was amazed at how much food there was, and how you were able to get everything together without him knowing.

The Angel Tree families came in after a few minutes, and your heart grew about three sizes when you saw how excited the kids were. Everyone unwrapped their gifts as parents took photos of the event. One of the moms had pulled you aside and told you how great you were doing. The party came to an unexpected end when the alarm in the station went off, signaling that they had another call that they had to get to.

“I really gotta go, but this was an amazing surprise,” Rhett said again as he kissed you one last time.

“You think I’d let you get away with not celebrating that easily? Better luck next year,” you said with a chuckle.

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[callsign-joyride]

Cozy Days, Wine Nights

Summary: You and Jake escape to a cabin in Maine for Christmas. Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader Content warnings: None 12 Days of Ficmas Masterlist

Buy me a coffee

You were surprised when Jake had suggested spending Christmas “somewhere where it snows a lot”. A typical Christmas was usually spent with his family in Texas, while you celebrated with yours a few days early. So, you reluctantly agreed to going to a cabin in Maine for a few days. It was a miracle that you even made it up the mountain. With Jake driving, you knew that there was a good chance of making it, but the visibility was next to none. The service was bad, too. If you hadn’t known Jake for a while, you would’ve been afraid that you were going to get murdered. You managed to get enough service on your phone for the check-in page to load, and you were both inside of the cabin before you knew it. 

Kicking your shoes off by the door, you walked over and turned the heat up a little bit. It looked like there were two fireplaces in the small cabin, one in the living room and one in the bedroom. Jake put the groceries in the fridge while you grabbed a lighter and got the fireplace in the living room going. 

“Hey, I got everything unpacked for you. Figured we could just hang out and watch a movie tonight, figure out more of what we’re doing over these next few days.”

You promptly agreed, and he grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses. You were about a glass and a half deep when you started talking about going to Bangor to see Stephen King’s house and “hang out in his yard until he comes out”. And then you said that you were hungry, so you stumbled into the small kitchen and decided to get dinner started. Dinner, consisting of a frozen pizza and onion rings. So all that one of you had to do was wait for the oven to beep and for the air fryer to turn off. 

It was pretty safe to say that you did most of the work when it came to finishing the bottle of wine. After a while of hanging out in the living room under about four blankets, you fell asleep. Jake wasn’t surprised. He knew that you could sleep in almost any condition, and this was one of the best ones to sleep in. The wind whistling outside only further contributed to your sleepy state. He put out the fireplace in the living room and carried you to bed, trying to be careful about not waking you up as he put you down. As he laid next to you, he realized that both of your phones were still in the living room, and neither of you had checked in with your families when you got to the cabin. He tried not to wake you as he plugged your phone in next to you, but that was to no avail as he dropped your charger and had to use his flashlight to look where he was supposed to be plugging it in. (He never got those things on the first try.) 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he said.

“No, it’s okay. I should probably get up and get some water while I’m at it.”

You wrapped a blanket around yourself as you left the bedroom to grab a glass of water. When you came back, he had lit the fireplace and made sure that the bed was super cozy. You smiled at the gesture, and texted your family that you made it when you set your water down. The following days were spent doing some of the more tourist-y activities in the area, including going to Bangor as you requested. You weren’t set to fly out until a few days after Christmas, so you each brought something small to exchange.

Jake bought you a mug warmer, and you bought him a new watch made out of recycled plane parts. Rooster gave you the idea but you would never admit to it. He needed a new watch, anyway, with the screen on his being cracked in multiple directions. The night before you left, the two of you made sure to tidy up the rental as best as you could, and set your luggage by the door. 

Neither of you really wanted to leave, and you even considered buying a cabin in the area to stay in when it would start to snow in the future. The flight home was pretty long, with a connection in Oklahoma. As you waited at the gate for the next plane, Jake came by with something for you to eat, and Bob.

“Hey, guys. I guess we have the same flight,” he awkwardly said. You chuckled and took a sip of your coffee.

“Relax, Bob. It’s just our connection.”

“Oh, right! How was your trip, by the way?”

“It was amazing. I wish we never left, honestly,” you said. Jake leaned over and showed Bob the pictures that you took while you were there. He noticed the watch and extended his compliments. As you boarded the plane, Bob asked you if you could send him the link of where you got Jake’s watch, which you were of course going to do.

When you finally got to your shared apartment, you dropped everything and laid on the couch. The next few days were spent like that, until you had Phoenix’s New Year’s party to go to.

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[forkstabmepls]

Always The Goddamn Babysitter

Steve Harrington x (Young!)Milf!Reader

Warnings: smut!!! babysitter!Steve, young mom reader, p in v, lactation kink…, cowgirl; Steve is whipped for both mom & baby girl; Henderson!reader; unprotected sex; this is a little dirty maybe; pullout method; reader is afab; no timeline given; mostly sex <3

Description: Steve gets roped into babysitting Dustin’s hot older sister’s baby. Things take a turn when she gets back and the baby’s asleep.

WC: 2,673

Every. fucking. time.

Every time, Steve Harrington gets dragged into looking after somebody else’s kids.

And every time, it was Dustin Henderson’s fault.

Steve had been brought along by him for yet another thing, only to end up responsible for a seven-month-old baby.

A baby.

You may be wondering how he got stuck looking after such a young child.

Well, it wasn’t entirely Dustin’s fault.

Steve had been at Dustin’s house, when you, Dustin’s older sister showed up. Apparently, you were living elsewhere for a time, when you came back to town very recently.

He recognized you from school, vaguely. You were a couple years older, and got knocked up by some jackass a little over a year ago—the only people you told were your family and friend Kayley.

So, while Dustin was prattling off about some theory, he stopped when he saw you—hair slightly wild, in shorts and a t-shirt, baby propped on your hip in a pink onesie.

Steve did not expect Dustin’s sister to be so… well, hot. He hardly noticed you in school because of your age, but, now that you were both grown, it wasn’t that big of a difference.

Now how did this lead to him babysitting your daughter?

You’d greeted Dustin, asking who that strange man hanging out with your little brother was—wow—and Dustin had introduced you.

When you mentioned needing a sitter for Harper so you could get some stuff for her while you’re getting situated in your new rental, Dustin had the bright idea to volunteer Steve.

You were reluctant, obviously, but managed to be convinced—after all, he’d looked after your dear little brother and his friends so nicely?

And your friend was busy, and your mom was out, and you couldn’t leave your baby with Dustin… Hell no.

If he watched kids they’d probably love him. But that didn’t mean he’d be responsible, and your daughter wasn’t even one.

Still, you had reservations, but agreed—even as Steve himself hadn’t agreed to this . . . Not that you realised that.

Stupidly, when you did ask if he would be okay with watching Harper for a little while, he said “Y-yeah, totally…” and was now playing babysitter once again.

Fuck.

It took multiple hours for you to get everything you deemed you needed, and in that time Steve was spat up on, peed on, etc.

Harper really was adorable though, and when he finally got her to stop wailing at him, after warming a bottle of… your breast milk, and giving it to her, she was a complete angel.

Unfortunate that it took almost the entirety of your trip to get her to that point, but he was still proud of himself that he got her calm before her mommy came back, having to see her child screaming at the “strange man” who hangs out with her kid brother.

Only after she finished her milk, spitting up again (this time on a cloth, as he realised that’s what parents use those for) did she fall asleep, dozing in Steve’s big arms and cooing like the sweetest thing ever made.

She’d already been laid in her crib when you came home, carrying handfuls of shopping bags.

Steve got off the couch, taking some from you to bring them to the kitchen. You told him he didn’t have to, but he helped you put stuff away anyway.

“Was she okay…?” you ask, stuffing boxed noodles in a cabinet. Steve puts away milk.

“Yeah—she was—wonderful.”

Not looking convinced, you turn to look at him, biting your lip in a way that sends many inappropriate thoughts through him.

“‘Re you sure?”

“Absolutely! She was great. Perfect. Wonderful.”

“You said that already.”

“‘Guess I did…”

Continuing to put away groceries quietly—and peeking your ass while you’re turned away—Steve thinks about what to say to you.

Without sounding like an idiot.

You beat him to it.

“I, um, don’t really have much… This was all bought with coupons,” you glance at the bags, “but.”

He watches you pull out a folded twenty, stuffing it in his hand without his consent, then digging in your shorts’ pocket, presumably for extra bills or change.

“That’s not, uh, necessary,” he says, trying to give you back your money.

Shaking your head, you back away, bringing a container of blueberries to the fridge. “I don’t need charity; thank you.”

Finding a random space for peanut butter, he replies, “It’s not charity. Think of it as helping out a friend…”

Giving him a distrusting look, you snatch up all the paper bags and stuff them in the pantry.

Without a word, you disappear to the nursery to check on Harper, then return a moment later.

You murmur “Thank you,” folding your arms over your chest and staring at Steve.

Swallowing, he tries to stop oggling you, finding his voice to tell you it’s not a problem.

He should probably leave now. He’s done the job, and probably made a fool of himself, but god he doesn’t wanna go.

You don’t back away, or tell him off when he comes closer instead.

Typically, he’d just kiss you, see how you respond; but, he doesn’t want to creep you out or mess up another attempt with someone.

So he asks.

“Can I kiss you?”

Unused to being so direct with a woman, he’s relieved when you don’t immediately reject him—when you smile, a bit haughtily, moving your hands to your hips.

“You know that’s not another option to payment, right?”

Your tone is harsher than your expression, but when he looks startled, opening his mouth to offer a plethora of apologies and explanations, you grab him gently by his face, bringing his mouth to yours.

He’s too stunned to react at first, then he processes, responding eagerly to your lips.

Your tongue prods his mouth, and he nearly melts.

Pressing himself closer, he grabs you back, swiping his tongue against yours.

It could be seconds, or minutes before you pull away, murmuring a needy little “On the couch” then trailing your hands up and down Steve’s upper half as you two go to the sofa.

You push him to sit down once you get there, palms now holding his shoulders until you’re situated on his lap.

Lowering his hands to your waist, he tugs your hips flush to his, cushioning his already-hard cock between your bodies, through his jeans.

Unzipping your jacket, you reconnect your guys’ lips, both now moist with your previous kissing.

And his are so soft, and when you nibble his bottom lip he feels up your ass, squeezing you through the denim of your shorts.

Your fingertips graze his abdomen, slipping up his sweatshirt. As your hands trail up, you push the material off his body, discarding it in little time to toss somewhere in the room.

In his left hand, Steve encourages your hips to grind on his lap, and with his right, he brings it to your head, continuing and deepening the kiss.

Your hips roll on their own, stimulating each of you by the movement of your clothed cunt over his confined dick.

“Fuck,” you rasp, pulling back and pressing your lips to his jaw, sucking lightly across his skin.

Letting out a breathy gasp, Steve lets you handle the dry humping, and lavish his neck in kisses, putting his right hand up your t-shirt.

You hold his nape with one hand, playing with his pretty locks, and grab his hand in your other, planting it on your bra’d tit.

Open-mouth kissing his pulse point, you slow your hips, but press them firmer, making him let out a soft moan.

Steve abandons fondling your bra, to slip both his hands up your back and undo its clasp.

It’s not the sexiest thing ever, and it’s definitely manufactured for breastfeeding moms, but that only serves to put different thoughts in his head.

And Christ are your tits full. He’s practically salivating as he touches them, swirling his thumbs around your nipples in tandem.

You whimper, and abandon sucking his collarbone to bring your mouth back to his.

He pulls away only long enough to shove your shirt off, eyeing your upper body with intensity before you’re making out again.

As a mother, and a relatively new one (even if it’s a natural routine by now), your body isn’t quite what it was in high school, for a multitude of reasons.

Additionally, you haven’t been with a guy in a while, and certainly not since you had your daughter.

But while you’re not entirely confident in your figure and stretch marks and milky breasts, Steve is feral.

As soon as you two separate, he’s kissing your upper chest, pausing only to mumble an “Is this okay?” that he desperately hopes you say yes to.

And bless this earth when you do, sliding your crotch against his while he tries not to immediately latch onto your breast.

When he does, fuck is he in heaven. You feel his groan and grip his thick hair, moaning softly while he licks your nipple.

It’s almost unconscious the way he sucks, inadvertently snapping your reflexes to produce that nectar, slipping onto his tongue.

With a gasp, you look down and watch him—his hooded, slowly closing eyes, and the constant little moaning he’s doing as he tastes your milk.

“Fuck…”

You’re busy humping him when he puts his right hand at the band of your shorts, blindly finding your shorts’ zipper and opening the fly to stuff his hand inside.

You’ve never been so worked up, you think, as Steve’s fingers rub you over your panties.

Fuck. You hadn’t realised how wet you’d become until his thick fingers pressed upon your clit, fabric sticking to your labia.

Switching to your other breast, he lavishes your areola, drinking up the milky substance once your nipple releases it.

Slipping beneath your underwear, he rubs rings around your pearl, and you’re getting so horny you can hardly believe it.

“Fuck—okay, stop.”

His eyes snap open as he detaches from your nipple, pulling back and looking at you with concern. His hands stop absently rubbing your bare waist.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask, palms splayed on Steve’s naked chest.

You hear him mutter a small “fuck,” looking sheepish and frustrated with himself.

“No… I can—crap, I can pull out?”

Well that’s not the wisest idea ever had, but you’re too soaked to stop and get protection.

“Fuck. Okay.”

You two are kissing again, and you taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue.

While keeping your mouths close, you back up off his lap, standing long enough to slip your shorts and underwear off.

Steve moans against your lips as you undo his jeans, tugging them and his boxers down his thighs, and leaving them somewhere on the floor.

His hands grab your hips, pulling you back onto his lap and bringing your body close to his.

“Mmm,” you disconnect your lips, looking down at his cock as you grasp it in a single hand, lifting yourself to hover over his tip.

Head dipping back, he tries to bite back his moan as you tease your opening around the end, slowly pressing down on it to let your pussy swallow him.

You watch his reaction as he shuts his eyes, mouth falling open while you take a little at a time, lowering as long as it doesn’t hurt much.

It’s good you’re wet as fuck, because it helps dull any natural sting, and Steve in particular is big.

“Holy shit…” You grab his shoulder, hips slowly coming flush with his, feeling his balls beneath your ass cheeks.

Steve honestly looks out of it. Not until you softly pat his cheek does he open his eyes, looking at you like he’s in a daze, blissfully fucked out before you’ve even done more than take him.

“You’re so pretty.”

He flushes, searching for words he can’t find. You smile, using the support of his shoulder to lift off his cock, partway, dragging your walls up and then back down.

“Wow—wow—wow…”

Laughing softly, you peck the corner of his mouth, but before you can pull away, he’s kissing you, deep and long as you ride him.

You angle so your clit brushes him each time you take him to the base.

His hands start helping you, bringing your hips up, then down, warm inner walls cascading over his massive length.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he babbles, spit glossing on his pretty lips.

“Suck my tits,” you beg.

He groans, pornographic, and his mouth encloses on your pert nipple, sucking for that readily accessible milk he tasted earlier.

Humming a pleasured moan, you prop an elbow on his shoulder, playing with his hair again while the rise and fall of your hips creates a slapping sound throughout the small room.

As Steve drinks your creamy nectar, he thrusts up into you, making you gasp and tip your head back, working in union with him to fill your cunt with his thick cock.

“Fuck, baby, keep going.”

You think he might be trying to get your whole tit in his mouth—actually, it’s hard and useless to think at all; you just want his dick, his mouth, tongue, hands.

Him.

He groans around your breast, breath huffing against your chest from his nose, and when his teeth grace your nipple, and you whimper, he runs a hand along your side in apology, licking across the bud gently.

“I’m close,” you cry. His tip slides back and forth on that one special spot every time he enters and leaves, reentering right after.

For extra stimulation, you slip a hand between your thighs, frigging your clit hard and fast as your other hand tightens in his hair, unconsciously pulling it.

Your orgasm is intense, and your toes curl, real, audible moans leaving your kiss-swollen lips as he pummels your poor hole.

Rather reluctantly, Steve pulls off your tit quickly, forcing your cunt off his cock before he shoots his load on his stomach, and a little on your thighs.

You don’t give a fuck about the mess as you slump forward on his bare body, panting with your face by his neck.

His fingers find and sort through your hair gently, until he tugs a knot and retrieves his hand quickly when you tense.

“Sorry…”

“‘S okay.”

You’re not moving—yet, at least—and Steve realises quickly that you’re just snuggling him, and probably a bit tired after the fucking.

So, he wraps his arms around you, large hand rubbing your lower back idly.

He presses his face into your hair, nose nuzzling the strands until they tickle him.

When you two do finally untangle, you slip off to your bedroom and Steve wonders if he should go before you come back in pajama bottoms and a top (obviously braless, much to his oversensitive cock’s ache), smiling a little awkwardly at him.

He returns it.

“So, uh…”

“Do you wanna have dinner, some night?”

You blink, momentarily surprised before the smile widens, simultaneously appearing softer.

“I’d love to…” you admit.

Once again, his he does like you and smiles larger.

“Okay—wow… Okay. So… Friday?”

Your tiny giggle is like music to his ears.

A lot like your moans were.

“Sure. I’ll get my friend Kayley to sit Harper.”

Christ—he nearly forgot how this evening started.

Not that he cares.

“Perfect.” Before he can make a move himself, or gather the rest of his shit to leave (really just his shoes and phone), you come here and kiss him on the cheek.

“Perfect,” you parrot, pulling away with a sweet smile.

“O-okay, well . . . bye,” Steve says, grinning gently as he gives you a small wave, picking up his phone, and keys, and checking that his wallet is in his pocket.

“Bye, Steve,” you return, waving with a cheeky little smile.

He’s got his shoes on, and his brain scrambled, and his thoughts full of you, and—wow.

Maybe being the babysitter isn’t the worst thing.

Definitely not.

OKAY WOW—UHHH

Hi. Hope this was good 💀 My Steve hunger is insatiable rn. GAWDDDD.

This isn’t really canon compliant but I don’t gaf 😔

Okay. Love y’all, buhbyeeee

Do not steal, copy, re-upload/repost any of my work. My work is my own; it is not made with AI. Do not feed my work to AI.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[callsign-joyride]

Feeling 22 | J.H.S

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader Summary: Jake surprises you on your birthday Content warnings: Age gap (reader is 22, Jake is 33), fluff

For my dear friend, @idontcare-11. Happy birthday!

Buy me a coffee

It was your birthday. You never really had any complaints about it, except that you usually had to work. And you worked with kids, so everyone would hear that it was your birthday during the morning announcements portion of the day. One of your coworkers brought you a cupcake and sat it on your desk before students arrived. Luckily, it was a Friday, so you put on a movie in the afternoon for the kids and updated grades while occasionally checking your phone.

Jake had texted you a few times throughout the day, asking if you wanted to come to his place for dinner and watch a movie. You weren’t really the going out type, anyway. In fact, it was surprising that your friends were able to convince you to go out the night that you ended up meeting Jake. It was always a little bit ironic to you that he somehow had more time in his day to text than you did.

There was some last minute grading and paperwork that you needed to finish, and you were going to shower and change your clothes when you got home. So, you didn’t plan on being at Jake’s place until around 6 if you were going to unwind a little bit first. With daylight savings time, it was already dark by the time you left your house. You knew that Jake was home when you pulled into his driveway, but the house itself was dark. All of the interior lights were off, which was odd. 

The door creaked open as it usually did when you unlocked it. Jake would need to fix it, but the house was old, and neither of you were the type of person to fix something unless it was legitimately falling apart. As you reached over to flip the light on, you heard shuffling coming from the kitchen.

“Jake? Honey, why are the lights off?” You asked.

“Shit! Fanboy, move your ass!”

You turned on the lightswitch right as everyone jumped out and yelled, “Surprise!”. It certainly was one. A few of your coworkers were there, which was surprising because you didn’t even know that Jake had their numbers. He had met a few of them once or twice at group dinners and such, but your work holiday parties took place in the staff lounge. 

“Happy birthday,” Jake said as he walked over and kissed you. Someone, you weren’t sure who, took a picture of the moment. He showed you everything that he had set up, from the cake to the mini bar where people could mix their own drinks.

“This is really impressive. Didn’t you only get out of work like an hour ago?”

Jake chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “I told Mav that I’d buy everyone pizza if he let us go home without doing our drills today. I got everyone out by 2. We just have to make sure that Cyclone doesn’t know or else he’ll ground us all.”

“Hold on,” Phoenix said from where she was at the food table. “You bribed Mav into letting us go home early? Isn’t that illegal?”

You watched as Jake turned as white as a ghost, and you started cracking up.

“It’s not illegal if you don’t get caught, and I didn’t bribe him with money so I should be fine.”

“Okay, everyone! Let’s get this party started!” Fanboy shouted. Everyone cheered and grabbed drinks to start socializing and wishing you a happy birthday.

By the end of the night, it was kind of obvious that you had one too many drinks as you stumbled into bed. Jake had cleared everyone out by that point, and he told you that he would meet you upstairs once he had finished cleaning up. He insisted on doing it all by himself, because it was your special day. Cleaning up only took him about an hour, since you didn’t have too many people over and everyone was nice about cleaning up after themselves to begin with. You were about half asleep when he came in and wrapped an arm around you.

“Did you have fun today?” He asked.

“Jake, it was great. I’m so happy that you planned all of that for me, seriously. You really had me going, too. I thought we were just gonna have a chill night, the two of us. But that was way better. Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Goodnight, honey.”

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07 @bradshawseresinbabe @atarmychick007 @3sriracha @genius2050 @halstead-severide-fan @withakindheartx @Lolliepops2501 @avengersfan25 @genrockstar @kmc1989 @hiireadstuff @theforevermorereject @stinky-bean-mishacollins @mylifeisanoxymoron21 @disappearintofanfiction

Taglist form (Google form, email is not asked)

[callsign-joyride]

12 Days of Ficmas

Welcome to the "12 Days of Ficmas"! I've had a lot going on personally, but I still wanted to do something for the holidays. So, beginning December 1st, there will be a short imagine coming out every other day. I have already started writing. Here is the list of characters that I will be writing for:

December 1: Jake "Hangman" Seresin

December 3: Rhett Abbott

December 5: Clark Kent

December 7: Javy "Coyote" Machado

December 9: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

December 11: Robert "Bob" Floyd

December 13: Hughie Campbell

December 15: Jake "Hangman" Seresin

December 17: Rhett Abbott

December 19: Clark Kent

December 21: Javy "Coyote" Machado

December 23: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

December 25: New character unlocked (it's a Christmas surprise)

Feel free to join my taglist here, and explore my other works here. Enjoy the holiday season!

[danitcx]

I've been thinking about Clark's reaction to you getting nipple piercings (smut if possible, even better), I hope you can see my request because I love your writing.

PS: Sorry if I have any mistakes in what I wrote, my English is not very good and I'm using the translator 😩

Clandestine Hands

Clark Kent x female reader

Synopsis: Clark Kent had always been the man of restraint—calm, careful, and endlessly kind. But the night he discovers the secret piercings you kept hidden under professional blouses, he realizes desire can unravel even the strongest self-control. For the first time, Superman isn’t the one in control—you are.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, office romance, age gap (6 years), piercings, oral sex, breast play, fingering, sex on furniture, dirty talk, light embarrassment, fluff at the end

WC: 6,900 words approx.

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The afternoon sun filtered through the windows of the Daily Planet, illuminating the dust of ink and anxiety floating in the air. There, amidst the bustle of keyboards and telephones, was Clark Kent. A man in his mid-thirties whose calm presence belied the storm of power thrumming beneath his surface. He was a walking paradox: the solidity of an oak tree with the charming clumsiness of a puppy.

He possessed a serene maturity, a mind always focused on others, and a smile that wasn't simply cute, but genuine, capable of disarming the most ironclad armor. He wore responsibility like others wear a jacket, with a disconcerting naturalness. Clark Kent had been born, without a doubt, to love. Seeing that farm boy, with his heart of Middle America, navigating the kinetic and ruthless jungle of Metropolis was, indeed, a sublime madness.

You, for your part, were his perfect counterpoint. At twenty-six, the rebellion that once defined you had become an underground whisper, a ghost of your adolescence. You had entered the Planet at twenty-one, an intern with black-painted nails and a fierce determination under a layer of insecurity. You were assigned to Lois Lane, and it was like being thrown into a high-end paper shredder.

She examined you, tested you, squeezed every gram of talent and energy from you until you believed nothing was left. And then, when you couldn't take anymore, she released you, not with contempt, but with one of the most eloquent and brutal letters of recommendation you had ever read, paving your way for a master's degree scholarship you had never dared to dream of.

The stigmas of your past persisted, turned into intimate secrets. The delicate hummingbird you had tattooed on the sensual curve of your hip was now hidden under the silk of your work blouses. The lip piercing you had removed years ago, and only a tiny, almost imperceptible scar remained as a witness.

But there were two you refused to sacrifice on the altar of professionalism. Why remove them if no one was going to see them?

They were yours. You vividly remembered that slumber party night, challenged by your friends, alcohol running through your veins like gasoline, mixed with something stronger, something that clouded your judgment and ignited your recklessness.

You completed the dare: two cold needles piercing the most sensitive skin, a pain so intense and sharp it made you see white stars behind your eyelids. The next six months were a torture of accidental brushes, of fabrics that felt like sandpaper, of nights spent vaguely sleeping on your back. But you loved them. The cold sensation of surgical steel against your skin, a constant, clandestine reminder that behind the promising and composed copy editor hid a shameless girl with her nipples adorned by a pair of small metal spheres.

“Who is that?”

The question brought you back, five years earlier, amidst the chaos of the newsroom. You discreetly pointed to the man with the poorly knotted tie and glasses who was tripping over his own chair. Lois Lane followed your gaze and offered an almost imperceptible smile.

“Clark Kent,” she said with a simplicity that completely underestimated the man's complexity.

“He’s the one who interviews Superman,” you whispered, unable to contain a glimmer of teenage excitement in your eyes.

Lois arched an eyebrow, studying you with her hawk-like gaze. “Are you a fan of that guy?”

“Well… he saved me once,” you confessed, your voice dropping even lower. “It was just an instant, our eyes met. I’m sure that while I was left absolutely smitten with Superman, he only saw the most horrified panic-stricken grimace I’ve ever made in my life.”

Your confession drew a rough, genuine laugh from Lois, a sound so rare that several heads turned.

That memory faded the day they accepted you back, now as an equal, a colleague. Lois looked at your face, marked by disbelief and joy, and wrapped an arm around you in a rare and fleeting hug. Everyone congratulated you. The world seemed to align. And then, he approached. “Glad to have you back,” Clark said, his voice a melodic bass that ran down your spine.

You just nodded, a tense smile drawing on your lips. You had never exchanged more than furtive glances and polite greetings. To him, and to many, you were still the new girl, the college student who seemed more interested in parties than sources. And you had been, but that chapter was closed.

Jimmy Olsen had warned you jokingly: “Come on, Clark is too big for you. You’re in the baby zone.” And then, more seriously: “Look, a piece of advice: don’t even try. Clark has always been like this. We’re part of his life, but he… he always seems to be somewhere else.”

You had tried to heed his advice. Until one night, very late, the newsroom was deserted except for the whisper of the printers and the silhouette of Clark bent over his desk. You moved to reach for a report, he turned at the same time, and the contact was inevitable: his forearm against yours, a static spark that traveled your skin. You didn't know who leaned in first.

The kiss was slow, exploratory, a mutual discovery that tasted of coffee and tacit promises. You thought it would be a mistake, an isolated slip. But it happened another night.

And another.

And damn it, one more.

He sought you out. You felt it in his heavy gaze on the nape of your neck while you typed, in the way he held himself back when passing by your side, as if he were addicted to your presence and afraid of relapsing.

“Clark…” you murmured, but it wasn't your voice that brought you back to the present.

It was his hand. You had invented a pathetic excuse, going to his apartment with a notebook you claimed was his, knowing perfectly well that the one he had was yours, because you yourself had swapped them.

The door closed behind you and the outside world faded. Now, against his entryway door, his hot breath on your neck, you felt his fingers, large and calloused but with a disconcerting delicacy, find the edge of your skirt. The fabric rose like a silent wave. The cool air of the room brushed your skin before the heat of his hand replaced it. A stifled moan escaped your lips as two of his fingers, with devastating confidence, slid inside you, penetrating you slowly.

You stopped thinking. Was it the way his kisses stole your breath, his taste of coffee and something inherently him? Or the ease with which he guided you to sit on his lap, your legs over his and his strong arm wrapped around your back, anchoring you to him on the edge of the armchair? He was absorbed, lost in the geography of your skin; his lips traced a burning path from your jawline to the corner of your mouth, while his hand worked between your thighs, the first to claim you in a way no one else ever had.

You arched your head back, a choked complaint trapped in your throat as a third finger joined, stretching you, filling you in a way that made your hips lift by pure instinct, seeking more of him, more of that electric sensation. You clung to his shoulder, though the truth was he had been holding you since the moment you walked in.

“You’re so wet…” His voice was a rough murmur, a burning confession he buried in the curve of your neck, and you closed your eyes, stifling a groan.

“Do you like it, Clark?” You whispered, your fingers tangling in the dark, rebellious curls of his hair. He was buried in your neck, not biting, but worshipping every inch with kisses that were pure devotion.

He looked up then, and his lips brushed yours in a near-kiss. Your eyes met, pupils black and dilated, wells of a desire that consumed all the light in the room. “Do you like how you make me?” The question came out tinkling, tinged with an innocence you knew was false, and a violent shudder ran through you as he thrust his fingers deeper, a stroke that tore a muffled scream from you. “Ah, Clark!”

“I love it.” The admission was a low growl, loaded with a truth that vibrated in the air between you. He watched you, how you writhed on his hand, how every muscle in your body tensed for him. “I want to hear you, only you.”

And then he accelerated the pace, his fingers moving inside you with a precision that bordered on torturous. You grabbed his wrist, stopping him, and he froze instantly. Your chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, and then it was you who took control, moving your hip, guiding his fingers, pulling them out and pushing them in a slow, torturous rhythm that made you tremble to your core.

“I want… to come,” you whispered, and the shudder that ran through you was so violent you almost folded in half.

He smiled, a slow curve of his lips. You released his wrist and, instead, your fingers gripped the edges of your black shirt, still bunched and wrinkled around your torso, revealing only the lace of your bra and the first four buttons undone.

Clark needed no further invitation. His fingers resumed their dance inside you, fucking you with an intensity that made you scream, a relentless thrust that took you to the edge and threw you over. A brutal orgasm tore through you, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids, shaking every fiber of your being as you writhed in his lap, completely surrendered to the pleasure he so generously gave you.

For Clark, giving pleasure was a religion, and you, his only devotee. Seeing you like this, consumed by the fire he had ignited, was already driving him to the brink of madness. His own need throbbed, painful and urgent, against the confinement of his trousers, a hard bulge yearning to break free and bury itself in your warmth. But he restrained himself, taking a deep breath, reminding himself that he was a country man, accustomed to patience, to cultivating and waiting for the reward.

You kissed him then, a slow, deep kiss. He helped you stand, though his confused look betrayed that he didn't know what your next move would be. And then you sat back down on his lap, this time with your full weight on the hard evidence of his desire. The friction was an exquisite torture for him; a guttural moan escaped his lips when he felt your fingers methodically unbuttoning each button of his shirt. He obeyed, leaning forward without separating his lips from yours, allowing you to remove the white shirt that smelled of clean laundry and sweat. His hands closed around your waist, his fingers sinking into your flesh like anchors, and he let himself fall back into the armchair, taking you with him.

You took the initiative and slid your hand over the bulge straining against his trousers. He looked up; his eyes, an intense blue, shone with a deep, wet light, capturing yours immediately.

“Are you completely sure about this?” he asked, his voice so low it was almost a hoarse whisper. “I am significantly older than you,” he added, and the statement, simple and direct, exerted an instant fascination on you. His tone was hypnotic, shifting: one moment it was rough and charged with urgency, and the next, it broke, failing him just as you leaned in to close the distance between you.

“I believe I must reward you, Mr. Kent,” you teased, knowing he was still operating under the assumption that you were too young for him. And you were, but only by six years; he was no old man, but a man in the prime of his life. “It is my duty,” you whispered against his jawline, placing a soft kiss on his freshly shaved skin. As you undid the button of his trousers, “to reward you,” you repeated, this time with your lips pressed against the pulsating warmth of his neck. Your hand slid down, massaging the hard, defined shape of his member through the fabric of his underwear. He arched his back, a choked groan escaping his lips; your touch seemed to provoke a pleasurable agony in him. “For the way your fingers fucked me before,” you finished the sentence, and with determination, you freed his erection.

There, in your hand, it was hard, throbbing with a rhythm of its own. The tip, a deep red, was already moist with the pre-seminal fluid seeping out. A triumphant smile curved your lips. He watched, eyes fixed and breath hitching, as you brought your fingers to your mouth to wet them with saliva and then wrapped them around his member.

A shudder ran through his body, and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as his hands gripped the cushions. You then guided his penis to rub against your clitoris, already swollen and sensitive. The two of you moaned in unison. You didn't allow him to enter; instead, you slid him up and down your crotch, over your already soaked lips. You were so wet that, at times, the head of his member would briefly sink into your entrance, as if your own body was eagerly claiming it, a preview of what you both desired.

“My God…” he murmured, his voice laden with an admiration that bordered on devotion. You let yourself get lost in the intensity of his gaze as, with deliberately slow movements, you began to unbutton the buttons of your black shirt. He didn't complain that you had abandoned his member, which was now throbbing with need against your clitoris; the sensation was overwhelmingly good, but his attention was completely fixed on you, following your every move with absolute concentration.

You took off your shirt and, without fully removing your bra, you pulled it down until your breasts were freed. His gaze immediately fell upon them. There they were, your nipples erect and firm, each one pierced by a metal bar you had gotten years ago, in your more rebellious stage, when you started university. The bra, now squeezing them from below, enhanced their prominence.

He seemed to become even more enchanted than he already was, if that was possible. His hand rose, and his palm came to rest with an agonizing slowness on your torso, ascending until it stopped right on the lower curve of your breast, holding it with a reverence that made you shiver. He looked into your eyes, seeking tacit consent, and you nodded.

You knew he always asked for permission, and this situation would be no exception. His index finger began to trace the contour of your areola, and a shiver of pure pleasure ran down your spine. He repeated the action with his other hand, cradling and exploring every inch of your skin, while his gaze got lost in the sight of your adorned nipples.

No one had ever looked at you that way, with such a raw mixture of desire and worship, making you feel completely exposed and, at the same time, powerfully desired. You didn't pull away; on the contrary, you wanted to witness how the always kind and controlled Clark Kent completely lost his sanity because of you.

“When…?” he whispered, as if his eyes couldn’t pull away from the sight. And they couldn’t. What you didn’t know was that his gaze was fixed on the details: the small metal ball at each end of the bar, the thin tube piercing horizontally through your skin. A torture, he thought.

In fact, he had once commented to Jimmy in the newsroom: “Young people pierce their bodies as if pain were something desirable…” Of course, that had been the rational and sensible Clark Kent speaking. But now, seeing you like this, defiant and sensual, filled him with a profound gratitude that you had done it.

“I was twenty,” you replied, holding his conflicted gaze. “What do you want me to do, Clark?” you asked, even though you knew the answer. At the end of the day, he was a man of intense desires. “What do you want me to do with my breasts, Clark?” you insisted, and his face flushed an even deeper red, a blush that spread down his neck. The air was saturated with pleasure.

“No…” he said, shaking his head, as if he had read the explicit direction of your thoughts and was resisting it.

“No, Clark?” you repeated, pressing your breasts firmly against his abdomen, allowing the hardness of the piercings and your nipples to press into his skin.

“That’s not… I can’t treat you that way,” he argued, his voice thick with palpable indecision. He knew what he wanted, and he knew that you knew it, but he was resisting. He didn’t want to degrade you, didn’t want to reduce you to an object.

“You won’t. Just feel me. If you need to look, then look,” you said into his ear, with a simplicity that was anything but naive. “This is a secret, Clark. No one else will ever know how your body, how your cock, craves and needs the contact of my pierced breasts,” you teased softly, and he stifled another moan, this one deeper and more guttural, as his hands tightened on your hips, finally yielding to the overwhelming reality of the moment.

You slid to your knees in front of him, feeling the soft carpet beneath your legs. Clark tensed immediately; his knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of the chair tightly, his back arched slightly and his head fell back against the headrest, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

His legs, parted and firm on the ground, framed you. You, in the center of that space, kept one hand on his erection, throbbing and hot through the fabric. With deliberately slow movements, you slid your palm down and then back up, feeling every inch of his length under your touch. You tilted your head and ran your tongue over the fabric, wetting it and tracing a precise line. He let out a choked sound.

“That’s not… God, precious,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse and broken, stopping just as you pulled the fabric aside and took his member into your mouth.

You continued for a brief moment, savoring his texture and weight, before stopping completely. You already knew what would follow. With deft hands, you unhooked your bra and let it fall at your feet. You caught his penis between your breasts, which you squeezed tightly on either side, encasing it in a channel of soft, warm skin.

He moaned, a deep, guttural sound, and began to move, thrusting between them as if he were possessing them. You rocked to the rhythm of his thrusts, allowing his member to travel the path from the base to the tip, which emerged red and wet with each ascent. His body, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, slid against your skin.

“Oh, God,” Clark exhaled, swallowing with difficulty.

His gaze met yours. His cheeks were flushed, his usually perfect hair was now disheveled, with strands stuck to his forehead and temples. Your hands were still squeezing your breasts, and your fingers didn’t stop caressing and gently tugging at your nipples, already sensitive and erect. That image, the sight of your expression absorbed in pleasure and the evidence of your arousal, was what pushed him over the edge. With a ragged groan, his body shuddered in a series of involuntary spasms, and his warm release spilled over your skin, marking you with white, sticky streaks.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he managed to say, still breathless, as the last tremors ran through him.

You, without looking away from him, removed your bra completely, leaving the marks visible on your skin. Without a word, you climbed onto his lap, guiding him inside you with a fluid motion and sinking down until he was fully sheathed. He took hold of your hips with both hands, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you closer. His eyes, dark and full of intensity, watched you intently.

“Let me set the pace,” he told you, and though it sounded like a question, his actions were already an affirmation.

Before you could answer, he turned your body with contained strength and sank you deep into the couch. Your legs ended up resting over his shoulders as he moved inside you with deep, controlled thrusts. But he didn’t remain in that position for long; he lowered your legs and positioned himself over you, holding his weight on his arms so he wouldn’t crush you.

His mouth went straight to your nipples, still sensitive and hard. As you closed your eyes, concentrating on the sensation, he blew softly. His breath, unusually cold but precisely measured, wasn't meant to freeze, only to cool, creating an electric contrast on your warm skin. His face was very close to yours, watching your every reaction. You moaned, and the sound was lost in the space between you. There were no questions; or if there were, they dissolved into the air when he tilted his head and licked one nipple gently, almost with devotion, before repeating the action with the other. All of this while he continued moving inside you, with a steady rhythm that left you no room to think.

One of his hands slid down and the pad of his index finger found the small metal piercing on your nipple. He brushed it with minimal pressure, a mere calculated graze.

"Oh, Clark, it… feels so good," you managed to say, your voice broken by gasps.

He smiled, an expression of pure masculine satisfaction, and thrust more forcefully, making your body arch and your breasts bounce to the rhythm of your encounter. Then, leaning down again, he sucked firmly, alternating between wet suction and his tongue playing with the metal. And so began the true conquest.

He possessed you in his living room, on the sofa, then in the dining room, where he put you on all fours in front of him and took hold of your breasts from behind while you arched your back toward him. Another orgasm hit you in his bed, so intense and delirious that the pleasure became an electric current that ran through every inch of your skin. Your breasts were shiny from a mixture of saliva and sweat, and Clark wouldn't leave them alone; your nipples were so sensitive that every caress, every graze, sent waves of pleasure that drew stifled moans from you and reduced you to incoherent babbling.

"Clark," you whimpered, your voice shattered.

"That's it, my little young masochist," he murmured with a teasing tone that didn't hide his deep admiration. His hands, large and strong, gripped your waist firmly, sinking his fingers into your skin. He brought his face close to your neck, where his lips settled with a

"Y-yes…" you agreed, your voice broken, almost breathless.

A triumphant smile spread across his lips, before he quickened his pace once more, pushing you with a controlled yet relentless force toward the edge of the abyss. His breathing was hoarse and close, mingling with yours.

He possessed you again, with a thrust so deep your back arched. A violent shudder ran through your entire body. Your hips rose to meet his, seeking more contact, more friction, more of him. Your hands traveled over his broad, muscular back, descended to his tense buttocks and held on there, lost between urgency and ecstasy. And then it came: the final orgasm, the most intense one, the one that split you in two and dragged him with you. A choked moan escaped your lips just before the heavy silence that followed, broken only by the ragged sound of your lungs struggling for air.

"They're pretty," Clark said without looking at you, his head still buried between your breasts. His hand, huge and warm, rested on your torso, and his fingers slowly caressed your sensitive nipple, provoking another involuntary shudder across your skin.

"Don't touch them, Clark," you whispered, your voice still weak. "Or you'll make me want you to fuck me again."

"I don't have a problem with that," he replied without stopping the movement of his fingers, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I do. I might die if I can't manage to breathe," you said jokingly.

He stopped immediately. You knew you weren't exaggerating. Clark, in his Kryptonian abandon, could be overwhelmingly intense; his thirst for you was as real as the risk that, in his ardor, he could be too much for a human body. The idea of hurting you, however, terrified him. Though he enjoyed every moment of your union, raw and visceral like he'd never experienced with anyone else, the fear of being too rough, too strong, was always present. To him, you were young, fragile, his little twenty-year-old darling—even if you were older—and he was hopelessly in love, though shame sealed his lips.

"I like you, Clark," you said quietly, your eyelids heavy with fatigue and satisfaction.

He looked at you surprised, and with a sudden gesture of tenderness, he settled you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace.

"You really don't think I'm boring?" he asked, his voice serious, almost vulnerable.

"After fucking me like that, do you still think you could be boring?" you replied with a soft, tired laugh. He blushed slightly. "You've never seemed boring to me," you admitted, looking directly into his eyes.

"Is it a very bad idea to ask you to be my girlfriend right after this?" he said, blushing even more.

You laughed loudly, a clear sound that broke the tension.

"I do want to be your girlfriend," you responded, as if he had just made it official in the most traditional way in the world.

You leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. Then another on his cheek, another on his nose, and again on his cheek, until you managed to draw a low, hoarse laugh from him.

"Don't act like I have to take care of an old man, Clark. You are anything but old," you said, as if you had read his most intimate thoughts.

"Yes," he nodded, and fell silent, holding you tightly, as if in that gesture he could keep you forever.

Dusk enveloped the city in shades of orange and violet, filtering through the large windows of the Daily Planet office. The usual bustle had ceased, leaving only the residual hum of computers powering down and the faint creaking of the building. The air smelled of old paper, cold coffee, and the faint scent of your perfume, which mingled with Clark's aftershave. You were both in a clandestine relationship, a secret carefully guarded between the walls of glass and steel. The months had passed with apparent normality, a perfect choreography of fleeting glances and furtive encounters. Of course, now that Clark Kent had a girlfriend, and that girlfriend was you, he didn't hesitate to relieve his stress with you, to find solace in the warmth of your body. You, in turn, used his expert mouth and skillful fingers to appease the frustration of not getting an interview with the President, to forget the rejection in the sensations only he could provoke. But that was something no one else knew.

The last monitor turned off with a soft click. Lois Lane swiveled in her chair, her gaze tired but alert, landing on you. "Calling it a night?" she asked, tucking a pencil behind her ear.

Jimmy Olsen stretched, the bones in his shoulders cracking softly. "I'm heading out too, but I'll walk you. It's dark, I don't want you walking alone," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the window and the illuminated city below.

"You two go ahead, I'm leaving with my boyfriend," you announced, and immediately bit the inside of your tongue. The word had slipped out on its own, an involuntary blunder. You stopped dead in your tracks, and with that, it seemed as if the whole world did the same. Clark became absolutely still at his desk, his posture rigid. The pen he was holding slipped from his fingers, falling onto the green felt of his desk with a soft, muffled thud. The silence that followed was absolute, dense.

Lois and Jimmy exchanged a look crackling with electricity, their expressions of exhaustion transforming into pure curiosity in a fraction of a second. Almost in unison, they descended on your chair like two vultures on prey, surrounding you.

"It's the guy from the corner coffee shop, right? The tall one," insisted Jimmy, his eyes shining with the thrill of gossip. Clark, from his station, watched with genuine confusion, a slight frown on his face.

"No, Jimmy, please. It's obviously the guy from the copy desk who sits in the back, right? The one who always, always leaves your cup of coffee right here," Lois countered, pointing with an impeccably manicured finger to the precise spot on your desk where, indeed, a hot coffee sometimes appeared.

"What? He's pathetic. You'd be bored of him in two days. I know: Jason, the intern from Sports, the blond one. Yeah. He said he thought you were really attractive," Jimmy ventured, waving his hands enthusiastically.

A calm but firm voice cut through the air from behind them. "It's me."

Lois and Jimmy turned their heads as if they'd received an electric shock. Clark was standing, his tie slightly askew. You felt heat rush up your neck to your cheeks, and a nervous, choked laugh escaped you.

A unified "WHAT?" so strident and powerful it erupted from Lois and Jimmy's throats finally made you laugh, a clear sound that broke the tension.

"This is a joke, right?" asked Lois, her gaze jumping from Clark to you and back again, searching for any sign of a prank. Finding nothing but two pairs of embarrassed eyes and shy smiles, she exclaimed, "Oh my god. Since when?"

"Who cares about that. What I want to know is how Clark Kent admitted to dating the most sought-after young intern at the Daily Planet," interrupted Jimmy, looking at Clark as if seeing him for the first time.

"I work here full-time now, Olsen," you said with false reproach as you gathered your coat and purse. Clark smiled, a small but genuine smile, and stepped over to retrieve his own jacket.

"Tell me, did you ask him out?" asked Lois, and Jimmy looked at her as if she'd said something crazy. "What? You think Clark would ask her? He can't even look at the lady in the cafeteria when she tells him he has pretty eyes without blushing like a tomato. And you think he just worked up the courage overnight with my friend here?" You smiled, secretly enjoying the description.

"Have you kissed yet?" Jimmy suddenly blurted out, looking at Clark with wide eyes.

"Uff, Jimmy," you said, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him aside to make your way through. "That's not the point. The point is, he has wonderful hands," you joked, tossing the implication into the air.

Clark instantly blushed, averting his gaze to his own hands. Lois let out a laugh and bounced on the spot, excited like a little girl. "This isn't over! I need details!" she exclaimed, but you were already on the move.

You walked towards the elevator, and Clark's hand found yours, his fingers lacing with yours with a naturalness that made your heart beat hard. When the brass elevator doors closed, encapsulating you both in the cab illuminated by a dim light, he looked at you through his glasses. His expression was serene, but his eyes held a mischievous glint.

"I have very good hands?" he whispered, his voice low and deep. He pulled you toward him, his large, warm body a comforting contrast against the cold metal of the walls.

"You do, Clark," you said, rising on your toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek, feeling the slight scratch of his stubble. "And they're even better when you're using them to pamper my nipples, they're so sensitive," you murmured against his ear, your warm breath on his skin.

At that precise moment, the elevator doors opened with a soft ding, revealing the two cleaning ladies standing by a metal cart full of spray bottles and rags. They both looked at you first with kind smiles, then their gazes landed on Clark. His face, already flushed, had turned a deep shade of scarlet.

"Young Kent, are you alright? You look very pale," observed one of the women with genuine concern.

You smiled, holding back a laugh. "Yes, thank you, Adele. Everything's fine," Clark said, his voice a pitch higher than usual. He hurried to hold the doors open and helped the other woman maneuver the heavy cart into the elevator.

"Goodnight," you and Clark said in unison, with polite cordiality.

Clark nodded, speechless, avoiding direct eye contact with them.

The elevator doors closed, leaving the soft hum of the motor as the only witness. The air in the lobby smelled clean, of diluted bleach and floor wax. Clark let out a deep, relieved sigh, but the intense blush still stained his cheeks and the tips of his ears a bright pink.

They were already walking down the lamplit sidewalk towards his apartment when he broke the silence, his voice slightly plaintive but with an undertone of humor. "Well, I hope you're satisfied. Now the cleaning ladies will think I'm easily flustered."

You let out a laugh, the clear sound resonating in the quiet street. "Flustered? Clark, you looked like a tomato about to explode. I think Mrs. Adele was about to offer to take you to the emergency room." You moved closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his. "Your reputation as a serious, calm man is in tatters."

He muttered something unintelligible, pretending to adjust his glasses though they were perfectly fine. "It was the comment about... my hands. And what you said after. It was very... direct."

"Direct? I was just telling the truth," you replied with false innocence, enjoying every second of his embarrassment. "Besides, it's cute to see you like this. The powerful reporter Clark Kent, reduced to a puddle of nerves by a compliment from his girlfriend."

Reaching the door of his building, as he fumbled for his keys in his pockets, he looked at you with a mixture of exasperation and affection. A small, playful smile touched his lips. "Alright, laugh it up. But just you wait. When we get upstairs, I promise I'll make you pay for every single one of those teases." He paused for dramatic effect, opening the heavy door. "With a kiss on the cheek. A very, very long kiss."

The absurdity of the "threat" was so great you stopped dead on the threshold, laughing uncontrollably. "A kiss on the cheek?! What a fearsome man! Watch out, I might faint from fright!"

Clark finally managed to get the keys out, smiling openly now, his initial embarrassment giving way to shared amusement. "Yes, you'll see. It will be the most vengeful cheek kiss in history. You'll regret underestimating my capacity to... pamper you."

"I highly doubt that," you said, finally stepping inside and taking his arm. "But I will await it with tremendous expectation, Mr. Kent."

He closed the door behind you, and the sound of the lock clicking into place marked the beginning of a night where the only laughter would be that shared within the four walls of their home.

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