• Matt Murdock, who walks past a coffee shop and buys your coffee without even having to ask because he memorized your order years ago.
• Matt Murdock, who lets you complain about your day for a full forty minutes without interrupting once.
• Matt Murdock, who wakes up before you and spends a few minutes just listening to you breathe because those are the only moments when everything feels peaceful.
• Matt Murdock, who sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night and immediately reaches for you.
• Matt Murdock, who can pick out the sound of your laugh in the middle of a crowd.
• Matt Murdock, who always finds you in crowded places. It doesn't matter if there are fifty people in the room. He knows exactly where you are.
• Matt Murdock, who loves it when you read to him.
• Matt Murdock, who gets genuinely invested when you talk about something you love, even if he has absolutely no idea what you're talking about.
• Matt Murdock, who always seems a little lighter whenever you're around.
••••••••
Sorry if anything is wrong! English isn’t my native language, so I had to translate it and tried to make it sound natural.
Warning: Angst with a bit of fluff, Dark Themes, no happy end - it's Kakuzu after all...
Words: 4,6k - tagging @snuggleboots, @missalienqueen and @wing-ed-thing because I think you might like it
Bonus points if you get what the Kid's names are all about...
10.
His father’s hand is heavy on Kakuzu’s shoulder.
Across from him, your mother does the same with you.
You’re shorter than him, your long hair tied into pigtails. There’s the ghost of freckles over your nose, but it could also be the sunlight, broken into a million pieces by the cascading waterfall Takigakure is soon going to be famous for.
You look like a kid, which shouldn’t be that weird. He’s just got ten years old himself.
But everyone at the Academy aims to look older while you seem perfectly fine looking the way you are.
The grip on his shoulder changes, shakes him out of his reverie.
He looks up at his father who stares down at him. Right. Don’t expect any help from the old man.
When he turns toward you, you’ve put your hands in front of your mouth as if to hide a smile. Your mother looks tired.
“Shake hands.” She tells you - or him?
So he does, stretches out his hand for you to take, and watches with almost morbid fascination as you lean down and press your lips to the back of his hand.
By the laws of his and your Clan, you’re married now.
There are no laws for Divorce in Takigakure yet.
-
Your mother dies a year later.
You move in with him because he’s your husband and has to care for you. His father likes to remind him of that every time there’s not enough food on the table for all three of you.
A good man, his father declares, makes sure that his wife has enough to eat.
A good father, Kakuzu wants to throw back at him, would make sure his child doesn’t have to go hungry. But he doesn’t. Because while he might not be scared of anything, he’s too smart to get into trouble with the old man. It’s less risky to stay hungry and give his portion to you.
By the time he’s twelve, he’s doing odd jobs on the side whenever he can, handing you the money whenever he’s sure no one can see it.
You’re a quiet one. He’s too tired to talk most nights anyway, so he’s glad you don’t chew off his ear when it’s time to slip into bed at night.
Ever since his father took up drinking and lost the house, they share a single room and huddle together for warmth at night.
-
“Kakuzu,” You whisper. His eyes snap open, Kunai ready. It takes him a moment to realize it’s you. You haven’t spoken in so long he’s forgotten the sound of your voice.
“What?”
“Sh.” You move a little closer. Your legs are warm against his. He’s never noticed before how warm you are. “Don’t wake your father. I’ve got a job.”
“A job?” He furrows his brows. “You should still be in school.”
“Like they teach me anything useful.” You quip back at him. “There’s this rich family who’s got a gaggle of kids. I make one hundred ryō an hour looking after them.”
His mouth waters at the number. One hundred ryō could buy him a decent meal every night.
“How many hours are we talking?”
They get to planning. Two days later everything is set in motion. They move out while his father is out drinking, taking with them what little stuff they can find use in. There are no rules that forbid them from signing a lease on an apartment now that he’s a full-fledged Shinobi, even at twelve years old.
You celebrate your first night with a home-cooked meal, the best he’s ever tasted. Sure the Miso soup could have used a little bit more salt and the fish had been charred at the edges, but there was no one looming over him, taking away all the good pieces, ruining every conversation with drunken rambling.
“I will never be like my father.” He promises and you smile. It lights up your face, and transforms you into a being of light and lightness.
Kakuzu’s only twelve years old, but he’s seen death and he’s seen misery and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that if this is what love is, he will never get tired of it.
-
Kakuzu’s fifteen when he catches an illness that almost kills him.
Painful spasms shake him as he coughs, skin aflame with a fever that wants to devour him whole.
He barely remembers anything but finding himself with his head in your lap, your hands moving through his hair.
There’s a strange lightness to your voice as you talk to him. He can barely focus on your words but they sound like magic, like you’re summoning something from deep inside him.
When he wakes up from a deep slumber days later you look younger, somehow.
“What was that about?” He asks from the safety of his bed. One day, soon, he will buy a new mattress and a proper Couch, but it held out the last three years and he wants to have a bit more saved, feel a bit safer before he starts splurging again.
“What do you mean?” You’re at the stove, cooking something. He can smell ginger and citrus. You’re a terrible liar.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Kakuzu, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t bullshit me!” His temper comes and goes like a lightning strike, leaving him weak and shivering.
You stare back at him, eyes wide.
“I’m sorry.” He crawls out of bed. “I’m sorry.”
-
Kakuzu is fifteen when he finally understands the terms and conditions of this marriage.
Some Kekkai Genkais let you live longer than others.
On paper, it could be really just that simple. Your Kekkai Genkai lets you live on for years and years and years, your only threat the darkness of your mind.
“Many of us have killed themselves after they lost their partners.” You explain with his head in your lap again, your hand in his hair.
“Is that what happened to your mother?” You don’t answer his question but he can tell the truth from the way your eyes lose their light.
“But why me?” Kakuzu asks, two days later when you’ve curled up next to him after Dinner.
“I have two theories,” you explain softly. “Your Clan has brought forward many members with an exceptionally long lifespan.”
“And the other theory?”
“My Kekkai Genkai feeds on negative emotions. Misery. Sickness.” You fall silent. He doesn’t need you to keep going. He knows his family.
His father, who’s still not managed to drink himself to death. Whose temper is so famous that he’s often sent on three-man-missions alone.
His grandfather, who’s rumored to have killed his first wife over a burnt meal. Who’s still alive because he’s too stubborn to die, living off the roots of the great tree on the edge of Takigakure.
“I’ll never be like my father.” He promises you, again. You press a kiss to the back of his hand like you did when you met for the first time. It’s the only answer you give him.
-
Kakuzu is eighteen when his comrades make jokes about his wife.
They call her the beauty of Takigakure, say she’s even prettier because she never opens her mouth.
He gets cut from the mission roster for two weeks because he breaks one guys chin, and stabs the other guy in the thigh.
If you mind the blow to your wallet, you don’t show it. You’ve always been good at making a decent meal with the least amount of money spent.
But you sit him down when it happens again, a few months later.
“Stop it,” you tell him. “You’re becoming like your father.”
Fear engulfs him. He feels like he’s drowning, like that time he was six and his father threw him into the big cave, told him to swim or sink.
Warm lips press onto his, breathe oxygen into his lungs. He holds onto your waist to keep himself from going under once again.
As long as you’re there, as long as he has you, he will be able to keep afloat.
-
20.
Kakuzu turns twenty just two days before his daughter is born.
She’s got his eyes and your hair, his voice and your eerie stare.
You take one look at her and shake your head, sorrow washing over your features.
“What?” He asks, scared for his life. He’s never seen anything as precious as this little thing in your arms, that’s living and breathing and depending on him.
“She hasn’t got my Kekkai Genkai.” You say, the words like a knife to his heart.
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
The nurse, an old woman that helps with births and the like for a few scraps of meat and a few coins on the side, pats your head.
“What a beautiful healthy thing you’ve got. Cherish it, will you?”
He can see the light dim in your eyes. He makes a promise to himself that even though it might flicker, he will make sure that it does not go out. Ever.
-
Kakuzu likes this little life of his.
He likes waking up to his daughter on his chest, gurgling and garbling, grabbing everything her little hands can get. He likes the sight of you feeding her, how her cheeks are plump and warm, her belly full of milk. He likes seeing you in the village unexpectedly, knowing that the bundle tied to your front is the living, breathing proof that you like him enough, that he might even love you.
It makes everything seem a little less burdensome. Passing his father in the streets, pretending not to hear the insults. Gong on missions that aren’t paid nearly enough for the danger they bring. The lack of good meat on the market, the hunger of the people in the streets.
Being able to come home to you, to your soft smiles and his daughters quiet mumbles.
He could live like this, he thinks. Forever, if necessary.
But his daughter is named Fū, after the soft winds that come and go.
When she’s just two, a sickness falls over the village. You do everything you can but just as the wind does not stay, neither does Fū.
-
Silence has fallen over his home.
Silence has fallen over Takigakure.
There are mornings when he hardly gets out of bed. There’s barely enough money in his pocket to afford the few scraps of meat that are offered at the market. But the beer is cheap.
If he drinks one, he can almost forget the way Fū looked in his arms. If he drinks five, he can almost forget she ever existed.
-
There’s a sharp pain in his left leg.
Kakuzu blinks himself awake and tries to pull away.
“Stop it.” Your voice is hard and cold.
“What-”
“You stepped into broken glass.” You tell him. “I’m sewing you back together.”
“Don’t.” He mutters meekly.
“Why not?”
“I don’t-” He stops. He doesn’t know.
“You promised, remember? You wouldn’t become like your father.”
“I’m not-”
“Kakuzu.” You move, your face now above his. You’ve turned younger again. Have you taken all his misery?
“You should just leave me.”
“I will never, ever leave you.” From you, it sounds more like a threat than a promise. He closes his eyes for a second. Fū blinks back at him. He opens his eyes again.
“What do you want?”
“For you to stop drinking.”
“Granted. What else?”
You falter. “I-”
He sits up and grabs your arms. You’re so close now he can taste your breath. It’s a good thing Fū never got your eyes. There’s a truth in them he will probably never get used to.
“I’ll tell you.” You promise. “Not today. But I will tell you.”
-
He does not touch a drop of alcohol ever again.
Six months later he’s one of the most renowned Shinobi of his village, not that it pays much.
Konoha is a steadily rising threat in the distance but at least the crop is good this year, leaving everyone well fed.
When he returns home from yet another mission, bruised and bloodied, loneliness hanging off him like a second skin, you take his hands and press it to your belly.
“I want to be a mother.” You tell him, eyes alight. “Again and again and again.”
Kakuzu almost shatters at the prospect.
He’s barely survived losing Fū. How can he go through that again?
But he owes you. For keeping him alive. For giving him Fū. For liking him enough.
He watches your belly grow and wishes for a way to know if this one will inherit your Kekkai Genkai or the lack of his.
Two days after his second child kicks for the first time, he’s called to the village leader.
The mission is as simple as it’s deadly. Kill Hashirama Senju.
He will not survive. He will not see his child grow up. But he will also not have to see it die.
Still, there’s something he can do about this. Milk the opportunities he’s got.
“What’s in it for me?” He asks, his nose lifted to the sky. “I have a family to feed.”
You’ve never clung to him as tightly as you do the day he leaves.
When you kiss him goodbye he can taste the words you’ll never say.
Don’t go. Don’t leave me behind. I love you.
He bends down and presses a kiss to the swell of your belly.
“Take care of your mother for me.”
-
You must have bewitched him. Cursed him in his sleep.
That’s the only reason he can find why he survives. It had been a suicide mission after all.
He returns home, glad to be alive. He’s stopped at the village entrance, dragged through different caves than those who’d lead him home. To you. To the child that’s about to be born.
Kakuzu misses all of it.
Instead, he’s sentenced to life in prison. And for what? For not dying on a mission that was meant to kill him?
He’s too proud to beg for forgiveness. But he asks for word on you.
They refuse him even that.
All that’s left is Fū, who visits him in his sleep. And you, whose voice he can hear in every waking hour. It’s the only thing keeping him from going insane.
-
The gurgling laughter alerts him.
It’s a sound that doesn’t belong in a prison.
“Shhhh….” A voice whispers. He knows that voice.
He calls your name, desperate to prove to himself that he hasn’t lost his mind.
You step out of the shadows into a lone ray of sunshine breaking through the cave walls. You’ve gotten a little older. Life up there must have been treating you well.
There’s a bundle tied to your front. You step closer, lift the bundle through the bars that have been made to keep out grown men, not a newborn baby.
“Her name is Mito,” you tell him quietly. “She’s got my Kekkai Genkai.”
Mito. To hope, to wish, to desire. It’s a fitting name for the little girl that’s peering up at him. She’s got your eyes, too.
“I’ve not been a good husband to you.” He tells you. “You should leave me. Find someone who’s a better fit for you.”
His words say one thing. His arms cradling Mito close another.
You reach one hand through the bars, cradle his cheek.
“I’m bound to you.” You state. “I will go nowhere without you.”
Kakuzu looks down at Mito, how she fits into his arms just as perfectly as Fū did.
“What life can I give you?” He asks the little girl. Her chubby fingers try to grab the marks on his hands. Prison tattoos.
Your thumb presses against his cheekbone. His eyes flicker up to yours. There’s a determination in them he’s never seen before.
“I’m bound to you.” You repeat. “Not to this village.”
-
Kakuzu feels strangely nostalgic as he leaves the city, four beating hearts and a forbidden Jutsu in his possession.
In a way, it’s just like when you fled his fathers house, took everything with you what you could use.
This time he’s not holding your hand through it.
This time you’re waiting on the other side of the cave system, the little ox wagon hidden from sight.
Mito sleeps soundly when he arrives, bloodied and proud.
She sleeps through everything. Her parents departure from the only place they ever called home. Her father's transformation through Earth Grudge Fear.
He briefly wonders if she notices a difference when she looks at him. If his little girl can tell the difference between the man he was before and the man he is now.
Because he can tell that it has changed you.
You grow older outside of Takigakure. There’s not enough Misery to sustain you. One morning he wakes up to crowfeet around your eyes. He finds a grey hair on your head a week later.
It brings a new fear to his life.
And fear brings out demons he didn’t know he carried.
The little house he built for you lies in ruins over a fit of anger.
Mito hides behind you, fear in her eyes that look so much like you.
He’s breathing hard, doesn’t even know why he flipped in the first place.
You rake a hand through his hair, pull him close until your heads touch.
He can taste your breath, can feel the misery lift off him.
“Tomorrow,” you tell him calmly, “You will leave. Go on a mission. Bring me back a son.”
-
50.
He’s fifty now.
Mito got married last year. He barely sees her anymore.
There’s a clear distaste in her voice when she speaks to him.
She looks at him like he looked at his father.
Does she promise her husband that she will never be like her father?
Does he believe her?
Because Kakuzu has seen what her temper can do.
She’s his daughter after all.
Yet, he believes in the power of names. He believes that she can be what she desires.
His youngest daughter is two months old. You named her Rin in his absence.
He’s missed her birth, Han’s too. But he held your hand through Yagura’s birth, pretended not to shatter on the inside when you took one look at the little boy.
“He’s not got the Kekkai Genkai.”
Still. Yagura might be his favorite child.
He’s a quiet boy. Likes to hide behind Utakata when no one’s looking for him.
Utakata is his oldest living child, found on that first mission that you sent him on.
“Bring me back a son,” you had said and he’d thought it nonsense until he stumbles over him, starving on the side of the road.
-
Kakuzu doesn’t mind coming home now. He doesn’t mind staying away either.
It’s a fragile thing, this thing between the two of you.
Should he call it love? He doesn’t have anything to compare it to.
He knows you’re never lonely, not with the gaggle of kids that run around your feet all day. He knows you won’t age, not when there’s almost always a kid that cries because it got hurt in one way or another. Not when there’s a growing village nearby, of farmers and their women, with a baker and a monk, all of them looking for someone to tell their sorrows to.
He knows his temper is better left outside his home, directed at people who have the misfortune of crossing him at the wrong time in the wrong place.
Yet he longs to be by your side just as much as you long to have him with you.
He can tell by the way you pull him close when he’s home. How there’s no one allowed to sleep in your bed but him.
When you kiss him, he feels like everything will turn out all right, eventually.
When you hold him close he can almost forget the way Fū looked the day she died.
When he’s got his arms around you, nose buried in your hair he can pretend he won’t die the day Yagura dies.
-
67.
Long before he turns seventy, Kakuzu understands how you feel.
He still looks barely past thirty. It might be Earth Grudge Fear or a Kekkai Genkai his Clan never bothered to explore, but you and he both have lived too many years on this cruel earth to still be this young.
He’s so tired.
Mito lost her first child to a famine.
Yagura lost an arm trying to save Utakata from a mob. So what if his son was born in the land of water? That does not take away his right to live!
There will never be an end to this madness, this sorrow.
There will never be an end to your life if you don’t make sure of it.
“Don’t die.” He tells you at night.
“Don’t die.” You tell him when you see him off.
There’s but a thin line separating the two of you from death and it’s the other's presence.
He cannot leave you behind. He will not leave you behind.
If this isn’t love, what is?
-
81.
Kakuzu’s barely over eighty when he meets Pain.
Bright orange hair and eyes as cold and determined as yours.
He pretends he’s not interested. But he is.
He’s long grown impatient of this world. Of its neverending cycle of pain and misery and sorrow. Why must his children die? Why must you suffer to stay alive? Why must he stay away from you to keep you safe yet come back to make sure you keep on living?
Mito barely looks at him now.
She’s learned by now that she can never outrun his temper. It’s etched into her bones.
Yagura has grown almost silent after the loss of yet another of his siblings.
He’s a grown man, hair turning grey, yet he still crawls into his father's lap when he’s home.
He wants to go back to the simple days.
If only he could turn back time.
If only he could hold Fū one more time.
-
91.
Hidan trails behind him.
There’s movement in the bushes.
Hidan reacts immediately, draws his scythe, curses loudly.
“Shut up.” Kakuzu gnarls. His hand shoots out, catches the perpetrator around the neck.
It’s a little girl, Kunai drawn. His mouth turns dry at the sight. Her eyes remind him of his little Rin, never mind the fact that Rin’s already got three kids of her own.
“Let me down!” She screams bloody murder at him. He drops her like she asked for. She runs away with bloody knees.
“Aw, why did you let her get away?” Hidan asks. “I could have sacrificed her.”
“Take grown-ups for that.” He huffs.
They rest in an inn that night.
Kakuzu thinks of you like he always does when he counts his money. He should check in with you soon, to make sure you’ve got enough for the next months. Winter has been hard this year and you’ve picked up another stray. He got a beetle plush at a fair last month, won it in one of those rare moments when Hidan’s occupied with something stupid. He knows Yagura is going to love it.
“We do offer some special fun if you’re interested.” The innkeeper's grin speaks volumes.
“What do you have in mind?” Kakuzu asks. He’ll kill the guy if he gives him a reason to.
And the guy is stupid enough to do so, dragging a filthy little girl out of the kitchen.
It’s the girl that tried to trap them in the woods earlier, clothes filthy from crawling around the kitchen.
“How much for her?” Kakuzu asks before he can stop himself. The girls' eyes remind him of Fū in this low light. The price is low, telling of the man’s desperation. Or maybe he’s just not a good businessman.
“I’ll take her.” He pays upfront and demands another serving of food, pushing it toward the girl who’s now sitting next to him, trying to crawl into herself.
“Eat.” He demands roughly. “You’re nothing but skin and bones.”
“I’ll let you have your fun then.” The innkeeper moves backward, a slimy grin distorting his face.
“Hidan,” Kakuzu’s tone lacks any emotion. “Take care of him. But be quiet about it.”
-
They leave the next morning a little richer - dead innkeepers don’t need any live savings - and with a child slowing them down.
“What’s that all about? You a pedophile?” Hidan eyes the kid curiously.
“Shut up.”
They turn away from the main road.
It’s less than two days over the mountains if they keep moving at this pace. Most of the time he’s got to carry the kid anyway.
“What’s your name?” Hidan asks the first night when they’re sharing a rabbit Kakuzu caught.
“Kushina.” The girl says before directing her eyes at Kakuzu. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Why should I?” He asks roughly. “There’s no meat on you.”
-
A rustling in the bushes gives him away.
Kakuzu stops short, hand outstretched to keep Hidan back.
“Yagura.” He calls. “I’ve already spotted you.”
Yagura steps out with a smile. His hair has turned almost completely grey yet his eyes are that of a child.
“Have you got me a present?” He asks.
“Why would I get you one? You still suck at hiding.”
Yagura just laughs, stills when he spots Kushina.
“Oh! You brought me a friend!” He crouches down in front of the girl, his remaining hand outstretched. “Hi. I’m Yagura. Do you want to meet my Mom? She likes children.”
Kushina looks up at Kakuzu as if asking for directions. He jerks his head, telling her to go.
Yagura whisks her away, never as quick on his feet as when he’s presented with a new sibling.
Hidan’s muttering something behind him.
Right. He shouldn’t have brought him here.
“Listen.” He mutters darkly. “You can turn around and go back to the village we came from. I’m going to meet you there in a week.”
“No way.” Hidan grins. “I want to see what you’ve got hidden in the woods. Some secret family?”
“So what?” Kakuzu gnarls. “If you dare to threaten them-”
Hidan falls silent, face strangely void of any emotion.
“Fine.” He huffs eventually. “But if you’re late, I’ll leave without you.” He turns back, coat swishing behind him as he moves quickly.
Kakuzu’s not sure what he did to be granted such a favor, but he’s not going to second guess it.
He rarely gets time off as it is.
-
Kushina’s already laughing freely with Yagura by the time he has to leave again.
All those years of misery forgotten in just a few days.
You pull him close, hug him tight.
You barely look older than thirty.
Most people tell you that life must have treated you well.
Kakuzu knows the truth.
“What’s your next target?” You ask.
“The main one in the land of fire.” He recalls. “The nine tails.”
“That’s the worst one, right?” You ask. There’s something scratching at the back of your throat.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m so tired.” You tell him. “I’m so tired, Kakuzu. I want to go home.”
“I know.”
He kisses you, tries to tell you through touch what he cannot say with words.
I love you. Don’t leave me. I’m with you till the end.
“This is the last one.” You tell him when he pulls away. “You hear me? No more kids. No more missions.”
He nods. “I promise.” He says but he knows just as well as you do that his promises don’t mean much.
“I love you.” You whisper, for the first time in over eighty years.
You’ve never had to say it before.
Later, when it’s much too late for it, he’ll wonder why you said it.
I'll be brutally honest here and won't sugarcoat things.
TW: toxic relationships, mention of manipulation, stalking and death threats, mention of sex, criminals trying to encourage you to commit theft and murder (y'know, the usual Akatsuki shenanigans)
18+, Minors do not interact!
────────────────────────────────────
Pain/Nagato
• Due to him being the leader of Amegakure and the Akatsuki (and a God), he's busy most of the time. But that doesn't mean he's unaware of the things you're up to
• He uses his rain to track your every move whenever you're out and about in the village and tasks Konan with keeping watch over you. And in case she is away on a mission, he will use one of the other Pains' to make sure you "Stay out of trouble"
• Despite his usually cold and distant demeanor, he can be surprisingly attentive and even affectionate. Not overly of course, but every once in a while, a small remnant of the old Nagato shines through
• Not that big on pet names and actually prefers calling you by your real name. Might relent and call you something like "Treasure" or "Little one"
Konan
• Very sweet and caring girlfriend who tends to be a bit overprotective (can't blame her though *cough* Yahiko *cough*)
• Can be quite possessive too and, although she does give you a lot of freedom, uses her mere presence to intimidate anyone who even thinks of trying to woo, or worse, harm you
• Only you are blessed to see her attentive and loving side. But the thing is: Konan, being a victim of many losses throughout her life, also tends to love bomb you every chance she gets. Means her affection can sometimes be suffocating, even if she genuinely means well
• "Honey", "Sweetie", and "Gorgeous" are her top three favourite pet names for you
Itachi
• One of the few Akatsuki members who actually treats you right and doesn't throw insults at you, threatens to kill you, manipulates you or straight up ignores you
• Attentive and caring. He'll notice and remember the smallest things about you and will try to surprise you with your favourite things as much as he can
• You, along with Sasuke, are his top priority
• Calls you "Dear" and "Love"
• Only calls you by your pet name when the two of you are alone. Not out of embarrassment, but calling you by your pet name is something intimate to him and he'd like to keep such things private
Kisame
• Like Itachi, Kisame is one of the few who treats his partner with respect and sees them as equals and not some annoying baggage that he somehow ended up carrying with him and can do with as he pleases
• Considering his strength, enormous size and past, he's surprisingly gentle with his significant other. Both physically and emotionally, although he will be blunt if something bothers him
• Pretty chill dude who literally never gets jealous and lets you do whatever you want and hang out with whoever you want. Not because he doesn't care, but because he actually got some healthy self-esteem and also has faith in your abilities
• Likes to call you "Shortie" and "Smartass" when he feels mischievous and "Sugar" when he's being genuinely affectionate
Tobi/Obito
• Actually very possessive of you (but in subtle, almost "innocent" way) and makes sure you never stray out of his sight, or, Jashin forbid, get 'too comfy' with others
• He's as shameless as he is chaotic and will flirt with you and even make some inappropriate jokes in front of everyone just to see you get embarrassed and blush
• Teases you a lot in a playful way and always makes up for it by giving you lots and lots of cuddles afterwards
• Whenever he doesn't get his way, he will manipulate and guilt trip you by whining and fake sobbing while making himself look like a kicked puppy until you give in to his demands
• His pet names for you are "Dearie" and "Sweetheart"
Sasori
• If there's even a smidge of humanity left in him, you're definitely the only one who gets to see it
• He understands the concept of love and physical affection. But since he's a literal puppet, he doesn't need either of those. Lucky for you though, he will at least try to meet your physical and emotional needs. Don't expect too much though
• While Sasori is usually good with words and knows how to get his message across flawlessly most of the time, he sometimes says the weirdest and most unsettling shit that he perceives as a genuine compliment, but others find... strange. On several occasions, Sasori has complimented your appearance, comparing it to a true work of art, while in the same sentence expressing his desire to preserve that beauty by turning you into a puppet
• Don't even try your luck with asking him to be intimate with you. The answer will always be a firm "No"
• Doesn't bother with cutesy names and will just call you by your real name. Although, if he feels like it, he'll be calling you "Darling"
Deidara
• Deidara, as we all know, is quite impulsive and often lets his frustrations out on you, either by lashing out on you verbally, or during sex. Though he definitely prefers the latter
• He has a sketchbook full of drawings of you which he's too embarrassed of to admit its existence to you
• Just like Tobi, he's pretty shameless when it comes to flirting with you when others are around. Loves to make sexual jokes and comments and if you wear something he really likes, he'll make sure that everyone knows his honest opinion about it
• "Beautiful" and "Babe" are his go to pet names for you
Hidan
• This man is a walking red flag and dull as a rock when it comes to romance and feelings (and the fact that he's a sadistic psychopath doesn't really help here)
• Doesn't care about anniversaries, mainly because he forgets them. But he's also not big on things like cuddling or hand holding
• Threatens to sacrifice you to Jashin quite regularly whenever he's annoyed by something you did or said
• He's by far the worst when it comes to decency, because that's one of the many things he lacks. When he's horny, the entirety of the Akatsuki will know about it. Whether it be with his inappropriate comments and suggestive choice of words, or the fact that he's raw dogging you somewhere less private
• Doesn't really care much about pet names. When he feels like calling you something 'sweet', it'll be something like "Doll", "Babe" or "Cunt"
Kakuzu
• That old cheapskate doesn't even remember how he ended up with you, or why he even bothers with keeping you around. To him, you're loud, annoying and worst of all, expensive
• Has threatened to kill you on multiple occasions, yet for some reason, he can't really bring himself to. As annoying and bothersome as you are, there's something about you that makes him want to keep you around (Probably the fact that you're good at roasting Hidan, which he finds even more annoying. Either that, or one of his hearts is defect)
• Will spend as little money on you as humanly possible. You want flowers? Go pluck them off a field or something. You want new clothes, like that new jacket you saw the other day? Just walk into the store and take it. What's stopping you? The law? The shop owner? Screw the law and kill the owner
• Mostly just calls you "Brat" or simply refers to you by your real name
Zetsu
• Nobody knows how Zetsu managed to get a s/o, not even Zetsu himself. But he doesn't really mind and enjoys your company regardless
• He's more the quiet type and rather listens to you rambling about your day and will occasionally respond with a few words to show that he's actually listening and interested
• He startles you quite a lot when he suddenly appears in a wall or right in front of you. He always apologizes for it, but deep down he loves to hear your startled yelps
• Since he's technically two people in one body, they both share the duty of being your boyfriend. With black Zetsu being the more serious but also more distant one, who, when he feels like it, plans dates and puts serious thought into the gifts he gets you. Meanwhile white Zetsu is the laid back one, who cracks jokes (mostly inappropriate ones) all the time and initiates physical contact
• Black Zetsu often just calls you "Little one" or "Little flower", while White Zetsu gets a hella lot more creative than that and would unironically call you things like "Pookie" or "Snuggle-muffin"
Pairings: Steve Rogers x f!reader
Themes: Funny? and CUTE. STEVE BEING CUTE WHILE DRUNK.
Summary: Steve got wrecked by Thor's Asgardian Liquor and now he's stumbling under your balcony, reciting Shakepeare's Romeo and Juliet to you.
A/N: I stumbled over a prompt that I have long lost now and this was the fruit.
It was a perfectly quiet night, and you were unwinding on your balcony, half lost in thought, when the unmistakable sound of someone quoting Romeo and Juliet—or at least attempting to—echoed from below.
“O, she doth teach the torches to burn... so—hic—bright!”
Rolling your eyes, you assumed it was some drunk wandering the street. But then, in a voice far louder than necessary, the mystery romantic slurred, “It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night... like a rich jewel in... uh... someone’s ear!”
You sighed, trying to ignore it. But then there was a strange thunk against your temple—a small pebble had just bounced off your head.
“Ow!” you hissed, standing and scanning the area, annoyed—until you spotted Steve Rogers, lurching slightly, down below on the sidewalk.
You watched in amazement as he squinted up at you, attempting to focus and swaying on his feet like a flag in a strong breeze. He seemed to be mentally assembling the pieces of a big plan, his face all determination and zero sense. Another pebble tumbled out of his hand as he wobbled, barely avoiding tripping over his own feet in the process.
“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” he shouted, looking about as stable as a newborn giraffe on roller skates.
You blinked. “Steve... are you okay?”
Steve flung one arm into the air, as if delivering a grand declaration, nearly toppling backward. “It is the east, and Juliet is the... uhm... Juliet is... Juliet!” He thrust a hand forward, fingers spread wide, as if that added extra meaning. “And you—you—are...”
He paused, visibly struggling, his other hand braced against a streetlamp for support.
“A total mess?” you offered, eyebrows raised.
“A goddess!” he slurred, blinking up at you with the most sincere, lovelorn look you’d ever seen. “A bright angel!” he continued, pulling himself up, trying—and failing—to straighten his posture.
For a moment, he seemed to try and get a grip, but his feet betrayed him, and he ended up doing an awkward spin, arms windmilling, before stabilizing himself.
“Steve, how much have you had to drink?” you asked, starting to laugh despite yourself.
“Only... one cup,” he replied, attempting to measure out what he must’ve thought was a “tiny” amount with his fingers. But the gap between his thumb and forefinger was about the size of a baseball. “Well... one Asgardian... goblet.” He grinned up at you, eyes bright. “A small one!”
You tried to bite back a laugh as Steve clasped his hands over his heart, gazing up at you with tragic romance. “Deny thy father and refuse thy—thy name!” He paused, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. “Wait... did I—did I skip a part?”
“Just a few lines,” you teased. “You also hit me with a rock.”
“Oh,” he mumbled, frowning. He bent down, swayed, and then picked up a handful of pebbles. “Doth my lady forgive me?”
“Steve, don’t you dare throw those at me.”
He looked down at the pebbles in his hand, confused. Then, with an exaggerated wink, he tossed them aside like he’d just disposed of a dangerous weapon. “Not a pebble in sight!” He shot you a triumphant, lopsided smile.
“And why art thou—no, wait—why are you out here, Juliet?”
“I live here, Steve,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re the one making a scene.”
But Steve only clasped his heart, looking utterly enchanted. “Oh, fair maiden... would you come down and—uh, wait... no. Would you let down your hair?” He stopped, perplexed. “No, wait, that’s... that’s Rapunzel.” He scratched his head, lost. “Same thing, right?”
With a sigh, you leaned over the balcony railing, looking down at him with a smirk. “Steve, you should probably get home before you accidentally wander into traffic or—”
But he suddenly looked up at you with the most determined expression you’d ever seen, his eyes glassy but oddly focused.
“Doth thou love me?” he cried, one hand raised in a fist of drunken valor. “Say it true, or I shall be...” he paused, struggling, “...a total disaster!”
You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. “Steve Rogers, get your tipsy Shakespearean self home!”
He beamed up at you, his goofy grin full of pure, unfiltered adoration. “Parting is such sweet... uh...” he faltered. “...sorrow?”
Steve, swaying dramatically, looked up at you with a sudden, steely determination that only a man in his state could manage. “If thou shall not come down… then I… I shall climb up!” He pointed to the fire escape, his face alight with misguided heroism.
“Steve, please don’t—”
But it was too late. He grabbed the bottom rung with a graceless, lurching motion, grinning up at you with sheer triumph. “I’m coming, my fair maiden!”
With all the poise of a baby deer, he hoisted himself up, grunting as he fumbled his way onto the next step. Each rung seemed to be a new, Herculean task as he struggled to stay upright, clutching the railings like his life depended on it. His foot slipped once, making him lurch sideways, but he shot you a reassuring thumbs-up, completely oblivious to the danger.
“Steve! You’re gonna hurt yourself! Seriously, get down!” you called, half horrified, half laughing.
“Fear not, my lady!” he slurred, clinging to the railing and taking a very, very slow step up. “I am... coming for you!”
As he ascended, he attempted another line from the play, fumbling it badly. “Uh… But soft! What... yonder... light and window... um... something?” He shot you a sheepish grin. “Hold on... almost... got it.”
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wobbling and mumbling fragments of Shakespeare, he reached your level on the fire escape. He extended a hand dramatically, nearly toppling over in the process, and declared, “I have arrived!”
You laughed, hands on your hips as he wobbled in front of you. “Steve, that was a lot more ‘Romeo in need of a medic’ than ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ You’re absolutely out of it.”
He blinked, swaying as he tried to focus on you. “I came for thee,” he said proudly, managing to stand up straight—though his grip on the railing suggested it was doing most of the work.
Steve, still gripping the railing for dear life, looked at you with a mischievous glint in his glassy eyes.
“Fair Juliet… couldst thou… come a bit closer?” He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers invitingly, his face lit with pure, drunken delight. “I have something… uh… very important to tell thee.”
You arched a skeptical brow. “Steve, I’m pretty sure you can say it from there.”
He squinted, trying to look tragic but only succeeding in looking adorably pouty. “Nay… ‘tis… a secret of the heart,” he slurred, placing a hand over his chest with a lopsided grin. “I must whisper it… so only thou can hear it.”
Rolling your eyes but grinning despite yourself, you leaned a little closer, watching as his gaze flicked from your face to your lips.
“Alright, Romeo, what’s this ‘secret of the heart?’” you asked, half-expecting him to spout more mangled Shakespeare.
But instead, as soon as you were close enough, Steve leaned forward, his hand sliding around the back of your neck, and he pressed his lips to yours in a soft, surprisingly gentle kiss from across the railing.
Caught off guard, you froze, feeling the warmth of his mouth against yours. Then, with a laugh bubbling up, you pulled back slightly, blinking in shock as he gave you a pleased, slightly dazed smile.
“There it is,” he whispered, eyes twinkling. “My secret… is that thou art… perfect.” His gaze softened, and he gave a dopey smile. “And... very kissable.”
You shook your head, laughing. “Alright, Romeo. That was smooth—but I think it’s time to get you inside before you ‘heroically’ declare your love to the whole neighborhood.”
He grinned, still clutching the railing, looking like he’d just conquered the world. “Only for thee,” he slurred, leaning into your touch as you helped him down, his expression dreamy. “Only... ever for thee.”
Just as you were helping Steve down from the fire escape, a voice floated up from the street below.
“Steve! Where the hell are you?” It was Bucky, sounding frustrated and more than a little exasperated. You could see him pacing the sidewalk, looking around like he was on some kind of ridiculous rescue mission.
Steve’s eyes widened, and he pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked at you.
“Shhh!” he whispered, grinning like a kid playing hide-and-seek. His attempt at silence was immediately betrayed by a giggle that escaped his mouth, and he put both hands over his lips, eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Steve, I know you’re around here somewhere! Get down here before you fall off something,” Bucky called out, still searching.
Steve, in a fit of tipsy brilliance, looked at you with a conspiratorial smirk and pointed toward your open window beside the balcony. Without a word, he started squeezing himself through, contorting like he thought he could make himself invisible in the process.
“Steve, what are you doing?” you whispered, half-laughing, as he awkwardly wedged his shoulders into the window, one leg hanging out, struggling like he was trying to sneak into a bank vault. He gestured wildly for you to help, but his clumsy movement only made him even more noticeable.
He leaned forward, eyes wide, and whispered, “Shhh! The enemy approaches!” He stifled another giggle, clearly thinking this was the funniest thing in the world.
Just then, Bucky looked up, and Steve flailed dramatically, accidentally bumping his head against the window frame with a muted “ow,” then snorted, laughing harder. He pressed his finger over his mouth again, hushing you through breathy laughter.
“What the…” Bucky stared, his gaze following Steve’s ridiculous pose as he tried to disappear through your window, half-in and half-out, his other leg kicking as he tried to haul himself through.
“Hey!” Bucky called, hands on his hips. “Rogers, get down here. Right now.”
Steve froze, peeking over the window frame like a deer caught in headlights, then gave you a pleading look, as if you were his partner in crime.
“Shh! The man downstairs… he cannot know I’m here,” Steve slurred dramatically, squinting as if Bucky were some kind of Shakespearean villain.
You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Bucky’s eyes narrowed.
“Steve, you’re on the fire escape, not a secret lair. Get down before you fall off and end up in the hospital.”
Steve waved a dismissive hand, a drowsy, lopsided grin on his face. “I’m in safe hands, Bucky! I have my fair maiden to protect me,” he announced proudly, glancing at you with such conviction that you had to stifle your laughter again.
Bucky groaned, his exasperation palpable as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you’ve got one minute to say goodbye to your ‘fair maiden,’ then you’re coming with me,” he called, crossing his arms.
Steve turned back to you with a goofy grin, still wedged halfway through the window.
“Didst thou hear that?” he whispered in a loud stage voice, pointing at Bucky. “The villain gives us but one more minute. But it shall be a glorious minute!”
You rolled your eyes, pushing him gently. “Alright, Romeo. Time to head home.”
With one last dramatic sigh, he extracted himself from your window, blew you a clumsy, theatrical kiss, and began his wobbly descent down the fire escape. As Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder, trying to steer him down the street, Steve spun around, clutching Bucky’s arm like he was clinging to the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.
“Unhand me, Mercutio!” Steve cried, throwing his other arm up with all the grandeur of a Shakespearean actor. “Thou art but a hindrance to my love! Dost thou not know I’m with Juliet?”
Bucky froze, staring at Steve in complete disbelief. “What did you just call me?” His expression was halfway between horrified and annoyed, eyebrows knitted in utter confusion.
Steve pulled himself up, looking deeply wounded, his hand over his heart.
“Mercutio!” he slurred dramatically, pointing a shaky finger at Bucky. “You are the friend that doth betray me! I shall not be parted from my love!”
Bucky blinked, visibly trying to process this. “Mercutio? Steve, what the—” He looked up at you, helplessly gesturing at Steve. “I’m Mercutio now?”
Steve waved a dismissive hand. “Alas, yes, for you wouldst steal me away from my Juliet,” he said, glaring with the most intense puppy eyes you’d ever seen.
“Steve, I’m not Mercutio,” Bucky groaned, looking over at you as if hoping you could talk some sense into him. “You are absolutely out of your mind.”
But Steve seemed lost in his own world. He placed a hand over his heart, gazing longingly up at you again.
“Juliet,” he called to you, his voice full of melodrama. “Mercutio hath come to tear us asunder.”
Bucky’s face scrunched up in pure irritation. “Steve, I’m trying to get you home before you fall flat on your face. You’re gonna thank me in the morning.”
Steve shook his head, looking at Bucky like he was the ultimate betrayer. “Mercutio… thou art a traitor,” he declared, voice wobbling with fake tragedy.
Bucky rolled his eyes. “I swear, if you call me Mercutio one more time—”
“Mercutio!” Steve interrupted, leaning against him dramatically. “Wouldst thou poison my love? Dost thou come between us to ruin the most beautiful thing?”
Bucky let out a defeated sigh, looking over at you with an expression that screamed, Help me. “Your ‘Mercutio’ is about to drag you home, Rogers.”
But Steve just shook his head again, mumbling about “betrayal” and “unhand me, knave,” as Bucky steered him away, calling one last time over his shoulder to you, “Fear not, Juliet! I shall return! Mercutio’s treachery shall not prevail!”
You stifled a laugh as Bucky, looking thoroughly done with it all, muttered to himself, “Mercutio… unbelievable.” He gave you one final, apologetic look as Steve continued to mumble protests about “Mercutio’s interference,” until they finally disappeared down the street, Bucky still muttering, “I’m not Mercutio.”
Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u
I was thinking about this while half asleep but the more I think about it the more it makes sense!!
Okay so hear me out, Kisame with a tiny pet kitten..
Like he found it orphaned while out on a mission w/ Itachi and decided to scoop it up into his pocket and keep it to raise as his own.
You’d expect a guy like him to have some type of exotic fish or a huge dog but instead he has the cutest fluffiest kitten that easily fits in your palm with the silliest name ever
And I can see him getting emotional over it growing up and getting too big for him to carry around in his palm or being genuinely offended whenever it waddles to Itachi instead of him 😭😭
Normalize big scary men with cute little pets 🗣️🙏🏾💕💕
when i was a kid i decided that killing people was bad therefore war was bad therefore the military was evil. and adults would tell me it's more nuanced than that and i would understand when i grew up. well i'm a grown up now and idk i still think that killing people is bad and war is bad and the military is evil
۶ৎ "if you want me you can watch me on your video phone.ᐟ"
making a sex tape with clark kent for his nights away from home
700+ wc
You stood in front of Clark wearing a delicate white babydoll dress, the sheer lace barely covering your breasts, and the short hem brushing the tops of your thighs. Nothing underneath. The soft fabric made you feel both innocent and sinful at the same time. Clark sat on the edge of the bed, phone in his hand, eyes already dark with want as he looked at you.
“You look so pretty,” he said, voice low. He lifted the phone and started recording, the red light blinking steadily. “Turn for me, baby. Let me see all of you.” You did a slow spin, feeling the lace sway against your skin. When you faced him again, Clark’s gaze had dropped to the hem of your dress. “Come here,” he murmured.
You walked over and climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs. He kept the phone raised, filming as he kissed you deeply, one hand sliding under the lace to cup your bare ass, making you whimper in his mouth. His fingers squeezed gently before he pulled back just enough to look at the screen.
“Lift the dress a little,” he instructed softly. You obeyed, tugging the hem up until your pussy was exposed. Clark zoomed in slowly, the camera focusing on your already glistening folds. “Look at that,” he breathed, voice thick. “Already so wet for me.”
He set the phone on the nightstand, propped up so it captured both of you, then pulled you closer. His mouth found your neck, kissing and sucking lightly as his fingers slipped between your legs, stroking your clit in slow circles. You whimpered, grinding down against his hand. Clark groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin.
“Gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he whispered. “Want this tape to keep me company when I’m gone for weeks.”
He lifted you slightly, freed himself from his boxers, and guided his thick cock to your entrance. You sank down slowly, gasping at the stretch as he filled you completely. Clark’s head fell back, a deep moan escaping him. “Fuck, baby… you feel incredible.”
He let you set the pace at first, hands on your hips as you rode him. The dress rode up around your waist, the lace brushing against your skin with every movement. Clark kept glancing at the phone, making sure it was catching everything: the way your pussy stretched around his cock, your flushed face, the little moans you couldn’t hold back.
After a while, he flipped you onto your back, still buried deep inside you. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and started thrusting harder, deeper, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room. “Look at the camera, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough. “Let it see how pretty you look when I’m fucking you.”
You turned your head toward the phone, lips parted, eyes glassy with pleasure. Clark groaned at the sight and fucked you harder, one hand reaching down to rub your clit. “You’re gonna come for me,” he murmured. “Want to watch you fall apart all over me.”
You came hard, crying out his name as your orgasm crashed through you, walls clenching tight around him. Clark kept thrusting through it, groaning low and deep. Right as he was about to finish, he pulled out with a shaky breath. He knelt between your spread legs, stroking his cock fast and hard.
Thick ropes of cum shot across your stomach and chest in heavy spurts, painting the delicate white lace of your babydoll dress. He kept stroking, groaning deeply as more and more spilled out, covering your skin in warm, sticky streaks until it dripped down your sides. “Fuck… look at you,” he panted, eyes dark with satisfaction as he watched his cum glisten on your body.
He set the phone down, ending the recording, then, with gentle hands, he cleaned you up carefully, wiping away every trace of his release from your skin and the lace. Once you were clean, he pulled you into his arms, wrapping the blanket around both of you.
“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing hair away from your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You nodded, still catching your breath, and curled into his chest.
Clark smiled, holding you close. “I’m gonna watch that every single night I’m away,” he whispered. “And when I come home… I'm gonna fuck you again while we watch the tape.”
.
.
.
i would never make a sex tape but like for him.... i would be the #1 pornstar idc
"that time of the month" "monthly visitor" "feminine hygiene products" GRRAH!!! SHUT UP SHUT UP!!! PERIOD!! MENSTRUATION!!!! TAMPONS!!! PADS!! MENOPAUSE!!!!!!!!!!!
pairing: clark kent x bombshell!reader (part one) (3.0K words)
summary: as one of the daily planet's most popular gossip column writers, clark is surprised to learn you're a genius when it comes to superman. he's also surprised to learn you aren't all heels and makeup
warnings & content: bombshell!reader, female reader, not technically bimbo reader but others assume so, clark is whipped from the start and somehow becomes more whipped, reader double majored in stats and journalism go smart girls go!
٠ ࣪⭑ part two can be found here!
If there were two people who talked the most at the Daily Planet, it would be Cat Grant and yourself.
The two main gossip columnists. You were both brutal. Once, Jimmy was assigned a story with you. He requested to never work with you in the gossip column again after just six hours. Perry agreed. He also never assigned you anything but gossip because the one time he did? You wrote a slam piece on both baseball teams you were assigned to write about.
Perry realized very early on you were a gossip column writer only. And he was okay with that.
Cat and you were always stunning the offices and newsrooms. Hair, makeup, and pretty outfits every single day, even if you were sick or it was storming out. You always looked good. That was the fun part about the job, and you took it seriously. The fashion, the presence, the image. It wasn’t just for the sake of being seen. It was armor. Lipstick was war paint, heels were your battle cry, and your notes app was a finely-honed blade.
Between you and Cat, there wasn’t a single scandal that went unnoticed or unpublished. You had sources no one else could reach, contacts who owed you favors, and a sixth sense for when something was about to blow up. You weren’t just gossip columnists, you were watchdogs in stilettos.
And Clark? He wasn’t sure what to make of you at first. He’d never met someone who could talk circles around Cat Grant and casually bring up alien migration patterns over lunch. He also didn’t understand how someone could write a piece titled Lex Luthor: Lots of Money, but Hard to Appease? and still manage to interview senators by the end of the week.
You were loud. Smart. A little too clever. But no one could deny it. Every time you walked into the room, the story followed.
And eventually, so did Clark.
“Clark, you gotta hear this, man,” Jimmy’s chair wheeled over beside Clark’s desk. “She’s talking nonsense. Like.. smart nonsense.”
Clark glanced up, already a little wary. “What is it this time?”
Jimmy pointed, discreet but desperate, toward the far end of the bullpen where you and Cat Grant were deep in conversation. “She’s doing something really weird. I walked past her desk and heard numbers. Equations. Graphs. Clark, she’s talking about Superman like he’s a physics dissertation.”
Clark blinked, turning just slightly in his chair to get a better look. You were standing near the coffee station, one hand wrapped around a pink mug that read Panic Then Write, the other animatedly gesturing as you explained something to Cat, who, for her part, looked like she was either being converted into a new religion or trying really hard to figure out whatever you were saying to her.
“—and that’s exactly why his maximum velocity during vertical ascension contradicts the standard gravitational drag equation,” you said brightly. Your hands waved in the air, manicured nails glistening in the light. “Like, there’s no way his flight path over the city last Friday didn’t involve some level of gravitational lensing. Did you see the air pressure ripple? I mean, it wasn’t visible, obviously, but the birds dipped midair. I have a theory, I’m working on it.”
Cat blinked. “You’re telling me you can tell how fast Superman was going based on bird migration patterns?”
“Oh, totally. Well, that and minor wind displacement across a five-block radius. Also, the security cam footage from Ninth and Fulton glitched at the exact time he crossed into frame. It’s like an energy signature thing. I track it in my spreadsheets.” You said it like it was the most simple thing in the world, like anyone else could be doing it.
“Spreadsheets,” Cat repeated, like she wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or afraid.
Clark stared. So did Jimmy.
“She has spreadsheets,” Jimmy whispered, horrified. It was like every assumption he had previously assumed about you was being thrown out the window.
Clark tried very, very hard not to smile. “About Superman.”
“She’s obsessed, man! She said his cape flutters at a different rate depending on the altitude! She compared it to solar panel kinetics! Who does that?” Jimmy’s exclamation nearly gathered your attention. Jimmy just gave you a small, hesitant nod, making you shrug and continue with your conversation.
“Apparently she does,” Clark murmured, voice a little too fond. He watched your face brighten again as you began explaining something else to Cat.
Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You’re into this, aren’t you? You like that she’s a walking Super-statistics manual.”
“I admire her dedication to research,” Clark said simply. Sure, it was the dedication, but this was the first time Clark was actually seeing a whole new side to you.
You were always gorgeous. It was probably the first thing Clark noticed about you. But he knew you had passion, riveting storytelling abilities, incredible grammar and punctuation. Clark knew you were always on time and always listened to people intently whenever they spoke to you. He knew you loved every single color of the rainbow, always greeted everyone in the morning, and made time during your busy day to gossip with Cat. Clark learned a lot about you very quickly.
So, learning you were actually a genius was something he really liked. Really liked. More than your pretty eyes, bright smile, and endearing voice. Especially because you zeroed in on him. Superman.
“She’s got a color-coded chart titled Flight Patterns vs. Rescue Probability Ratios,” Jimmy hissed, hands flailing around the air. “I saw it with my very own eyes!”
Clark smiled. “That’s actually.. not a bad idea.”
Jimmy groaned. “Oh my god. It’s worse than I thought. We’re gonna find you one day married and buried under pie charts.” No, Clark’s crush was not a secret.
Across the room, you caught Clark’s eye—mid-sentence, mid-rant, mid-explaining the temperature fluctuation when Superman breaks the sound barrier—and grinned at him like you knew he was listening.
Clark gave a small wave.
You waved back.
Clark had always been such a sweetie since day one. He brought you coffee, even if he just went over to the machine to get it for you. Sickeningly sweet, just the way you liked it. You weren’t stupid in any way, shape, or form, so you knew Clark was whipped. Just like how everyone else knew.
He held doors open without making a show of it, remembered how you liked your pens (gel, fine point, purple ink), and always pretended not to notice when you’d start your day with gossip but end it quoting Nietzsche over lunch. He complimented your writing like it was easy—like it was fact. He would even sometimes split his lunch with you if you even briefly commented on how his looked better than yours.
And yeah, sure, he looked like the kind of guy who should be on the cover of GQ: Farmer Edition, all broad shoulders and soft flannels. But he didn’t use that to his advantage. If anything, he blushed too easily and said excuse me even when you bumped into him.
Clark just always had your attention. You loved his silly little jokes, how he would ask you for help with his article even though he really just wanted your opinion, and you especially loved how he looked at you with his bright blue eyes.
And Clark was always there when some new intern or Steve insulted you. You were a total bombshell, yes, but that didn’t mean you were stupid. Clark knew you weren’t stupid, you knew you weren’t stupid, even Steve knew—but he just liked to push your buttons.
Once, Steve had muttered something under his breath about how your lipstick probably took more time than your research. You didn’t even flinch. You were used to it. But before you could reply with something scathing and Pulitzer-worthy, Clark looked up from his desk and said, calm as ever, “She’s written more front pages this quarter than you have in your career, Steve.” Just like that. No raised voice. No dramatics. Steve blinked. Went back to pretending he was important.
You had just smiled sweetly, twirled your pen between perfectly manicured fingers, and softly said, “Thanks, Clark,” like your heart wasn’t thudding in your chest.
He always had your back. When people underestimated you because of the heels or the tight skirts or the fact that you said like and wore rhinestone barrettes, he never did. Not once. And maybe that’s what made your heart twist a little, more than the compliments or the coffee or even the soft way he said your name. The fact that he saw you. No filters, no assumptions. Just you.
Maybe he was your soft spot.
Maybe.
This last fight had been rough for Clark. Millions worth of property damage and a lot of angry people. In his defense, he didn’t mean for the fight to get so out of hand, but to be fair, no one else was fighting that thing. So really, was he fully to blame? Where was The Justice Gang when you needed them?
Talk shows were already speculating if Superman had lost it. The morning news ran slow-motion clips of the destruction on a loop, conveniently skipping the part where he dragged a dozen civilians out of the blast zone with one arm. The word reckless was being thrown around like candy. The city was hard to please. Save them with minimal damage, they’re happy. Save them with anything more, they’re not so happy anymore.
The newsroom was all different conversations about whether Superman was in the right or not. Of course, most of the people Clark surrounded himself were mainly on his side, but they did have opinions.
“I’m just saying, did he need to take down a whole building?” Jimmy asked.
Lois sighed, flipping through her notes without looking up. “It was already empty. Evacuated ten minutes before the hit. Clark wrote that in his piece.”
“Yeah, I know, I read the piece,” Jimmy said, hands up. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”
Steve Lombard chimed in from a few desks down, clearly not playing devil’s advocate. “Maybe if he was smarter about it, we wouldn’t be looking at a six-block reconstruction. Just saying.”
“Maybe if you were smarter about it, we wouldn’t still be running that disastrous opinion column you call journalism.”
Clark looked up to see you walk in. Blue blouse, red skirt, red nails, blue headband. You were fully decked out in Superman’s—his—colors. Clark felt his brain glitch in real time. It felt like a system error and complete crash was actively happening as you walked up to the group, grabbing your chair to swivel up and join the conversation.
Lois looked up from her notepad, one perfectly arched brow raised. “What’s with the patriotism?”
You gave a dazzling smile as you sat, crossing your legs with practiced flair. “Just.. showing a little solidarity.”
“With Superman?” Steve asked, incredulous.
“Obviously with Superman,” you shot back. “You think I’m wearing red and blue for the Meteors?” Clark’s brain continued its slow descent into chaos. You looked like every dream he’d never admitted having. Bright, bold, stunning and fiercely on his side. And you looked really good in blue.
Jimmy leaned in, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You do realize you're basically baiting everyone who’s mad about the damage, right?”
“Good,” you said sweetly, reaching for the coffee Lois had just set down for herself. You took a sip like it was yours. It was the sweetest, maybe even sweeter than yours with all the sugar she dumped into it. “They can be mad and wrong. Multitasking is real.”
Steve leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “You all act like he’s flawless.”
You gave him a look. “Nobody’s flawless, Steve. But Superman was the only one fighting that thing. It’s easy to criticize from behind a keyboard when you’re not the one getting thrown into buildings.”
Clark’s chest warmed. You weren’t just defending him—you were wearing your defense like a battle flag. You turned slightly, catching Clark’s eye. “And for the record, he saved a lot more than he destroyed.” Clark tried to form a response, but his mouth had completely forgotten how to function.
Lois smirked, clearly clocking the interaction. “Alright, Wonder Woman 2.0, let’s hear it. What’s your angle today?”
You leaned back in your chair, legs still crossed, twirling a pen between your fingers. “Same angle as always, Lois. The truth. It’s not about perfection—it’s about intention. Superman cares. That’s more than I can say for some of the people complaining about the cleanup from their luxury apartments uptown.”
Clark looked down at his screen, a dopey grin tugging at his lips. He felt his heart beating a whole new pattern. It might as well have been spelling your name in morse code.
Then, you reached into your bag, pulled out your tablet, and tapped the screen a few times. “By the way,” you added casually, “I ran a breakdown of structural losses versus casualty prevention. Want to guess how many lives he saved by demolishing that building?”
Steve groaned. “Please don’t say spreadsheets.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely saying spreadsheets,” you grinned, flipping the screen around. “I cross-referenced city evacuation timelines, mapped the creature’s path, and ran predictive models based on its movement patterns. Taking out that building redirected the debris zone by a 42.7% margin. It shielded half the block.”
Lois raised her brows. “You’re telling me Superman used a ten-story office complex as a wall?”
“I’m saying,” you replied, “he thought fast, acted faster, and made the smartest call in an impossible situation. And anyone who can’t see that is probably mad he did more damage to their ego than their rent-controlled apartment.”
“Remind me again of how you know all of this?” Steve sighed like it was a chore to listen to your rambles.
You shrugged, “Double majored in Statistics and Journalism. Thought it may come into hand at some point in my career. Though, I did always hope I would just do gossip.”
“I actually did not know this,” Jimmy raised a hand as he interrupted. “I just thought you were some kind of natural genius.”
“Yeah, no. She has never brought this up,” Lois nodded in agreement, also quite perplexed.
Steve just stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “But you.. only write gossip? Why not do an actual column that people read?”
You ignored the comment. Cat punched his shoulder anyways. “Because gossip moves markets, sweetie. You think LuthorCorp’s stocks tanked last month because of their quarterly report? No. It was because I leaked that Luthor skipped the mayor’s fundraiser and was seen at an off-books dinner with a mystery guest. Which, for the record, was his own clone.”
Slowly, Jimmy leaned over to Clark, not taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, man. You were so right for getting a crush on her,” he whispered, slightly shaking his head in disbelief.
“I—that doesn’t—”
“You’re wrapped around her finger. You’ve got dibs,” Jimmy whispered back, patting Clark’s shoulder, and swiveling back to his desk.
Clark opened and closed his mouth like a Windows error message. “I don’t—dibs isn’t—Jimmy, that’s not how—” He turned halfway in his chair, gesturing vaguely, but Jimmy had already slipped on his headphones and was pretending to work while very obviously still listening.
Clark sighed, dragging a hand over his face, just as you glanced over from your seat, your pen poised dramatically between your fingers. “Something wrong, Clark?” you asked, head tilted, expression effortlessly sweet and soft, the way you always looked at him.
“Oh, no, no,” Clark shook his head. “Just, uh.. amazed. At you..your calculations.”
You blinked, then smiled, soft and warm like sunlight through a window. “Really? You think they’re okay?”
Clark let out a short, almost breathless laugh. “Okay? They’re incredible. I mean, I didn’t even notice half the things you picked up on. The migration patterns? The glitch timing? That’s.. genius.”
You blushed, glancing down at your notes like you needed to double-check them now. “I just.. like looking closely at things, I guess. Patterns make me feel like the world makes more sense.”
He nodded slowly, watching you. You were a goddess walking among men. Which said a lot, coming from the man that was compared to gods. “You make things make more sense.”
You looked up again, surprised, and your smile grew just a little more shy. “Thank you, Clark. Really. That means a lot coming from you.” There was a quiet moment between you—just long enough for the newsroom to blur around the edges—and then you added, voice even softer, “You’ve always been kind to me. Even before I ever proved I was more than the gossip girl. I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you for that.”
Clark’s heart thudded. “You never needed to.”
“I still want to,” you said. “So.. thank you.”
And he swore, right then, that if he wasn’t already hopelessly gone for you, that would’ve been the exact moment he fell.
Lois turned to Jimmy. “Is she whipped for him too?”
“I think we just found her soft spot,” Jimmy muttered, in literal disbelief that, nerd, Clark Kent, somehow was pulling bombshell, you. The unobtainable girl in the newsroom. The one every guy had a secret, small crush on. He exhaled. “You know what? Good for them. I mean, it's confusing and a little terrifying, but good for them.”
Lois smiled knowingly. “Give it a week. One of them’s gonna crack.”
Watching them closely, Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “My money’s on Clark.”
“Please,” Lois scoffed, waving Jimmy off with her hand. “That girl’s gonna fold like a lawn chair the second he says something too soft with those stupid eyes.”
They both turned back to their work, though neither one stopped listening. Not when you giggled. Not when Clark looked at you like you hung the stars. And definitely not when the entire bullpen slowly started to realize:
The gossip columnist and the golden boy were both very off the market.
There is something sooo deeply American going on with Seattle Children’s Hospital that I think would brick the minds of everyone outside of the United States.
The CHILDRENS hospital has to restrict helipad landings because of noise complaints from the wealthy home owners living next to it. Only the most urgent patients can land directly at the hospital. While the other kids have to land a mile away and are taken to the hospital via ambulance. Which is an unnecessary risk to the child’s life and also makes the families pay for the helicopter AND ambulance.
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