#ummmm yeah

[femmedummy]

fucking me in front of your friends as a way of bragging

[silverwings920]

Hi! I have this idea about for an fic : Kaiser with a very independent mc well, the mc is used to doing things on her own, so she almost never asks Kaiser for help... as if she doesn't need him lol. Until one day, his mc finally asks him for help with something, maybe something small like helping her open a jar or passing her the charger and I feel like for Kaiser, even though he's very subtle, it would be like "FINALLY SHE ASKED ME FOR HELP!" or something like that hahah

Anytime

a/n: sorry i'm putting this out so late. took me forever to decide whether i wanted a sillier or softer tone for this, and then another forever to finish editing it (in part cuz i was already working on other stuff, i need to stop putting more things on my plate, whoops) this was such a cute idea, and while i love teasing him, i think this ask plays into kaiser's longing for love, and how much effort he's put into making sure audience's loved him, or at least his persona, that he doesn't really know what to do with the one person he actually wants to love him not asking anything of him... or something. idk, i kinda got philosophical there lol

You’d never meant to make it a thing. It was just who you were: self-propelled, quick to step in, quicker to step up. If something needed doing, you did it. If something needed fixing, you handled it before anyone else even noticed a problem existed. And Kaiser… well. He was many things. Loud. Gorgeous. A touch dramatic. Capable in his own right. But you’d long since grown used to moving through life under your own steam, so leaning on him simply didn’t occur to you.

He noticed, though.

Like the time you carried a heavy box up two flights of stairs while he followed behind you, hands in his pockets, talking about a theory he had on offensive formations. You never asked him to take it. Not because you refused help, but because it was doable. Efficient. Simple. He only fell silent when you set the box down without a single huff and said, “Okay. What were you saying about the wing line?”

Or the morning you unscrewed the broken light fixture yourself. Kaiser came home twenty minutes later, saw the ladder out, and paused in the doorway with a baffled, almost offended look.

“You didn’t wait for me?” he’d said.

“You weren’t here,” you answered, already putting the tools away.

He didn’t argue, but he stared at the light like it had personally betrayed him by being repaired without his involvement.

He never said it out loud—not then, not in any of the dozen small scenarios that followed—but it chipped at him in a complicated way. Because Kaiser liked being relied on. Not out of ego, not really. It was the intimacy of it, the quiet way needing someone tied you together. For someone who strutted through public life with all the brightness of a star, performed for it meticulously, he was painfully soft in private moments; he wanted to matter. To you especially. To be useful. To be the person you looked to. He’d never admit that wanting so openly felt frightening.

So he never pushed. Never complained. He just filed each moment away, tucks of longing he tried to smooth out with humor or swagger or silence.

Which is exactly why, when it finally happened, it hit him like a lightning strike.

You were at the stove that evening, halfway through prepping dinner. Something simmered behind you, something chopped in a bowl beside you, something needed rinsing in the sink. And on the counter: a jar you’d just taken out of the pantry.

You tried twisting the lid once, barely even testing it, before glancing over your shoulder.

“Kaiser,” you said casually, pointing your chin at it. “Open that for me?”

He froze.

You didn’t notice. Your attention already back on the knife, moving through vegetables with practiced rhythm. To you, it was a matter of efficiency; he was right there, unoccupied, lounging at the edge of the counter scrolling through his phone. You could open it, of course. You could open ten of them. Easy. But it was faster for him to twist a lid while you kept dinner on schedule.

To Kaiser, it was an earthquake.

He set his phone down too quickly, almost fumbling it. Picked up the jar like it was delicate. Reverent. Sacred.

It opened with a soft pop.

“…Here,” he said, voice a notch quieter than normal.

You hummed, took it without looking, and kept working. He stayed beside you. Close, almost expectant. But you didn’t see the way he watched your hands, your shoulders, your expression. You didn’t see the stunned pride blooming into something molten and warm.

Dinner went normally enough. Conversation moved, but Kaiser… felt different. Not silent, but softer. More muted around the edges. He still told you about the book he bought, but he didn’t embellish every detail. He didn’t go through his usual theatrics searching for your reaction. He offered critiques, but fewer. And when he settled at the table, he didn’t dominate it with his usual extravagant commentary.

You noticed. Of course you did.

You replayed the last couple hours in your head. Nothing you said was sharp. Nothing happened out of the ordinary. He was still teasing, still leaning into your shoulder every now and then. But there was something beneath the surface, something searching, almost shy.

And then it clicked.

The jar.

Your chest warmed. You hadn’t meant to give him anything special, but apparently you had. And as the evening wound down and you both slipped into nighttime routine, you saw the way he kept glancing at you. Soft. Uncertain. Hopeful without wanting to be.

You climbed into bed, reached across the blankets toward the nightstand on his side, then paused deliberately.

“Kaiser?” you asked.

He looked up instantly.

“Mm?”

“Could you pass me the charger?”

His breath hitched, so small but so sharp you almost laughed. He grabbed the charger immediately, almost too fast, placing it gently in your hand like it was something glass-fragile.

You thanked him softly.

Kaiser’s shoulders eased, something bright and wordless blooming in his expression. When he slid into bed beside you, he didn’t hide behind theatrics or sarcasm. He tucked himself close, kissed the top of your shoulder, and whispered—barely audible, like it wasn’t meant for the air at all:

“Anytime.”

And he meant it. Every shade of it. Every version of being needed, even in the smallest ways. Maybe especially in the smallest ways.

Because to him, that was the first time you’d let him hold a corner of your world.

And he was going to treasure it.

[bakaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa]

umm ok 🐛

[mrsdotleonkennedy]

a snippet of this clark fic im writing.

possible cw or tws: suggestive, no caps cuz i was in a mood and i cba to change it, very implied age gap???, i have never published a fic before ever before ever even ever????

you were ‘good girl’ now? jeeeeezz….

how couldn’t you help but find yourself nodding along dumbly as he comforted you? hanging onto his every word, every brief touch? this was superman paying you all this attention, after all. and sure— clark was already somewhat intimidating to you before, even with his dorky, good-natured mannerisms.

(i mean come on…at first sight? he was an older guy… assigned to mentor you suited with a chiseled jaw, dark curls and the stature of a fucking linebacker despite being a so-called journalist.)

but the whole weight of this specific conversation? it had a certain thickness to it. the way his words hung in the air with less professionalism and more desperation. the way he touched you, fingers lazily slipping from where he had tipped your head up. you had to squint to see it or you’d feel like you were going insane.

it was the same exact way his fingerstips grazed you passingly in the office with somehow lazy but calculated precision: casual, sweet and appropriate, and even if it felt weird to say? almost…. fucking parental, what with his cheery-smiled greetings of ‘hey, kid!’ or… ‘pssstt… kid, come have a look at this.’

yeah right.

yet it still felt so different now. like this. late in the office, close together, discussing a secret only the two of you knew. intimate. so intimate it made your throat feel like it was clamping shut.

fuck.

you were spiraling like some horny teenager. and to be fair, you technically were the equivalent with your hormones raging so much at the pure sight of him.

not to mention you were ovulating.

then again… the name drop of ‘good girl’ was new from clark rather than the other old sleazes you interned for. veeeryyyy new…. maybe...maybe it wasn’t just you feeling heat to this? yet parts of you had you wishing and praying it was. that would be the more relieving, safe option, wouldn’t it?

it would also be the boring one. and fuck it, you wanted to romanticise your shitty underpaid internship.

because now it was inadmissible. how clark was now freely able to carry himself with that same energy. the way he did as superman and damn it all if it wasnt intoxicating; you could get high off of it.

and maybe you already were.

fankz 4 reading any comments are very welcomed and preciated!!!! pls lemme know if anyone wants more of this fic or like requests and shit even tho this is like barely anything i just idk let me get started on ball guys

[treymor1]

[ruelin024]

Accidents happen, a relapse in memory.

[dixxiemaegraphics]

I’ll post the full thing uncensored somewhere… eventually… 👀

[whatberry]

new banner! yay!