staseras

[staseras]

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⭒ Clark Kent Recs 3

08/25/2025

⭒ Clark Kent ⭒ Part 02

⭒ Detective Comics (DC)

the other man | @honeypiehotchner

You think Clark is seeing someone else. That someone? Superman.

go save the world, i'll be around | @/honeypiehotchner

You and Clark are childhood best friends, growing up just across the field from one another. When he moves to Metropolis and announces himself as Superman, it causes a rift so large that you aren't sure you'll ever cross it. Until Superman comes home, sick and out of his mind, and only two things can help: sunlight and you.

you hide your injuries from him | @staseras

you’ve been asking your boyfriend to take down a bookshelf for months, but every time he gets to it, something comes up and the world needs your boyfriend. you decide enough is enough, so you decide to do it yourself. it’s going well until you fall and get hurt, and you hide the injuries from him because you don’t want to worry him. he finds out anyway.

you’re going to be the death of me | @/staseras

you like to make your boyfriend scared for your sanity. your latest crazy idea? you want to free fall from altitude, and have him chase after you. also, clark figures out you're pregnant before you do.

You Deserve It | @blank-potato

Clark has a tough day so you decide to make him feel better. You both just hope your neighbours don't kill you with how loud the two of you tend to get.

Office Gossip | @/blank-potato

You have a big crush on Superman, and the whole office knows it, especially Clark. When you can't seem to stop thinking about him or talking about him, it has you asking yourself (and the office): Is Superman good in bed?

𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. | @swordgrace

you’re not fond of flying — thankfully, your boyfriend is superman.

places we were made | @codenamefalcon

No matter the distance, no matter the amount of time, no matter the stream of connection, you could never forget Clark even if you wanted to. But now he’s back, and he’s picking you up for dinner with his parents.

all makes sense | @musingsofheaven

The obsession of other interns had with him never made sense. Not until one night… drinks turned into something more. It’s so good that it makes all those promises to never be one of the girls giggling over Clark Kent feel ridiculous. But now it makes sense. God, now it does.

kent family adventures (the girldad!clark kent chronicles) | @orobaxis

bring me sunshine | @eupheme

It’s been three months since Clark Kent first stepped into Jitters Coffee. Three weeks since you memorized his order - medium mocha, whipped cream, chocolate curls - and plucked up the courage to say hi. 

Till I Lose It | @fawnindawn

Clark finds himself feeling jealous for the first time when you get assigned on a case with Jimmy Olsen, and start spending more time with the photojournalist instead of him.

Bet On It | @/fawnindawn

a bet in the office leads you to discover that clark, who you've been dating in secret, is really into roleplaying as coworkers.

Eyes Like Pretty Lights | @/fawnindawn

surprising clark with a visit at the daily planet, it sparks memories of the past and how some things never change, especially his eyes that still shine like pretty lights only for you.

Here Comes The Sun | @/fawnindawn

clark faces his first failure as superman, and he runs right back home to you.

bad friend part 02 | @twiceasbright

your best friend asks you to set her up with clark kent, who's your work crush. despite your feelings for him, you agree- for the sake of your friend. but things go awry when you panic and end up accidentally asking him out yourself. now you have to find a way to fix it before things go too far.

no strings attached... unless? | @kryptoclark

what was supposed to be a simple no-strings hookup between best friends turns complicated when feelings inevitably get involved. huh. who would've thought?

mornings like these | @/kryptoclark

you're trying to make scrambled eggs. clark doesn't really care

who’s calling my phone? |  @prettypeeling

clark has a crush on the daily planet’s receptionist.

cemetery girl part two |  @vaamppiraa

in which you and clark are married, but after an accident, you lose your memory

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT | @sceletaflores

BRIGHT EYES | @/sceletaflores

Locked Out | @thatcorporategirlie

You find yourself locked out of your apartment, so your very attractive neighbor Clark offers you to hang out at his and eat some pizza until your friend arrives with your spare key.

The Secret | @/thatcorporategirlie

You've always struggled with how to tell Clark a painful secret—but it slips out unintentionally when you meet his parents.

MEET THE KENTS | @isaadore

clark takes you home to meet his parents and spends the entire trip being an embarrassing, love-sick puppy.

unmasked | @sunsherbet

In which you want your boyfriend, not superman, to save you

Imagine |  @p3terparker

you confess your feelings for clark, not knowing he’s listening to everything you’re saying.

Stupid Glasses | @snooperzz

She hadn’t found out the way that he wanted. Not that he ever really had a plan, but he certainly hadn’t meant for it to happen like this.

Bennie and the Jets | @/snooperzz

After the reader/oc tries and fails to get back into the dating scene, Clark Kent swoops in to save the day.

tiny little crush - clark kent | @killishin

stop avoiding me - clark kent | @/killishin

technical difficulties | @hauntedhowlett-writes

As an IT specialist for The Daily Planet, you’re no stranger to Clark Kent’s struggles with technology. When he calls you on your personal phone with an after hours emergency, of course you’re willing to help him out. He shows his gratitude in an interesting way.

trapped | @/hauntedhowlett-writes

Clark accidentally locks you both inside the supply closet at The Daily Planet and helps you through a panic attack.

You Make Me Wanna Make You Fall In Love | @cerisereids

You’re the new assistant at the Daily Planet. Your job is to run errands, get coffees, and not fall in love with the handsome man in glasses.

Clark being jealous of *checks notes* himself? | @glassmermaids

blister in the sun | @moonlight-prose

the daily planet was the home of gods in a city you never thought might see your presence. a newspaper that won awards, that held the hearts and minds of the best and brightest to exist. yet your boss handed over a job that only a reporter from gotham could do.

everything is meant to be broken | @/moonlight-prose

there would be no world in which you could live without him. no future where he could exist without you. the both of you were intrinsically tethered. and you found that finding yourself beneath him in his bed was inevitable.

somewhere meant to be | @/moonlight-prose

your favorite spot in the house wasn't the leather chair that had seen better days. it was the way he sat in it - more specifically how.

the dint | @imagines-all-day-everyday

when clark kent stumbles into a 24 hour vet clinic with his unconscious side-kick, the last thing he expects to find is maybe the only person in metropolis who can handle krypto. It’s an extra bonus that she’s beautiful too. 

12 to 12 | @/imagines-all-day-everyday

clark forces himself to go to a work party with only one purpose - to find you in the crowd. he has no idea if you want to be found or want to avoid him at all costs. the only problem is, neither do you.

touch tank | @rosesaints

he’s soft. earnest. 6’4 of midwestern guilt and golden retriever loyalty. and he looks at you like you invented the sun. you’re fine. everything’s fine. it’s just friends-with-benefits. you're not a thing. but clark? clark has always been there. warm, steady, irritatingly soft. indulging your commitment-phobic nonsense with quiet patience and those unfairly good dimples. until suddenly—he’s not.

mystery of love | @/rosesaints

4 times he showed you he loves you + 1 time he says it

knowing clark's coffee order | @/rosesaints

clark's no stranger to doing the grunt work around the daily planet.

fly to your city (excited to see your face) | @/rosesaints

you were his first home, and he was the only thing that ever made smallville feel big enough—until he left, and you let him. when you love someone, where does all that that love go?

Spider...man? | @se7entyrell

Your relationship with Clark told through your crippling fear of spiders, aka four times when Clark is the world's best spider-catcher.

i'll crawl home to her | @/se7entyrell

You and Clark just got married four months ago. That's barely enough time to settle into the house, and your new life. So when you take a pregnancy test in solidarity with your friend, the last thing you're expecting is a positive.

don't want you like a best friend | @/se7entyrell

The one in which Jimmy Olsen is tired of watching you and Clark dance around your feelings, and decides to do something about it, aka the one where Clark fucks you at a Daily Planet gala.

now that we don't talk. | @bodhiscurls

clark kent has to prove himself that he's loyal, that despite his consistent wandering absences and emergency leave, he can be trusted to be chief editor at the daily planet. and that means having to ask the one person in the world who hates him more than anything to play pretend as his date (his wife) at the next gala. to show the world clark kent is loyal, the picture of stability and did not ruin his only serious relationship he's ever had.

you didn't kiss me goodbye. | @/bodhiscurls

after an arguement with your boyfriend, clark kent does the unthinkable. he doesn't come home, doesn't kiss you goodbye and doesn't return until its midnight and you've fallen asleep on your sofa. good job, clark still has the goodnight kiss to redeem himself.

put you in a bodybag or in my bed. | @/bodhiscurls

clark kent is your mortal enemy; it's been a constant battle between who's going to get front page privileges and clark always manages to top you with superman. when you both get a little too drunk and repressed feelings rush to the surface- surely it can't be real? how could it be real when you wake up naked in his bed, unsure of how you ended up there? when you've accidentally sent the department the doc you made in a rage listing all the reasons you hate clark kent? it can't be real so why does it hurt so much when he calls it quits- when you cry to superman of all people- when everywhere you go reminds you of him?

and i asked for my boyfriend! | @/bodhiscurls

it starts off in the grocery store, then they're there at one of your shows, and then you catch them following you on the way back home and on all the occasions you tried to tell your boyfriend clark that you don't feel safe, he brushes it off. until one night, your calls and texts aren't answered, and the only thing he can do is search the streets as superman and pray its not too late. 

just my type |  @myladybelle

when you realise your crush on your roommate is getting out of hand, you decide it’s time to start dating again. but nobody on any dating app comes close to being as perfect for you as clark kent is.

oh, your love is sunlight | @/myladybelle

you were fine drawing in greyscale, until superman started showing up on your fire escape like sunlight in human form. suddenly, colour began finding its way back into every part of your life.

a resounding heart attack | @neellscapsule

there are three romance rules you have to follow: don't date coworkers, don't fall in love with flirty people, and never show how whipped you actually are. clark fails the three of them.

seven minutes in heaven | @/neellscapsule

clark likes to know what other people think of 'superman'. he very much wishes to know your thoughts of him as well.

you meet krypto | @streamsofmoon

theory of goodness ( series ) |  @messylxve

in which you couldn't stand your coworker clark kent

CLARK KENT X VILLAIN!READER - P.1 | @maiamore

clark meets another super, who he can fuck the way he really wants to.

TERRITORIAL -  P.2 | @/maiamore

Superman has a bad day.

SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE - P.3 | @/maiamore

Clark finally corners you after you'd been avoiding him.

XO | @/maiamore

Clark sees that you have nipple piercings while he has his X-Ray vision activated.

KILLSHOT | @/maiamore

Clark Kent scores an interview with Bruce Wayne's infamous sister — you. Except you don't make it easy for him.

AFTER HOURS | @/maiamore

Clark needs a favour from his secret informant.

Confessions? Concussions | @lailalalesblog

In which your boyfriend thinks he's Superman after you give him a concussion.

Kiss interruptions | @/lailalalesblog

in which he keeps kissing you while you talk

Superclark | @/lailalalesblog

In which your boyfriend gets jealous of a plushie and commits arson

White noise but make it gotham | @/lailalalesblog

In which you can't fall asleep without a little noise

Baby Names | @kryptos-aunt

Clark and his girl are struggling to find baby names. 

Shelter dog | @/kryptos-aunt

Krypto finds himself at a shelter and they don’t all know how to handle him. 

Krypto meets your baby | @/kryptos-aunt

What it says on the tin. Krypto meets yours and Clark’s little girl. 

Wrong Home | @/kryptos-aunt

Clark is hurt and tells Krypto to take him “home” only he shows up on his exes doorstep. 

Magic Glasses | @/kryptos-aunt

Clark’s girlfriend has a few too many questions.

Just a Super Dog | @idk-imjustanerd

Clark is trying to get Krypto acclimated to city life when you unexpectedly knock on his door.

enough for you | @teascorner

Plagued by insecurities, you can't imagine that Clark Kent would ever return your feelings. After weeks of pining, weeks of feeling your heart break more and more, it all comes to a fever pitch. Can you and Clark work it out?

purpose | @wwinterwitch

you get back from work to find clark preparing a little surprise for you

late night call for mr kent | @audreyownsdiamonds

clark’s calling his girlfriend, late at night, ready to tell her how much he misses his sweet girl. but you got other plans

bury the lede | @levanswrites

clark kent runs on compassion the way most reporters run on espresso. he is, by all observable metrics, the most principled man you know. so when your hard-won article gets pulled without explanation, the softest man in metropolis is suddenly ready to raise quiet, righteous hell. because when something’s wrong, he never lets it slide—especially when it comes to you. 

Antidote | @/levanswrites

you’ve known clark since college. back when splitting fries at 2 a.m. and falling asleep during movie marathons felt like the closest thing to forever. back when everything was still safe, before time and distance slipped him quietly out of your life. years later, he shows up at your door—broken, bleeding, and seconds away from collapse. clark kent is dying on your floor tonight. and you’re about to say all the things you've never said out loud.

I CAN SEE YOU | @stargazsblog

you and clark have been secretly dating for three months. no touching, barley talking at work. so why does it feel like everyone knows?

Companion |  @murdockparker

You were an adult, with adult money. You can buy things that bring you joy! Hopefully your boyfriend never finds out about it.

Where the Leashes Tangle | @writing-for-marvel

While walking Krypto, Clark ends up entangled with you and your puppy.

Mornings With You | @/writing-for-marvel

The morning after your first night together, Clark still can’t get enough of you.

the tantrums and the chilling chats, i promise | @supershit-hits

clark takes a picture of you and it leads you to spiral. the last thing you want is for him to see you crashing out, but he’s determined to be by your side no matter what.

 i never was the good samaritan  | @/supershit-hits

a stupid bet between two coworkers with allegedly opposite morals. if all’s fair in love, war, and corporate life, then who’s willing to be kinder for a month?

i got you | @lomlsatoru

you tell clark “i got it.” so many times and he is sick of it.

too good for me | @/lomlsatoru

everytime you remember your life, clark is always there, and now after everything came crashing down, clark thinks he has loved you from the very start.

baby, i promise | @daenysx

you've been stressed and away from clark lately. he makes it up to you by helping you relax.

hope of it all | @/daenysx

your tears are upsetting clark very much, he has to find a way to comfort you.

Clark's Baby Daddy Chronicles | @honeybunnyale

Clark ensures he could be part of the baby's life and yours. 

The Life He Always Dreamed Of | @danitcx

clark and reader keep getting interrupted during intimacy

The Weight of Love | @/danitcx

where the reader is expecting and he lifts her bump to help out

Only You Look Good in Glasses | @/danitcx

Clark never cared much about his appearance—until you arrived. When you say you don’t like men with glasses, he realizes it might not be the disguise that hides him anymore… but the one thing standing in his way. A cappuccino, a misunderstood comment, and one quiet confession later, he realizes maybe glasses aren’t the problem after all.

The Way He Waits for You - PART 1 | @/danitcx

You’ve always been shy. Quiet. Invisible, even. But working at the Daily Planet gave you a badge, a desk… and a seat across from Clark Kent. What starts as silent glances and white chocolate donuts turns into a walk, a bar, a moment —where maybe, just maybe, your heart begins to hope he sees you too.

The kindness in his eyes . PART 2 | @/danitcx

A quiet walk home, a bowl of ramen, and the realization that Clark Kent might know more about you than you expected. You didn’t want to believe it. But his nervous smile… and the way he remembered your favorite dish… made your heart wonder: was this really just kindness?

From “mine” to “ours” | @/danitcx

Clark Kent has never been the jealous type. He never had to be… until a new journalist starts flirting with her. What seemed like a small discomfort grows into something else: the need to make sure she’s still choosing him. A soft jealousy story, full of quiet love — and a move that changes everything.

[staseras]

──── there's never been a doubt in your mind that jason todd is the one for you. every time you curl up with your head in his lap and feel his big, warm hand combing lazily through your hair, gentle in a way that makes you forget those hands have ever known anything but love, you're reminded of it. when he leaves quick little notes tucked in your books, or calls you at some ungodly hour from patrol just to ask something stupid, it only makes you surer. you're not in a rush to put a label on it. you just know you don't want it to end.

but even dating the man of your dreams, there are days jason drives you so crazy you want to chuck his helmet at his head. he's not a show off like his older brother, but when it comes to you, it's like he can't help himself. you swear you hate him every time he roars up to your college campus on that damn bike, leaning on it like he's in a movie, smirking like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"guess your ride is here," your friend said, smirking as the low rumble of a motorcycle drew every head on the quad toward the curb.

you didn't need to look to know it was him. black leather jacket that had seen too many nights in gotham, scuffed combat boots planted wide, and all six-foot-one of jason todd leaning on his bike. his helmet dangled from two fingers, casual but deliberate, and his eyes scanned the crowd until they found you. that small, knowing smirk was all yours.

heat crawled up your neck and over your cheeks as you walked toward him, trying to ignore the murmurs and not-so-subtle stares from your classmates. you can hear the soft ripple of whispers from nearby, girls stealing glances and elbowing each other.

"i told you i was taking the bus today," you muttered the second you were in earshot.

"yeah, and i told you i wasn't gonna let you," he shot back easily, holding out your helmet, the matte black one with the matching red stripe, because you were, unfortunately, exactly that kind of couple.

"hello to you too, baby," he added with a low chuckle when you snatched it from his hand.

he swung onto the bike, moving with that easy confidence that came from far too many hours in dangerous places, and reached back to steady you as you climbed on. the second you settled in, the quad erupted in a chorus of wolf whistles and teasing shouts. you buried your face in his shoulder, half to hide your blush, half so he wouldn't see your smile.

"show off," you mumbled into the leather.

jason's gloved hand slid down to your calf, giving it a slow, deliberate squeeze before gripping the handlebar. "only for you," he said over the purr of the engine, and then the world blurred as he pulled away.

[staseras]

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[staseras]

crash landing on you — Clark Kent

summary: what if after being defeated by ultraman, superman crash landed in smallville and you were the one to find him? word count: 5.3k content warning: blind! reader, open ending, injured clark, softness, domesticity, reader has a guide dog, takes place in smallville after clark's defeat against ultraman, clark develops a crush, secret identities, first kiss notes: i'm back!!! omg, this is a little scary, i'm like what if everyone forgot about me bc i didn't post for two days lol. also maybe i will write a part 2 because i wanna write more about reader and her myserious past. also idk felt cute, might delete later... pls be nice </3 not beta-read, but i hope you enjoy this

THREE MINUTES AGO, Superman lost a battle for the first time.

THREE SECONDS AGO, Superman crash-landed in Smallville as he tried to retreat for safety in his Fortress of Solitude. 

THREE HOURS LATER, Superman wakes up to his face being licked by a friendly dog and someone mistaking him for a squirrel.

Clark Kent couldn’t move a single muscle. For the first time in his entire life, he’d tasted defeat. For the first time in his life, he found out what it meant to not be the strongest anymore, the one who couldn’t be defeated. 

His eyes looked up to a familiar sky and a familiar sight. He hadn’t meant to crash here, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it now. He could barely twitch his fingers; his entire body was frozen with a feeling he’d never had to deal with before. Not that he thought himself above it, it just… didn’t happen to him. 

He heard them before he saw them. Soft footsteps coming his way, two heartbeats. One dog, one human. The dog stopped at his eye level before he started licking him all over his face as if he was a particularly tasty treat.

“Krypto? Why did you stop? Did you find a squirrel? How many times do I have to tell you that squirrels don’t like dogs?” The human voice asked before they fell on their knees next to their dog.

You were… pretty.

“I’m not a squirrel,” Clark replied, almost offended. Not that there was anything wrong with squirrels, he just wasn’t one. Clearly. 

You jumped, eyes flying towards the source of his voice. Your eyes were glassy. “Jesus! What are you doing here? This is private property. Why are you on the floor? Are you okay? Are you drunk?”

Oh. You were blind. 

Your dog was still enthusiastically licking his face, and Clark had no idea how to stop him. He hoped you would get your dog to back down, even if Clark really loved dogs, especially friendly ones. He supposed this was better than having Krypto breaking his ribs over and over again with his excited kicks. 

“Uh…” Clark wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to say. Should he say he was Superman? Honesty was the best policy after all. “I know this is crazy to say but I had a little accident. I’m… Superman.”

You snorted. “Yeah right, and I’m Catwoman.”

“Why not?” he replied. 

“Tell me the truth. Did you get drunk yesterday night and found yourself here after waking up?”

“No, I can’t even get drunk.”

That’s when he felt fingers mapping his face. Your fingers traveled down until they stopped on his chest and they started feeling out the emblem etched onto the fabric. “Oh,” you said. “Either you’re really telling the truth, or you’re into cosplay.”

He couldn’t help it. Clark laughed. “What should I do to convince you I am Superman?”

“Take me for a spin in the air,” you replied quickly as if you’d waited your entire life for this.

“I promise, as soon as I can control my body again.”

You frowned. “You’re sick? I thought Superman didn’t get sick.”

“No, not quite. I’m… injured.”

“I thought you were trying to convince me you were Superman. You’re doing a terrible job at that.”

“I promise, I’m usually better than this. You just… caught me at a bad time.”

“Why are you injured? Aren’t you invincible? You need sun, right? To heal? Why aren’t you healing?”

You were still on your knees, hand on his chest. Your dog was sitting now, looking polite. “You’re a Superman fan?” he asked, a smile blooming on his face without meaning it to. He wasn’t teasing you, per say.

“Shut up,” you said with a blush. 

“He doesn’t even look like Krypto. And he’s way too well-behaved.”

“Do you want me to help you or not?” you asked. 

Clark’s smile turned softer. “Yeah, actually. That would be really nice.”

“Do you think you could walk if I helped you?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to… crush you.” 

“I’m stronger than I look. I grew up in a farm, and it’s not that far from here.”

“Well… okay. Thank you so much, kind stranger.”

You looked away at his gratitude. “Krypto, come on, let’s go home, okay?”

Krypto the nice dog barked excitedly and got on his four legs and started turning in circles excitedly. He must be your guide dog, but he didn’t have the proper equipment for it. He just had a normal leash that you’d wrapped around your wrist. 

Clark was usually the one to help people, not the opposite. It felt weird, to be so vulnerable, at the mercy of anyone. But he didn’t mind it so much. It was good to be reminded once in a while that you were still human underneath all that power. 

“Where’s your arm?” you asked, feeling his body with your hand until you found it, and lifted it around your shoulders. Clark focused so he could lift his upper body, knowing that however strong you were, he still weighed a lot more than any normal human.

Finally, they managed to make it work. You were a lot shorter than him, but it didn’t bother him, even if he had to crouch down low to lean against you.

You were right. You were strong. 

Krypto took his job very seriously, and he only got distraction once or twice. 

“You have a cape,” you said. 

“Superman does.”

“So you’re just a cosplayer?”

“Why would I be cosplaying Superman while heavily injured?”

“I don’t know. Stranger things have happened.”

He huffed a short laughter. “Yeah. I lost my first battle today.”

He didn’t know why he said it, only that it felt good to. 

“You’re definitely not Superman then,” you replied, but he could tell you were just teasing him. 

“Hey, even metahumans are allowed an off-day. Or two,” he whined. 

You giggled, and the sound warmed his chest.

“It sucks that you had to pick the least sunny week of the year to crash here,” you said. “Will you still be okay?”

Despite your teasing, you were actually concerned about him, and it made him smile. He hadn’t been able to stop looking at you ever since he saw you. There was something about you that drew his eyes. 

“Yeah, definitely. It’ll just take me a little more to recuperate, but I should be fine.” 

He thought about explaining how his cells actually worked, and while he could tell you were a fan, he wasn’t sure you would appreciate the infodump on Kryptonian biology. 

“Okay, that’s good. Do you see a farm house with a blue roof?”

“Yes.” He did, just a few meters away.

“Good, we’re almost there. How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” he replied honestly. “But a lot better than three hours ago.”

“That’s good. I have to say, this is not how I expected my day to go when I decided to take a walk.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. Krypto trying to befriend geese again, only for him to be bullied again and then act all sad for two hours before he forgets and moves on.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your plan,” Clark said, trying to sound sincere but his eyes were dancing with mirth.

“You’ll just have to make it up to me, won’t you?” you replied easily, and it took a few seconds for Clark to realize you weren’t flirting.

“I will,” he said, and Clark never broke his promises. 

“Do you eat? Like, human food? Should I sacrifice a goat for you?”

He spluttered. “Sacrifice? Who do you take me for?”

“Aren’t you a God?”

“No!” he was laughing now. “Where did you get that idea from? I’m human, like the rest of the world.”

You jutted your lower lip in disbelief. “Forgive me if I don’t believe that.”

Krypto barked having reached the porch. You navigated with ease the steps, as if you’d done this route a thousand times, and Clark realized you probably did. You must know this place like the back of your hand.

“Let me,” he said, and opened the door for you. It barely creaked under his fist.

“Thanks,” you replied. “Well… this is home. My bedroom is downstairs so lucky for you, you won’t have to walk any stairs.”

“Lucky me.”

Clark looked around. It was a quaint, cozy house. The kind you found in Smallville by the dozens. He felt a pang of nostalgia for his childhood home. He should visit his parents as soon as he can move without needing help. 

Realizing his duties were off now, Krypto ran around the house. He was such an excited dog, it was cute. Golden retrievers were known for their kind and friendly personalities. 

You led him to a door. You opened it yourself. “My bed will probably be a little small for you, I haven’t changed it since teenagehood but it should do the work.”

“Thank you, really.” 

Clark wouldn’t have cared if you’d made him sleep on the floor, but he was grateful you sacrificed your bed for him. You were right, it was on the smaller side, but Clark didn’t mind. It still looked so comfortable.

“They have names?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“The teddy bears on your bed.”

“Oh, I didn’t know those were still there,” you said with a furrow of your eyebrows. “Don’t mind them.”

Clark didn’t press. He sat down gingerly on the mattress and the platform creaked underneath his weight. “If I break it, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll pay for it.”

You waved his concerns away with a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” he said, but he would worry about it, and would pay for it back if he broke it. “It’s really soft. Better than my bed.”

“Superman uses beds?”

He laughed as the back of his head hit the pillow. “You’re funny. Where do you get all of these assumptions from? First I’m a cosplayer, then a God, and now I’m too above beds?”

Now that you weren’t holding him up, you crossed your arms over his chest. “I do a lot of thinking about everything and anything,” you replied with a shake of your shoulder.

“Your mind must be a good place to be,” he replied. 

You laughed. “When you lose your eyesight, all you pretty much still have are your thoughts.”

So you weren’t born that way, he thought. It wasn’t his place to pry, but he couldn’t help but wonder.

“Thinking is your hobby, then.”

“Somewhat.”

He smiled, even though you couldn’t see it. “Well, thank you very much again for saving me, kind stranger. I’ll be out of you and Krypto’s paws as soon as I feel a little better.”

“Don’t forget your promise,” you warned him.

He often missed flying again, but never when you were there. It was strange, really. How one day he was fighting someone, and the next he was in a stranger’s home whose name he didn’t even know yet. Krypto had taken a liking to him too, and often scratched against the doorframe to get inside, until he realized he was smart and learnt how to open it himself by standing up on his hind legs and using his front paw to turn down the knob. 

You’d tried countless times to get him to stop, but it turned out that Krypto’s namesake was just as disobedient when he wanted to be. Clark didn’t mind. It was funny, and familiar. 

So he often woke up to him laying on his chest, his eyes staring at him with a tilt of his head. 

By the third day, Clark could finally move. 

He knocked on the living room’s wall door before entering so he didn’t startle you. You looked at ease in there, sitting on your couch, legs tucked underneath you, an open book on your lap, reading from it with your fingers. 

“Hey,” you said first. “You’re up.”

“Yeah,” Clark replied. He didn’t know why he felt so shy. He’d been sleeping in your childhood’s bedroom yet going out there felt so much more intimate, especially with you reading and looking at peace, and Clark felt like he was intruding. “It’s thanks to you.”

“Your cosplay is done washing,” you told him, and he can see the smug teasing smile on your face.

“Just in time for my cosplay convention. Thank you, kind stranger.”

“You really ought to stop calling me that,” you replied. 

“I would, but you still won’t tell me your name. Can I take a seat?”

You patted the space next to you. “Not that. Kind. I’m not kind.”

He pretended to be surprised, but took a seat anyway. “You’re not? You certainly could have fooled me there.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just part of my extensive machiavelic plan. I’m just buttering you up so I can have my wicked way with you.”

He was amused now. “Oh is that so? And what would that entail?”

“Haven’t thought about it yet.”

“Well, make sure you let me know once you do.”

You turned to face him, and smiled. “Maybe you really are Superman.”

“Oh, what changed your mind?”

You went back to staring ahead of you. “You’re really kind.”

“Oh.” He didn’t really know what to say. It was true that he always worked hard to be kind, and to be a kind hero who brought hope to everyone else, so it shouldn’t surprise him coming from you, but it did. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Mhm.”

“What are you reading?” he asked, even though he knew he was being annoying. 

“Something,” you replied. 

He laughed. “Should have known, my bad.”

He felt better already. “Oh, thanks for the clothes too.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m really upset I can’t see you in clothes that probably don’t fit you,” you replied, deadpan. “Tell me at least whether the shirt fits like a crop top.”

Clark looked down at his exposed stomach. “Actually, yeah. Like a really tight croptop.”

You snickered. “Could you describe yourself to me? I’ve never actually seen Superman. I lost my vision a little before he made his debut.”

“Well… you can already tell, but I’m tall. I’m 6’4, I’m… big. Like, freakishly big, I guess.”

“I could tell, when I was lifting you.”You were smiling and staring at his vicinity as if it could help you see what he was describing. “Are you a redhead?” 

“Is this another one of your assumptions?”

“Yeah. Everyone says you’re a brunette but I refuse to believe it until I see it for myself.”

“Ah, I guess you won’t believe me either when I tell you I have black hair.”

“Fat chance of that. Continue.”

Clark never really had to think about his appearance so much, and he didn’t necessarily spend a lot of time looking at himself in the mirror, but he thought about it for you. “Well, I have what people would say a strong jaw, and a strong nose. I have dimples that show up sometimes.”

“Can I touch it?”

Clark was speechless for a few seconds, a soft breath leaving his mouth. “I… sure.”

Your fingers started from the bottom, trying to find you before they traveled up to his face. They were light as feathers against his lips before moving to his cheeks. 

“I don’t feel the dimples.”

Clark smiled wide. It came easy, looking at your slightly displeased frown.

“Oh, I feel it now,” you said. Your index fingers were over the craters of his cheeks. “It’s cute. And you have one on each cheek.”

Clark stayed quiet, eyes riveted on your face. His mouth was slightly agape, caught in a trance. 

You were devastatingly pretty, and Clark wasn’t even sure you were aware of it. The frown of your eyebrows as you focused on something, your eyes fixed on his face even though you couldn’t see it. 

Your fingers grazed his lips again and Clark swallowed soundly. “Why aren’t you talking?” you asked. “Do you want me to stop? Sorry, it’s just that I use my fingers to see. I guess they’re my eyes.”

“Oh no, please don’t,” he said, and he didn’t care that he sounded so breathy and desperate. He just wanted you to keep touching his face the way you do, like he was something precious, something worth discovering. “I don’t mind.”

You smiled gratefully. “You are pretty,” you said. “I can feel it. And you’re right,” you said, tracing a finger over his left jaw. “You do have a strong jaw.” Your fingers stopped on his chin. “Oh, you have a cleft chin too. Oh you must be devastatingly handsome.” Clark blushed, and he hoped you couldn’t feel how his skin warmed over at your compliment. “I bet you get tons of fan love letters.”

“I… no, I can’t say I have.”

“Really? I don’t believe you.”

“You’re a pretty distrustful person, aren’t you?”

You shrugged. “And you’re too trusting.”

Clark supposed you weren’t wrong. “Touché.”

“What color are your eyes?”

“Blue.”

“Is it true they can shoot laser beams?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” you said. “Have you ever used them for something other than a fight? Like maybe lit a fireplace?”

Clark laughed. “No, but that’s a good idea. I don’t usually use my powers outside of… work. Well, except maybe my super strength. It comes in handy.”

“I bet. Can I touch your hands?”

“Sure.”

And then his large hands are being cradled so softly by yours. 

“Oh my, what big hands you have.”

“Are you— are you quoting Little Red Riding Hood to me?” 

“It seemed fitting. Your hands are huge.”

“Well I guess it’s so I can hold the world more safely.”

You’re tracing over his calluses now, born from both manual labor at the farm when he was younger and from fighting as Superman. “And who holds you?”

He knew you weren’t trying to be deep or emotional about it, but it still hit something tender inside his chest. “I hold myself.”

“Ah, the lonesome hero who doesn’t need anyone else. How unexpected.”

“That’s definitely not true. I needed you, didn’t I? And you saved me.”

“I guess. I suppose I’m the one who held you this time.”

Before you, only his parents had held him. It felt unfamiliar, but not unwanted. Not when it was you. 

He wanted to flip his hands on top of yours and hold your hands. They were smaller than his, not that it was such a surprise. Sometimes, it felt like everyone else was smaller than him. He just wanted to feel your weight in his hands. 

It’d been a long time since he’d felt such an instant attraction to someone like this. He was so busy with being both Clark Kent and Superman that he never really had time to think about love or romance or what person he found pretty. 

But that was before he saw you, before he felt your fingers trace the symbol on his suit. Before he realized you liked Superman but at the same time, you didn’t really care that he was Superman, and that you let him have your own room, and that you brought food to him every meal when he still couldn’t move a lot, and you ate with him.

Before you called him handsome and kind, and held his hands in yours as if he was something breakable, and not the world’s strongest man. 

He rubbed the back of your hand mindlessly, and he felt, rather than saw, your shiver, and heard the quickening of your heartbeat.

“I… I have to go feed Krypto,” you lied, your heart skipping a beat.

He smiled. “Okay.”

It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one affected by the other. 

Clark went to visit his parents as soon as he could. It was in the middle of the night, and he was wearing his suit again because he didn’t want to show up at their place looking like his clothes had shrunk in the washer, but it also meant that he had to be even more discreet so that no one saw Superman walk into Martha and Jonathan’s house like he belonged there. Well, he did, but they didn’t have to know that. 

His dad almost cried when he saw him, and of course his mom had to make fun of him, even though she was a little bit teary eyed as well. 

“My sweet little boy,” she said, when he bent down to her height so she could hug him properly. He kissed the top of her head, feeling a little emotional too. It had been a long time since he visited them, and he carried that guilt with him every day. 

He had gone without telling you, not wanting to spark suspicion or worry you, and he hoped you didn’t notice his disappearance. 

“Where have you been, son?” Jonathan asked him. “How come you’re sneaking inside our place like you’re coming back from sneaking out?”

Clark smiled bashfully. “I’m having a very late teenage crisis,” he joked, before explaining what happened to him, and how he’s been recuperating at someone’s house after they found him in their fields, just like his own parents did thirty-three years ago.

“Who is she?” his mom asked.

“I… I don’t really know actually,” Clark laughed derisively. “She won’t say her name, but she’s really kind. She lives close to the corn field, a little in the outside of the town.”

His parents both knew exactly who he was talking about. “Oh, that poor girl…” Jonathan said, shaking his head, and Clark frowned. 

“What do you mean? Did something happen to her?”

For some reason, that thought made something uncomfortable churn at the pit of his stomach. The thought of something happening to you that was so bad that his parents reacted this way made him want to crush something in his hands — preferably whatever caused you pain.

“Well, I don’t think it’s our place to tell, she’s a very secretive girl. Secretive but kind. She recently came back to Smallville after… well, after almost a decade, and she’s been living like a recluse. Everyone knows of her, but no one knows her, you know?”

Clark tried to smile but it came out wrong and wonky. “Yeah, she’s really kind.”

How did he not realize that something was going on with you? He’d easily noticed that you were lonely, but he didn’t think too much of it. Did something happen that made you come back? Would you have preferred not to come back at all if you could?

“Take care of her, son. But I know I don’t need to tell you that. You’re a good boy, Clark.”

“Thanks, Ma,” he replied, grateful.

Even later that night, he came back to your place with a bag full of clothes that actually fit him, and another bag filled with food that his mom had given him. Share with her, she’d said. Tell her it’s a gift. 

And Clark couldn’t really say no to that. Not to his mom, not to gifting you something.

You were still asleep when he came back; he could hear your heartbeat, slow and deep. He could also hear Krypto’s, who was asleep next to you. He couldn’t see you, but the idea of you both asleep together was really endearing.

He was going to bed too. 

The next morning, he made breakfast. He didn’t know exactly what you liked, so he just prepared a little bit of everything with what he found in your kitchen, making sure to replace everything he use and to not disturb your carefully laid out kitchen tools and ingredients. Krypto had been woken up by the sounds of the kitchen, knowing it meant that food was being cooked. Clark boiled an egg and gave it to him. 

“Superman? Is that you?”

It felt weird to be called that when he was just being Clark Kent — although he didn’t have his hypno-glasses with him so there was no risk of him being recognized — but he liked it coming from you. He wished he could tell you the truth, but he knew it was a bad idea because it hadn’t even been a week since he met you, and he didn’t want to put you in danger, especially not when you were already dealing with personal stuff. 

He guessed it explained why your house was half-lived in, half abandoned, but he couldn’t tell why exactly.

“Hey, good morning.”

“Did you make breakfast?”

“Yes. I wanted to make myself useful around here.”

You smiled. “You really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it. No one’s ever made me breakfast in a really long time.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for.”

The promise he made you was still in the back of his mind, everpresent, always making itself known. He was getting stronger by the day, and it meant that he won’t have a reason to stick around. The moment he took you for a spin, he would know it was time to leave you behind and go back to Metropolis where he still had unfinished business, where he had his entire life. 

He wondered if you dreaded the day he had to leave too. Looking at you right now, bathed in the morning light, expression open and serene, you looked happy, and he didn’t want to ruin that. 

“Please sit. I made you some eggs and toast and bacon, and I brought some croissants. Hope you enjoy them.”

Your face lit up, and you took your usual seat at the kitchen table. “You did? That’s so sweet, thank you.”

Clark both loved and hated how easily impressed you were. Loved it, because he could easily make you happy and hated it because it meant that you weren’t used to people doing nice things for you. 

He wished he had more time with you, just to fix that.

He sat down in front of you at the table, and your hand instinctively found his across the table, like you’d recently started to do. You said it helped you know you weren’t alone and Clark let you. It was as much for you as it was for him too. 

“This is really good, where’d you get it from?” you said, finishing the butter croissant.

“A bakery in the downtown area,” he replied. “I think it was called Mimi’s Bakery.”

You hummed and grabbed another one and Clark watched you happily. 

“Wait, did you go out as Superman? Or did you just go with the crop top shirt?” you asked, laughter in your voice. “Oh how I’m mad I wasn’t able to see it.”

“I… I have my ways,” Clark replied bashfully. 

“You’re being mysterious.”

“I’m afraid it comes with the territory of being a superhero.”

You gave a chortle. “Sometimes I forget I literally have Superman living in my house. Though I’m still not a hundred percent convinced you really are Superman. I’m still waiting for you to make good on that promise.”

“So skeptical,” Clark tutted. “And speaking of your promise, I’m ready when you are.”

“Really?” you asked, looking up towards the direction of his face. “You’re all healed up?”

“Enough to go for a flight,” he replied.

He was really dreading the day he could no longer make excuses to stay here just a little bit more. 

“Should I dress for the occasion? Maybe a long, flowy dress for the dramatics?”

“I think you’re perfect the way you are right now, kind stranger.”

“Then, let’s go.”

It was his first time flying in a long time and doing it with you only made it more special.

You fit in his arms as if he were made to hold you, happy and excited and eager. 

“You better believe me after this, okay?” he whispered to you in your backyard.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He laughed. “So… never?”

“Superman!” you laughed gleefully, head thrown back in mirth. “I can’t believe you just made fun of my blindness. I thought Superman was supposed to be wholesome,” you chastised, but you were only pretending to be offended.

“I’m sorry! It came out of nowhere,” he said, eyes looking up to the sky in pure mortification. “That was of really bad taste, I’m sorry.”

“No, I liked it. It was funny, and I’m pretty sure I already made a joke like that once. It makes me feel less alone when people don’t shy away from it, you know?”

“So… what I’m hearing is that you want me to make jokes about your blindness.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re being purposefully obtuse.”

“Let’s see who’s being obtuse once we’re in the sky. You ready?”

“Yes, as ready as I’ll ever be. Because you’re obviously not Superman. You’re just a cosplayer.”

“Oh, is that so?” Clark’s face broke into a mischievous smile. “Would a cosplayer be able to do this?”

And then he was in the air without even needing to propulse himself, and you shrieked, wrapping your arms and legs tighter around him, as if you were truly not expecting him to actually fly.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. I promise you a spin in the air, and that’s what I’m doing. I’m never gonna let you down.”

Your forehead was pressed against his chest, heartbeat in a frenzy inside your ribcage. “Wow,” you said. “You really are Superman. Or just a really good cosplayer with good special effects.”

Clark rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You refuse to believe me, do you?”

“It’s in my nature. I wouldn’t be me if it weren’t for my cynicism and skepticism.” 

“Oh, is that so? So all this time, you’ve just been lying to me?”

“I never lie. I always told you I would believe it when I see it. I didn’t lie.”

You were being so endearingly annoying that Clark just wanted to kiss you. He’d been fighting that urge for the past two days now whenever he saw you, or when you held his hand, or tried to ‘see’ his face. 

“God, you make me crazy, kind stranger.” They were still going up higher in the air and you didn’t let go of your death grip on him. “Do you want me to do barrels?” 

He would do anything you asked him.

You shook his head. “No, I think I’m good,” you replied, breathless. “But there’s something else I want to try.”

Clark’s breath left his lungs. “Yeah?” he said huskily. “What is it?”

“I want… to kiss Superman. Can I?”

Clark’s heart did somersaults in his chest, as a stupid, goofy grin broke free on his face. “Aw, that sucks,” he teased. “How are you going to do that? There’s no Superman around here after all, remember? Just me, the Superman cosplayer.”

“Oh shut up,” you said, gently swatting him at the chest. “You know what I mean. And I think you want to kiss your kind stranger too. So why waste time?”

Clark’s smile softened. You were right. There was no reason for them to waste any more time, especially when their time together was already so short.

He kissed you first, and your arms finally let go of their grip, trusting him to keep holding you, and your hands buried themselves in your hair as you deepened the kiss. 

It was the greatest kiss he’d ever had. 

“Wow,” you both said at the same time. You laughed.

“I guess… I guess I’m thoroughly convinced now, Superman.”

“Oh thank God,” he replied, feigning relief. 

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

He happily obliged.

It was obvious from the way the mood had sobered up when you both came back to your place that you were thinking about the expiration date on whatever it was between the two of you.

Clark couldn’t pretend anymore. Despite the lack of the sun, he’d been getting stronger steadily and his body no longer hurt. Soon, he would have to go back to his real life.

But part of him knew that it wanted you part of his life too. He didn’t want to have to choose between the two; he wanted you in his life, but he knew he could never make you do anything you didn’t want. He liked you far too much to ever want to put you in a cage.

You guys were eventually going to have a talk, but not yet — not at this instant.

For now, the world could wait. You both still had a few days before having to face the music. 

masterlist ᯓ★ directory ᯓ★ come say hi

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i miss pookie (kaylah)

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uhhhh hello tumblr!

first post on here

still not sure how this works

but erm yeah

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Clark the second he gets a little sad on the farm

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u put a jason todd bug in my brain and i cant get it out...

ABDJSJS you can’t possibly know how happy this made me. I’ve been infected with the Jason Todd bug and now I’m infecting others MLM style!!!!!

hopefully I’ll be feeding all Jason Todd bug havers soon… I have so many ideas for him…(and a 10k words long fic)

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should I continue this??? I completely forgot about it in my drafts lol

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I’m eepy

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would it be bad to tell a mutual i’ve never spoken to that i love them completely unprompted

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my turn to squat ur inbox now aha 😁

fyi you are my clark kent fic fairy and ur hurt/comfort gives me life. never stop writing ever…!

also little clark thought that’s been on the noggin…thinking about clark asking his gf for permission to do anythingggg to the point that it borderline frustrates her but in a cute way. like don’t get me wrong, she loves his coy nerdiness and his hesitance to do anything because he’s just so sweet that he won’t do anything without first considering gf. and of course he was raised on that kent/smallville politeness. he’s all, “can i just move some of your stuff aside to make counter space for me?” “can i use your toaster, hon?” when he’s making breakfast for you as if the toaster isn’t the most communal household item ever and acting as if he needs permission over something that trivial. like, duh, clark. mi casa es tu casa. 🙄🙄 and one day he’s scooching towards you and you both can feel the tension in the air, so you’re both very mutually aware that a heated makeout session is to come. and as soon as clark stops to open his mouth, you know he’s asking permission to kiss you. and you are TIREDDDD of clark playing nice guy. you’re just like, “oh shut up and kiss me, kent,” with the biggest eye roll and making a dive like a mad woman for his swollen lips and his eyes are wide as saucers at your passion and frustration at him. and after that, you’re telling him that he can just take, he doesn’t have to ask all the time. what’s mine is yours. and shyness is sexy but so is assertiveness. so after that, he’s making out with you as soon as you shut up (without asking you!). (ofc he pays attention to consent by physical cues and all though. consent is sexy fyi.) and that ends up being the best makeout session you’ve ever had.

okay that’s all for the yap, just had to let you in on where my brain has been at because he’s totally infested it the past month and a half for me. 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ thank u thank u for listening soft and soft minions!

HIIII welcome to my inbox hope you enjoy your stay here… feel free to stay here for as long as you want<3 🧚🏻‍♀️ (this is me, your fic fairy)

SHY CLARK WOULD BE ENDEARING yet super frustrating. I’m super impatient so I would definitely make it his problem. (I would actually crash out if he ever says “no you decide, whatever you want”)

Confidence is soooo hottt & the moment he learns that you actually prefer it when he doesn’t hold back, when he drops the pretenses, it’s a like a flip is switched. He becomes unstoppable and insatiable!!!! (In the best way possible) he knows what he wants & nothing will stop him from getting it!!! UGH! Always touching you, always holding you close, a hand on your back, or just holding your hand when you guys are walking.

And then he probably realizes his power once he notices that every time he takes what he wants unapologetically you’re flustered and shy and swooning over him

This doesn’t make any single sense because I’m too lazy to use my brain so idk where I’m going with any of this but. Yes. Assertive, confident Clark Kent. The man that he is today.

Next up: Clark Kent who manhandles you whenever and wherever he wants because it’s always easier to just do it and ask for forgiveness later (but let’s be real, none of us would mind)

THANKS KAYKAY FOR STOPPING BY!!! See you later alligator 🐊

(The pic you chose is so yummyyyyy, it makes me think of a minx reader who keeps distracting Clark while he’s in the Zone)

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Hi!!!! Love your writing- discovered you yesterday and I think I've already reread it all

Hiiii!!! Welcome hehehe enjoy your stay here <3 tysm for reading and enjoying my works!! 🫶🏼

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blueberry here to say YAS IM SO EXCITED

YAYAYYAYAAYY!!!!

Bikers… mhm…. 🤤

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GOOD MORNING EVERYONE (it’s currently 11am and I just slept for 12 hours straight)

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everything's growing in our garden

jason todd x wife! reader

synopsis: Jason comes back from patrol with a baby and soot in his hair. He never thought he deserved anything good, but you build something soft anyway.

words: 3.8k

warnings: crying baby. no use of y/n

---

The building is coming down around him.

Smoke curls like claws through the stairwell, the air thick with heat and sirens and screaming — but none of it matters. Not really. Not since he heard the crying.

He kicks down the last door on the left. Inside: scorched drywall, a mattress half on fire, and—

There.

Curled in the corner like a forgotten blanket. No older than a few weeks, swaddled in soot, mouth open and wailing. Eyes wild. Reaching.

Jason doesn’t think. Doesn’t breathe.

Just moves.

He’s across the room in three steps. Drops to his knees. Checks the baby over with hands he can’t make stop shaking. No visible burns. Still breathing. Covered in ash.

The moment he lifts him, the baby latches onto his flak vest with tiny, furious fingers.

Won’t let go.

Jason’s heart punches his ribs.

"Hey, hey," he rasps, trying to make his voice gentle. “Got you. I got you.”

A beam groans above them. He doesn’t wait. Tugs his jacket off and wraps it around the baby like armor. One hand under the neck. One against his chest. Head down. Go.

Out the hall. Down the fire escape. Through the smoke.

The baby doesn’t cry anymore. Just holds on.

And Jason?

Jason runs like hell.

—

You are not expecting a baby tonight.

In fact, the only things on your to-do list are:

Recharge.

Hydrate.

Kiss your hot husband when he gets home from his nightly war on Gotham’s crime statistics.

You are currently achieving two out of three. Your AirPods hum low-fi jazz into your ears, and the cucumbers on your eyelids are starting to slip down your cheekbones. Somewhere across the apartment, your diffuser is puffing lavender-scented clouds into the air like a sleepy little train. You smell like a coconut-sugar candle and your nails are drying. Life is good.

You’re just starting to doze off when the window clicks open.

Of course. Jason never uses the damn door.

You expect the usual: a grunt, a dropped helmet, maybe a kiss pressed to your forehead before he stumbles into the shower.

Instead, what you get is smoke. Soot. A strangled cry.

You sit up.

Cucumber slices slide down your cheeks and onto your hoodie. One AirPod clatters to the couch cushion. Your husband is standing in the middle of the living room, soot-streaked and wide-eyed, holding a bundled shape in his arms like it might vanish if he so much as blinks.

You stare at him.

Then at the bundle.

Then at him again.

“…Jason,” you say slowly. “That is a baby.”

“I know,” he blurts. “I know. I just—I didn’t think, okay? I saw him and I—”

“Jason.”

He takes two steps forward, the bundle squirming weakly in his arms. There’s a tiny, high-pitched hiccup. The shape shifts and reveals a round, red-blotched face, mouth open in the start of another wail. Soot clings to chubby cheeks. 

Jason looks wrecked. More than usual. Helmet hair, bruised, a tear down the seam of his jacket. His arms are trembling.

“There was a fire. A ring. The bastards were running kids out of Crime Alley and I—he was just there. Crying. Everyone else gone. And he grabbed me. Grabbed my glove like he wasn’t letting go, and I just—” His voice breaks. “I saw myself for a second. Just. I moved. I didn’t think. I couldn’t leave him.”

You blink. A slow breath leaves your lungs.

“Come here,” you say, voice soft.

Jason hesitates. “Sweetheart—”

“I said come here.”

He obeys, like he always does when your voice dips into that tone.

You reach for the baby.

Your fingers graze the edge of the jacket and pause. The baby’s eyes flutter up. Red, watery, still in panic mode, but he looks at you. Just for a second.

You smile. “Hi there,” you whisper, more breath than words.

And then, gently, you ease the baby out of Jason’s arms.

He goes without a fight. The baby whimpers, grabbing your shirt with one sooty fist, and tucks himself into your chest with the kind of blind trust that makes your throat ache.

You sway a little, automatically. Muscle memory from a life you never thought you’d need.

“You did the right thing,” you say.

Jason’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His chest rises like he’s about to sob and collapse all at once.

“Breathe, Jay,” you tell him. “In. Out. Again.”

He listens.

One breath. Then another. Then a shuddering sigh.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he whispers.

“You brought him home,” you say simply. “That’s what you did.”

He swallows.

“Go shower. You’re bleeding. You smell like fire.”

“I can help—”

“You will. But after you shower.”

Jason hesitates. “We don’t even have wipes or—”

“Are you kidding me? You’re the Red Hood. You own three brands of baby wipes. You said they’re the only thing that gets the powder residue off your guns.”

He squints. “You said you wouldn't make fun of that anymore”

“Go. Shower. We’ll be here.” Jason shoots you a grateful look and then turns to go to the washroom after promising the baby he’ll be back. 

You settle onto the floor with the baby curled against your chest, sitting cross-legged by the coffee table like this is any other Tuesday night and not a total deviation from reality. Your fingers are already moving before your brain catches up, brushing soot from his forehead, rocking him in slow, instinctual sways.

He’s hiccuping. Sharp little spasms that jolt through his tiny body, each one punctuated by a shaky breath and a soft, broken sound from the back of his throat.

Your heart squeezes.

“Shhh,” you whisper, rocking a little more. “I know. I know, sweetheart. We’re gonna fix it, okay? You’re safe now.”

The baby wipes, Jason’s fancy, unscented ones, sit in the middle of the table like some cosmic joke. You grab them with one hand and ease the little boy into your lap with the other.

He blinks up at you, lashes crusted with ash, lips trembling. You think he’s trying to cry again, but he’s too tired. Instead, he lets out a low, wheezy whimper that turns into another hiccup, and you feel it all the way through you.

“I know,” you murmur. “Big day, huh?”

You unwrap Jason’s jacket that's been wrapped around the baby slowly, piece by piece. It’s warm from his body heat, and the baby makes a small sound of protest as the cooler air hits his skin.

“Oh, I know, I know,” you croon, voice going higher and softer without you meaning to. “Almost done. Let’s get you all cleaned up, little guy.”

What’s left of his onesie is charred at the edges, barely clinging to one shoulder. You tug at it carefully, apologizing every time the fabric catches. He doesn’t seem to notice. His hands are curled into little fists, still clutching invisible threads.

You grab the first wipe and start gently, his forehead, soft and warm, dotted with grime. You trace along his eyebrows, then sweep carefully down the bridge of his nose. Each stroke is featherlight, the kind you might use for glass.

He hiccups again, but it’s quieter this time.

“There you go,” you whisper. “See? Not so bad.”

You work your way down. Cheeks, chin, neck. There’s a smudge of blood near his ear that you clean with extra care. Not his, thankfully. His arms are sticky, tiny fingers coated in smoke and something that might have been applesauce at some point.

You talk the whole time.

Not because he understands, but because you need it. Because it keeps your hands steady. Because if this baby is going to live in your world now, then he deserves to hear words that are soft and steady and safe.

“You’re doing so good,” you say as you clean under his chin. “Brave little man. Bet you didn’t think you’d end up in a vigilante’s living room tonight, huh?”

He blinks, hiccups again. Then lets out a slow, shuddery sigh.

That’s the first time he really settles.

Not asleep, not yet. But no longer vibrating with fear. His hands uncoil a little. One of them smacks softly against your chest, fingers opening and closing. Grabbing. Seeking.

You let him wrap them around the drawstring of your hoodie.

“Got me?” you whisper. “Yeah. I’ve got you too.”

You work your way down to his belly, where there’s more ash than baby skin, and clean it in little circles. His legs twitch when you get to his feet. He lets out a hiccuping noise that might almost be a laugh.

You smile, watery and wide.

“Ticklish, huh? I’ll remember that.”

Once he’s clean, or as clean as he can be, you reach behind you for the towel you spotted earlier, fresh and fluffy from laundry day. You lay it out on your lap and ease him into it slowly, like wrapping a present made of porcelain.

He doesn’t cry. Doesn’t protest.

Just lets you fold the corners around him and pull him close.

You lift him again, now swaddled and warm and smelling like Jason’s baby wipes. His cheek presses to your shoulder. One final hiccup rattles out of him, soft and damp.

Then stillness.

You stroke a hand down his back and feel his breathing even out, the rhythm finally syncing with yours.

“See?” you whisper. “We’re okay.”

You hold him like that for a long time, rocking gently, chin resting atop his head. His grip on your hoodie string tightens once more, like he knows this is something new, something he doesn’t have a name for yet, but he wants to keep it.

You kiss the top of his head, right over a little fuzz of hair.

“Welcome to the world, baby boy,” you murmur. “Let’s make it better than the one you came from.”

You hear the bathroom door creak open before you see him. He appears in the doorway, soft footsteps, damp hair dripping onto his shirt, a slight limp that he’s trying (and failing) to hide. He’s in one of his plain black tees and a pair of sweats that hang low on his hips, clean for the first time in hours.

But he looks older.

Not just tired, aged. Like whatever he saw in that warehouse tonight carved something new into his bones. His shoulders are hunched. His hands tremble at his sides. He’s blinking too much, like the light hurts.

You don’t say anything. Not yet.

You’re still on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, and the baby, your baby now apparently, is curled into your chest, wrapped in the fluffy towel, finally calm. One chubby fist clings to your hoodie drawstring. His little mouth hangs open slightly, breath puffing soft and warm against your collarbone.

Jason sees the two of you and stops like he’s been gut-punched.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

You meet his eyes.

“Well,” you say softly, “you missed bath time.”

He swallows. His voice, when it comes, is hoarse. “You look…natural.”

“Do not make a MILF joke right now,” you warn him.

His lip twitches. Not quite a smile. But almost.

He crosses the room slowly, barefoot and silent, and sinks onto the coffee table across from you, elbows on his knees. His eyes don’t leave the baby. You watch his fingers flex, twitch, then curl into fists against his thighs.

He’s still shaking.

You shift the baby slightly so he’s more visible. “He’s clean now,” you murmur. “Mostly soot. One scratch. Nothing serious.”

Jason nods, jaw clenched tight.

“Want to hold him?”

He blinks. “I—I’ll drop him.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I’m not—he’s so small. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You look at him. Really look at him. The man who faced death a hundred times, the man who ran into fire tonight without flinching. He’s more afraid of this baby than he ever was of a bullet.

“You okay, Ma?” he asks, voice low.

“Jay,” you say gently. “Meet your son.”

Jason sucks in a breath.

You shift the baby carefully, transferring the little bundle into his arms. Jason’s muscles go taut. You guide his hands. One behind the neck. One under the towel. The baby stirs a little, but does not wake.

Jason just stares.

“Our son,” he says quietly. Then, softer, like it costs him something: “You’re already better at this than me, Ma.”

“Not a competition.”

“If it was, you’d be winning.”

You smile. “Let me know when you’re ready for diaper duty.”

He doesn’t laugh. His throat bobs.

“He held onto me,” Jason says. “When I picked him up. Like he was already used to me. Like he knew.”

“He probably did,” you reply. “You’re loud.”

“Sweetheart.”

You glance at him, lips twitching.

He looks back, eyes full of something you don’t have a name for, and murmurs, “You’re killing me here.”

You grin. “Good.”

He snorts, and the sound breaks something in both of you.

You pull a small notepad from the coffee table and hand it to him. Folded. Torn out with care. You made the list while he was in the shower, one-handed, with the baby hiccuping on your chest.

Jason takes it with one hand, still awkwardly cradling the baby in the other.

He unfolds it.

Formula (small can to test for allergies) Bottles (with the little slow-flow nipple things) Diapers (Get all from size newborn to size 3 just to be sure) Wipes (unscented, non-alcohol) Pacifier (whatever brand looks trustworthy) Blanket

He stares at it for a second.

Then he says, “You’re terrifying when you’re calm.”

“You said that already.”

“Still true.”

He glances up. “You sure you’ll be okay here?”

You raise a brow. “I just cleaned a crime scene off a one-month-old with gun wipes and wrapped him in a bath towel. I think I’ve earned your trust.”

Jason exhales, slow and shaky. He leans down, presses the gentlest kiss to the baby’s forehead. Then one to your temple.

“I’ll be back in ten,” he says, voice gruff. “Don’t let him grow up without me.”

“No promises,” you say, already pulling the baby back into your arms. “He’s learning fast. Got a strong grip.”

He grabs his keys and is halfway out the window before you call out, “Hey!”

He pauses.

“You’re doing good,” you tell him.

He looks over his shoulder, silhouetted by the streetlight behind him.

“Only ‘cause I’ve got you” he says.

Then he disappears into the night.

You look down at the baby, who is still fast asleep, tiny chest rising and falling like the most fragile promise.

“Well,” you whisper. “That went okay.”

The baby grunts.

You take that as agreement.

–

You and the baby were doing okay for a while.

After Jason left, you wrapped the baby a little tighter in the towel and curled up on the couch with him tucked against your chest. The apartment was warm, quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional rustle of the blanket nest you’d made. You could feel the baby’s little breaths on your collarbone: slow, sleepy, steady.

You thought maybe you’d both doze off.

But then he shifted.

Just a little.

His head tilted back, eyes blinking open. Still a little glazed from fatigue, but alert now. Searching.

And you watched him look around the room.

His gaze skipped past the shelves, the ceiling, the lamp. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t newborn twitchy nonsense. He was looking.

Your chest squeezed.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing a thumb along his cheek. “I miss him too.”

The baby let out a soft sound. Not quite a cry. Just a broken little whimper, like something in his tiny chest had snapped loose.

And then came the tears.

Big, hiccupy sobs, full of confusion and exhaustion and something too big for his little body to hold. His face scrunched. His fists clenched in the towel. He started wailing like his heart was breaking.

And somehow, that was the thing that undid you.

You tried. You really did. You held him, rocked him, whispered, “Shh, baby, shh, he’ll be back soon,” over and over again.

But your voice wobbled. Your throat tightened. And somewhere between one sob and the next, your own tears started falling.

You’re still crying when the window opens.

You don’t look up at first. You just whisper, “Jay?” like maybe you’ve imagined him, like maybe you’ve gone soft with shock and longing.

But then—

That’s when the window bangs open again.

You jump, clutching the baby tighter, but then—

“Sweetheart,” Jason breathes, breathless and wind-chapped and bag-laden, “I’m back. I got it all. I—holy shit, are you crying?”

“No,” you sniff, snuggling the baby closer. “We’re both crying.”

Jason’s face crumples. He’s across the room in two strides, bags thunking to the floor.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, crouching in front of you. “It was ten minutes. What happened?”

“He missed you,” you whisper, gesturing at the baby. “I missed you.”

Jason leans forward and kisses your forehead, your cheek, your temple, like he’s trying to seal the cracks. “I’m here now. Okay? You’re not doing this alone.”

The baby lets out one last watery squeak before going quiet, little fists still clinging to your hoodie strings like they’re lifelines.

Jason exhales hard. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

He scoops the bags off the floor and starts unloading: bottles, formula, wipes, a six-pack of tiny diapers, a giraffe pacifier, and, somehow, a stuffed penguin wearing a bowtie.

“I panicked,” he says when you lift an eyebrow at the penguin. “He looked trustworthy.”

You laugh, a little teary still, and set the baby down gently on the blanket-nest you made on the couch. “Okay. You want bottle or diaper?”

Jason eyes the baby warily. “I’ll take diaper. Can’t mess that up too bad, right?”

You make a noise that is not confirmation and head to the kitchen to figure out formula.

Behind you, Jason crouches over the baby like he’s defusing a bomb. “Alright, little man. Let’s not make this weird.”

You’re measuring formula powder into the bottle when you hear a yelp.

“Did he pee on you?”

“Direct hit.”

You bite back a snort. “Wipes are next to you.”

Jason mutters a prayer to whatever gods govern newborn hygiene and starts cleaning up. You screw the bottle lid on and flick the kettle on to heat a little water.

A minute later, you yelp and yank your hand back.

“Babe?” Jason says, halfway through taping the diaper.

“Burned my finger,” you say, holding it under cool water. “He better appreciate this. Formula smells like wet chalk.”

Jason is quiet for a second. You look over and shout out, “You okay?”

“I’m fine. You?”

You glance down at your finger, still under cool water, then over at him, on the floor in front of the couch, legs splayed awkwardly, baby wrapped in a blanket in his lap like something sacred and possibly radioactive.

“I’ve never been better,” you say.

You mean it.

Jason searches your face, like he doesn’t quite believe you yet. But you watch the tension in his shoulders loosen, just a little. The kind of shift that says okay, we can breathe now. Just for a minute.

You dry your hands on your hoodie and grab the warm bottle from the counter. “Alright, Jay,” you say gently, “feeding time.”

He adjusts the baby in his arms slowly, carefully. Like he’s still convinced one wrong move will make the kid detonate. But the baby just blinks up at him, quiet now, eyes big and glassy.

You lean in, helping Jason guide the bottle toward the baby’s mouth. “Remember what the video said? Just enough tilt to keep the nipple full.”

“Like a fuel injector,” he mutters, which is a sentence that absolutely does not belong here and yet somehow fits perfectly.

Then softly, hesitantly the baby latches.

Jason freezes.

And then the baby starts drinking.

A tiny sound, halfway between a slurp and a sigh, escapes his mouth as he settles in, hands curled against Jason’s shirt like he’s staking a claim.

Jason’s voice is barely audible. “He’s eating.”

You press your shoulder against his. “You’re feeding him.”

“Holy shit.”

You laugh. “Exactly what the baby was thinking, I’m sure.”

The room is so still. Gotham hums beyond the windows with distant sirens, the occasional horn, but inside, it’s just the three of you. Just this quiet miracle.

The baby drinks slowly, pausing now and then to blink up at Jason. There’s something so trusting in that look, like he already knows this is his person. Like he knew the moment soot-covered arms scooped him from the wreckage.

You rest your head on Jason’s shoulder. He leans into you instinctively.

“I thought I broke everything I touched,” he says quietly.

“You didn’t break him.”

He looks down again, awe softening the edges of his face. “No. I didn’t.”

When the bottle’s almost empty, you pull back gently. “Okay. Now for part two.”

Jason squints at you. “Part two?”

“Burping. Remember the video?”

Jason blinks. “Oh God.”

You laugh. “Don’t panic. We’ve got this.”

You lift the baby from his arms and place him carefully against your shoulder, one hand supporting the back of his head, the other patting his back in slow, rhythmic taps.

Jason watches like it’s surgery.

“Not too hard,” he murmurs. “Not too soft. Just right.”

“What is he, a porridge?”

“I swear—”

And then the baby lets out a very small, very proper burp.

You both freeze.

Jason’s mouth drops open. “That was—he—he did it.”

You beam. “He did it.”

“No you did it. You’re the baby whisperer.”

You lower the baby back down, curled against your chest now, heavy with milk and sleep and trust.

Jason reaches out and brushes a single finger down the baby’s back. His hand is so big next to that tiny body, but the touch is impossibly gentle.

“He looks like he’s already dreaming,” Jason whispers.

You nod, watching the baby’s eyelids flutter. “I hope it’s something soft.”

A pause. Then:

“What do you think he dreams about?” Jason asks.

You smile. “Right now? Probably warm bottles. And maybe you.”

Jason’s quiet for a beat too long.

You glance over.

He’s staring at you.

Like the world just narrowed down to you and the sleeping baby and the way your voice wraps around both of them like a blanket.

“I really love you,” he says softly.

You blink.

“Say it again.”

“I love you”

You smile. You tilt your head until your temple touches his.

“Back at you.”

The baby lets out one last sigh and goes completely still.

You and Jason don’t move. You just sit there, watching the baby sleep, your arms wrapped around the beginning of something new. Something that still smells like formula and burnt fingers and trust.

And the thing is?

You’re not scared.

Not even a little.

--

part 2: you don't have to know that its haunted