#clark is so fun to characterize

[hatethysinner]

it's a bird, it's a plane!

pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

summary: or, clark kent fucks you in the sky.

wc: 2.3k

warnings: 18+ mdni (!!!), established relationship, no plot all porn, exhibitionism, soft!dom!clark, praise kink, very light lactation kink, unprotected sex, p in v, belly bulge, cervix fucking, body worship, nipple play, creampie, banter, levels of horniness the dc universe has never seen before, i had to take a little bit of creative liberty with the suit y'all gimme a break

The air was cold.

At least, it it should’ve been.

The wind tore through your hair, whistling past your ears, whipping at every edge of your clothes—and yet your whole body felt flushed, dizzy-hot, molten right where Clark’s chest pressed against your back.

“You okay?” His voice came ragged in your ear, breathless, but not from the altitude.

Not when he was moving in you like that.

You choked out something halfway between a laugh and a moan, your fingernails digging into the back of his neck where it pressed to your shoulder. “You’re asking me that?”

Clark’s laugh was quick, soft, a little sheepish—like he didn’t quite realize how insane the question was, given the circumstances. His grip tightened at your hips, one big, calloused hand splayed wide over your stomach, holding you steady while the other cupped under your thigh to keep you just where he wanted you.

Which was—

God.

Exactly where you wanted to be.

“Just—don’t want you getting nervous, is all,” he said sweetly, unhurried even as his hips drove into you with relentless, delicious precision. “It’s a long way down.”

“Clark—” you gasped, your voice catching hard when his thrust angled just right. “You can’t—oh my God—say stuff like that when you’re—”

“Flying?” he supplied, a grin in his voice, even as his breath hitched against the back of your neck. “Don’t see why not. Feels—mm—feels good, don’t it?”

Your laugh broke apart into another moan. “You’re—God, you’re ridiculous.”

The absurdity of it hit you for just a second—your back against his broad chest, your legs braced around him, miles above Metropolis, the glow of the city spread beneath you like a galaxy. And he was inside you. In you. Pushing deep with every stroke, filling you so completely you could hardly think straight.

And with every deep thrust, you felt him there—pressing so far you swore you could feel the shape of him high inside you. Your breath hitched when his palm slid a little higher over your belly, fingers spreading possessively—and the heel of his hand brushed that firm, perfect swell in your lower stomach.

He froze for half a second.

“Oh—” His voice cracked, that earnest, shy wonder spilling out. “Sweetheart—look at that.” His hand spread wider, pressing just gently enough for you to feel it shift under his palm every time his hips rolled forward. “I’m—I’m right there.”

Your cheeks went hot, your body tightening around him, and Clark groaned low in your ear, hips stuttering once before he caught himself. “You feel amazing,” he murmured, almost reverent. “All warm and—God, you’re takin’ me all the way. Right to your—” He cut himself off with another ragged sound, like even saying it out loud might undo him.

“Clark—” you gasped, and your voice cracked when his next thrust kissed deep—too deep—his cock nudging against the tender point that made your whole body jolt.

He pulled you tighter against him, adjusting your angle just slightly in the air, his voice dropping lower, softer, right against your ear. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” he murmured, though the steady, rhythmic drive of his hips made it clear he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“It’s—” Your voice dissolved into a moan as another deep thrust brushed your cervix, the sensation so sharp you could feel it radiate through you. “It’s not—oh my God—it’s not too much.”

He huffed a laugh, and you could feel it, the quiet pride that he was the only person on the planet who could make you unravel like this. But then his mouth dropped to your shoulder, and the sound he made wasn’t goofy at all—it was hungry. Open-mouthed kisses trailed along your neck, teeth grazing, tongue warm, as his pace stayed deep and steady.

“I love you,” he murmured, quiet enough you almost missed it between the wind and your own breathless noises. “Y’know that, right?”

Your heart stuttered, a fluttering thing barely tethered to your ribs. He said it like that every time. Like it was the most important part. Like the flying, the strength, the incredible, dizzying sex miles above the world—none of it meant a thing without you knowing that.

You managed to turn your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him—hair blown wild from the wind, glasses long since discarded, eyes so blue it made your stomach flip.

“I know,” you breathed, and then bit back a whimper as he rolled his hips again. “Clark—oh God—”

His laugh was quieter this time, almost shy, like he still couldn’t believe the effect he had on you. “You’re so good to me,” he said, a little dazed, and the way his voice cracked slightly on the last word made your cheeks burn. “Every time. Every single time.”

The praise made your chest ache in that dizzy, molten way again. It always did. He never made it dirty, even when you knew exactly how much he was falling apart, even when his thrusts grew a little more erratic, a little deeper, a little harder. It was all adoration.

“Clark—” you started, but whatever words you meant to say dissolved into a desperate sound when he shifted his hand up from your thigh, skimming over your ribs, his palm curling over your breast.

He groaned softly, the sound almost reverent as his thumb brushed your nipple, rolling it between calloused fingers. “So perfect,” he whispered, breath ragged against your skin. “Every part of you.”

You arched into him—and then gasped when his head dipped suddenly, his warm mouth closing over the peak. His teeth grazed you, just enough to make your pulse stutter, and then he was suckling slow, deep, like he couldn’t help himself.

The pull sent a shock straight through you, made sharper by the steady, teasing press of his cock as his hips rocked into you. His other hand stayed firm at your stomach, holding you back against him like he was afraid you might slip right out of his arms and into the sky.

He pulled back with a wet pop, his lips glistening, breath warm against your skin as his eyes lingered there like he couldn’t decide whether to go back.

“One day,” he murmured, voice low and full of promise, “I’m gonna get a taste of you, sweetheart.”

Then he was kissing you again. Or trying to—his mouth was clumsy against your jaw, your cheek, your neck, like he couldn’t get close enough. Like there was too much sky between you even when there was none at all.

Every brush of his lips was rushed, desperate, his breath coming harder each time he pulled back enough to try again. He couldn’t keep still—not with the way his body was moving against yours, each thrust deeper and more uneven than the last.

You didn’t need to see his face—though you could imagine it perfectly, the way his dark brows would be pinched in concentration, the way that stubborn cowlick might’ve gone even messier from the wind and his own restless fingers.

No, you could feel it.

In the way his thrusts were changing. Not losing strength—not Clark—but losing that easy rhythm, stuttering just a little, like his body was starting to betray him. Like the control he’d been holding so tightly onto was slipping with every second he stayed buried inside you.

You could hear it too.

That unsteady, ragged breath against your neck. The little hitched exhale every time your walls clenched around him. And—God—the little noises he was trying so hard to swallow back, like it would make a difference when you could feel him coming undone.

“Sweetheart—” His voice cracked on the word, half a groan, half a prayer. His chest was warm and solid at your back, his heartbeat rabbit-fast against your spine. “You—you feel so good I’m—shhh—shittake mushrooms—”

You almost laughed, and the sound came out breathless and broken when his next thrust hit deep.

“Clark—”

“Don’t laugh at me,” he muttered, the corner of his voice tinged with that bashful grin you knew so well. His hand on your stomach shifted, fingers pressing just a touch lower—not to tease, not to distract, just to ground himself. “You—you know I don’t like swearing.”

“Then don’t—”

“I didn’t,” he insisted, voice shaky but earnest, hips stuttering again. He groaned low, breath catching, then ducked his head a little lower toward your ear. “Baby…”

You felt it in that single word.

He was close.

The tension in his voice, the almost frantic press of his body to yours, the heat of his breath brushing your jaw. He was right there.

His thrusts had gone deeper now, slower, like he was trying to draw it out and failing spectacularly. Every roll of his hips nudged your womb, making your thighs tremble in the warm air rushing past you both. His hand at your stomach pressed just firmly enough to make you feel every movement deep inside, the familiar bulge shifting with every stroke.

“You—” He swallowed hard, and the sound was almost desperate. “You close too, baby? Please tell me you’re close.”

Your chest tightened, your breath stuttering to match his. “Y-yeah—”

Clark groaned, forehead pressing to your shoulder like the relief of it had nearly undone him completely. “Good—good, ‘cause I—I can’t—” He cut himself off, breathless laughter tangled up in his words. “You know I can’t go before you. You know that, right? Drives me crazy thinking I’d leave you like that.”

You almost melted right there.

Your body clenched around him almost involuntarily at the sound of it, and he felt it. His groan came low, helpless, his hips pushing a little deeper in response.

Your head tipped back against his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut as his pace shifted again—still deep, still precise, but with that edge of urgency that made your pulse spike.

“Come with me,” he whispered, the words cracked and earnest right at your ear. “Please, sweetheart. I don’t wanna—I can’t—”

Another thrust, deep enough to make your breath hitch.

“Please.”

It was almost too much—his voice, the heat of his body pressed so solidly against yours, the deep, steady thrusts that kissed your cervix just right, his palm over your stomach like he was holding you steady against every roll of his hips.

You could feel yourself getting closer, the heat curling low in your belly, your breath catching in rhythm with his.

“Clark—”

“I’ve got you,” he breathed, his other hand gripping your thigh tighter, almost trembling with the effort of keeping the pace steady. “I’ve always got you. Just—just let go, baby, I’m right there—”

Your breath broke on the next thrust, and you felt it—a dizzy rush that pulled the air from your lungs, your body tightening around him as the pleasure hit hard.

It wasn’t slow, or gentle, or gradual. It was intense—a sharp, shuddering wave that snapped through you so hard your fingers dug into Clark’s forearms like you’d fall without him. Every nerve seemed to fire at once, heat curling low in your belly as your cunt clenched down around him in tight, desperate pulses.

You could feel what it was doing to him. Each flutter of your walls squeezed his cock, dragging a rough groan out of his chest. His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering once, twice, like the sheer grip of you was pulling him under.

And God, you were wet. Every movement sent slick gushing around him, soaking the trunks of his suit, dripping down the insides of your thighs. You could hear it—the soft, obscene sound of him pushing into you over and over—and the heat that flooded you only made it worse, your body clenching hard as you came around him.

Clark’s breath hitched against your neck, his voice a deep, strangled growl you so rarely heard from him. “Baby—baby, I’m right here—”

He bottomed out hard, holding himself deep as his orgasm slammed into him.

And then you felt it.

Hot. It was so hot—spurting deep inside you in thick, pulsing ropes that seemed to go on and on. He groaned through it, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his big hands holding you firmly in place like he didn’t dare let go. Each pulse sent another rush of heat spilling into your cunt, the steady, relentless press of his cock holding every drop exactly where he wanted it.

You gasped against him as you felt it spilling over anyway, that impossible, endless heat overflowing, thick streams slipping past the tight seal of you around him. It ran hot down your already soaked thighs, mixing with your slick in a way that made you shiver.

It never failed to shock you—just how much there was. Just how warm. Like he carried the sun in him and he was spilling it straight into you.

Clark groaned again, hips giving a weak, shallow thrust that had more of his come seeping out around his cock, tone low and almost dazed. “Ohhh, sweetheart—look at you—”

But you couldn’t. You could only feel.

His chest was heaving against your back, his heartbeat pounding fast and unsteady against your spine. His cock throbbed inside you even as his release slowed, every tiny movement pushing more of that molten heat deeper until you felt impossibly full—filled to the brim, his weight and warmth and him settling heavy inside you.

He stayed there, buried deep, catching his breath like he didn’t want to risk moving too soon. One hand slid up, smoothing over your stomach as though to soothe you, thumb brushing light circles against your skin.

“Still with me?” he murmured, ragged but soft, his lips brushing your temple.

You nodded faintly, still trembling faintly from the force of it.

He gave a soft, breathless laugh, pressing a lingering kiss against your cheek. “Good—‘cause I’m not letting you go just yet.”

[rohirric-hunter]

.

[neellscapsule]

a wife's desires — a husband's insecurity

summary | you feel as if your husband doesn't want you anymore, as he ignores every attempt of seduction. until you take the secret weapon and your only feeling besides desire: anger.

pairing | bruce wayne x wife!reader

warnings / tags | hurt/comfort, fluff, insecurity, thoughts of being cheated on (doesn't actually happen), SMUT :D

smut tags | unprotected sex, oral (f & m receiving), p in v, so much love it's actually crazy, a bit of spanking????literally minimum, hair pulling, body worship, slight choking, bruce wayne is a certified MUNCH and man loves eating

word count | 5.9k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

this is NOT part of the kent!batmom!reader series but it could definitively fit right into it. you don't need to read the other parts to understand.

YOU KNEW YOU WERE PRETTY.

Since you were young, your parents had made that very clear to you. Growing up alongside Clark reassured of that. Your brother was no liar —you didn't think he even knew how to lie: not telling everyone he was Superman wasn't a lie, it was concealment of reality—, and he always told you that you were the prettiest girl he knew.

So yes, you were pretty. Perhaps not as beautiful as the supermodels that used to cling to your husband's arm when you weren't there, or the unreal kind of pretty as Diana, whose strong genes characterize her as more than gorgeous to you. But still, very attractive.

That was exactly the reason why you couldn't understand Bruce's recent coldness with intimate moments. 

You've been married for quite the time by now, a mother of five — not counting Stephanie and Duke, whom you still cooked for, comforted, disciplined with the occasional glare and softness reserved for the very loved —. Your three oldest children were already off the Manor, living their lives not so far away. Your two youngest, Tim and Damian, still under your care. 

Therefore, you could understand if his stamina had dropped a little. It wasn't easy having sex while your sons still lived under the roof, especially when Damian used to appear at uneven hours at your bedroom. Gone were the days where you could have your fun around with your husband.

Despite of that, you still used to have some: like a quick dry-humping, or a sloppy make out in the Cave. But that seemed months ago —years, if you had to be dramatic—. It's not like you were a nymphomaniac, nothing like that. You just wanted to have sex with your husband, was that so difficult to achieve?

You could understand, as well, that he was tired. By night, he was on continuous patrol, and by day he was at the Enterprises. Of course Bruce was going to be tired, and quite frustrated after the reunions with the League. But when that feeling used to grow on his chest, you usually were the one that received it . . . on the bed.

Now, not even that happened. 

He still kissed you — soft kisses on your temple, your cheek, your shoulder. He hugged you every morning like it was the last time. He held your hand at Wayne Gala events. You were never without his touch in public or private. He bought your favorite chocolates on his way home, picked flowers you loved with his own hands from the conservatory, left little notes in your coat pockets with inside jokes only the two of you would understand.

But every night… nothing.

No heat. No wandering hands. No flirtation that crossed the line into something primal. No desire. Or, at least, none acted upon. Not once in the last few months.

That night, you decided to push back.

You waited until the Manor went quiet, listening from the reading nook as Damian’s voice finally tapered off into silence in the guest wing. Tim was downstairs still — probably half-asleep in front of some triple-screen setup in the cave — but Bruce was in his study, door open, tie discarded, collar loose.

He looked like he always did: tired, half-shadowed by the low light, papers in front of him, brooding and beautiful in the way only Bruce Wayne could be. You walked in barefoot, a glass of water in your hand, and leaned against the doorframe.

“Long day, handsome?”

His eyes flicked up. His lips curved just barely. “You could say that.”

Your voice came out lower, a little thicker. “Want some company?”

He nodded without hesitation — of course he did — and gestured toward the armchair near his desk. You didn’t take it.

Instead, you walked behind him, let your hand drag across his back, your fingers slipping into the collar of his shirt. He tensed — just a little — and then relaxed again.

You leaned in slowly, hair falling forward over your shoulder, and placed a kiss right at the nape of his neck. Soft, lingering. The kind of kiss that used to mean something more. Your lips barely brushed the skin there.

“You’re always so tense lately,” you whispered, your voice like syrup. “You know, there are better ways to unwind than tax reports.”

“I’m sure there are,” he replied, still typing something into the tablet.

Your hands ran over his shoulders now, firm, practiced. You knew his body as well as you knew your own — where the old wounds lived, where the skin still twitched under light touches, where he craved pressure the most.

“You remember that massage trick Alfred taught me?” you murmured, bending down so your mouth was right against his ear. “The one with the lavender oil? You practically begged me to do it every other night when your ribs were healing.”

He didn’t stop you. But he didn’t move either.

“Darling…”

That’s what you called him when you were truly trying to get under his skin.

“Are you even paying attention to me?”

He leaned back a little now, eyes closing briefly under your touch. “I’m listening.”

“Listening is one thing,” you said softly. “Wanting is another.”

Your fingers slipped down his chest. Button by button, you undid the top three of his shirt with a kind of reverence that almost hid the hurt you were starting to feel in your chest.

He reached up then — not fast, but firm — and caught your wrist gently.

You paused.

He looked up at you with eyes that were unreadable.

“I’m tired,” he said simply. “I just want to finish this tonight.”

Your heart dropped like a stone.

You weren’t expecting him to throw you onto the desk, not anymore. You weren’t even expecting a wild night. But you thought maybe a kiss. A real one. Something more than the distracted affection that had become routine.

Still, you pulled back without a word.

You didn’t want to beg.

Instead, you leaned forward, cupped his jaw, and kissed him — slow, deep, long. You kissed him like someone trying to light a match in a storm.

His lips moved with yours. Just enough to make your body arch into his, just enough to almost fool you into believing he’d let it grow. But then he pulled away. Softly. With love. With that infuriating gentleness he always used when he didn’t want to hurt you — but was doing exactly that.

“I’ll come to bed soon,” he whispered. “Okay?”

You straightened up, swallowed the ache, and rushed your hands down the front of your silk robe.

“Okay,” you answered. No expression. Just that polite, practiced tone you’d inherited from years of keeping it together.

You walked out of the study with bare feet silent on the floor, heart thundering behind your ribs, skin burning with rejection.

And behind you, Bruce returned to his work, never looking up again.

It annoyed you. To no end. 

That was the truest thing you could say about it. That ache in your chest, that slow burn just under your ribs — it wasn’t just disappointment or even confusion anymore. It was pure irritation. You weren’t mad that he was tired. You weren’t mad that your days of spontaneous sex on every surface of the Manor were long gone. You weren’t even mad that time, life, and five kids had changed the rhythm of your marriage.

You were mad because none of it made sense.

If Bruce didn’t want you anymore — really, truly didn’t want you — then why keep pretending? Why kiss you like he meant it? Why touch your waist when passing you in the hallway? Why whisper soft things against your shoulder in bed, hold you like you were still everything to him, and then roll over like his own body was just… done?

It made you feel insane.

You weren’t some naïve newlywed. You knew marriages went through phases. You’d weathered years with him — years of grief, of Gotham’s never-ending ache, of emergency hospital visits and skipped holidays and raising traumatized children into stubborn, brilliant people. But you’d done it together.

And you missed that together.

You missed him.

And in missing him, in aching for him, you began to question everything. That night, hours later, you found yourself in the big clawfoot tub in your bathroom, surrounded by white foamy bubbles and the soft scent of rose oil in the air. A record played quietly in the next room — a jazz instrumental he’d picked for you once upon a time. You liked the way it filled the silence without crowding your thoughts.

Steam curled around the edges of your bath, fogging the antique mirror. You sank deeper into the water, let it hug your shoulders. You should’ve found peace in it. You usually did.

But tonight, your skin prickled with unease.

You stared at the ceiling for a long time before grabbing your phone from the marble stool beside the tub. You didn’t think. You just tapped the name that always helped you make sense of yourself.

Lois.

The call connected after two rings.

“Hey,” she said softly. “What’s wrong?”

That was the thing about Lois. She never started with “Hello” or “How are you?” — she went straight to the point. She always knew. And you’d always loved her for that.

You let out a sigh, staring down at the water sliding between your knees.

“I think my husband doesn’t want me anymore,” you said plainly.

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then, in typical Lois Lane fashion, “You want me to break his nose or his heart?”

A short, helpless laugh escaped your mouth. But it faded quickly.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she replied. “But okay. Let’s back up. What happened?”

You leaned your head back against the rim of the tub, water rippling against your collarbones. “It’s not just tonight. It’s been building for months. We still do all the couple things — date nights, dancing in the kitchen, breakfast in bed when I’ve had a bad night, gifts, flowers, notes, the whole damn fairy tale — but when it comes to anything physical? I’m practically throwing myself at him.”

“And he’s not reacting?”

“He is. That’s the problem. It’s not like he’s shutting me out completely. He kisses me, touches my hair, lets me climb on top of him on the couch sometimes — but it always stops right there. Always.”

Lois made a thoughtful noise. “Huh.”

“Huh?” you repeated. “That’s all you’ve got? Huh?”

“I’m thinking,” she said, and you could practically hear her pacing. “Okay. Tell me this — do you think he’s doing it on purpose? Like, is it something you feel, or something you know?”

“I feel it,” you admitted. “I feel it in my bones. I feel it when I kiss him and he pauses, like he’s deciding something. I feel it when his hand goes to my waist and then just… stops. And it’s not like he’s afraid I’ll say no. I’m half-naked in the study and he says I’m tired, Lois.”

A sharp exhale. “Okay. First of all, I’m going to say this as delicately as I can: your husband is an idiot.”

“Agreed.”

“But he’s not that kind of idiot. Not when it comes to you. You’re the only person he doesn’t let the world destroy. If he’s pulling away, it’s not because he doesn’t want you. It’s because he’s protecting something. Or hiding something.”

You stared down at your knees, eyes hot. “Yeah. That’s what scares me.”

“Because you think it’s about you?”

“Because I don’t know what it’s about,” you admitted, voice cracking just slightly. “I don’t think it’s an affair. God, if it were that, I’d burn Gotham to the ground with him inside it. But it’s not. He’s not distant in that way. He’s… soft. Too soft. Like he thinks I’ll break.”

Lois hummed. “Do you think he’s avoiding it because of you? Or because of himself?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you sure this isn’t something physical or psychological on his end? That man has been beaten, stitched, crushed, and set on fire. What if it’s not about desire, but… I don’t know. Pain? Or fear? Or age catching up with his ego?”

“I tried to ask him,” you said, sinking lower into the water. “He shut it down before I could get a full sentence out.”

“Well, of course he did. Bruce doesn’t talk until he’s cornered. You know that. And if it’s something vulnerable? He’ll never bring it up first. You’ll have to start the war.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, well. I’m too tired to start another war.”

“No, you’re not,” Lois said calmly. “You’re tired of not being chosen. There’s a difference. And honestly? You’re going to have to make him look you in the eyes and see you again. Because he does love you — even when he’s an idiot, he loves you — but sometimes they need reminding. Especially the ones who wear capes.”

You sat with that. Let it settle deep.

Because you knew she was right. You were tired, but it wasn’t just the sleepless nights or the pacing between rooms waiting for a hand that never reached for yours. It was the ache of invisibility. Of wanting someone who didn’t seem to want you back — not in the way he used to. Not in the way you still craved.

“I hate this,” you muttered. “I feel stupid. Like I’m begging for scraps of attention. Like I’m trying to sell him something he already owns.”

Lois’s voice softened. “You’re not selling anything. You’re reminding him you exist. That’s what marriage is sometimes. Not a constant state of lust. Just two people re-learning how to want each other in the cracks of routine.”

You swallowed hard. Closed your eyes.

“What if I’ve changed too much?”

“You have,” she said, without hesitation. “We all do. But the right man keeps learning you. Over and over. You just have to shake him out of the cave long enough to remember what he’s got.”

You opened your eyes slowly, staring up at the old chandelier above the tub. One of the boys had tried to climb it once, years ago. Jason, probably. Or maybe Dick. That chandelier had been through as much as you had. Still holding.

“I don’t know what to do next,” you admitted quietly.

“You do,” Lois said. “You just haven’t decided to do it yet.”

You sat in that bath until the water grew lukewarm, the bubbles dissolved into thin lace over your thighs, and the scent of rose oil faded into something faint. When you finally stood, your skin was wrinkled, your eyes clearer. You toweled off slowly, moving like someone who’d just been told they were going to war and had no armor yet.

But you’d find it.

You always did.

Because if Bruce Wayne thought he could coast through a marriage with you by kissing your forehead and calling it love, he was deeply mistaken.

And you were going to remind him — not only with seduction, not with sweetness, but with the only weapon you had left in your arsenal.

Anger.

You let it pass. Three days, one week, until it turned to exactly twelve days. Twelve nights of cold sheets and soft forehead kisses. Twelve mornings of waiting to feel something — anything — more than brushed fingertips and rehearsed affection. You smiled. You nodded. You played your role. But inside, you counted down in silence.

On the twelfth day, you made your move.

Tim and Damian were sent off to the Kent farm. Jon was already there, and Conner too. You’d said something about giving them time away from the city. Time to stretch out and rest, get out of the Manor for once. They bought it. No suspicion.

And Alfred? Alfred was harder. He’d raised Bruce. Which meant he knew the both of you inside out. But you cornered him in the kitchen, hands folded neatly, voice too sweet.

“I want you to take tomorrow off.”

His brows rose. “Is something the matter, ma’am?”

You smiled. “No. That’s the point. Nothing’s the matter. And I want to keep it that way.”

He studied you for a long moment — the glint in your eye, the way you were biting your tongue behind your molars, the way you were clearly plotting something. And yet, he simply gave a slow nod.

“I’ll be gone until tomorrow evening, then.”

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

And just like that, the house was empty.

You started the morning with a shower that lasted longer than usual — hot, thorough, indulgent. You scrubbed away every last trace of resentment and sadness and left the water with only one feeling left in your chest: intent. The robe you wore trailed behind you like smoke, but only for the walk to your closet.

There, you reached for the black piece.

It had come after a long coffee date with Selina. The two of you had met up earlier that week, tucked away at a downtown café where no paparazzi dared linger, and while sipping espresso, she had looked you dead in the eye and said:

“Do you want to be loved, or do you want to be wanted?”

You had blinked at her, caught off guard. “Aren’t those the same?”

“Absolutely not,” she’d said. “Bruce loves people from afar. That’s his whole thing. But he only wants people who know how to make him feel. You’ve been with him too long. You’re safe now. He’s probably terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Of not being enough,” she said plainly. “He knows you’re beautiful. He’s known it forever. But the man is aging. Slower than most, sure, but still. And you? You’ve only gotten hotter.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m Selina Kyle,” she said with a grin. “And I’m telling you right now — if he’s retreating, it’s not you. It’s him. Which means you have two options: you can wait until he figures it out alone, or you can remind him of exactly who he married.”

Hence the shopping trip.

Hence the black sheer piece — a floor-length number made from a whisper of fabric, the kind that clung where it mattered and floated where it didn’t. Underneath, a matching lingerie set, all dark lace and suggestion. Red lipstick. Light perfume. No jewelry. Just you, barefoot and deliberate.

You waited in his study. The sun was beginning to dip low, the shadows stretching long against the floor. You perched on the edge of his desk, back straight, legs crossed. Every line of your body was arranged with precision — relaxed but watchful. 

Bruce stepped into the room a few moments later, as if summoned by thought. He looked like always — suit still on from a long day, tie loose, hair slightly mussed. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, he paused.

You didn’t move. You let the silence sit.

You smiled slowly. “Hi, handsome.”

He said your name like a question. Quiet. Cautious. “What’s going on?”

You stood, crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps. Let him see every inch of you. The curve of your hip under sheer black, the arch of your back, the shadow of your thighs. You stopped inches from him, dragged one painted nail along the line of his collar.

“I missed you.”

His jaw tensed. “You look… stunning, and dressed for… something.”

“I am. Do I tempt you, Bruce?”

He didn’t answer. That silence. That goddamn silence.

You leaned up. Kissed his jaw. Whispered, “Do I?”

His hands came up — not to pull you close, but to gently, gently move you back.

And that was the end of your patience.

You stepped away from him like you’d been slapped. The air between you snapped taut. Your voice, when it came, shook.

“Do you still love me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“I said,” you repeated, “do you still love me? Or am I just the mother of your children now? A warm body next to you in bed and nothing more?”

His face twisted. “Don’t say that. Of course I love you.”

“Why not?” you asked. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? You haven’t touched me in weeks. You haven’t looked at me like you used to. Do you even want me anymore, Bruce?”

“Of course I want you.”

“Then prove it.”

He turned away. Ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not you.”

“Then who is it about? Because you sure as hell aren’t letting me in.”

His hands clenched into fists. “I’m tired. I’m sore. My back hurts in the morning, I can’t sleep through the night, I’m slower in combat and Alfred hounds me about my salt intake—”

“—so you stopped making love to your wife?”

He flinched.

You kept going. “You didn’t stop holding me. You didn’t stop kissing me, or texting me, or dancing in the hallway after wine. But you stopped wanting me. And it’s making me feel like I’m losing something I didn’t even know I could lose.”

His voice cracked then. “Because I don’t feel like I deserve you anymore.”

Silence fell like a hammer.

You blinked. “What?”

He sat back down slowly, running a hand down his face. “I look in the mirror and I don’t see the man I was. I see some guy with back pain and shoulders that ache when it rains. My stomach’s not what it used to be. I feel heavier. I’m not as cut. I’m not—”

“Wait a minute,” you said, stunned. “Is this about your body?”

He didn’t look up.

Your heart broke. And then softened. And then melted.

“Bruce Wayne,” you said, stepping forward, kneeling in front of him like he was the one who needed comforting now, “are you seriously telling me that you’ve been avoiding sex with me because you think you’re not fit enough?”

“I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

“Neither am I.”

He looked at you then, really looked. And god, he looked so young in that moment, despite everything he’d said. Young in fear. In insecurity. In the nakedness of being vulnerable.

You cupped his jaw. Kissed the corner of his mouth.

“You think I care if your stomach’s softer?” you whispered. “If your hair’s graying? I love your body because it’s yours. Because it holds the man I wake up next to, the father of my children, the one who holds me like I’m sacred.”

He closed his eyes. Leaned into your hand.

“I feel ridiculous,” he admitted.

“You’re beautiful,” you said. “And if you don’t believe that yet, then I’ll just have to keep proving it to you. Again and again.”

When he kissed you this time, it wasn’t out of guilt or obligation. It was desperate. Real. Hungry. And when he picked you up and set you on his desk, nothing in you felt hollow anymore.

There was a sharp clatter as a tablet and a stack of reports were swept aside — a small, careless act that told you more than words could. Bruce Wayne never left his desk messy. But right now, he didn’t care. Right now, all he cared about was you. 

Your back arched slightly as you shifted on the hard wood, legs falling open just enough for him to step between them. He pressed his forehead to yours for a moment before kissing you again, slower this time, more controlled. His hands rested at your hips, thumbs brushing back and forth over the thin lace of your panties, not with lust but with awe.

“I’ve forgotten how to breathe around you,” he murmured against your mouth.

“You never forgot,” you whispered, your lips grazing his jaw now. “You just held your breath too long.”

He hummed something low in his throat — part agreement, part apology. One of his hands drifted up, fingers catching the edge of the sheer fabric that still clung to your arms and shoulders like fog.

“I love this on you,” he said, voice almost reverent.

You smiled softly. “It’s new.”

“Selina?”

“Who else?”

That earned a quiet chuckle from him, the sound vibrating against your collarbone as he dipped his head, pressing a kiss there. Then another. And another. Each one slower than the last, trailing downward, lips ghosting across skin like he was trying to memorize it all over again.

Your hands moved to his shoulders, dragging his jacket down one arm at a time until it fell to the floor. Then the buttons of his shirt — each one undone with deliberate patience, your fingers lingering on every inch of newly exposed skin.

And there he was.

Still strong. Still broad. But softened now, not by neglect, but by time. The lines of muscle beneath his skin weren’t as sharp as they once were, but you didn’t care. You liked him like this — still powerful, still grounded, but more human.

“You were never meant to be marble,” you said, hands brushing over his chest. “You’re not a statue. You’re a man. My man.”

He exhaled shakily. His fingers slid under the straps of your black piece, tugging them slowly off your shoulders until they fell limp at your sides.

“Can I?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

The fabric slipped down, pooling around your waist. Beneath it, the lace bra framed you perfectly, delicate, a contrast to your heated skin. His eyes dragged over you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered.

“And you’re mine,” you said, leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth.

He kissed you back fiercely. The red from your lipstick had already begun to smudge slightly against his mouth, staining him, marking him. He didn’t stop to wipe it away. He didn’t hesitate.

Then his mouth moved lower.

You laid back on the desk slowly, hair fanning across the polished wood, breathing shallow now. He pressed kisses down the valley between your breasts, over the soft curve of your ribs, the edge of your stomach. When he reached the waistband of your panties, he paused merely for a second before kissing your thighs like he was kneeling before divinity.

Your hands threaded into his hair. Your eyes blurred. “Bruce…”

“Shh,” he said gently. “Let me.”

And you did.

He peeled the panties away with care, like they were made of something sacred, and set them aside. Then he leaned in, slow, careful, kissing the inside of your thigh, moving upward with a heat that made you tremble. When his mouth finally found the center of you, you let out a soft cry, hips lifting off the desk.

He held you there, one arm under your thigh, the other hand pressed flat against your stomach. Guiding. Grounding.

��I've been thinking too much of this,” he mumbled, warmth breath over your sensible mount. He pushed his tongue against it, pressing it to taste you better. “Every night, when you thought I was asleep. How could I let my poor wife like that, huh?”

“Bruce,” you tug on his hair a little, and he just smiles against you, sneaking the tip of his tongue around in slow movements. You don't take long to recognize he's spelling his name on your clit. 

You gasp and squirm a little, the stimulation getting to you rather quickly since it has been so long. A long palm of his rushes up, ripping your bra without effort to press against your boob.

“Bruce! That was—expensive.”

“I'll buy you the whole damn shop,” he mutters, fully pressing his tongue, lips catching your pearl with vigor, as if it was an elixir he couldn't stop drinking. His fingers roll your nipple, already hardened. “And you will sit on my face after tonight. Religiously.”

A breathy laugh escaped you before turning into a whole moan, your hand tugging on his hair to keep him against your core, the pleasure making you roll your eyes to the back of your head. He dragged the hand on your stomach to your thigh, pushing it more open. 

You shrieked when the palm slapped against the skin of your ass-cheek. He just pressed it with his palm, eating you without rest, not even a second thought on his head but to please you. His moans and grunts just made you wetter. 

“Feels so good, B,” you mumble, already drunk on the feeling. You tend to be a bit chatty, full of sounds, something he had grown to love in merely the first time you had been together. “Sooo good.”

“Only the best for my love.” He licked a long swipe from your pulsing hole to your clit, finally deciding on sucking on it. You grind against his face, one hand clinging to the wood while the other pressed hard on his locks, keeping him pressed against you.

While his tongue messed into you, his nose pressed just perfectly against the sensitive button, working up your orgasm rather quickly. You moaned loudly, thanking whatever God had brought the idea to get the kids and Alfred out.

“Don't stop!” You gasped, eyes closing for a second before falling to him again. “'M so close, Bruce—”

And of course he wouldn't stop. Not when you tasted that sweet, when your aroma —your sweet perfume mixed with your natural scent— expanded on all the room, when your taste could make him die and come back again. He would die a happy man, though, drunk in you, pressed deeply into your folds. 

Before you knew it, you came over this tongue, moans coating his ears as sweet honey. He didn't even let you squirm, drinking all your nectar, not letting a drop go to waste. After that, he fully kissed you, his bulge pressing just so good against you. 

“I think,” you gasped under his lips, “I saw the light for a second.”

Bruce chuckled, kissing your jaw while letting you come down from the high. You let him do it, as well as caress your waist and tits. After months of nothing, this felt like a gift made in heaven only for you. Pushing him back softly, you sit up.

“Wanna suck you,” you mumble, standing with a little jump. The gown falls, just like the bra, except that one is terribly ripped and the other not. You don't even let him answer, just making him step back until he falls on the couch.

As quick as a flash —no pun intended—, his pants and boxers go off, just beside your own clothes. You had always enjoyed going down on Bruce: he lets you go at whatever rhythm you wish, length, grip. Perhaps it was because you always enjoyed teasing him, thought you would now leave that for another opportunity.

Tonight, you just wanted to love all of him.

So there, on your knees, you grabbed his length, your fingers merely grazing around. You kitty-kissed the mushroom tip, too in love with how red it looked. His hand held your hair, not even with force like you had done with him, but with pure carefulness.

“So pretty,” you whispered over it, blowing softly. “And all mine.”

You licked a strip up from the base, taking him on your mouth by the time you reached the final. With that, you pushed inch by inch down your throat. Bruce was large and thick, both things that drove you crazy more than once. He had ruined you for every other man.

He let out a soft moan, mouth hanging open, thighs that opened more and more to let you accommodate between them. You gripped his base, not taking him all in. Your jaw asked for freeness with that length already, it would probably lock if you took more. 

So you kept your rhythm, licking and humming with your red lips making a mess on it. His sounds got louder and hoarser with your movements, hips slightly pushing up, which you accepted delightfully, bobbing your head with all pleasure. 

A puddle of pre-cum and saliva grew at the base, splashing around his pelvis, but neither of you cared enough about it. A gag escaped you, forcing tears in your eyes, and when he tried to pull back you just pulled deeper, not wanting to let him go. You looked at him through your lashes, merely able to see his form.

“Doing so good,” he grumbled. “My sweet—wife. I've neglected you, and you repair me like this—so perfect-”

You hollowed your cheeks, one hand kneading at his knee, taking him deeper before going up for air. With a 'pop', he escaped your lips, dripping a mix of liquids. You smiled, a bit dazed, and continued to jerk him. 

The hand in your hair let go for a second, caressing your cheek. A bit out of breath still, you licked the sides of his cock, kissing it, leaving red, faint marks all over it. His fingers, messing into your locks, pulled you back gently. 

“Don't wanna cum if it's not inside of you,” he explained when you looked at him, frowning. Within a second, he already had you face down—ass up on the couch, hands gripping into the armchair while his cock circled your clit, pressing on it to see it slip from how wet you were.

“Bruce, if you keep teasing, I swear to God—”

You gasped as he slipped into you slowly, moaning lowly at the feeling of your velvet walls clenching on him, warm and made for him. The first thrusts were calm, merely getting you used to his size once again, getting used to your heat as well.

Then, there was no way of stopping. Your loud moans sounded all over the room and the halls, as the obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass, skin-to-skin. He grabbed your waist with one hand, the other drawing eights on your clit.

“Feels so good! Don't—don't stop,” you whined, grinding down, face pushed to the side to breathe and throw back glances. 

“Yeah? You feel good?” Bruce licked his lips, dragging you up by the nape of your neck, still sliding up and down his cock. He kissed below your ear, licking the salty taste of your throat. “Want more?”

“Yes! Yesyesyes— Please, B.”

“You're taking it so well,” he bit softly into your skin, pushing with more effort. His pressure on your pearl increased as well, making you squeal in pleasure. 

You pushed your hands up, squeezing your tits in full delight, almost cock-drunk. His continuous thrusts into your already sensitive hole made you just moan, nothing else able to come from your mouth. You could feel your climax already building up.

It seemed like he could also feel it, since he pulled out, making you change positions, entering just as quick, all before a single complaint could fall from your lips. The missionary had always been a personal favourite of Bruce, as he could see your face, kiss you and get as close as possible.

You grabbed one of your knees, expanding the space so he was able to move even harder inside. The other was on one of his hands, the bone touching your chest with how much he pushed it. But it was all worthy, his weight pressing into you, his pelvis grazing your clit, all for his kiss.

Your mouths clashed against each other, alongside a mix of moans and grunts. His free palm rested on your throat, merely pressing into it, just enough to make you melt, trying to grind down to get everything. It just made him thrust more and more, making you cry in ecstasy, throwing your head back.

“There! Oh, fuck— There, B. There! So good. Fuckfuckfuck,” your sobs of pleasure increased as his mouth caught one of your tits, sucking and slightly biting into it while not losing the rhythm. “Bru-ce, 'm coming. 'M so close.”

You let go of your knee, pushing your hand into his hair to take him back of your tit, kissing him while clawing at his back, mewling with pleasure, eyes teary. Everything was too much —the sweated skins, the pulses of his cock, the veins pushing against your gummy wall just right—, but you knew it was only because of your soon climax.

You came first, clenching down so hard it forced his own. He completely drenched the inside of your walls, painting them white, a ring of the same shade at his base. His face fell on your neck, biting and kissing while your moans descended to hums of pleasure. 

“Love you,” you mumbled, hands trembling but grabbing his face to see him. ”Love you so much, Brucie.”

His lips clashed against yours, cock still inside of you but softened —though you knew it wasn't going to be like that much longer than a few minutes—. A single thread of saliva united your mouths.

“I love you as well, my love.”

[lunasfics]

Found Family

summary: In which Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent engage in a custody battle over a clone created from both their DNA, or, in which you get saved from a lab and gain two new families who would move mountains for you.

pairing: Bat Family x f! Reader, Supers x f! Reader

word count: 8.2k

preview

a/n: hello! IT'S FINALLY OUT WOOHOO, it's a bit long but i had a lot of fun writing it. certain characters may be a bit ooc so i do apologize as i'm still getting my footing on how to characterize certain people. let me know what you think! constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated (just pls don't be mean lol)! i left a somewhat open-ish ending because i wanna make this into a series/universe, and will start taking requests for drabbles in this universe, depending on how this is received! - luna :)

reblogs are appreciated!

“I’m in. Robin, what’s your status?” Bruce spoke into the earpiece, swiftly moving through the shadows of the lab. It was a simple mission: get into the lab Lex Luthor had created under Gotham City, collect intel needed to take down said lab, and leave. Unfortunately, it’s never really that simple, is it? 

“I’m in, making my way through the west wing, cover is still intact,” Damian muttered back. 

“Good. Nightwing?” 

“Just entered the center lab, heading down to the bottom level now, haven't been spotted,” Dick said, making his way down the steps, careful to remain silent. 

“Good. Remember the objective. In and Out.” Bruce muttered as he continued, searching for the locked file cabinet he was looking for. 

“Files located. Ready for extraction” Damian said quietly through the intercom. 

“I’ve made it to the bottom level. Requesting immediate backup, there's something here you guys need to see” Dick’s voice echoed through the earpiece, “They’ve made another clone.” 

Bruce stopped what he was doing, silently making his way down the hall towards the staircase Dick took around a half hour before, “I'm on my way. Damian?”

“Heading there now. Files are downloaded.” 

Upon arriving at the lower level, Dick bypasses security to let them in, making sure to reactivate the lock behind them, “Look.”

He gestured to the incubation tube not far from them, inside of it stood a young woman, who looked no older than 20, wearing a black skin-tight suit, a familiar “S” symbol adorning her chest, only it was the center of another symbol, the bat symbol, with bat ears at the top and bat wings on either side of it, a dark burgundy color with gold lining along the edges. The plaque below the tube read: 

Attempt 1: G6B24 

Specimen 1: Superman (Identity: Unknown)

Specimen 2: Batman (Identity: Unknown) 

Status: Failed - Shows excessive signs of emotional intelligence (unfit for purpose), Subject is not invulnerable, Lacks thermal vision

‘Emotional Intelligence’ you must have shown hesitation, a moral compass. 

“Father… what are we going to do?” Damian asked, he was at a loss, part of him felt slightly threatened, if you were taken in, he would no longer be the only child related to Bruce by DNA, and you were older, stronger— perhaps you would take his place, the place he’d finally felt he truly belonged; however he remained silent, his past self likely would have attempted to argue against your rescue, but he’d grown, he knew deep down you deserved a chance at this life just as much as he did. 

Bruce looked up at your unconscious figure, at a loss for words, you were his daughter, intentional or not, there was a part of him in you, he only hoped that part wouldn't screw you over for life. As surprised as he was, he had an obligation to you the same way he did with Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Barbara, Duke, Damian, and every other vigilante he had taken under his wing.

His Batman instincts kicked in very quickly though, immediately refocusing himself, reading through the files, in an attempt to prepare himself for any possible scenario, he turned to Dick. 

“Find all the DNA samples they have belonging to both me and Superman, we’re taking them,” he said, making sure to not hyper-focus on the thoughts flooding his mind. 

“We’re not just leaving her here, are we? The plaque says ‘failed’. Who knows what could happen to her?” Dick said, he was frustrated.

Conner had gotten a chance to build a life for himself. You deserved one too, the mere thought of Bruce wanting to leave you there angered him. 

“She’s coming with us. Damian, watch the door, Dick, find the samples," Bruce said gruffly, moving to the tube, bypassing the database to open it, without setting off any system safeguards. He reached into his utility belt and pulled out his shard of kryptonite, just in case it was needed to neutralize you. 

The tube opened slowly, a swoosh sound filling the air as the cold fog escaped the tube, spilling into the air, your eyes fluttering open as you looked around, your eyes focusing on him.

You flew at him, full speed, pushing him against the wall with a thud, knocking the wind out of him, your eyes boring into his, glowing red, just as you were about to terminate him with your heat vision, he uttered the safe word he had seen in your file. 

“Blue Pineapple” he grunted out, the red in your eyes fading away instantly, as you stared at him with wide eyes. You backed away slowly, lowering yourself to the floor. Your eyes fixed on him once again.

You recognized him from your programming, the man whose combat skills were engraved into your mind.

“Batman?” 

Dick and Damian rushed over, making sure Bruce was okay. He was fine.

Dick turned to you, holding out his hand, “Come with me. We need to get you out of here, you aren’t safe here.” 

You stared at him, your eyes narrowing, “Why should I trust you?” 

Dick sighed, Those damn Wayne genetics, he kept his hand extended to you, “Because we’re helping you escape, if you come with us, you can meet Superman, be a hero just like him and Batman, you could actually see the world” he promised. 

"I know what the world looks like." you stated bluntly.

He sighed, his hand not wavering, "But have you ever experienced it? Let us show you what that's like. You can have a life."

You thought for a moment, before letting out a small grunt, nodding at him and taking his hand, allowing them to lead you out of the lab grounds seemingly undetected. 

When you stepped out, you stopped, eyes completely transfixed on the brilliant night sky. Blends of blues and purples and grays danced together to make the beautiful endless abyss above you. You knew every color there was. You knew everything, but at the same time you really didn't. You stared up at the stars, you knew how they came to be, you knew every scientific explanation there was yet seeing them… it made you feel a way you couldn’t explain.

They led you to the batmobile, situating you in the back seat with Damian, starting the drive to the Batcave. Bruce dialed Clark’s number into the keypad, it rang twice before he picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“Meet me in the Batcave. It’s urgent. Bring Conner.”

“What’s going o-”

He hung up. 

Dick covered his mouth to hide his snicker, “So, Bruce, you and Clark have an official love child now, right? What will Lois think?” he feigned concern, placing the back of his hand over his forehead, committing to the drama, “Oh, how scandalous, I mean really, the shame! I can already see the headlines ‘Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne turned common whore after breaking up happy metropolis family’” 

Damian covered his laugh with a cough.

You looked at the three of them, utterly confused, still processing what was going on. 

Bruce huffed, shooting them both a glare, “Dick, be mature.” 

Dick smiled, “I can't help myself, just wait til Jason finds out.” He smiled in excitement, as they pulled into the side entrance of the Batcave. 

Bruce let out a deep, tired sigh.

Clark sat in silence in the Batcave, Conner standing to his left, his eyes wide as he stared at you, possessing some features belonging to both he and Bruce, and other features that seemed to be entirely your own.

You stared back, that same stoic nature radiating off of you that radiates off the Batman, however, he noted the defensive look in your eyes, one so similar to the one he saw in Conner when he first met him. He eyed your suit, noting the familiar “S” symbol, only it was a burgundy color, a rather interesting combination of the Batman and Superman emblems, and he was utterly confused.

He looked over at Bruce, still in his bat suit, his cowl pulled off, “Bruce, what the hell is going on?” 

“I had to call you here because Luthor decided to create another clone. I did the DNA test, Clark, she’s a combination of both our DNA” Bruce looked at him, Dick and Damian standing to his right. It was silent for a moment, you felt like a guinea pig, the way they all stared at you. It made you angry. 

Conner was the first to speak, stepping forward before opening his mouth, choosing his words carefully, “What’s your name?” 

You responded immediately, it felt automatic. “Experiment attempt number one. Code G6B24. I was made to be the future killer of the Batman and the Kriptonian.” 

He nodded slowly, “I’m a clone too, and Clark took me in— well, he took me in eventually— that’s besides the point. He showed me how to become my own person, we can help you do that too.”

You looked at him, eyes softening ever so slightly, but you kept your guard up like your Batman programming taught you to. “I was made to be a killer, if I don’t do what I was made to do, what am I worth?” you said quietly, voice unwavering.

Damian watched you, your words striking him in a way he hadn't expected them to, he understood what you were saying all too well. 

Bruce decided to speak up next, “You were created, it’s not your fault what their intentions were when they did so. What you become from here on out is your choice.” 

You stayed silent, eyes darting around the room—What is this feeling? Vulnerability? You knew it by definition, like you did most other feelings, but feeling them… it was different. 

Dick noted the way you seemed overwhelmed, he approached you slowly, pulling up two chairs, motioning for you to sit, you chose to remain standing until he sat down first. 

“You know, we trust you, we want to figure out a way for you to become the best you can be. On your terms” he said, offering you a small smile. 

You looked around, the others nodded in agreement, “I was made to be only the best parts of you” you said, your gaze focusing on Clark and Bruce, they both put their best qualities forward to help others, how could you use those same qualities to destroy that?

“I… don’t want to be a killer. They said I was too… human. I thought I’d failed them.” 

Damian decided to step forward, “You didn’t fail anyone, you are meant for greater things. You haven't killed anyone, you can choose your path. If the path you choose is the Robin mantle... I am willing to work with that.” 

At this, the other men in the room turned to look at him, Clark and Conner were slack-jawed, this was the same kid who fought Tim tooth and nail over this mantle. The same mantle he was just… willing to give you? 

Meanwhile Dick had a proud smile on his face, you thought you saw a small tear in his eye.

Bruce’s face seemed unreadable, however, you took notice of the way the corners of his lips turned up for a split second. before reverting back to their natural state. 

You weren’t sure what to say, again, you knew what this mantle was, by definition. The reality was you had no sense of what it meant, the weight it carried. And you knew that.

“Thank you, but I feel like that title isn’t mine to take. I think I need to… become something that's true to who I am, whatever that may be.”  

Bruce looked at you, the corner of his lip barely twitching up into a smile, a smile so subtle that only someone of your… background would notice, an attempt of his towards getting you more comfortable, “We should start with a name.” 

You looked at Conner, he gave you an encouraging smile. 

“Like I chose Conner, so now I’m Conner Kent,” he said with a small shrug, “You can choose whatever you want.” 

“I see,” you thought for a moment, “I like Y/n.” 

Clark smiled, standing up and clapping his hands together, “Great! Y/n Kent, has a nice ring to it.” 

“Wayne.” 

He turned towards Bruce, eyes narrowing slightly, “Kent.”

“Wayne.”

This time Conner spoke, “Kent.”

The three men stared at each other, arms crossed mirroring each-other’s glares. 

Dick cut in, “How about Grayson?”

“No.” came their simultaneous response. 

Dick frowned, slumping in the seat next to yours, “Jeez.” 

Damian spoke next, “I suppose Al Ghul is off the table…” 

Dick snorted, breaking out into a fit of laughter, you grinned softly at the sounds of his laughter, it reminded you of a windshield wiper. 

Conner sighed, “Fine, what about Wayne-Kent?”

Bruce huffed, “I suppose.”

Clark nodded, the smile returning to his face as he turned to you, “Y/n Wayne-Kent”

You nodded, “I like it.” 

Dick could help but laugh from beside you, “It's like I'm watching reality tv. Love me some baby mama drama.”

Clark opened his mouth to speak and closed it, before sighing and looking at Bruce, who just pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Conner chuckled at the sight, turning to Damian, who’s lip quirked up in amusement. 

Bruce looked up, his attention directed towards you, “Y/n, you can stay here for the night, I’ve asked Alfred to set up a room for you. Clark, Conner, come by tomorrow with Lois and Jon, I’ve called the others to come by as well, we’ll get everything situated tomorrow. For now, get some rest.” 

Everyone nodded, Clark and Conner heading to the exit of the cave, Damian, Dick and Bruce leading you to the room that was prepared for you. 

Dick brought you a sweater and some sweatpants to change into, closing the door with a soft, “Goodnight, kiddo.” 

You changed in silence, slowly getting under the covers and drifting off to sleep, marking the start of your new life. Tomorrow would be an interesting day. 

You woke up the next morning, to a soft knock on the door, your super hearing picking it up better than you would have liked. You opened the door, revealing an older man you hadn’t seen before. He smiled softly, giving you an instantaneous sense of comfort you couldn’t explain. 

“Hello Miss Y/n. My name is Alfred, I am the butler,” he greeted you, handing you a folded set of clothes, “Master Kent chose these for you, however if they are not to your liking, do let me know.” 

“They’re fine…Thank you.”

He smiled warmly, the kind old man giving you a nod, “Once you've changed, do come down, I’ve prepared breakfast. The other members of the family will arrive soon to meet you.” 

You gave him a short nod, he smiled again, your demeanor reminding him of the young Bruce he’d looked after all those years ago. He shut your door softly before retreating down the staircase, leaving you in your room to change. 

You picked up the small note that rested at the top of the pile, reading it over. 

Comfortable, Practical, and cool. Hope you like it. - Conner

You looked down at the neatly folded clothes, unfolding a black long sleeve turtleneck shirt, the material was thick but breathable, you slipped it on with ease, the foreign material soft against your skin, you appreciated that it didn’t suffocate you. 

You reached for the pants next, dark gray cargo pants, these were thicker, and the had an overwhelming amount of pockets. You slipped them on before slipping on the boots that were at the bottom of the stack and exiting the room, going down the staircase. 

Upon entering the dining room, you were met with Bruce sitting at the head of the table, reading the paper calmly eating his pancakes, to his right sat Dick chatting excitedly to the boy next to him, who smiled at him as he listened, he was a slender boy with black hair who looked a bit younger than Dick. Then there was Alred, calmly enjoying his breakfast. Finally there was Damian on the other side of Bruce, leaving an empty seat between Damian and Alred. You sat down, the pale boy noticing you first. 

Bruce looked up, “Tim, this is Y/n.” 

“Hello.” You sat up awkwardly. One thing you never learned was how to navigate social interactions.

He studied you for a moment, offering you a small smile, “I’m Tim.” 

You gave a nod, returning his smile with a smaller one of your own. 

“She knows, by the way.” Dick chimed in.

His eyes widened, was that why you were there? 

“How?” 

All eyes are on you. You opened your mouth to speak but Damian spoke first. 

“She’s a clone. Father will explain everything when everyone else arrives so as to not waste time, until then, hold on to your childish curiosity. I’d like to enjoy my breakfast.” 

Dick nodded, “She was literally made for this shit.”

“Watch your language Master Dick, it is deplorable to speak in such a way at the table, much less in the presence of a lady.” 

Dick blushed, “Sorry Alfred.” 

Bruce simply gave a nod. 

Tim slumped back in his seat, wanting to ask you questions about your abilities, your earliest memories, who were you a clone of, how your programming worked, the boy was itching to know it all. 

Breakfast passed by relatively quickly after that, you weren’t bombarded with questions, much to your relief. Alfred kindly asked you how you slept to which you replied that you slept well. The sound of casual conversation and glassware scraping together filling the room. You enjoyed observing the atmosphere.

Clark and Conner were the first to arrive at the manor, greeting you happily, with them was a woman and a younger boy, who immediately went to sit by Damian. 

Clark brought them over to you, the woman smiled warmly at you. It made you feel safe. 

She held your hand in hers, “My name is Lois,” her voice was kind, genuine. You noted how she carried herself. Strong, secure, honest. 

Clark was quick to bring Jon over, excited to introduce him, “This is my son, Jon.”

“Hi!”  he beamed at you, you smiled, he was cute. Cheerful as he smiled brightly at you. 

“Hello, my name is Y/n.” you greeted the two, who smiled at you.

Conner was the next to approach, “Did you like the clothes? I picked them out cause it was all I used to wear, but who knows, you may want something more… fashionable.”

You smiled softly, “They're nice, thank you.”

“On that note actually,” Clark said, “I was thinking we can take you shopping later, Bruce and I can pay.” 

Bruce deadpanned, “That’s a joke, right?” 

He smiled, “Of course, you’re paying for everything.”

“Sounds about right.” 

Chatter filled the room not long after, Jon and Damian catching up on the couch while Conner and Tim started a conversation of their own. 

The next people to arrive were three young women, blonde, brunette, and red hair. They had arrived together.

The blonde spoke first, “Why'd you call us here Bruce? We had planned for brunch.” She bitterly narrowed her eyes at him, the brunette behind her giving a short nod of agreement.

Bruce sighed, “We’re waiting on Jason. He’s late.” 

“As always.” The redhead said with a sigh, though you could see she wasn't actually upset.  

The blonde girl turned to you first smiling, “I’m Stephanie, but call me Steph. I’m assuming you’ll be joining our vigilante posse.” She seemed funny, and kind, like she truly cared for those around her. 

“Somewhat, I don’t really know. I’m Y/n.” You said bluntly.

“Pretty name.” She smiled, gesturing to the red haired woman behind her, “This is Barbara, but she's really just Babs.” She then gestured to the brunette, “That’s Cass. She’s lovely.” 

You looked at them and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Barbara smiled warmly at you, “You too, I’m so glad there’ll be another girl around, we can always use more company.” She smiled at you so kindly, despite having only just met you. Her voice was sweet, like honey. 

Cass smiled softly at you, “Come to brunch with us later. Or, lunch, now since Jason is holding us up.” 

You nodded your lip quirking up into a small smile, “I’d enjoy that.” 

Truthfully, you didn't know what the fuck brunch was. But she said lunch and that you knew. You'd find out about brunch later.

Then, as if on cue, the man in question arrived, walking through the door, slipping off his brown jacket and tossing it on the couch. He was tall, with a stocky frame, jet black hair with a white streak on the front. 

“This better be good.” 

Tim mumbled, “Finally” 

“Miss me Timmy?” 

“Quite the contrary.”

The one called Jason laughed before giving him a small nudge, to which Tim swatted his hand away. 

His eyes fixed on you, then on Bruce. 

“Dude, seriously? Another one? You have a problem man. You’d think you would’ve stopped after me.” 

Bruce stood up, “Jason, sit down. Now that you’re all here I wanted to introduce you to Y/n. She’s a clone, made from both mine, and Clark’s DNA.” 

“Holy shit, man.” 

“Jason, will you shut up?” 

“Never.” 

“As I was saying, she’ll be here in the manor for the time being, I’ll be training her and assessing her combat technique.” 

“Hold on,” Clark interjected, “She should come with us, she needs to get the hang of her powers.” 

“Clark, I have a state of the art training area in the cave.” 

“So? We’re supers, all we need is an open field.” 

“We need to assess her combat skills, and also assess the extent of her powers. She isn’t invulnerable. We need to prioritize getting to the bottom of that.” 

Clark huffed but nodded, understanding the full extent of your abilities was vital in actually training you. 

“It’s like I’m watching a custody battle.” muttered Steph, Barbara laughing quietly beside her. 

“Wait- So Y/n is basically if you and Clark had a baby?” Tim gawked at them, his eyes shifting from Bruce to Clark, to you. When his eyes landed on you, he fired questions like he was on a time limit. 

“How do Bruce’s genetics affect your abilities? Are you immune to kryptonite and invulnerable? How does your thermal vision work? Enhanced strength? Can you fly? Can you fly as fast as Superman? Do you have combat training? How do y-” 

Conner smacked a hand over his mouth, leading him back to his seat, “Lets try not to overwhelm her with the questions.” He chuckled. 

Tim nodded, looking up at you, “Sorry, Y/n.” 

“That’s okay. To answer your questions, his genetics don’t necessarily have a huge impact on any of my abilities, I was created with every available video of Batman fighting embedded into my mind, and the combat skills were engraved in my memory, I should be able to replicate his fighting style to a tee. I’m not invulnerable, but in theory, the stealth I was programmed with allows me to stay agile enough that I shouldn’t often get hurt. I don't have thermal vision, but I do have laser vision, enhanced strength, and flight, although I haven’t tested how fast I actually can fly. And like I said, my combat training is essentially the combat footage uploaded into my mind.” 

Tim had nodded, eyes trained on yours in complete interest as you answered each question, occasionally jotting something down on the notes app of his phone. 

Lois narrowed her eyes slightly at both Bruce and Clark, “I do hope you’re factoring in giving her the opportunity to build an actual social life. Maybe get her enrolled in school.” 

“She has doctorate-level information on several different topics stored into her mind, as well as fluency in 8 languages. I think she’ll be fine, Lois,” Bruce replied. 

She rolled her eyes, “Okay, so school’s not necessary, what about building a social life for herself? That’s important.” 

“There’s Young Justice,” Conner said, “I figured she’d join.” 

Tim nodded in agreement, “I can help her get situated.” 

“Where will I stay?” you asked, you didn’t particularly enjoy how they were all discussing you as if you weren't there, but there honestly wasn’t much you could do. 

“You can stay at the manor, or you can stay with the team, but it'd be best if you lived here in the Manor.” Bruce replied.

“Why isn’t Metropolis an option?” Clark muttered. 

“Because it’s more practical to have her here in Gotham, living with Tim will make it easier to adjust to the team.” 

“I want time with her, Bruce.” 

“You’ll get it. We’ll have her assessed, then three times a week she’ll train and get a hold of her powers with you.” 

Clark nodded, satisfied with that answer. 

Lois spoke again, turning to you, “Y/n, how does that sound to you?” 

You blinked. “It sounds fine. My super hearing allows me to hear every conversation proficiently.”

She chuckled softly, “It’s a figure of speech sweetheart, I meant if you’re okay with everything that was said, you’ve been a bit quiet.”

You felt your face grow hot, “Oh. Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

Clark gave you a fond smile. 

Bruce looked at you and smiled softly, a barely noticeable one, but a smile nonetheless. 

The bulk of the conversation was over. The people in the room falling into easy conversation with one another, you look around, not sure what to do. That is until Jason approaches you, a kind smile on his face. 

“Hey Y/n, I’m Jason, I’ll be honest, you probably won't see me too often cause I can barely stand being around Bruce, but… if he’s ever a dick, call me and I’ll either punch him for you and take you somewhere he’s not.” he grinned, “Or both.” 

You laughed softly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He nodded, “I’ll be raiding the kitchen, but if anyone asks, I left.” He shoots you a grin before slipping away. 

It’s not long after that when Jon approaches you, Damian by his side, he shoots you a toothy grin, “So, you’re like, my sister now, right?” 

You’re not sure how to respond, but you feel a puddle of warmth pooling in your heart, it’s nice. You smile at him softly, “I suppose so.” 

He grins, “And that would also make you Damian’s sister. right?”

“I suppose so.” 

“See Damian, we’re blood brothers by extension.” 

“Jon, that is the most imbecilic logic I’ve ever encountered. Just because Y/n is both my blood and yours doesn’t mean–” 

“Blood brothers!” He had shouted cheerfully, before walking away and over to Lois to inform her of the good news. 

Damian sighed, though you took notice of the soft smile that flashed across his face, you concluded that he cared for him. 

A lot of people in this family– Bruce’s family specifically, tend to hide affection, despite the fact that it is apparent to you that they feel it. You decide not to focus on it, people are complicated. 

You chat a bit with various people in the room, Lois telling you that you’re always welcome to visit whenever you’d like, Barbara talking to you about how her work as Oracle, Steph telling you all about the other vigilantes you’ll probably end up crossing paths with. Tim and Conner sat by you, telling you all about the team and the people you’ll meet once all your training is done. 

Slowly, people start to leave, you saw Jason slip out the front door first, sending you a wink. Dick left not long after, needing to return to his responsibilities in Bludhaven, making sure to tell you you’re always welcome to visit him over there. Then Clark left with Lois, Jon, and Conner, leaving the residents of the manor plus, Cass, Steph and Barbara.

Damian and Tim had retreated to their rooms, while Alfred busied himself with household chores, Bruce stood up, approaching you before saying, “Did you still want to go shopping? You’ll need training clothes.” 

You nodded, “Yes, please.” 

Steph perked up, rushing towards the two of you, “Oh, we have to come.” 

“Steph, you go shopping every week. With my card.”

Barbara chimed in, “It’s not about that Bruce, you have a terrible fashion sense. We can’t let you impose that onto Y/n.”

Cass nodded in agreement. 

“We’re just buying training clothes.” 

“She can’t wear training clothes in her daily life,” Steph rolled her eyes, “She needs a wardrobe.” 

You smiled, “I would like a wardrobe.” 

“See?”

Bruce sighed but nodded, “Let's go then.”

Steph cheered while Barbara and Cass high-fived behind her, it was an amusing site. 

When you arrived at the mall, Steph immediately linked arms with you, dragging you around to her favorite stores, paying no mind to your super strength potentially being able to accidentally break her arm. It caught you off guard, not only the physical display of affection, but the trust.

Again, you felt that soft puddle of warmth pool in your chest. You could get used to that. 

You had gotten to know Barbara and Cass fairly well during the trip as well, Barbara was sweet, she and Steph made you laugh more than you thought you could. Cass and you got along well too, she picked out the clothes you liked the most, always nodding in approval when you would try anything on, a soft smile on her face. The three of them opened their group up to you so quickly, it had surprised you, you felt that with their company you were better able to navigate finding yourself. 

The four of you hadn’t paid much mind to Bruce trailing behind you as you went from store to store, not that he minded. He held a fond smile as he observed the four of you giggling, talking, and having a good time.

He knew his focus on training was important, but he also knew Lois was right (not that he’d admit that to anyone), you needed a social life too. And he knew your heightened emotional intelligence would surely allow you to obtain that, you just needed to blossom, and allow yourself to break free of the restraints you put on yourself. 

He’d lost count of how many times he had swiped his card that day, at some point he had decided to just start waiting by the front, once you guys were ready, he’d walk over, swipe his card, and you guys would move on to the next shop. He wouldn't say this to anyone, but he enjoyed doing things like this, taking care of the people he cares about. 

The last store you had gone to was WayneTech, it was Bruce’s idea. You needed a phone in order to keep everyone’s contacts. So they brought you there where you got the latest model of their cell phone line, it was sleek and thin. You picked out a case and you got a screen protector. Bruce had told you that once you got to the Batcave he’d input league contacts, safety features, as well as league-level security settings. 

By the end of the trip it was early in the evening, Bruce had his arms absolutely filled with shopping bags, and what he couldn’t carry was carried by you and Steph. The five of you stepped out into the parking lot, the sun setting, casting a deep orange hue on the parking lot. You took in the image in front of you, you didn’t know suns could set so beautifully.

The ride home was nice, the car was filled with the soft chatter of the four of you, Bruce didn’t feel the need to listen in. The soft music playing on the stereo as a background was a nice addition to the atmosphere. 

When you’d arrived at the manor, the girls had bid you goodbye, but not before making sure they had your number to add you to their group chat. You were warned by Steph that Cass’s meme game could not be beat. You were slightly confused but nodded, a happy smile on your face. They each gave you a hug before getting in their cars and heading off. 

The walk into the manor was silent, but not awkward, mainly the two of you taking armfuls of bags up to your room.

As he shut the door, Bruce turned to you, “It’s not too late, if you want, we could start out on some training.” 

You nodded, going into your room to change, “I’ll be down there in a bit.” 

He nodded, walking away to change as well. 

You entered the Batcave shortly after, comfortable in your black sweatpants, and a black long sleeve athletic shirt. Now, having a better opportunity to take it all in, it was massive. You looked to your left to see Damian sparring with Tim in one of the further training areas. You walked over to Bruce, he gave you a small smile, leading you to the second training area by Tim and Damian, who by now had stopped sparring, in favor of observing your skill. 

“You can replicate my fighting style to a tee, right?”

You nodded.

“Let’s see it.” 

You charged first, making sure to suppress your strength, your movements swift and calculated, landing a fast right kick to his abdomen. He sidestepped, landing a swift punch to your side. You kept attempting attacks on eachother, each one dodging the other flawlessly.

Tim and Damian watched in awe as the two of you gracefully moved, as if you were dancing. This went on for several minutes, until you attempted a fast left kick to his side, which he caught, using as leverage to flip you over on your back.

Your limbs ached, you looked up at him, “How did you do that?”

He held a hand out to help you up, “I’m not as fast with my left kicks as I am with my right ones. My weaknesses are your weaknesses.”

You nodded. Made sense. 

“You have good technique, and you replicate my fighting perfectly, but that’s all it is. A replication. You need to make it your own. Adapt it in accordance with your abilities, you can’t do that now because Clark hasn’t trained you, but in time you will.” 

You nodded, your chest swelling with pride at his compliment, you knew after your training with Clark you would be able to better adjust your fighting style.

Damian walked over to you, “Y/n. I’d like to spar, you’ve proven to be a worthy opponent.” 

You nodded, it would be good to spar with someone with a different fighting style. Tim sat down to the side, perfectly content with just observing for now, like earlier, he occasionally jotted down some notes on his phone. You decided you didn’t mind it. It was endearing. 

This time, Damian charged first, landing a swift right kick to your ribs, you turned and landed a hard kick to his chest, sending him back, before he flipped and caught himself, running towards you again. His smaller frame provided him with an advantage as he jumped onto your shoulders, before he could land his blow, you flipped your body, sending him to the floor, landing on his back with a thud. You crouched over him, extending your hand.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” he took your hand, getting up to his feet, you gave him a soft smile, which he returned, giving you a nod of approval. He, like Bruce, didn’t often use his words, but you were able to discern their intentions just fine. 

Bruce then led you to a machine he had in the cave, where it analyzed your genetics in comparison to Clark’s, he had determined you were missing the genetic composition that happened to be the main source of invulnerability, therefore the reason you were the way you were. You are unfortunately still weak when exposed to kryptonite. 

You were tired by the end of the night. You felt you had bonded with Damian, he had asked you to spar with him another time, to which you agreed.

The next day, Bruce had sent you over to Smallville, where Clark had decided on training you, ‘A good old fashioned open field’ were his exact words.

He made sure to send you wearing your original suit, not knowing how fast you would be flying, just in case, only you didn’t like it, so you opted to wear some sweats over the suit. 

And there you were, floating about 300 feet in the air with him, as he explained the basics of flying. 

“You want to create your own leverage, using your flight, you should be able to do this.” He bent one leg, tilting to the right as he effortlessly glided in that direction, he repeated the action only now going in the opposite direction. 

You nodded, imitating his movements, gliding from side to side before stopping and looking at him. He smiled brightly at you, “You’re doing great, kid. There was never a point where you didn’t have powers, so this should be easy. Now, we’ll test your speed.” 

You nodded, “How are we doing that?”

He pulled out a stopwatch, “I’m going to wait here while you fly to Gotham and back. You know the route?” 

You nodded. 

“Okay… and…. Go!”

You immediately shot forward, a slightly bumpy start but your body adapted immediately, you felt the wind whip through your hair, and a smile spread across your face as you made a U-turn around Gotham, making it back to Clark in seconds. 

“2.6 seconds. That’s good.” He smiled at you. 

You went on like that for the next few hours, him giving you encouraging words of advice, and you gained better control over your abilities, him providing you with tips he learned over the years. For that last hour, Jon and Conner joined the two of you, the four of you eventually just playing air tag until Martha and Lois called you in for dinner. 

They insisted you stay for dinner, and you had no mind to refuse, spending time with them was nice. Jon insisted he sat next to you at dinner, excitedly talking your ear off about whatever he’d gotten to that day, and sharing his favorite stories about Damian with you. He acts like he doesn't like people, but he’s got a soft spot for a lot of us, were his exact words. You honestly completely agreed, you smiled at him as he continued talking. 

That day you’d gotten to know Martha and Jonanthan Kent, who insisted you called them Ma and Pa. They instantly coddled you as if they’d known you since birth, though, in a way, that is technically the case. 

They didn't let you leave empty handed, sending you off with tupper-ware filled with leftovers, cookies and pie. You thanked them for their hospitality and headed back to the manor. 

The next few months were mainly doing morning and evening training with Bruce, occasionally Dick would stop by to train with you, always telling you he was proud of your improvement, which never failed to make you glow just a little brighter with pride. He’d begun a tradition where he would treat you to a burger after training, or whatever it was you were craving. He said that it was his goal to get you to try every fast food joint in Gotham, deciding that it was just an essential part of living there. You quickly decided you hated fast food, but never said anything because that wasn’t at all what mattered to you, what mattered to you was the bond you were creating with your older brother. 

Your relationship with Bruce wasn’t perfect. There were times you saw how focused he was on his mission, neglecting the feelings of those around him, he could be an asshole. And with you still navigating your emotions, you’d get angry and yell, and so would he. If you saw him brushing off Damian, or Tim, one look at the crestfallen expressions on their faces was enough to get you angry. You shouldn’t have been surprised, truthfully, you weren’t. You were too similar. You were just fortunate enough to be surrounded by people early on who could convince you to let them in. 

Regardless of the imperfections between you and Bruce, you knew he cared. He always showed it with the small smile he’d give you as he held up two tickets to the movie you had wanted to see. Or in the way he’d lure everyone into the living room with snacks for a movie night. Or how he’d try his best to always express to you that you were doing well. That you were enough, and that you deserved to be there. 

You’d grown closer with Tim, too, always willing to help him with his assignments (not that he often needed it, but on the rare occasions his sleep deprived self couldn’t wrap his head around a problem). You’d often go to him when you needed help figuring something out on your phone, to which he would offer a simple solution you hadn’t seen before.

Tim was kind, he showed he cared for you by fixing things, when you cracked your screen protector by accidentally tapping it too hard, he made you a new one that could withstand the force of a bullet. He learned to confide in you over time, telling you about Bernard, expressing his worries to you about whether or not he’s good enough. You’d always tell him he was more than good enough. 

Damian had taken to calling you ‘sister’, often challenging and teasing you when he could, you’d developed a relationship where he’d go to you for company. You’d sit in the garden and take in the life around you, while he sat a few feet away and drew it.

Once, he drew you while you weren’t looking, when he finished, he handed it to you without a word and walked away. In the bottom right corner you read ‘Y/n Wayne-Kent’ in neat handwriting, just below that, ‘sister’. That was the first time he’d used that word for you. Your heart swelled. 

You continued seeing Steph, Barbara, and Cass, regularly having lunch with them and talking with them on the phone. Barbara, or as you now called her, Babs, was always there to guide you when you needed it, she’d often send you small gifts from time to time, like jewelry that reminded her of you.

Cass and you would often find the most peaceful company in each other. She would listen to you talk about all the things you'd been learning, telling you about her own experience adjusting to a new life.

Steph and you bonded over poorly written hallmark movies, she always giggled madly when you would point out plot inconsistencies, wearing the most confused expression she had ever seen on a person, you didn’t understand why at first, you would just state facts, but you always enjoyed the time with her. She always says you guys should start a podcast, and you always agree. You hope she never asks you what a podcast is... because you genuinely didn't know.

True to his word, you didn’t see Jason often, but there were a few instances  where you felt particularly suffocated by Bruce’s training that you took him up on his offer to take you somewhere he wasn’t. Those moments were... nice. Every time, he would bring food, and take you to his apartment, where you talked about books and he introduced you to some of his favorite movies. You didn’t know why he and Bruce didn’t get along, but you chose not to pry.

Alfred had taken a liking to you instantly, he enjoyed giving you etiquette lessons, and would bake all kinds of scones and cookies for you to try. His humor was at times very dry and sarcastic, which never failed to make you laugh. He taught you how to bake once, finding you were exceptionally good at it, ‘Miss Y/n, I think we’ve found your natural talent’. You hadn’t expected to be good at it, but Alfred said you were phenomenal. 

You’d also train with Clark 3 times a week, getting even closer with the Kents, integrating yourself in both families. It was interesting being part of two very different families. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Clark had shown you a lot about your powers, but it was never just training. It had become a necessity for the two of you to fly to some famous landmark and have lunch together, before flying back to Smallville for more training.

Clark was constantly trying his best for you, he still had his regrets from his initial relationship with Conner, and although he was forgiven and their relationship was rebuilt, he knew he lost time. And he absolutely refused to repeat that and hurt someone else who didn’t deserve it. 

You always stayed for dinner, you found that you could never say no to Jon, the one time you tried was awful, you felt so bad that you went back the next day and took him shopping. With Bruce's card, duh.

Jon was stuck to you like glue whenever you were over. He always insisted on sitting by you and talking to you about whatever he’d been up to. He flew around with you a lot, you guys would play games that he taught you how to play. Your favorite moments were when he and Damian would allow you in to watch them play video games because ‘How do you not know how to play video games? That’s just wrong. We’ll teach you.’

Conner had spent more and more time with you as well, telling you about a lot of social cues, the importance of boundaries, etc. He was determined to help you adjust in every way he could, he shared his experiences with you when he first started working in teams. You learned a lot from him, he was very affectionate with you, but in that awkward-older-brother way. He’d give you a soft pat on the back and a smile, he knew you’d do just fine. 

Lois became your role model, you truly admired her. She was strong, outspoken, confident. She helped you not be afraid of forming your own opinions and voicing them. One time she saw you yell at Bruce over something he’d done, and all she could do was smile proudly.

These people whose lives you just appeared in one day, very quickly became your family. Every day you were reminded of how lucky you were to have come to care for them as much as you do. Bonding with them was nice, and you very quickly understood the appeal of having family.

These are people who care for you unconditionally, simply because they want to. Because every moment that they spend with you, they choose to.

And just like that, you were ready to meet the team. You had learned to combine your combat skills with your powers, if you need to, you can fight in mid air. You’d learned to incorporate your abilities into your technique to enhance your own personal style. And it felt amazing.

You knew every possible way to deliver an effective, non-lethal blow.  Of course, you needed a suit. Bruce offered to enhance the one you had worn the day they rescued you, but you wanted a new one. To you, that suit represented what you were created to be, and that is not who you are. You wanted something true to yourself, and he understood and wholeheartedly supported you. Damian helped you make a sketch, and together you’d designed the perfect representation of you. And you became Eclipse. The alignment of two heroes, though unintentional, created a whole new hero. You.

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[radiance1]

Lois Lane: Sooo. Wanna tell me who that guy punching Superman around his?

Henry, a former scientist seconds away from breaking down into an anxious mess: Okay so you know how last month a government facility was raided by the Justice League?

Lois Lane blinks slowly, then scoots a little closer with a smile that Henry couldn't quite place between friendly and hungry. "No I have not, actually."

Henry rubs a hand through his hair, a clear, resounding fuck echoing in his mind. "Okay, right so." He swallowed, taking a glance over at the fight happening a distance away before averting his eyes just as quick when he saw Superman fly through a wall.

Answering questions is much better than watching that. He would think.

"I'm probably not supposed to be, you know, saying this-" He gestured awkwardly with a hand. "But you know what? I've already lost my job so might as well. So there's this secret branch of the government- probably disbanded by now, who studied these creatures called ghosts-I'm sure you know ghosts, everyone knows ghosts." He pushed his glasses further up his face as the reporter nodded.

"Right, so um." He made the mistake of glancing over to the battle, only to jump slightly at the energy blast that flew overhead. "Oh sweet Jesus-" He found himself petting and armful of blob ghosts to calm his nerves. He cleared his throat. "Right, um. Where was I again..?"

"Secret government branch who studied ghosts." Lois Lane helpfully reminded him, causing Henry to nod. "Right. Yes. So, if you look to your left at the nerve-wracking fight happening right before our very eyes."

"I wouldn't exactly call it nerve-wracking." Henry gave the blankest look he could as soon as the words left the reporters mouth. "Please tell me you're kidding me."

Lois Lane only gave an amused smile in response. Henry, decidedly, moved on from that.

"Ghosts were declared non-sentient by the GIW a couple of years ago, and allowed for the capture, experimentation and extermination of ghosts if you so choose." Lois Lane raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth, but Henry responded before she could speak. "I know what you're thinking, and yes. Which is mostly why it was a secret government branch."

Henry took a deep breath as a blob ghost nuzzled into the side of his face. "The one you see fighting with Superman is- no was, subject K2. Otherwise known as Danny, or Phantom, or the King of the Blob Ghosts."

"Is there any meaning to the K2 in subject K2?" Lois asked, and Henry nodded.

"King class-2." Henry took off his glasses, waving away the blob ghosts in his arms to clean them before placing them back on his face. "Otherwise known as the second recorded King class ecto-entity currently known to us."

"Who is the first?" Lois scooted a bit closer, petting a rather curious blob ghost who floated near her, then took a look at him and cleared her throat slightly. "If you don't mind me asking, of course?"

'Did I actually look that bad' Henry thought, fixing his glasses. "The Ghost King, King of Ghosts, the uh, the guy who tried to take over the world that one time, you know...?"

Lois Lane, in fact, did not know.

'Oh my.' Thought Henry, staring blankly in the fire in the woman's eyes as he felt he was slightly in danger.

===

Superman felt very confused by this situation.

First, there was a voice calling his name quite loudly-maybe they just didn't know he had super hearing? And while at first, he thought it was someone that needed his help.

The tone of the voice and what happened right after he got there proved otherwise.

He was worried about this being the start of a new villain, but that wasn't the case at all. The man seemed to be holding back-just like Superman, and seemed all too willing to let him stop the fight to go help others in need so long as he came back to finish it.

Which happened.

Often.

And more than once he came back to find the man sulking around a multitude of green blobs and a man named Henry who looked a hair away from an anxious breakdown.

Then it was back to the fight.

Superman actually felt quite... good? He could use a lot more strength than he normally would, and this guy would be eating them up and dishing them out right back at him. He would even call it fun, it isn't often he's able to spar without it being for his own life, someone else's or worrying about breaking someone in half with his strength!

A arm wrapped around his shoulder, breaking Superman from his thoughts. "You know, for a baby you're pretty good at fighting kid!"

Another thing that caused him confusion. This man spoke in clear and perfect Kyrptonian.

"I'm 30 years old, Mr...?" His words only drew a wider smirk from the man. "Call me Danny, or Phantom. Whichever you prefer actually." The man then winked. "Exactly, that's baby numbers, so you're a just a wee lil baby."

Superman was curious. "And how exactly old are you, Phantom?"

Phantom brought a hand to his chest, floating away from Superman in with an offended gasp they both could tell was fake. "How rude! Don't you know it's a bad thing to ask a king his age?" Phantom smirked, then snickered and waved a hand. "I can't exactly answer your question anyways, I lost count around when I went past 200." He then placed a hand on his chin and looked in thought. "Though, I guess if you add in time travel you could say technically past the 1000+ mark." The man then shrugged.

Superman did not quite feel like opening that pack of worms, not that he would've been able to as Phantom looked to the side and gasped. "My baby is bonding!"

And he was instantly off.

Superman blinked once, then twice. Before deciding to slowly follow behind him. His slowly tapped down onto the roof, an act with drew Lois' attention for a single moment before going back to the current objects of her interview.

Phantom, it seemed, in the time it took him to get there. Moved to sitting down right behind Henry with his legs on either side of the man, arms around his chest, head resting on top of his own and an amused smile on his face while various blobs tried to wiggle themselves between the two of them as he answered Lois' questions.

Lois Lane then turned to him, with a fire in her eyes that would've had a lesser man taking a step back. But Superman is not a lesser man.

So, he gulped instead.

inspired by this wonderful art made by @puppetmaster13u

So, Danny, cemented king and practically father of the Blob Ghosts and certified little shit.

Has found something new to play with.

For you see, despite his various kidnappings by the GIW Danny was never aware of there being a League of Earth's mightiest heroes at all. He off-handily mentioned them to Henry, who was now genuinely jobless because even though he never got told he knew he was jobless for helping Danny escape and Henry?

Henry did not want any part of this, he's just a civilian he doesn't want to meet the Justice League of all people!

Sadly, Danny did not care at all in the slightest.

Henry was then reminded of why Danny was valued by the GIW and why he also king class ghost entity (the only other known king class was the Ghost King who they barely have any information of). Because he easily, cleared the distance between Amity Park and Metropolis.

Henry, unfortunately, was not used to traveling at such speeds and was left hanging limply in Danny's arm as everything started spinning and thinking he might puke.

Danny, being the child that he is at heart, immediately starts calling out Superman's name. Superman, predictably and unsurprisingly, hears this and comes over questioning who was calling him.

Danny decides to be even more of a little shit by speaking in ghost speak even though just earlier he called out Superman's name in clear English. Henry, the de-facto translator, is out of commission right now so Superman is really just left guessing here.

Unless, you go with the fact that Kyrptonian is a dead language, and since Superman can speak and knows Kyrptonian, Danny's ghost speak is automatically translated to Kyrptonian.

Superman is, understandably, stumped by this occurrence and he may or may not form the idea that Danny might be a Kyrptonian.

Danny then gently places Henry down on the roof, pats him on the head, tells a few blob ghosts to keep an eye on their new littlest sibling while Dad has fun.

Then he turns to Superman, with the most feral, shit eating grin on his face. Cracks his knuckles, and then tells Superman that they're going to have a fight.

He wasn't asking, and before Superman could say anything he's already been punched through the air. Not that it hurt, really, mostly took him by surprise, but now Superman is now in a fight with what may or may not be a Kryptonian.

[sisaloofafump]

“It’s funny when he does it”

Say what you want about Bendis, but his dialogue and characterization of Clark and Bruce’s friendship is just so much fun. Full panel below.

From Man of Steel (2018) #1

Also because it’s a fun pairing, here’s they are teaming up to drop people off buildings:

From Superman and Batman: Generations #1

[prickly-paprikash]

James Gunn knows how to write a Super Group.

From the getgo, Gunn doesn't ever waste a single member of an ensemble cast. Looking back at the first Avengers film, it's so fucking obvious Whedon didn't really know what to do with Captain America, Black Widow and Hawkeye. After breaking free from Loki's thrall, Clint doesn't have much to do. It makes sense to put their marksman on a corner and have him call point, sure, but visually and narratively it doesn't do much to endear the guy to us. Meanwhile, Natasha was tied to Bruce from the start. She gets to shut the portal down, but leading up to it she was mostly there as eye-candy, and someone who is intrinsically tied to a very mediocre love-interest for her (Hulk) and a man who's only connecting tissue to the team was her (Hawkeye). And Captain America struggled to get through the first part of the movie, but at least got to shine come the second half.

The 'Josstice League' was even worse. Batman was nothing. The Flash was piss-poor comedy relief. Cyborg was just there for the Mcguffin. Wonder Woman was barely a character. Aquaman was a dudebro horndog. Superman made everyone feel irrelevant the moment he arrived.

But when Gunn gets a hold of a cast of zany characters, he knows what he's doing. Guardians of the Galaxy was an obscure group that he turned into a household name because everyone in the Guardians pulled their weight in every single installment. Suicide Squad was the worst film in the DCEU bar none, but when Gunn got his hands on it, it was suddenly made into one of the groups in that dying shared universe, and everyone got their chance to shine in that movie. Creature Commandos and Peacemaker, the two projects I'm not that crazy about from Gunn, still didn't waste characters narratively. Everyone gets the spotlight on them at least once.

In Superman, that talent comes back to the forefront. Mr. Terrific, being the biggest unknown in the Justice Gang, gets to become the fan-favorite (as well as appease Gunn's obsession with small, lethal objects flying around the sky with bright red lights trailing behind as they wizz around, slaughtering people—Yondu and Rocket), and is arguably the most competent hero in the movie. Guy's the big gun of the team, and the most vocal. He gets to be the comedic relief. Being played by Fillion just means Gunn gets to have more fun with the character, and we'll see more of him in Lanterns. And while Hawkgirl might have the least characterization amongst the group, she alone gets to have the best fucking scene in the entire movie. She dropped that genocidal douchebag totallynotnetanyahu Ghurkos on his head and cracked his skull like a motherfucking egg.

Lois is the second protagonist in this film and does a lot to push the narrative. She's integral to saving the day, and she gets just as much character work as Clark. Jimmy's metahuman charisma leads to Lex's arrest and gets Superman's name cleared of all doubt.

Gunn isn't a perfect director, but he is the best in the business when it comes to turning no-name/historically mischaracterized/disliked characters into unforgettable goldmines. No one in the superhero genre does it quite like him, and it's that skill that has lead to a DC renaissance.

The Gunn just doesn't fucking miss.

[cryptocism]

I got some questions if that’s ok? lol

1: has Thad ever admitted his feelings to Kon? (Probably not lol)

2: let’s say Thad does, what’s Kon’s reaction?

3: got any headcanons/triva stuff for Thad?

4: what about Bart?

oh boy ill do my best to give decent answers!

1: hmm i think it would depend on the circumstances? but overall ur right probably not haha. Thad navigating new and terrifying relationships in an absurdly neurotic and dramatic way is one of my favourite avenues to take his character so if he ever DID it would have to be extremely embarrassing for everyone involved

2: ppl may have gathered im a big fan of unrequited/onesided romance lmao so 90% of the time id say Kon tries to let him down easy

3: ohh Thad headcanons...

i mean piggybacking off of the konthad discussion i do think of Thad having a crush on Kon as a very puppy love/hero worship kind of crush. like i can't really see them in a real relationship bc im too attached to Thad putting Kon on a pedestal lmaoo. like here's this guy who is also a clone but still has his own identity/life/friends/interests outside of Clark and yet also has an amicable relationship with the guy and his family! it's all Thad has ever wanted!!! and with the rose-coloured lenses on he doesn't clock all the ways Kon actually really struggles with basically all those things.

yall already know abt my goth Thad propaganda which is based on very little except that he'd likely want to differentiate himself from Bart's appearance and a vibe that he's naturally drawn to a darker/edgier aesthetic (based on his palette-swapped black Impulse suit and the needlessly dramatic cloak and the look CRAYDL goes for when they inhabit the technoplasm monster)

^this is a little in conflict with another canon-adjacent headcanon which is Thad's hyperactive level of social awareness. i do think he wants most people to like him unless he's deemed them an enemy, so he fronts a very amicable sociable young man when he's around strangers or people he wants to impress. im reconciling it with the countercultural goth aesthetic by saying he can contain multitudes :P (also i think of Thad as having a delightfully dialectical brain that both desperately wants to be unique and special but also instinctively tries to comply with societal expectations)

not based in canon at all but i think he should be into the kinds of animals people find weird/gross/strange. #1 rat/snake/spider/insect defender he should have a pet snake named cornwallace or something.

4: aand Bart headcanons!

i really like how into video games he is especially in his solo and i would love to see that explored more as a genuine special interest. he tops speedrunning leaderboards and finds the insane easter eggs and secrets. his username (which is either his full legal name or an inscrutable series of numbers and letters no inbetween) becomes infamous in several online circles. ppl beg him to start streaming but Bart doesn't care he's in it for the love of the game

i really enjoy Bart having an eclectic aesthetic big fan of the grunge skater stuff he was wearing in the 90s and in sprinkles throughout the 2000s. one thing abt modern comics that makes me a lil sad is how everyone seems to have the same general sense of style :( (which is more a fault of tight deadlines and lack of characterization rather than the fault of the artists lbr)

the man strikes me as a collectibles guy he likes the fun of tracking down rare trading cards/action figures/etc and the satisfaction of a complete set. i think he would use facebook marketplace worldwide and have endless frustrations trying to communicate with the sellers

i want his having read a whole library to actually have an impact on things so i do think he has a grasp on most latin alphabet languages (having read every X to english dictionary) so his vocabulary is awesome but his grammar and accent are Trash (like he can read signage but struggles to hold a coherent conversation)

[httpsbg]

𝜗𝜚 ballet · sbg

summary. growing up, ashlyn had one friend from her ballet class. now she has six friends. how would they all get along?

𝜗𝜚 sbg x platonic reader, headcanons, fluff, 0.9k words, masterlist

𝜗𝜚 warnings/notes: not set in any specific time, hopefully good characterization—i'm still new to writing these guys, hopefully i put enough ballet stuff in here! i did my best.

𝜗𝜚 based on this request!

𝜗𝜚

You were... a bit surprised, to say at the very least. You noticed that you'd been seeing less and less of Ashlyn recently, but she had always kept more to herself anyway, and she texted you saying that she was fine.

Apparently she was not.

Ten minutes ago, she invited you to her house—to hang out with her five other friends. Was everything okay? Where did these people come from, and what did they do to Ashlyn?

When you arrived at the school bus graveyard for the meet up, you were even more baffled. These were the people Ashlyn was now friends with? How strange...

"Oh," Ashlyn said as she spotted you. "Guys, this is my friend (Y/n), from ballet. Don't scare them away." She said, her eyes drifting to a boy with blond hair.

ASHLYN BANNER

Did Ashlyn think this might be confusing for you? A bit weird? Yeah. She did. However, and shoot her if she ever says this out loud, she was starting to miss you. Maybe this hangout would be an okay thing do do?

She very intently ignored every look you gave her throughout the evening, but started to relax as you did too.

She was glad to see you starting to actually have fun with the group, and you were even able to joke around with Aiden without thinking he was weird even though you just met. How did you do that?!

Ashlyn wasn't so sure on telling you about the whole "phantom dimension" thing just yet, but perhaps just forgetting about every problem like this was a good idea. She actually had fun tonight.

AIDEN CLARK

You thought he was strange, but he was funny. You couldn't deny that with the way he kept making you laugh.

Aiden was surprised that Ashlyn had another friend. He thought she didn't do friends? Well, who cares? Does this friend want to watch him backflip off a school bus?!

(You said no. That's stupid.)

When Ashlyn said that she met you through ballet classes, he was super interested ("Can you turn into a pretzel? Ashlyn likes to do that.")

BEN CLARK

You learned quickly that hanging out with Aiden, meant hanging out with Ben. Wherever Aiden was, Ben was there too. You didn't mind, and you also didn't mind that he didn't talk.

After Ashlyn's introduction, he wasn't the first to react, but he was very kind when he did. He held up a note that said "Nice to meet you. I'm Ben."

Ben, as observant as he is, could tell that you were very kind. He saw it in the way you greeted them so warmly and so openly—despite Tyler's standoffish nature and Aiden's loudness.

He appreciated that you were so quick to treat him so kindly, and that you didn't stop to stare at him strangely for a moment or two. He knew that some people won't always react in the kindest way to his silence, but you did.

As a lover of music, Ben had an appreciation for the arts. He thought it was cool that you did ballet, and asked a few questions about it with his notepad ('Are you preparing for any roles right now?', 'Have you ever gotten any serious injuries?')

You were happy to answer his questions—he was so easy going and nice to talk to.

TAYLOR HERNANDEZ

Taylor, sweet and bubbly Taylor, she welcomed you with open arms, of course.

From the moment you met her, you couldn't help the way you thought so kindly of her. She was so nice, how could you think anything different?

She thought it was so cool that you also did ballet. Maybe you'd teach her a simple move or two if she asked later? She was no dancer herself, but she admired the art of it.

If you also enjoy mechanics, she would be overjoyed to talk about it. You would have so much to talk about!

Basically, you've officially found yourself a new best friend.

TYLER HERNANDEZ

Carrot top has a friend of her own? That was a shock.

Now, in the first ten or so minutes, he wasn't really jumping on his feet to introduce himself or anything. Just a simple "hey" would do.

But, since he and Taylor are basically stuck at the hip, hanging out with her kind of meant hanging out with him. He wasn't exactly pleased about it in the beginning.

After some time, he started to relax (read: less bickering.)

He started seeing how well you got along with Taylor, and he started to ease up. Besides, you seemed nice enough anyway. Just because he wasn't too keen on having friends doesn't mean he had to act the way he was to you.

He thought it was kind of cool that you did ballet, but no he wouldn't say that out loud?? Of course he wouldn't!

He couldn't help but to be curious of how good you were. Did you have a favourite performance? How long have you been doing ballet?

LOGAN FIELDS

Logan, the poor boy, was rather timid. Though he was timid by nature.

You made sure not to be too overwhelming. Some people needed their time to open up and relax, and you were fine with that.

Logans first impression of you? Kind. He liked how you were so gentle hearted and always knew what to say when it got a little too quiet mid conversation.

If you liked astronomy he would be overjoyed to talk about it with someone who likes it as much as he does. Maybe he'd be a little nervous here and there, but he'd be grateful to have a topic he was confident in.

He thought your background in ballet was interesting, and had some questions himself ("Doesn't it hurt to stand on your toes?", “How long are you able to stand on your toes? Or how many spins can you do?")

You answered his questions gladly, and asked him some questions about his hobby as well. You could see a friendship blossoming here.

[tawked]

I feel like engaging with real world homophobia would make Batman / Superman slash much more interesting.

It's more inaccessible, though. You have to finesse with knowledge not only of one "Gay Community" but the multitudes of communities and Kinds Of Guy you meet in those communities, you have to engage with Bruce as a public figure vs. Clark as a relative unknown, you have to understand how homophobia and therefore homosexuality are defined in American mainstream culture, blah blah blah - but it's worth it, right?

So, Bruce Wayne is a rich beloved playboy billionaire in his 30s with liberal beliefs that funds and advocates for, while maintaining a veil of being a real fucking dumbass. Everybody would hate his ass. He'd probably not be known publicly as queer until "exposed" ala Peter Thiel, either intentionally or simply because he doesn't perceive his identity as queer as important for the media and public to know (because it shouldn't be, but we do not live in that world lol). Because he's rich and therefore no one can conceive of him experiencing homophobia, people would defend his public outing as their exceptional case to a social policy they otherwise never discuss, that is outing people for fun and profit, a staple of American culture since the 90s.

From there, most leftists and working class progressives would probably hate him, especially The Straights, who would attempt to characterize him as some kind of class traitor. You know, [queer business] failed, why didn't Gay Billionaire Bruce Wayne bail them out? [Homophobic politician] did [bad thing], why didn't Gay Billionaire Bruce Wayne use his money to save the day? And then, in the same breath, using Bruce Wayne's success to say that American culture isn't homophobic any more whenever a major discrimination case breaks the news, similar to how Republicans use characters like Ellen. This is an especially common strategy racially marginalized people have to deal with, the use of a single successful person as a model minority to discredit the idea of systemic racism - they do the same thing to The Gays. But overall, drawing from how liberals discuss Peter Thiel here, they'd be making bitchy comments about how because he's a billionaire, cis and conventionally masc - and especially because he doesn't show any social signifiers of being of the culture - Bruce Wayne is basically a straight man, regardless of whatever he must deal with, exactly like how they characterize Dave Ruben.

Meanwhile, conservatives would NOT be okay with a known queer man raising a handful of adoptive sons, especially not one of their billionaires, who they prop up as proof capitalism works, the American Dream is alive, blah blah blah. He'd be accused of depriving them of a mother, he'd be relentlessly pedojacketed, QAnon flavoured freaks and the Christian Right would be constantly on his ass calling in fake allegations to CPS. Especially after Jason Todd's disappearance from public life. Alfred would, inevitably, become part of all of this, as people knowing Alfred basically raised Bruce after Martha and Thomas died would be like "oh well Wayne was definitely abused by his butler and when men are abused they just become abusers, that's how homosexuals reproduce," 'cause Boys Beware style beliefs never actually went away, it's just less common for people with a college education to share them. Bruce would have to navigate a social impact upon his whole family.

And the thing is, in actual lived gay social life, you have to realize, Rich Gays are not perceived as being at all like us. The ones with social profiles are perceived as aliens who tap-dance for straight people. Ryan Murphy, Steven Moffat's bottom, Stephen Fry, all them wealthy hyper-visible Hollywood homos seem behave as if homophobia is something you can outwit with a sarcastic comment (like that West Wing Bible lecture scene), and that no one but isolated freaks who can't hurt anybody or achieve anything is really homophobic with their whole chest. Because they're so insulated by their wealth that they've never been denied housing by a landlord who'd "prefer to rent to families," or harassed with "girlfriend conversations" at work, nothing like that. It's understood that they can buy their way around the barriers created by discrimination, experiencing only meaningless slurring from people who do not know them.

They belong in the PinkNews world, where homophobia is someone saying something mean on twitter. You cannot imagine they had the same experiences coming out to their parents (especially not Bruce, who seems really distant from his parents, like they're just never around for some reason idk), going through high school (Bruce was home-schooled), or perhaps most importantly, trying to start adult relationships with a lack of education about what all anything is. A formative experience many gay men of Bruce's usual age have is navigating those adult power dynamics while vulnerable. There are other touchstone experiences among working class gays, like fear of potentially being kicked out of home or dealing with the social isolation of being denied family in a family-driven culture.

Finally, it's not like he can just show up at the club with his nips painted rainbow and be inducted into the community. My point in saying all of this is, there are layers upon layers of social barriers between Bruce Wayne and conventional queer life. So - if he's connected to a queer community at all, it'd be the insipid one of rich white people, where being queer means redecorating your fucking McMansion for the 10th time in one year, with a kitchen perpetually under renovation. Annoying Miniature Poodle Gays. And I just do not see Bruce Wayne hanging with Charles & Rudy, he's too much of a Debbie Downer and is simply not someone who can fake an interest in Christos Tsolkas novels.

Meanwhile, Clark Kent is nobody. Sure, sometimes he has his name on bylines and depending on when in continuity we place him he's been a TV anchor, but let's be real, if Clark Kent were outed there wouldn't be a similar amount of drama, not even close. If Superman were outed - well, Superman is already the subject of fearmongering and conspiracies among the stupid, the status quo would not shift for him. He might wear a rainbow cape during Pride Month or whatever and make a bunch of public appearances where he's like, "trans women are women, and an individual's right to their own body must be protected!" I kinda picture him as the sort of dude who'd volunteer a weekend at the AIDS Council without knowing who ACT UP were.

Because, hear me out, he's from a small country town in Kansas and absolutely would have grown up with the concept of City Queer vs. Rural Queer. So, for some context here, where I live straddles the line between suburban and rural. I have cow paddocks and a major mall both five minutes from my house (Australia is a place man). So when I'm looking for dick my Grindr is full of cowpoke lookin to yeehaw and people who just moved into the area from the inner city. These are distinct flavours of Gay, believe me.

The social consequences of being outed when your nearest neighbours are an hour away, when you're dealing with the severe social isolation of rural living - it's different. Ostracism in circumstances like that will make you insane. These are communities where the church exists as the center of social life. Baby Clark has access to Smallville, which is more of a population center, obviously, but the likelihood of him having exposure to and a concept of queer life while growing up in this place is low. Men who went through this often claim they were The Only Gay Person In Town, which is not actually what's going on, it's more that men are so extremely closeted and the consequences for interacting with a 15 year old, even if it's just to say "hey dude, you're not alone, it gets better, move out of this hellhole ASAP" are so extreme that no one is taking that risk.

Meanwhile, homophobic narratives are pervasive, and many rural queer people actually do internalize and believe a lot of these homophobic myths, like that city-dwelling homos never experience oppression, that they're all poppin party drugs and living at the club 24/7, that they are incapable of commitment and only want shallow sex, blah blah blah. Clark would have to unlearn a lot of that after his move to Metropolis and if his primary connection to queerness is Bruce, well... he wouldn't. Y'know? Shit, Lois is more likely to know actual working class, real life gay culture than Bruce Wayne. The distinction being, Clark can actually access and learn these things, but Bruce Wayne is always Bruce Wayne, sans some kind of weird disguise he can't access the same spaces and cultural institutions as Clark.

For what it's worth, I feel like Clark would come out shortly after the move to Metropolis and he'd seek out actual queer life, but you've met boys like that, who come from bumfuck nowhere into the modern world and have to unlearn all of the stigma that surrounded them throughout their formative youth. They tend to have the realest, most honest understanding of how discrimination actually functions, and I feel like that'd be in the back of Clark's mind especially as a champion of truth, justice and sloppy makeouts with the lads.

My point in saying all of this: Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne would be very specific Types Of Guy if they were indeed queer and together. Their relationship would be heavily influenced by that. They are in some ways opposites - Bruce likely believes queer rural people are redneck hicks with a lot of homophobic beliefs, the kind of men who sign up for conversion therapy, and Clark likely believes that Bruce is so insulated from real homophobia that he's simply never been called a slur, capable of understanding homophobia only in the pure abstract.

This is, in real life, the kind of fiber that in many ways can define a queer relationship. We do, in real life, have concepts of how out one is and where one is out, we navigate complicated relationships with each others' families, and it is not uncommon to meet someone in the community who simply has no ties to their parents. The concept of "having kids" is, for most gay men, this incredibly complicated ordeal, regardless of those photos of smiling men in their 30s wearing Mr. Rogers cardigans you see in lifestyle magazines (the Charles & Rudy Gays I was discussing earlier), and Bruce has like ten of the fucking things running around. That would be a big deal to Clark, who's from a background with no queer parents in a ten mile radius, where queer marriage may be legal (for now) but the church sure ain't likely to cater to they/them folks, not in these here parts.

As a final thought, when gay men criticize fanfiction as not representing us, it's because none of this stuff is ever really considered in how those queer relationships are written. There's this lack of awareness or interest in how a relationship between queer men is fundamentally different to a hypothetical relationship between two ostensibly straight men, as men who are not victims of discrimination and have not had their identities formed under oppression. It can feel alienating and invalidating to see media someone who is not like you has created to represent a fetishised, simplistic idea of you, the literary equivalent of that "lesbian" porn made for straight men that has no interest in any kind of emotional or social connection between the performers under the male gaze.

And in the case of Batman and Superman specifically, it's like... to be honest, you're missing so much of the potential romantic tension and meat by simply not engaging with this stuff. You have a rich socially isolated queer man who's never been able to enter the community due to his wealth, who would reject the rich gay community because I mean who wouldn't, hooking up with a country boy liberal journalist who moved from Gay Hell to a major city at 18-20 or so. There's so so so so much there. Flattening this into "it's just them 1:1 exactly as in the comics but they fuck" feels alien and unreal, like they had no sexual thoughts or self-concept before encountering each other and therefore have never lived as queer men.

This is not a "you should do it like this or you're homophobic" post, this is a "you could access these concepts to add humanity and drama to your writing" post.

btw I think this applies to basically all slash fic but am using Batman / Superman specifically due to familiarity with the characters.

[dufrau]

Hi I’d love to know what fics you’ve read in your life that Changed You

Honestly just check my ao3 bookmarks, everything there I love very deepy.. But more specifically, and I think I have probably answered this pretty much identically in the past, but these are the kind of Formative Fics of my life so far.

Eyes Closed to Fingers Crossed - Glee, Santana/Rachel 250k rated M - this is very much a longform Santana character study with interludes that are beautiful studies of the other characters as well. This is the fic that alerted me to how good fanfiction could be.

Truth and Measure  - The Devil Wears Prada, Andy/Miranda, 270k rated E - Admittedly there is a lot of pregnancy smut in this fic which is not something im usually actively into but it works here and besides/including that this is actually a perfect sequel to the movie and once again elevated my perception of what fic could be.

they take their shots but we're bulletproof  - The 100, Clarke/Lexa, 9k rated M - This is a very good canon divergent Clexa one shot on every level but to me in particular this taught me about one shot pacing and economy of language. It gets a lot done in a relatively short way and I think a lot of my writing is in some way based on this.

the business of caring - The 100, Clarke/Lexa, 71k rated M - This taught me a lot about how to let fic be silly and how to translate characterizations to a different genre. It's fun!

make my menace into someone you'd adore  - Stranger Things, Robin/Nancy, 90k rated T - Rivals to lovers to rivals to friends to rivals to lovers etc etc. This fic is rated T but it has so much sexual tension without ever being explicit and I think even if you are writing smut you can learn a lot about tension here! Also its cute and funny and sweet and just pretty foundational for this fandom.

this story that we found ourselves in - Stranger Things, Robin/Nancy, 160k rated M - Listen. I lost my mind reading this. Reading this while it was updating was such an experience. We really didn't know how it was going to end! This is THE ronance AU. If you were here when this was happening you understand but if you weren't you should read it now and learn.

there are so many more fics that i love with all my heart and seriously check my ao3 bookmarks and if i didnt put your fic on here please dont think i dont love it 💜

[chaosbeetlefrontiers]

Yes I watched the new Superman movie, yes it was fantastic and yes I want to talk about Jor-El and Lara.

I think the hate is way too overblown. Spoilers btw.

I get why people would be put off with this take on them being more evil (keep in mind we don’t know if all of Krypton are evil here) but when watching the film it actually furthers the story along for the best as well as Clark’s character arc. Clark’s main arc is learning to let go of the expectations his birth parents actually had for him and making his own choices. The message works because Clark ultimately still makes the right choices regardless of the expectations set for him but rather his own experiences and the film ends with him embracing both his life on Earth and what he has left of Krypton.

Is the twist still weird? Kinda, yeah. It’s the one singular aspect of the film I am pretty mixed on. Jor-El and Lara wanting Clark to repopulate Krypton with Earth’s population makes sense but the framing of it is quite weird, especially when characterizing Jor-El. I think he’s a character who always has the capacity to suck shit but there are far more nuanced depictions of him in other media. I didn’t need this movie to get into Krypton much at all so I’ll let it slide but I expect future projects to pick up the pace.

With all that said now let’s get into why I think the extreme amount of hate towards this decision is dumb. Superman can have different immigrant stories, it doesn’t have to be the same one for every interpretation. Both this and MAWS portray a Clark who struggles more with the baggage that comes with his heritage, and I find that interesting and fun! Same with how it was handled in Smashes the Klan even though it’s doing something different from them! There is a difference between simply not liking this writing decision (which is valid) and calling it offensive to the immigrant allegory because you can’t stand it when Krypton isn’t perfect. Superman fans can be a special breed of allergic to anything that’s different to what they find definitive, and as a Superman fan myself I’n tired. I just want to enjoy new stories about a guy in red underwear without people trying to treat it like a moral issue. Genuinely the most media illiteracy towards the character I’ve had to deal with since Lois making the jump in MAWS.

[jesncin]

Hi, I did an ask a while back, and I don't think I got the point across that I was trying to (which is my fault, I wasn't sure how to explain it so it ended up being convoluted). I was not asking about which name suited Clark/Superman/Kal-El best (all the names are his and are true to him). I was asking about his personality. What is your Clark's personality like?

I'm asking because depending on what media you consume Clark can either be super outgoing, fun, bold, and closer to what we associate with Superman's personality (like in Birthright). Or he can be dorky, awkward, shy, which tends to be more associated with Clark Kent Daily Planet reporter (like in MAWS). Obviously Superman and Clark are one in the same (and these personality traits can coexist), but he presents himself differently depending on who is watching.

So my ask is basically who is your Clark Kent when nobody is watching?

Ah okay! The use of all the different names was confusing haha. So here's another go! I know the spectrum of his personhood as Clark Kent goes from "himbo -> bumbling reporter -> mild-mannered reporter" I prefer "mild-mannered reporter" for the same reasons most modern versions gravitate towards that characterization: to show that while Clark is soft-hearted he's still an exceptional reporter. Himbo characterizations (like MAWS) tend to go overboard to the point of incompetence. Unless it's for comedy, I think that's antithetical to "immigrant trying to assimilate by being a model minority" part of his identity and it also flanderizes him.

But if I had to thoroughly answer "who is Clark Kent when nobody is watching?" I would say: that's one of Clark's perpetual internal struggles that he doesn't have an answer to either. If we whittled down who Clark feels most comfortable with right down to his adoptive parents:

There are times Clark puts on a face for them too. And that makes sense, they might be his parents but they're still human- so there's a distance between them. When he's constantly anticipating how others perceive him, it's hard to know what's fabricated and what's real about himself anymore. Especially when he has no other Kryptonians to look to as reference outside of archives. And even with Kara coming around eventually, they don't share the exact same diaspora experience.

I think it's the questions a lot of diaspora ask themselves "who would I be if I didn't have to worry about what others think?" and "is that version of me even possible when I'll always be subject to others' perceptions of me?"

Under all that code-switching, assimilation, model minority over-achieving, and making himself less threatening, who is Superman? He doesn't know either, and I personally like stories where he comes to peace with that. To be okay with making it up as he goes.

[byfulcrums]

Rant about the new Superman movie!!

(Important thing: My opinion might be biased. I watched the movie once and very recently, so I may be just a tiny bit blinded by the and emotion it made me feel the first time I watched it. I might redo this once the excitement wears off)

Overall rating: 9/10. The lowest rating I'd give it is a 8.50, but to me, it's a solid 9

(SPOILERS BELOW)

It's in general a fun, enjoyable movie (I'm going to watch it again in theaters. Wouldn't do that for a movie I didn't like yk). What makes it special is the way it captures that comic book feeling surprisingly well: a good Superman and nice visuals is a great thing, especially now! There are issues with it, and it's not the perfect movie, but it's still good, and it successfullly captured my heart!

The visuals are very, VERY good. You can tell some specific scenes were made with CGI, but it doesn't make the movie's quality any worse. The flying scenes made me want to screech, and the visual storytelling was gorgeous.

When the kids raise the Superman flag and you see Kal-El ready to defend their lives; then when he's losing the fight, the flag falls as the army marches into the people's land; and then, a little boy raises it again, symbolizing the way Kal-El is not, and will not ever, give up. That scene where Kal rises through the clouds was beautiful. I'd give the visuals and effects a 10/10

OHH, the music! The soundtrack in this film really stands out to me in a way that many others don't. It's no HTTYD (HTTYD has my favorite OST ever and I listen to it all the time), but they captured the feelings the scenes are meant to give in beautiful ways!

This movie has music with a melody you can hum to yourself while you shower, wash the dishes, do your homework, etc. It's a soundtrack that makes me scroll back on TikTok when there's a video featuring it, just to leave it there and listen for a little bit. I'd give it a 8/10; my favorite pieces of it get either a 9 or a 10, but there's some that I didn't care that much about, even if they're still really good

I think the best part of the whole thing is the characterization, along with the roles each character played. The supporting cast had great moments along with the protagonist; this movie also has a wonderful bunch of female characters that are important to the plot and well-written, which automatically makes it a 9/10 for me, with the only reason that I refuse to give it a higher rating being that I didn't like Jor and Lara.

This movie truly understands who Clark is as a character, and what Superman is meant to represent. It doesn't turn him into a perfect Boy Scout whose only personality is being nice, but it also doesn't go for the gritty, dark route some of the previous Supermant movies took (you know what I'm talking about). This Clark Kent is flawed, and angry, and upset, but he is overall a person who will always rise through it all, only because he wants to do good. No more of that moral conflict where you can't understand why the characters does what they do; sometimes, the simplest answer is the best. And in this case, the best answer is that Kal-El, in spite of his upbringing, of the public's opinion on him, of the hardships being Superman brings, etc, will always, always, want to be a good person. Will always want to help, even in his darkest moments. Because he can be negative, or childish, or angry, but he doesn't let any of this become who he is. Say "fuck you, Injustice!"

And oh, wow! A black character with a big role and an actual personality that isn't just being tough! How cool is that! I showed him to my (black) friend, and she was very happy about it, even if she isn't into DC. We always joke that "our people" (lesbians for me, black people for her) can never be happy AND survive, so this was a big one for her

Even the smaller characters have a purpose. Mali, for example. He was important too, even if we didn't know much about him.

The characterization of Guy Gardner was ON POINT lemme tell u that, as a GL fan I was soooo happy to see a Green Lantern not being ridiculed and turned into the "he's scared of Batman!!!" trope. Like yeah he is ridiculed in the movie, but that's because he's Guy Gardner, not because he's a Green Lantern. The constructs he made showcased his personality so well!! The MOMENT I saw the big hand costruct with the middle finger I went, "YESS THAT'S MY GUYYY LETS GOOOO!" lol. I don't know enough about Hawkgirl to comment on her, but I loved her in this movie. I was watching it with a friend, and she looked at me weird when I sighed dreamily at her screech lol. Mr Terrific was TERRIFIC!! (I think Im funny). He was so done with everything and i loved it. I didn't know about him prior to this movie, but he was interesting enough for me to consider reading a comic about him at some point

And, finally: Lois Lane. LET'S GOOOO SHE WAS GREAT!!! Always challenging Kal, a better writer than everyone in the building, mean but still a good person, and absolutely INSANE! Breaking into a highly protected military base and almost crashing the ship she escaped on (thank you, Mr Terrific) is exactly the type of thing she'd do. Like yeah, here's a version of Lois Lane I can totally see jumping off a roof to prove a point

The one thing I don't like is the idea that Kal's bio parents are actually evil. I loved Ma and Pa (they are so normal oh my god I love it sm), but Lara and Jor were done dirty. I think I get the idea (if Clark can rise above what his military-based planet would've demanded of him, then so can the millions of young boys that're currently thinking of enlisting in the army), but it doesn't fit with my ideal version of the characters. I might just be nitpicky though

I can't give a solid opinion on the pacing, writing, etc, outside of "Heck yeah, this fits [X character]!" because I don't know much about that (this is the type of thing film students know more about, definitely not me), but I can say with confidence that it wasn't bad, even if it wasn't outstanding either. So, maybe 7.50/10, or 8/10, would work?

I loved the costume designs! Superman's is my favorite, yeah, but I gotta say that Mr. Terrific's is a close second. I give it a 8/10 specifically because I hate Guy's ring design with a burning passion. Why the fuck does it have a gem in it.

The symbolism and ideology is a solid 10/10 (without counting Jor and Lara. I do see what they were trying to do, but I don't think it's the right way to go for it. Plus I've seen people say it's horrible to make them bad because it implies that Clark is just good because he was raised with American values, and while I really don't think that was the point of it, the fact that it's still what it makes people think is bad enough. Plus, it's out of character! Please fix it in Supergirl, I beg you!)

It was obvious to me that they were reflecting the Israel and Palestine situation. Clark's insistence that "people were going to die!" actually means a lot to me, because yeah: people are going to die. People are dying. This isn't a time to wonder about the logistics of the issue. Our world doesn't have a Superman, because we're supposed to be him. A superpowered alien won't come save us, but the idea of him can teach us hope and motivate us to save ourselves.

This movie doesn't do subtlety (much). It outright says that billionaires are bad, that we have to fight against the oppression, that no one is really an alien and everyone is equally human, that war is made, that there's no excuse for genocide. It's fr the 'woke' Superman the world has been missing (jokes aside, I find the people complaining about him being woke very, very funny. What did you think he was made to be in the first place?)

This is the Superman that inspires people to be kind. This is the kind of movie you walk out of feeling a strong need to help the helpless. It isn't perfect, but it is filled with hope.

And. Many people will walk out of the movie disappointed because they were expecting more; the fans are talking about it like it's some grand, world-changing event, similarly to the Barbie movie's take on feminism — but I still think that, even if it's not what you expected, it's important to take into account what this movie represents. It says things that will be very basic to you ("genocide is bad, actually"), but that aren't to everyone. Even if it's not the 'wokest of woke', it still sends a message. In moments like these, this is of most importance

General opinion:

It's a good movie! Personally, it's one of my favorite superhero movies EVER, but that's my very biased opinion.

I also think movies like this (with a clear message) are very important in times like these. Even if this wasn't the world's greatest cinematic masterpiece, we've been really needing projects more centered around hope that invite us to be better, rather than dark and gritty imitations of reality.

An important thing is: the first Superman was created by two Jewish immigrants, and he wasn't perfect either, but the Nazis wanted to ban him for "brainwashing the youth". This Superman movie isn't anywhere near perfect (though it is perfect in my heart!!!!), but it is being boycotted by Israel and hated by many of its supporters. I think the message writes itself.

[three-semicolons]

Finished the World’s Finest volume I picked up while on the train to grab the real goods (my beloved Nightwing, you’re so close 😭).

It’s pretty good.

There were some really funny moments, it’s beautifully illustrated, and character dynamics are top tier. It’s just not a type of Bruce Wayne I’m used to. Maybe it’s because I’ve been so stuck in the 2000s characterization of Batman, but even in the more recent comics I’ve been able to read (ala Court of Owls saga and his cameos in Rebirth Nightwing) he’s different.

This Batman feels a lot more… mellow? Mellow is a good word to use. Not exactly happy in the way that Clark is, but not broody either. You’d think this would be an improvement, but it kind of leaves his character feeling a little empty to me. Like, Batman’s gentler moments are so special because he’s usually broody and aloof. His melodrama, while I make fun of it at times, would be perfect when surrounded by the sunnier characters of Worlds Finest. But at the place where his dramatics would arguably best serve the narrative as a contrast, they’re kind of gone.

Still, Clark is funny as shit. I love his and Dick’s relationship. Jimmy lives up to his namesake — that is the most “Jimmy” man I’ve ever seen in my life. And the appearance of other superheroes gives this a real JLA vibe.

Honestly, if you’re a fan of less angsty material, this is probably THE comic series for you. Better than any mainline Batman, at any rate. Its wholesome and quippy in all the right ways. I just love Dick most when he’s the light in the dark, and the world of World’s Finest isn’t quite dark enough to present the contrast that I crave.

[frownyalfred]

oh my god i absolutely love eye in the sky!!! giving me some serious hunger games vibes HAHA

as brutally sad as their situations are, i can’t lie that the batkids becoming commanders—tim with the medals and such and jason with the scar—is sick as shit. badass. honestly, the entire family is badass (i mean, ofc they are LOL). bruce’s regality and strong aura despite… yeah. and dick! he’s charming and he jokes around, and he’s a LEADER. i could feel his presence through the screen despite him only having appeared. yup. that’s bruce’s eldest for ya.

and bruce. oh bruce. i am so devastated by his situation.

also, i like how you characterized clark. he’s not just some dude that went crazy and is now evil and a megalomaniac. you gave him a sort of complexity that while yes, he’s not the superman we all know and love, he’s still so so so… superman! he’s not heartless, per se. ykwim?!

it’s hard to put into words what i feel about your story, but one thing is for sure. I LOVE IT! thank u for writing!

Thank you so much!! And thank you for reading and giving it a chance. I know it’s a weird ass story. Writing Commander Grayson (cough, Dick) was so fun. He’s pragmatic but also somewhat jaded and still playful and kind but…yeah. Distinct from Bruce at this age but still so utterly Bruce-like in certain moments.