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neellscapsule · 22 days ago

Text

the night we met

summary | an anniversary goes wrong but . . . it gets you something much sweeter, even if it comes with some conditions in the middle.

pairing | bruce wayne x kent!reader. platonic dick grayson x kent!reader

warnings / tags | fluffy, a bit angsty because dick loses his parents and is heavily traumatized. reader tries her best.

word count | 6k

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

this is part of the kent!batmom!reader series. this can be read as part 4. you'll the other parts on the masterlist.

taglist | @maolen @joonunivrs @c4ssi4-luv @fanfics4ever @inejskywalker @radenxd @resting-confused-face @fionnalopez @stargirl9911 @idek101-01 @shqyou @mei-simp @serendippingdots @sirlovel @aixaaingela @pjmgojo @antixsocialx2 @nisarelle @realiliumfr @gojoswaterbottle @connnn

DATING THE BATMAN WAS NOT MUCH EASIER THAN BEING BRUCE WAYNE'S SECRETARY.

At least as his secretary, you had office hours. But in love? Love didn’t punch out at five.

Especially not when the man you loved was Gotham’s nocturnal guardian, the co-founder of the Justice League, and—unfortunately for your sleep schedule—someone who regularly showed up at your apartment with a dislocated shoulder, three broken ribs, and blood in his hair at two in the morning, needing gauze and your voice.

Still.

You wouldn’t trade him for anything. Not even a normal life.

The year 2003 had been many things.

It had been historic, chaotic, strangely beautiful.

The Justice League was born. A messy, miraculous thing forged in battle after a global invasion: Superman, your brother, who still texted you pictures of cows when he got too overwhelmed to think clearly; Batman, your boyfriend, who said nothing about joining but went anyway, because the world needed it and he needed them; Wonder Woman, who introduced herself to you with both hands and the warmest smile you’d ever seen; The Flash, impulsive and very much your friend now, who called you “Miss Y/N” out of respect; Green Lantern, who asked you serious questions about your Smallville education and insisted you’d make a great Lantern yourself (“if you weren’t so blatantly Kent,” he’d joked); Aquaman, commanding and weirdly charming, who once mistook you for royalty and wouldn’t stop bowing; and J’onn J’onzz, the Martian Manhunter, who frightened you a little at first… until he offered you tea and asked gentle questions about Kansas.

And Bruce—well.

Bruce had been part of all of it. Quietly. Reluctantly.

He never talked about it unless you asked, and even then, his answers were measured, small, cloaked in deflection. But you could see it on him—how deeply he admired them. How much he needed them, even if he couldn’t say it yet.

You were proud of him. Endlessly.

Sometime near the end of August 2003, in the middle of the sweltering Gotham summer, after one particularly bad week of injuries and long nights and soft confessions, Bruce Wayne had stood in your kitchen in his bare feet and quietly asked you to be his girlfriend. “Be mine?” like it was the smallest request in the world and the biggest one he’d ever made.

You’d said yes before he even finished the sentence.

It stayed quiet at first—secret in the softest sense. You didn’t flaunt it. You didn’t hide it. But it became clear very quickly that secret wasn’t sustainable.

It was a secret for exactly three weeks.

A single photo. A single gala. A single press mention—and the media circled like vultures.

You hadn’t even told the receptionist at Wayne Enterprises, and yet Page Six ran with the headline “Wayne’s Girl?” before Bruce could kiss you in public.

The media went feral. That first month was hellish.

They clawed at everything—your name, your work history, your roots in Kansas. They tried to paint you like a schemer, a sweetheart, a nobody, a novelty. You barely had time to breathe between the flashes.

But you were a Kent. You were your mother’s daughter. And fire ran in your blood.

And when your brother—your forever protector—got word of the treatment Gotham was throwing your way, he called in favors at The Daily Planet. The result? A four-page piece in the Sunday edition titled “The Girl Gotham Got Wrong” that painted you in warm, brilliant strokes and silenced most of the critics. Not all. But most.

The rest gave up when it was clear Bruce Wayne wasn’t letting you go.

Which is how, eventually, the city adapted. Gotham’s society began to call you Miss Kent instead of “the girl.” People greeted you differently. Some were still sharp, but many softened. Some even admired you now. You… didn’t dwell on that part too much.

You just lived.

Bruce bought you an apartment in one of the most secure buildings in the Diamond District. It was in your name, on the thirteenth floor, full of natural light and views of the harbor. He called it “a necessary precaution.” You called it “wildly excessive.” But he only smiled.

He stayed with you most nights.

Others, you stayed at the Manor. You grew close with Alfred, who adored you in that polite, impossibly British way, and always made sure to have chamomile tea and strawberry tarts when you came by. You adored him. He adored you right back.

You wore a small “B” charm on a delicate gold chain around your neck—always tucked into your sweaters and shirts. Bruce found it with his fingers constantly. In the morning, at his side, he would stroke it like it calmed him. You never took it off you.

He didn’t wear any initials. But once, while paying for dinner, you noticed the inside of his wallet carried a tiny photo of you. You hadn’t even known it was taken.

And still—he kept it.

It was love. In all the strange, quiet, bat-like ways it could be.

Which brings you to tonight.

March, 2004. Your seven-month anniversary.

And for once, you managed to convince Bruce to do something completely un-Bruce.

You convinced him to go to the circus.

Haley’s Circus had arrived in Gotham for the first time in years, with bright posters stapled to street poles, a wide red-and-white tent on the northern pier, and a headlining act that had everyone buzzing: The Flying Graysons.

You were beyond excited.

Bruce was… trying.

He stood next to you in a dark but simple suit — as simple as a billionaire's suit could be — and his softest expression, a hand on your back as the crowd filtered into the tent. Inside, the lights were golden. The air smelled like popcorn and sawdust. Children giggled. Cotton candy was being spun in massive clouds near the entrance. It was joy, pure and loud.

You looked to your left.

Bruce was frowning. Not angry. Not even annoyed. Just… uncertain. Like the entire concept of a traveling circus was foreign to him.

You reached over, gently sliding your fingers between his gloved ones. “You’re allowed to enjoy this,” you whispered.

He glanced down at you, brows lifting slightly.

“Mm.”

“That’s the same sound you make when Alfred serves you tea you actually like,” you teased.

His mouth quirked.

“I’m enjoying the company,” he said.

You leaned your head against his shoulder as the usher led you both toward the reserved section—not that anyone would dare refuse Bruce Wayne front-row seats, especially not when he arrived looking like that. Dark overcoat. Black cashmere turtleneck. Gloves. All clean lines and sharp shadows. Gotham’s own mystery man.

And yet here he was, letting you drag him to a circus. Because you’d asked.

You watched his profile for a moment as he took in the interior—the swirling lights, the crowd, the giant “HALY’S CIRCUS” banner strung above the ring.

“Let me guess,” you murmured. “You don’t like clowns.”

“I don’t like being in public without a back exit in view,” he replied.

You giggled. “Romantic.”

He looked at you sideways. “You already knew I wasn’t normal when you said yes seven months ago.”

Your lips curled. “Maybe I like it.”

The tent lights dimmed. Children squealed. The announcer’s voice boomed:

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages… welcome to Haly’s Circus!”

Applause erupted all around you.

Bruce’s hand tightened around yours instinctively as the first performers entered the ring.

You leaned closer.

“Thank you,” you said under your breath.

He looked down at you, puzzled.

“For this. For coming with me. I know you’re not great with—”

He interrupted you gently. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

And he meant it.

You smiled, your heart doing that soft, achy thing it always did when he dropped the walls without warning. Then you looked back to the ring, letting your fingers gently graze the “B” charm tucked inside your blouse. His necklace. Your secret comfort.

He never said anything about it when you wore it, but he noticed.

Always.

“We bring you the stars of Haly’s Circus! The fearless, the fabulous… the Flying Graysons!”

The spotlight shifted upward. You followed it with your eyes, heart immediately clenching.

Three people stood on the high platform—two adults, strong and graceful, and one child. A little boy no older than eight or nine. He waved at the crowd with both hands, beaming. His green leotard sparkled under the lights. His black hair curled at his temples.

“God,” you whispered, breath hitching, “he’s really small.”

Bruce’s jaw had gone tight. His eyes stayed on the boy, his entire body stilling beneath your hand. “They’re not using a net,” he murmured. “Why aren’t they using a net?”

“It’s part of the act,” you said softly, although your own spine prickled with unease. “They’re famous for it. The only aerialists in the country who go without one.”

He shook his head. “That’s reckless.”

“It’s what brings the crowd,” you said, a touch quieter now.

The drums began. The lights dimmed.

You watched, heart in your throat, as the family began their act—swinging, flying, catching one another with astonishing precision. It was poetry in motion. Fearless, indeed. The crowd oohed and aahed with every leap, every impossible spin.

Then came the big trick.

The spotlight swung to the youngest Grayson, now perched high on one of the narrow platforms. His small body poised, muscles tight, smile wide. His mother moved toward him, reaching out from a swinging trapeze.

And just as she reached for her son—

Snap.

You heard it before you saw it. It was a sound that echoed in the deepest part of your chest.

A wire. A cable. Something up above.

You blinked.

The trapeze came loose. The woman plummeted. The man on the end tried to jump for her—but the support on his side buckled too.

And they both fell.

You gasped, your hand flying to your mouth. The roar of the crowd turned to silence, a stunned, collective intake of breath that broke a heartbeat later into chaos.

Bruce’s arm shot around you, pulling you tightly to his side. He wasn’t moving. Not even breathing. His entire body had gone stiff.

The tent went silent. Utterly.

The boy screamed.

You could hear it even above the ringing in your ears. You felt sick.

Bruce’s jaw was locked. His hand gripped your shoulder like he could shield you from what had just happened—but even Batman couldn’t undo the laws of gravity.

“Stay here,” he mumbled, kissing your temple.

“W—what?” You whispered back, eyes full of tears, and turned back to follow him with your head. Bruce didn't answer, didn't even look back.

He walked into the darkness, and you didn't need another thing to know that in only a few seconds Batman would enter the circus as well. As always, you were correct. From where you stood — or perhaps because of the ringing inside your ears, still dizzy from the horrific scene —, you couldn't understand what was the boy saying to him, but you could see his tears, the hand pressed against his heart, clawing, still trying to go to his parents.

That night, when you lay down besides Bruce, he shifted enough for his head to rest on top of your chest, hearing your heartbeat. And finally, he whispered, “I was that boy.”

Your heart cracked, but you didn't say anything back, because you both knew what he meant, what he saw in that child. You just pressed closer to him, trapping him between your legs, kissing his forehead.

And you stayed like that for a long time.

It’s before eight when you wake up, the weight of last night’s horror still pressed behind your eyes. Bruce is already gone — he slipped away somewhere before dawn — but the emptiness he left in the bed echoes in your heart.

For a moment, you wonder whether to go to work. It feels impossible right now. Your stomach twists. All you can think about is the child.

The name swept through your mind—Richard John Grayson—eight years old, orphaned at Haly’s Circus.

You make coffee, swallow it hard, and pick up your phone. You’re technically off today, but you plunge into your laptop anyway. Under Bruce’s contacts, you move a few calls—accounting, catering, logistics—around so he won’t notice the traffic. It’s the least you can do.

Then you search: Richard John Grayson AND “Catholic orphanage Gotham.” A few links spark, confirm the name and birthday: March 20, 1996. Eight-year-old boy. Stays at St. Mary’s. The same place Bruce quietly helps.

The same place where you stand now.

The orphanage stands on a quiet, tree-lined street an hour later. The Gothic façade is softened by morning light and a dozen potted plants by the door. It doesn’t feel gloomy; just quietly hopeful. You’ve done charity work here before—books, clothes, Christmas gifts. The sisters all know you by name.

You step inside and approach the reception desk, where Sister Teresa looks up from her ledger.

“Miss Kent,” she greets you, offering a gentle smile. “What brings you in so early?”

You swallow. “I’m here to see Richard Grayson—if that might be possible.”

Her face softens, but grows apologetic. “Ah… yes, oh dear. It’s been rough for him. There aren’t many visitors asking about little Richard.”

She gives you that careful look one gives a ship steering through shallow waters. “You may sit.” She leads you to a small office, folding chairs and wooden desk. You sit across from her, hands folded neatly in your lap.

“He’s… a complicated child,” Sister Teresa begins, voice soft. “He’s intelligent. Keenly aware of loss, of danger. But he’s only eight. He—” Her voice catches. “He’s so frightened. Complex.”

Heart clenched, you lean forward. “We all are. I—I just want to make sure he’s getting everything he needs.”

“He’s been withdrawn since the… accident. He’s been angry, scared, hiding, weeping. The staff are working, but… it’s hard. He’s a sweet boy. Tough, but gentle. We can’t penetrate that barrier.”

You swallow.

“Will he be okay?” you whisper.

She sighs. “He will. It just takes time.”

“What… can I do?”

Sister Teresa studies you. “You can be someone he trusts. Someone he knows is safe. He needs stability now.”

You close your eyes, exhale slowly. “I want to meet him.”

“Very well.” She stands and opens the door. “He’s in the playroom now.”

And you go, entering only to see eight or nine children scattered around—blocks, board games, coloring pages. Richard stands alone, perched on the edge of a small chair, clutching a stuffed elephant. His dark hair is damp from tears, red rims around his eyes. He glances at you—sharp, frightened. You kneel to meet his gaze.

“Hi, Richard,” you say gently, voice soft. “My name is Y/N Kent.”

He looks away, swipes at his sleeve. Nods slightly.

“You lost your parents,” you say. He doesn’t respond.

“I saw your mom and dad last night,” you continue, whispering. “They were amazing.”

He pulls the elephant closer. You hold your breath.

“They… they fell,” he says, voice quiet and trembling.

You nod. “Yes. I saw.”

Silence.

You leaned your head to the side. “Would you like to talk? Or draw? Or just . . sit together?”

He stares, then nods, eyes fearful.

You sit beside him, pulling out a small pad and crayons that Sister Teresa gives you. You sketch together—two stick figures beside a sun. You pass the crayons back and forth. He draws a house, you draw a flower. He adds two hearts.

You told him about Smallville, the farm, the pile of your books at home. He didn’t look impressed—but he listened. You told him about Gotham’s tallest buildings and its scarier nights.

And when you left, you pretended you didn't see him glance through the window, his hands clenching over the railing.

The soft patter of rain against the tall windows whispered through the cavernous stillness of Wayne Manor’s study. Gray light poured through the glass in diluted strips, painting silver patterns across the dark wood floors and heavy shelves burdened with thick books. Outside, the skies had decided that spring was a season to be ignored in Gotham. The wind tugged at the new buds on the trees, harsh and relentless, while rivulets of water ran down the stone paths and pooled under the spiny hedges lining the garden.

Inside, the air felt warm but somehow heavy — the kind of heaviness that comes from silence stretched too thin.

You stood by the window, arms crossed, shoulder pressed against the cold glass, eyes watching the restless trees sway in the distance. Your reflection was ghostly against the pale gray outside. Your breath fogged a soft patch on the pane, then disappeared again as you sighed.

Two weeks.

Two weeks since Dick Grayson’s life had changed in ways no child should ever have to face. Two weeks of hospital visits, late-night research, long drives to and from the courthouse, long talks with Alfred, and even longer visits shared between you and Bruce.

You hadn’t missed a single day on the Orphanage. You brought him little things — soft, worn books you’d read on the Kent porch as a kid, hot cocoa in a thermos that Alfred insisted on making, a stuffed bear with flannel overalls that Ma had sewn up when you were ten. He hadn’t smiled much, not really, but when you saw the corner of his lip twitch, the way his eyes lingered on the bear longer than anything else, you knew it mattered.

Bruce was across the room, seated on the dark leather couch, hands clasped in front of him and elbows on his knees, watching the judge speak with an impassive face. His brow creased just slightly, that familiar line of tension that you could read better than any expression. You didn’t need to look at the judge to know how this conversation was going — his tone was overly polite, clipped at the edges, the kind of formal that came from discomfort.

“I understand your intentions, Mr. Wayne,” the judge was saying, his hands folded neatly atop the closed file in his lap. “And I want to believe in them, I truly do. But I have to consider the child’s best interests from every angle, and the state will not overlook… certain factors.”

You turned your head slightly, gaze narrowing, but stayed silent. Bruce’s jaw twitched. That was his tell. You’d learned it quickly. That little flex near the cheek when he wanted to explode but didn’t. Always calm. Always calculated.

His voice was calm — steady in that slow, calculated way of his. “Such as?”

The judge inhaled deeply. “Your reputation, for one. Your status, for another. You are, in legal terms, still a bachelor — which complicates the court’s view of stable long-term guardianship. Public opinion matters in cases like this, especially when the adoption is contested by background or circumstance. The state prefers a… wholesome environment.”

You blinked slowly.

The implication hung in the air like a bad smell.

You didn’t realize your hand had balled into a fist until you felt your nails digging into your palm.

Bruce didn’t flinch. “Are you implying that my home — that I — wouldn’t provide that?”

“I’m saying,” the judge said carefully, his tone softening just a fraction, “that it isn’t as simple as your resources. Or your name. You have to consider how this looks to the court. To the public. You are still a man unmarried, who was frequently in the press with… various women, and rumors —”

“Rumors,” Bruce interrupted, voice quiet but sharp. “Are not facts.”

“Be that as it may,” the judge sighed, rising to his feet and adjusting his coat, “facts don’t always carry as much weight as perception. This will be an uphill battle. I won’t lie to you, Bruce. Even guardianship may be difficult to obtain unless certain... elements change. To be more clear: until you can prove a committed family structure, preferably one that includes a maternal figure and legally recognized partnership, the court will hesitate to grant you full parental rights.”

You frowned deeply now, stepping away from the window. The cold pulled at your skin as you walked toward them, arms still crossed but jaw tight.

“Thank you for your time,” Bruce said with a professional nod, rising as well.

The judge looked at you, offering a faint smile. “Miss Kent.”

You returned the smile stiffly. “Your Honor.”

And just like that, the study fell into silence again. The rain outside had picked up, tapping harder against the glass. The door shut softly behind the judge, his heavy shoes echoing faintly down the hall.

You pushed off the window slowly, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor as you approached Bruce.

“Well,” you said quietly, “that went about as well as expected.”

He let out a low hum, and the tension seemed to bleed from his shoulders under your touch. You felt the muscles shift as he turned to face you.

“I’m not letting him go into the system,” he said quietly, almost like a vow.

You nodded, pressing your forehead lightly to his chest. “I know.”

He slid his hands down to your hips, thumbs drawing slow, unconscious circles against the fabric of your sweater. You stayed like that for a while — him sitting, you leaning into him like the world could fall apart around you and you’d stay anchored.

“He’s trying to scare you off the idea,” you said gently. “Doesn’t mean he’s right.”

“He is, though,” Bruce said, tone low. “Legally, he’s right. No matter how wrong it feels.”

You blinked slowly. “So that’s it? You’re going to give up?”

He looked at you then. Really looked. And it knocked the breath out of you.

“Of course not,” he said firmly. “I’m going to fix it. I just... don’t know how yet.”

You softened a little at the sound of that. The weariness. The unspoken desperation. Then, without a word, he sank down onto the couch, pulling you gently with him. You landed sideways across his lap, head resting against his shoulder, legs curled against the cushions. His arms settled around you like they belonged there. Like they had always belonged there.

“We have to do something,” you murmured after a long stretch of silence. “We have to help him. There has to be a way.”

“There is,” he said. “There has to be.”

You stared at the fireless hearth across the room, the empty logs stacked neatly inside, unlit but waiting.

And then it came.

The thought was sudden, obvious in hindsight — and maybe a little ridiculous — but it rooted itself in your chest immediately, insistent and clear.

You straightened slowly in his lap, turning to face him. Your legs shifted, folding under you. He blinked, surprised at the sudden movement.

“What if…” you started, voice slow, “we change your status?”

His brow furrowed.

“You said the biggest problem is that you’re a bachelor, right?” You bit your lip. “So… what if you weren’t?”

He stared at you. “Are you proposing marriage?”

You blushed, a heat blooming in your cheeks that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with how seriously he was looking at you.

“Not marriage,” you clarified quickly, brushing a curl behind your ear. “An engagement. A… formal promise. If that’s what they need to see, then let’s give it to them. You wouldn’t be single anymore — you’d be committed. To me. On paper. We don’t have to do anything else, just… put it out there.”

He blinked once. Then again.

You shifted a little on his lap. “I’m not saying we rush down the aisle and get fitted for tuxedos. But an engagement is a legal change in status. It’s commitment. It’s a public signal. It gives us credibility.”

Bruce’s silence stretched for a moment longer. He didn’t look shocked — more contemplative. You could see the gears turning, the way they always did when he was in detective mode. He didn’t dismiss it. He didn’t laugh. He just… thought.

Then, slowly, his hand came up to cup your cheek.

“That’s... a serious step,” he murmured, voice quiet. “You know that.”

“So is taking in a child,” you said simply.

He exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.

His thumb brushed along your jaw. “You know what people will say.”

You let out a huff. “Oh, please. They already say it. Every magazine cover calls me ‘Wayne’s secret sweetheart,’ or ‘the farmgirl tamed the prince,’ or — my favorite — ‘sleeping her way into Wayne Enterprises.’ I think we’re past worrying about public opinion.”

He smiled faintly at that, the kind of smile you didn’t get often — soft, real, and only ever for you.

“And you’d do this?” he asked, more quietly now. “You’d agree to this… for Dick?”

“For Dick,” you nodded. “And for you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was warm. Full.

You didn’t expect him to say anything right away. You didn’t rush it. Bruce wasn’t a man you pushed. You let the words sit between you like a delicate thing — real and tender and not needing to be dressed up.

After a long minute, he nodded.

“Okay.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

His arms tightened around your waist, eyes not leaving yours. “Let’s get engaged.”

You stared at him. “Just like that?”

“I’d marry you tonight if I thought it’d help Dick,” he said plainly. “But I think you’re right. Engagement’s enough for the court. If it’s the difference between him staying here or being sent into the system… we do it.”

You blinked fast, warmth blooming in your chest so quick it made your eyes sting.

You leaned forward and kissed him. Soft. Gentle. Steady. His hands curled into your sweater, anchoring you to him, as if this moment — this decision — was something to hold on to.

Then his fingers tightened slightly at your hips, grounding himself. “You’re something else, Y/N Kent.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Wayne.”

It took four days.

Gotham bloomed. Not metaphorically. Not this time.

Because four days after the softest “yes” you’d ever said in your life, the sky itself seemed to shift. Gotham—bruised, cold, sharp-edged Gotham—felt warmer. Lighter. Even if just for a moment. Maybe it was the way the clouds cracked open that morning to spill golden light across the skyline, or maybe it was the way your name appeared on every social column in the city by mid-afternoon.

Maybe it was the flowers.

Because Bruce Wayne had sent you a bouquet so big it needed its own vehicle.

Literally.

The florist’s van rolled up to the Wayne Tower lobby with a crane-like rig and three assistants, all of whom were trying desperately to keep the bouquet upright without knocking over a column or crashing into the revolving doors. Orchids, sunflowers, tulips, dahlias, snapdragons, and roses—every color you could name and at least ten you couldn’t. There were wild sprigs of forget-me-nots and fluffy white peonies, blue delphinium that reminded you of Kansas skies, and sun-warm marigolds tucked between them like pockets of gold.

Your name was carved on a little crystal plaque at the base: “To my fiancée. –B.”

By nightfall, the entire city knew. So did Metropolis. Clark called you that evening, voice caught somewhere between “surprised big brother” and “carefully trying not to crush his phone.”

“You’re engaged?” he said.

“You sound like Ma,” you’d replied, laughing quietly as you stared at the ring on your finger. “And yes.”

“Do I get to threaten him properly now?” Clark asked. “Or is that still on hold?”

“You’ve already scared him enough by existing.”

“Good.”

The ring was custom, of course. It had to be. You weren’t the diamond solitaire kind of girl, and Bruce had known that from the first month. You’d found the little velvet box tucked into your desk drawer in your Wayne Enterprises office. Alfred swore he knew nothing, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

It wasn’t flashy—it was flawless. A delicate arrangement of precious metals braided into each other, all in soft gold, with a singular, brilliantly cut gemstone at its center—a pale sapphire, not unlike the shade of Bruce’s eyes when he let his guard down. It was the kind of ring people wrote headlines about—large, custom, clearly expensive, and undoubtedly Wayne.

You wore it like a promise. One not taken lightly.

You didn’t know rings could look like that. You didn’t know jewelry could feel heavy in a way that wasn't physical. You didn’t stop touching it. Every time you looked down, it was there. A promise. A shift in your world. You weren’t married, not really, but this—this engagement had weight. Gotham knew now. The socialites knew. The lawyers knew. The judge knew. The tabloids knew. Your last name was still Kent, but your address was now Wayne Manor.

Behind the public romance, though, there were papers. Concubinage documents. Domestic partnership status.

Bruce had handed them to you after dinner that night, in his office, his expression unreadable, his hand careful. You hadn’t asked why the paper didn’t feel warm. Why the ink wasn’t fresh. You’d known him long enough by now to recognize preparation when you saw it.

He’d done it days ago. Before the ring. Before the judge left. Maybe even before the accident.

Still, you signed. Not because of obligation. Not because it made the adoption easier. Because you meant it.

A few days later, a moving truck arrived at your apartment building. Big, dark, branded in neat, discreet letters. Bruce had arranged for professionals to handle everything—but you’d insisted on boxing your books yourself. You labeled every one. Some things you brought. Some things stayed. You packed the framed photo of you and Clark on the porch swing, Ma Kent’s old recipe binder, the flannel throw that always smelled like home. Your life shrunk to three truckloads and one hopeful heart.

And when you pulled up to the Manor that night, the windows glowing soft gold against the dusk, Alfred met you at the door with tea already steeping.

“Welcome, Miss Kent,” he said, with a voice so full of fondness you nearly cried. “It seems the Manor is beginning to feel like a home.”

By the next morning, everything moved fast.

The judge moved even faster.

Bruce—armed with the engagement announcement, the ring, the paperwork, the very vocal public support of the city—pressed every advantage. With Alfred’s quiet but laser-precise aid, you began preparing Dick’s room. The one closest to your shared bedroom, with double windows facing the garden. You picked the paint—stormy blue. Bruce added the bookshelves. Alfred brought in the desk and the thick curtains.

Every night for the next few weeks, you double-checked the details. The bedding. The decorations. The extra pajamas. The nightlight. You’d asked Dick once if he liked those. He hadn’t answered out loud—but he’d nodded.

And then, finally, they said yes.

The guardianship was granted.

Dick was coming home.

And the Manor had never felt so full.

Fifty-three days.

That’s how long it had taken. Fifty-three days since Dick Grayson lost his parents. Fifty-three days in the system. Fifty-three days in that cold, gray orphanage that tried its best but always fell short.

The morning of, you barely slept.

Your stomach was a knot of nerves and hope and soft adrenaline. You dressed carefully—something warm, welcoming, not formal. You wanted Dick to see you and remember softness. You wanted him to walk through those doors and know that this was it. That this wasn’t temporary. That he was safe.

Bruce, naturally, looked like he hadn’t slept either, but still wore the sharp cut of a dark sweater and slacks like it was second skin. His eyes, though—they were gentler than usual. He stood beside you in the foyer, hands behind his back, pacing slightly in front of the tall double doors.

“They’re late,” he muttered.

You checked your phone. “Only by four minutes.”

“That’s late.”

You smiled softly, reaching for his arm. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You are.”

Bruce didn’t deny it again. Just stared at the door, jaw tight.

“Do I look okay?” you asked quietly, smoothing down your sweater.

He turned to look at you fully, stepping closer. “You look perfect, sweetheart.”

You smiled nervously, tugging your sleeves. “What if he doesn’t want to stay?”

“He will.”

“What if he changed his mind?”

“He didn’t.”

“Bruce.”

He reached out, gently cupping your face. “You are the safest thing in this house. If he doesn’t trust me yet, he’ll trust you.”

You nodded slowly. Let the words settle.

The sound of tires on gravel snapped your attention to the window. A black sedan pulled up along the main drive. Alfred appeared from the side hallway as if summoned by fate itself, his hands folded neatly.

“They’re here,” he said, voice calm.

You and Bruce stepped forward together as the social worker—Ms. Dahl, a small, determined woman with curly hair and thick glasses—stepped out of the front seat. She opened the rear door, and a small, thin figure climbed out slowly.

Dick.

His shoes were too big. His backpack was too small. His coat swallowed him, and his eyes looked older than any child’s ever should.

But he was here. And finally, finally coming home.

You were the first to move. You stepped out from the doorway, coat half-buttoned, rain brushing your cheeks.

“Hey, buddy,” you said softly, crouching a little as you approached. “We’ve been expecting you.”

There was a beat of quiet. The rain from last week was long gone. The sun shone brightly overhead, filtered slightly by Gotham’s haze. But the air was warm. And the front steps were covered in marigolds and tulips in planters, as if the house had bloomed just in time.

“Is it okay that I’m nervous?” Dick asked suddenly, voice cracking just a little.

“Absolutely,” you said gently. “I’m nervous too. Firsts are scary.”

He looked at you. You smiled, soft and slow, and reached out your hand.

“But I’m really glad you’re here.”

He looked at your hand, then at Bruce, then back at you. And he took it. His fingers were small and cold, but the grip was steady.

You squeezed gently and led him toward the front steps. Bruce followed, quiet but present. You felt the boy tense slightly when Bruce came too close—but he didn’t pull away.

Inside the foyer, Alfred bowed slightly. “Welcome, Master Grayson.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “...Hi.”

You knelt beside him, brushing his hair from his eyes. “We’ve got your room ready,” you said softly. “Do you want to see it?”

He nodded, still not speaking.

You led him through the hallways, hand still in his, watching his expression flicker from surprise to confusion to awe and back again. The house was still a lot. It would always be a lot. But you hoped the little things—the family photos on the table, the scent of cinnamon from the kitchen, the way the lights glowed warm instead of white—would help.

The door to his room opened slowly.

His backpack slid off his shoulders as soon as he saw it.

You had done it right. You could see it in the way his eyes lit up—subtle but real. The bed was full-sized, layered in soft, deep blue blankets. A reading nook was tucked under the windows. On the desk, a row of books waited with little post-it notes. On the nightstand sat the framed photo from the circus—the only one that you had found.

Dick stepped in slowly. Quietly. His fingers brushed the edge of the bed, the dresser, the shelves.

Bruce hovered at the door.

You knelt beside Dick again. “It’s yours,” you said. “Everything in here. You don’t have to share, and you don’t have to ask.”

Dick looked at you then. Really looked. “Do I... sleep here?”

“Yes, bug,” you said, your voice catching.

“Every night?”

“Every single one.”

He blinked. “. . . And you?”

Bruce stepped forward gently, kneeling down to his level. “Right across the hall,” he said. “You can knock any time.”

Dick stared at him, then looked back at you. “Okay.”

You sat on the edge of the bed. “You can change anything, you know. If you want the walls painted, or if you hate the rug, or if the dresser’s too tall—”

“I like it,” Dick repeated, firmer now. “Really.”

The next hour blurred. Sandra walked the house with Alfred, clipboard in hand, confirming the renovations, the fire exits, the room setup, the security measures. And then, just like that, she was gone.

And Dick Grayson was no longer a ward of the state.

Later that evening, after dinner—which Alfred made with unnecessary flourish and a single celebratory cupcake—you found yourself standing in the hallway just outside Dick’s door again.

Bruce leaned beside you, silent, sipping a rare glass of wine.

“He’s already asleep,” you whispered, peeking in.

Your fiancée didn’t look surprised. “He didn’t sleep well at the orphanage.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressing together, arms wrapping around your waist. A smile fluttered to life, your eyes shining just in the way he loved. “You did it, love.”

He turned his eyes toward you. “No,” he said. “We did.”

Your ring caught the light again when you reached for his hand. His lips pressed against your knuckles. And, before leaving, you turned to the room again.

“Welcome home, little bird,” you whispered, looking past the doorframe to the boy curled beneath the sheets.

Welcome home.

#bruce wayne x reader #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #batmom reader #kent!batmom!reader #batboys x reader #bruce wayne x you #platonic dick grayson x reader

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brutaliashipper1 · 2 months ago

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*the batkids in watchtower for unknown reason purposely annoying Bruce during meetings*

-Scenario 1-

Batman: Yes I agree with-

Nightwing: *bust through meetings door* Hey B! Sorry to disturb your meeting but I had to tell you… I got a new car

Batman: That’s great chu- wait… why’d you get a new car

Nightwing: *looks at his wrist likes there’s a watch* welp look at the time it’s about around 7 o got to go!

*he then runs away muttering curses under his breath*

Superman: He crashed his old car

Batman: Oh yea absolutely. And he was probably too stubborn to get it fixed

Wonder Woman: I wonder where he gets that from?

Batman: … Martian man hunter (MM): Shall we get back to the meeting?

Batman: …yes…

-Scenario 2-

Flash: I still think we should be more carful when it comes to planing this

Green arrow: Yeah I know Barry but for this particular thing we don’t need to

Batman: hmm

*Jason in full Red hood atire walks and sits on bruce* Batman: *wheezes*

Red hood: Sorry didn’t see you there

Wonderwoman: :) 👋

Red hood: *smiling so hard under helmet but trying to be nonchalant* oh… heya wonderwoman.

GL (Hal): *dying of laughter* you good there Spooky?

Batman: Yes. I’m fine. As I was saying I agree with Flash and his plan

-Scenario 3-

Wonderwoman: This meeting is being dragged perhaps we should seperate it into multiple spread out across the week?

*spoiler walks silently almost unnoticed towards batman* Spoiler: *whispers to Bruce* Ima going to braid your hair.

Batman: Ok

-Like 10 minutes later-

Superman: Heyy spoiler your doing a great job with Bruce’s hair, could you do mine and Diana’s next

Spoiler: Nuh. Maybe another time. Only boss man gets this special hair treatment

Spoiler: Now where did I put the glitter- oh there it is

Batman: NO! Anything but glitter!

-Scenario 4-

Green arrow: Hey what the hell! The screen turned off.

*screen turns on with a following audio message*

Audio message: Give me back my energy drinks. I need to stay awake to finish this case. I’ll sleep on the floor later. If you don’t I’ll set all your alarms and ringtones to be Rick rolled. Yes this is a warning!

Justice league: ?!?

Batman: FOR GOD SAKES!!! TIM! TIM! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME-

-Scenario 5-

*damian sitting in Bruce’s lap hugging him, he’d just had a nightmare,*

Hawk girl: He’s very cute

WonderWomen: He’s adorable

Batman: Yes I know please stay focus!

Robin! Damian: *yawns very cutely* we’ve you baba.

Everyone: coos

Batman: *kisses his forehead* I love you too. So much. Ok now everyone focus we can talk about my sons cuteness in civilian atire.

GL (still Hal): Can I hold him. Like he’s asleep. Ya know so you can work. *doesn’t want to admit the kids cute to sound stoic*

Batman: I will cut your hands off Jordan if you try!

#bruce wayne #batfamily #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #alfred pennyworth #Tim drake #stephanie brown #justice league #hawk girl #diana prince #clark kent #hal jordan #barry allen #oliver queen #jonn jonzz #fluff #Funny

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vitoriadior · 6 days ago

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IS THIS ON LIVE?

Clark Kent x Bimbo!Reader

(Synopsis) Where, while you're shopping, a huge alien attack begins right in the middle of where you are. But— Is that a camera for the news? You are appearing on TV right now? OMG, OMG, OMG!!!

Request 1 <3. Request 2 <3. Masterlist— Bimbo!Reader series

Wednesday is your day off every week, and that only means one thing—shopping day, duh! There's nothing better than getting ready with your makeup on with some music playing in the background before choosing which shoes to wear (4-inch heels or 3-inch for comfort?), grabbing the keys to your pink convertible SUV, and forgetting about the world for a while.

Your favorite activity is window shopping—some mannequin wearing a hat that makes you wonder what size of head you are, or maybe a pet store to buy your Pomeranian a necklace to match that dress Clark gift you the last time you two went out.

Clark! Of course, your boyfriend. Of course you have to get your boyfriend something—but what? You think about maybe buying a new thong at Victoria's Secret. Technically, it's a gift for your boyfriend too, but you want to give him something you can see on him. Do they have men's ties in fuchsia pink with black dots ? You hope so.

You're pressing your hands against the window of a home decor store while, in the background, everyone is running and screaming. You're confused as you watch a girl running at top speed near you, desperately screaming for help. "Has she heard of a sale nearby or what?"

"Olsen, turn on Channel 4," Perry comes out of his office, drawing everyone's attention. Jimmy switches to Channel 4 LIVE on the TV while Lois and Clark share a look: there it is. An attack by two enormous alien monsters destroying the city, ramming buildings and grabbing cars with their bare hands while the Justice Gang is trying to fix all

The office is filled with murmurs and gasps of horror as everyone watch the news, the Channel 4 reporter explaining the situation while scores of citizens ran for cover behind him. Clark was already looking for an excuse to give Perry so he could fly out of the office toward the accident.

Until he sees you on the TV.

"Is that— Clark's girlfriend?" Lois frowned, unsure if the girl in front of the Channel 4 camera, smiling like it was one of those reality shows you love to watch with your dog Daisy, was her friend's girlfriend.

"Are we on live? Really?" Your smile stretched from ear to ear as the camera tried to capture the mess behind you. "Oh my god, I'm on TV? I can't believe I'm on TV! Where—Where are the people who laugh whenever someone says something funny on TV?"

Jimmy's eyebrows were almost raised to the roots of his hair, Lois was still frowning, and Clark was stunned at how damn close you were to those monsters. "Yep. that's her."

"I want—I want to say hi to my mom, my dog, Daisy..." You made a duck mouth as you played with the end of a strand of your hair. Thousands of people in Metropolis, who were watching Channel 4 for news about the attack, were watching you bite your fake nail thinking, "Oh! My boyfriend, of course I want to say hi to my boyfriend!"

Lois and Jimmy look at Clark with a raised eyebrow, and he just blushes, hiding his face in his hands. "Hi, sugar! I was at the store looking for something to buy you. My boyfriend is the sweetest—" You tell the man with the camera before remembering that there were probably a ton of girls watching you right now. They'd probably want to steal your Clark! "But he's mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine."

Jimmy is holding back the urge to laugh until Clark punches him in the shoulder, knocking the wind out of him. Perry is so distracted that Clark no longer has to think of an excuse to fly super fast to where you seem to be—he didn't even need to check. It was your favorite mall you'd dragged him to several times.

You're still talking to the camera when you feel someone pick you up off the ground and carry you princess-style. "Superman!" You smile like little kids do when they see Superman. You'd been on TV and now you were in Superman's arms. Was your horoscope today great or why i you were having such an amazing day?

"You should be more careful, miss." The voice of the man holding you reminds you a little of your boyfriend's. So do his eyes. And his nose. Oh no! Is Superman a clone of Clark? "We don't want such a pretty face to get ruined."

You were about to reply the compliment with a flirtatious smile as usual, but instead you frowned. You're a girl with a boyfriend, and you don't think any other man on earth would call you pretty except your handsome, charming, super cute, and kind Clark Kent. "Excuse me, Mr. Superman, but I have a boyfriend." You crossed your arms. Clark would laugh if he didn't have to hurry up and join the Justice Gang.

You're chattering about Clark to Superman—or rather, to himself. While the superhero carefully lowers you to a safe area, away from him, attacks, and any other danger. "Oh, and he's such a Star Wars nerd. He has these cute Legos that—that make me want to kiss him so much."

Clark laughs one last time before telling you that your boyfriend sounds like a good guy. You thank him, and Superman stares at you for a few more seconds without saying anything.

You mean everything to him.

That same day later, you excitedly tell your boyfriend on the phone before going to sleep how Superman saved you. Clark is taking off his Superman boots while listening to you with a smile. "That sounds amazing, my love."

Taglist: @starincarnated @angelicp0etry @yeonalie @lator-gators @starssfall @moomumu @chamorunsmiles @urlittleangelbaby @americanboz0 @mysticdinosaurpirate @spiidergwenn @sugarbutterbailey @pestoluvr8 @ilovemangoes444 @kaiparkerwife @qardasngan @animegamerfox @helloimamistake @rinapomu @chaoticroaddreamerpasta @ryomku @dreamlesssleepsaga @yzuposts @mickey-mouse-crackhouse1902 @j07lvrg @khxna @1wannab3inaband @wintersoldierenthusiastt @yyiikes @rosie-hao @psiiconic @httpstoyosi @lettucel0ver @scorpio-echo @iveofficiallylostmymarbles @aratakiittooo @angelicprincess12 @pinkluv29

@shine101 @karimestarksworld @lortheswiftie @bangtanevermore @njdluvr @justamina-blog @avroravia @m3lod7 @just-pure-trash @pprettyvisitorr @againanothersideblog @differentcandycreation @hagarsays

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wonderjanga · 9 months ago

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Marvel Being Destructive

Marvel’s destructive. It’s not even on purpose too. It just happens. He can’t control it. For the most part, that is. Like, he’ll get startled and pull a Castiel from that one episode of Supernatural.

Marvel: *trying to steal some food for Billy*

Flash: “Cap, buddy!”

Marvel: *startles and the lightbulb above them just bursts*

*loud silence*

Flash: “Cap, whose leftovers are those?”

Marvel: *slowly turns around to look at Flash, sure enough, Marvel’s holding a container or Tupperware, with a sticky note that said GL* “Uh… mine?”

Flash: “I can see that they’re Hal’s.”

Marvel: *takes off the sticky note and crumples it in his hand. Then proceeds to fry it with lightning* “What’re you talking about?”

Flash: *a little speechless*

Marvel: “Right… So I’m gonna go. See you, Flash.” *little wave as he walks off*

Billy felt really bad about it, but the kid needed it more than Hal at the moment. Probably. Look, he was running low on money at the moment and hadn’t eaten in a couple days. The hunger pangs were getting to him. He did end up making a bunch of food for Hal in an attempt to apologize.

GL: “Woah, what’s all this?”

Marvel: *in full lightning bolt apron* “Uh… Remember how you were complaining last week about how someone stole your food?”

GL: “Yeah?”

Marvel: “Right, well that was me.”

GL: *dramatic gasp* “I vented to you about that! And you just took it like you were innocent?!”

Marvel: “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. Just eat all the food I made for you. Please?”

GL: *looks to the freaking feast Marvel made for him* “Yeah, okay. I forgive you.” *starts chowing down* “By the way, why’d you steal my foot anyways? I thought you didn’t need to eat.”

Marvel: “I just really needed it at the time.”

GL: “Why?”

Marvel: “Just eat the food, Hal.”

Then, there’s the fact that Billy sometimes forgets he isn’t as small as he usually is. Like, he’s gotten used to it. After all, he’s been Cap for almost four years now. He now unconsciously bends down when entering and exiting through doors due to the fact he’s cracked his head on more doorframes than he can count. This even bled over to Billy who’s only about 5’4 and definitely doesn’t need to do it. But, every now and then as Cap, he’ll slip up and forget he isn’t that little scrawny short kiddo.

JL: *all having a meeting* Marvel: *drops something under the table and leans down the pick it it up*

GA: *immediately grabs his mug of coffee and scoots back from the table*

Other JL members: *watch in confusion as GA scoots back but then watch in slow motion at Marvel tries to get back to his chair and stands up to early. The table slowly starts tilting up and all of their stuff slides to the floor. Marvel then gets out from under the table and the table falls back to the floor with a loud bang*

Marvel: *confused by the loud bang and looks back* “Where’d all your guys’ stuff go?”

GA: *scoots back to table and puts his mug back down* “No idea, bud.”

The reason Green Arrow knew to take his stuff and scoot back is that one time when he got lunch with Cap, he watched in real time as his burger and soda slid off the table when the big man went down to grab a fork he dropped.

Then, there’s the super duper ultra rare times he forgets his own strength. Like, once a year, he’ll break something or someone and then end up having to apologize a lot.

Batman: *shows Marvel an explosive batarang* “These are extremely delicate. If they’re chipped or thrown at someone, they’ll explo-”

Marvel: *reaches over to touch it and accidentally snaps a piece of it off*

*silence*

*beeping noise starts*

Marvel: *panics and breaks the rest of it and shoves it in his mouth, basically eating the explosion, Superman style*

Batman: *stares for a solid minute* “I could’ve turned it off, Captain.”

Marvel: *coughs up smoke looking embarrassed* “Sorry, Mister Batman Sir.”

Batman: *stares for another solid minute* “Can we talk about how your first instinct was to eat it?”

Marvel: “I’d rather not.”

Batman: “I really think we should.”

#billy batson #captain marvel dc #dc captain marvel #shazam #fawcett comics #fawcett #fawcett city #batman #bruce wayne #green arrow #oliver queen #the flash #wally west #green lantern #hal jordan

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cakypa120 · 3 months ago

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Shazam and Epic. The League wants to figure out what the hell is going on.

During the battle with the aliens.

Marvel: Find that inner strength now. Use that well of pride. Fight though every pain now.

Barry: What the hell is he doing?

Marvel: Ask yourself inside. What do you live for? What do you try for? What do you wish for? What do you fight for?

Shazamily (in chorus): What do you live for? What do you try for? What do you wish for? What do you fight for?

Superman: Why do I hear hundreds of voices?

Villain: *hits Voltage hard*

Voltage: *flies off and coughs heavily*

Marvel: In all my years of living. It isn't very often that I get pissed off. I try to chill with the waves. But damn, you crossed the line. I've been so gracious. And yet, you hurt the son of mine. That's right, the boy you hurt, is mine.

Villain: Fuck.

Heroes: Run, fool!!

Switch: Here in the root of this flower. There lies such a power to take her on. You must consume and digest it. Then you'll manifest a being of your creation. All you need's imagination.

Hal: Is that necessary?

Switch: And I call this root: Holy Moly!

Hal: Ah.

Switch: Ha-ha-ha-ha!

Batman: What's with that dramatic music?

Thunder:*gestures at Batman* I see a song of past romance. I see the sacrifice of man. I see portrayals of betrayals and a brother's final stand. I see you on the brink of death. I see you draw your final breath. I see a man who gets to make it home alive. But it's no longer you.

Batman.exe has stopped working.

Mary:*whispers* You'll make him more paranoid.

Thunder:*whispers back* I know.

Marvel: *shouts at villains* Run for your lives!

Mary: *angry over ruined picnic plans* Drown in your sorrow and fears. Choke on your blood and your tears. Bleed til you've run out of years. We must do what it takes to survive.

Diana: How do we stop her?

Lightning: She can't be stopped now. The process is irreversible.

Lightning: *stands in the water and looks at the smugglers* Get in the water.

Smuggler: You don't scare us!

Lightning: Get in the water. Don't mistake my threats for bluff. You have lived more than enough!

Aquaman: She scares me.

#billy batson #dcu #dc captain marvel #captain marvel #shazam #fawcett city #fawcett comics #jl #justice league #shazamily #mary bromfield #pedro peña #eugene choi #freddy freeman #darla dudley #the epic musical #epic the musical #epic

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bunny-jpeg · 10 months ago

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kink-o-ween - day nineteen

lando norris - size kink

cw: smut/pwp, size kink/difference, loving!lando, protective (possessive) behaviour, hand holding, big dick!lando

kink-o-ween master-list

while lando wasn't a mountain, there was still a bit of a size difference between you two. at least in strength, lando liked to feel like the big strong protector to show off that he could easily keep you safe. because he simply loved you so, so much. not that he found you weak or anything, he just liked being your hero.

and you let him, everything from carrying the groceries in one trip to letting him carry your suitcase when you went on trips together. you even allowed him to carry you at times. lando loved when he could just pick you up and start sprinting with you in his arms. it was cute and even though you yelled the entire time he did it, you secretly loved it too.

you really noticed the differences during a rainy day on the track. you both had to get to the other side of the paddock, out in the rain to be with the rest of the team. the issue was that there was only one raincoat.

"you can put it on." he said as he pushed the jacket towards you, "it's just a little rain." he looked out the open door. it was more than a little rain, because of it the race had been delayed for hours now. you thought eventually that there were going to be fish swimming on the track due to the water!

"i can't have you getting soaked and sick, lando. you can take it, i can afford to get a little wet." you replied as you tried to give it back to him.

"you're going to have to let me carry you, and try to cover us with the raincoat. we just have to get over there." lando said as he made sure the coat was still in your hands.

you nodded, there weren't many other options. you were soon on his back, with your weight pressed against him as you tried to hold the raincoat over the both of you. lando counted down before he took off in a sprint towards where you both needed to be. you both yelled at lando held onto you and ran in the rain. he could feel himself getting soaked regardless, and you fared no better.

by the time you got to the rest of mclaren, you were both soaking wet. the coat did very little to protect you both. but lando's feat of strength left an impression on you and it was only fueled by him helping you dry off with a towel, telling you not to catch a cold.

but it wasn't until after the race and back in the motor home for the night that the impression grew into something larger. you were in bed with him, dressed in very little to maximize comfort. lando was on his phone and your hand was on his chest as you cuddled with him.

"i always forget how big your hands are compared to mine." you remarked, "i know they're bigger, but i always forget how much bigger."

lando put his phone down on his chest for a moment, and reached for your hand. he replied with a laugh, "you once said they were like bear paws but they are pretty big compared to yours." he then leans over to kiss you on the lips.

you blushed, "i have to be honest, i thought you trying to protect me from the rain was really hot. seeing you all big and strong. you were like my superman."

lando moved his phone to the nightstand and turned closer to you. his hand in yours, "oh yeah? did that make you all hot and bothered? when i dried you off, you did feel pretty warm."

you swallowed as he leaned closer to you and played with the gold chain around you neck. the one that he got you when you first started to see one another. you blushed when he smiled at you, you admitted to him, "it was really hot. like really, really hot."

he laughed a little, "i didn't know i had such an impact on you." he was lying a little, he knew quite well that he turned you on. because you turned him on quite often.

you held onto his hand, they were really big compared to yours. and it encouraged him to kiss him once more. you shifted a little on the bed as he pressed his weight onto you. the true difference between you two was in his sweatpants. lando's cock was quite big.

you giggled when your boyfriend slipped his hands under your t-shirt. you felt goosebumps from his rough fingertips against your warmed skin. you were so soft and sensitive and it drove lando wild.

"lando." you moved a little more, a small moan left your lips and lando smiled against you.

"you feel amazing. i can't wait to feel your cute little cunt." his dirty talk was unmatched. cheesy one-liners made you hot when they came from lando. it was the type of talking that left you named soon after. and lando stripped you down bare and admired your naked body under him. he got himself between your legs and you swallowed.

he got himself out of his sweatpants and briefs, and his cock was soon exposed for you. a little below eight inched, and he could do some damage if he wasn't careful. he took you by the thighs and pulled you up against him. he groaned as his hard-on rubbed against your achy cunt.

"what if it doesn't fit?"

he chuckled, "oh don't worry, baby. i think it'll fit just fine." then got himself into you with ease. you arched your back as he got it all the way to the base. you felt the hot wash of lust on your core. he moved against you and felt the excitement in his body. there was no one like you. no on e that made him this good. you were a perfect fit for him. he leaned forward and grasped your hands in to his then pinned them onto the bed.

"i want you for the rest of my days." he said with tenderness in his tone, "all to myself, to love and keep. you are mine, all mine." he chuckled before he pulled you into a soft kiss as he continued to rut up against you. the feeling made you stomach twist and you felt extremely hot. only lando could make a ting of possessiveness feel hot.

"i love you." you squeaked.

"and i love you too." he replied as he held you. he thrusted up into you, it was a promise. he knew that he going to propose one day. but until then he'd just have to tell you every day that he loved you. he moved against you, there was a fire in his brain as he held onto you while the two of you made love on the bed. he was so much bigger than you, his cock filled just the right niches. it made you feel an inferno in your gut. it was incredibly hot. your toes curled as he fucked you.

you both fit so well together, "fuck." you gasped.

"so beautiful, angel." he said, "look at my beautiful girl. no one else can ever compare to you." his mouth ran while he fucked you. pleasure thumped inside of him as he continued to move.

"lando, please." you moaned and clenched onto his hands tightly. you moved a little to meet his pace and it made you hotter.

lando licked his lips and he continued to fuck you, "my lovely angel. i'm obsessed with you." he chuckled as he moved, his voice felt tighter the more he dragged his cock in and out of you.

you could feel his cock deep inside of you. it near bruised the deepest parts of you with his sheer size. there was so much you could feel and it made you grip his hands tightly. the noises got louder between the two of you. the kisses became hotter and messier. you moaned between them. lando even licked across your lips which made you roll your hips faster.

"perfect." he groaned as he continued to bully your pussy with his cock, "remember when you'd strain to take al of me. now you're perfection and i love it. fuck, you're amazing." he tensed up.

he knew he was getting close and he pace quickened. you moved quickened as well to meet him pace. he wanted to mess up your pretty insides and that made the heat too much to bear.

"lando. ah! honey!" you cried out a tthe high of list. you could feel his lingering gaze on you, his heated body pressed further against yours as he sloppily made out with you.

"my girl." he said in a tone that dripped with want. he felt you climax around his cock. it made him yearn for you more.

you were both each other's addiction and to share the heat together was amazing. lando worked your body some more and soon he finished inside of you with a heavy groan.

"fuck." he praised as he held on tightly to your hands. he gave you one last kiss and you gave him one last sweet look before he stopped his movements. he rested against you and you lean towards him to kiss him on the lips once more. he melted a little from the feeling. how tender you were. when he pulled away, you only pulled him back in to snuggle one another.

"no one can ever compare to you." he chuckled, you two kissed one another. even with the slight ache between your legs. you loved the feeling of your larger boyfriend <3

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mcu-binge · 6 days ago

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New Years kiss || Clark Kent x reader ||

Pairing: Clark Kent x reader. Word count: 890

Summary: after weeks of anticipation for your first New Years kiss Clark has to rush to save the city. Just as you’re about to ring in midnight alone on the balcony he finds a way to make it memorable.

Tags/warnings : fluff, sweet boyfriend.

=================================

The sidewalk was wet with half-melted snow, our breath clouding the air in little bursts as we laughed over some dumb joke he’d made about Jimmy trying to spend 3 minutes with each girl he invited. Clark’s hand was warm on my lower back, tucked just above the zipper of my dress, casual, steady, a quiet kind of claim.

I looked up at him, cheeks pink from the cold, and he gave me that stupidly sweet smile, all dimples and quiet awe, like he still couldn’t believe I was real.

“You look…” he started, then paused like the words were too big for his mouth. “Amazing.”

“Red dress does that,” I teased.

“No, it’s all you,” he said, and his thumb traced a tiny circle just under the open back of my dress.

We were so close.

The warm hum of music was already slipping out from the party upstairs. Laughter. Clinking glasses. I could taste the champagne waiting for us. Could picture our first New Year’s kiss we kept talking about. Dramatic, overdue and perfect.

Then came a boom.

Loud enough to shake the windows on the corner bodega. A car alarm went off. I flinched, heart stuttering, as a low plume of smoke rose across the river a flare of orange behind the skyline.

And just like that, I felt it.

Clark’s hand dropped from my back. His body stiffened next to mine, gaze already locked on the horizon, shoulders squaring with the weight of something else. His jaw tightened slightly. Eyes scanning. Brain working at Superman-speed.

I turned to him knowing what was coming. “It’s okay.”

“I—” His voice faltered. “It’s bad. I can hear—”

“You have to go,” I said softly, stepping in close, hands on his chest. “It’s okay, Clark.”

His eyes snapped to mine, full of regret

“You have to. They need you more than I do.”

He searched my face, pain clear in every inch of him. “I wanted to kiss you tonight to start my year perfectly.”

“You still can,” I offered, trying to smile. “Just… a little later.” He cupped the side of my face like he was memorizing me.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered.

“I know you will.”

And with that, he was gone up and away, his coat left fluttering on the sidewalk where he’d dropped it.

I stood there a second longer, then took a breath, gathered myself, and went upstairs. The party was loud, full of Jimmy’s weird cousins and Daily Planet interns doing shots off a fruit tray. I forced a laugh when people joked. I sipped champagne. I mingled, kind of. But the whole time, I was just… waiting. Not for midnight. For him.

When it hit 11:58, I slipped out onto the balcony.

I was supposed to be kissing him right now.

Not watching strangers toast and sway while the cold slipped into the cracks of my coat.

I blinked up at the sky, biting back the hollow sting in my chest. I knew better. I knew what I signed up for what it meant to love someone who belonged to the world. But still… just for tonight, I’d let myself want something simple. Something selfish. I held his coat tighter in my hands bringing it up to smell his scent.

There was a sudden hush of wind, like the air around me sighed with relief. Then came the faintest thud, boots touching down behind me. A new warmth at my back. Strong arms wrapping around me gently

“You didn’t think I’d miss our first New Year’s kiss, did you?” his voice was quiet, low

I turned, breath catching in my throat.

He stood there cape brushing the ground, hair windswept, suit dusted with ash and starlight. And those eyes. Gentle. Bright. All for me.

“Clark,” I whispered, a little laugh escaping without permission. “You—”

“I made it,” he said, stepping closer, hands reaching for mine. “I said I would.”

“You smell like smoke,” I teased, my voice trembling more than I wanted it to.

He smiled. “There was a refinery fire. No big deal.”

“No big—” I started, but he cut me off with a look. A look that said I’m here now. Don’t waste a second of it.

And then the countdown began inside.

Ten.

Nine.

His hands slipped to my waist. Warm, steady.

Eight.

Seven.

“I was going to land on the roof and come down the stairs like a normal person,” he murmured, “but I panicked. I needed to see you.”

Six.

Five.

I shook my head, blinking back tears. “You’re ridiculous.”

Four.

He leaned in, forehead resting against mine. “You’re everything.”

Three.

My breath caught.

Two.

His lips brushed mine, barely there.

One.

And then he kissed me.

Really kissed me.

Not the rushed goodbye kisses. Not the quiet ones he pressed into my hair when he thought I was asleep. This was full of fire and winter wind, of promises made in silence, of every second we’ve missed crashing into now he kissed me like I was the only safe place left in a broken world. Like time had been counting down not to a year, but to this.

The sky behind us exploded in color reds, blues, golds. But it was nothing compared to the way he looked at me when he pulled away.

“Happy New Year baby,” he whispered, still holding me like the world might end.

#fluff #david corenswet #superman david corenswet #clark kent #superman #dc universe #superman 2025 #clark kent superman #david corenswet fluff #dcu comics #clark kent x y/n #clark kent x you #clark kent x reader #superman x reader

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 10 days ago

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TRAPPED

PAIRING: clark kent x gender neutral reader

RATING: not rated

WORD COUNT: 972

SUMMARY:

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

TAGS/WARNINGS:

superman (2025) clark kent, no movie spoilers, anxiety/panic attack, locked in a supply closet trope, no use of y/n, could be read as either romantic or platonic.

Your last pen has mysteriously disappeared which means it’s time for a trip to the dreaded supply closet.

It’s your least favorite place in the office but a necessary evil. After all, the hustle and bustle of The Daily Planet depends on its workers being kept in a steady supply of paper, clips, pens, and — most importantly — coffee.

The room makes you anxious. It’s situated at the end of a barely used hallway, small and crammed with multiple towering shelves loaded with disorganized supplies. There’s no windows, just one bare bulb that hangs from the ceiling and casts barely enough light to see if you’re grabbing a box of black ink or blue ink pens. The worst part, however, is that the door locks from the inside. You have no idea why and you’ve entered a number of maintenance tickets asking for it to be fixed, all of which have been ignored, despite the fact that an intern needs to be rescued from the room at least once a week.

You were one of those interns once — trapped inside the room with no service on your phone, forced to bang on the door for two hours in a vain attempt to get someone’s attention. You’ve hated the room ever since.

Opening the door, you turn the light on. It flickers to life, dim as always, and you step into the room, letting the door close slowly, making sure the latch doesn’t catch. Certain the door won’t fall completely shut, you remove your hand and take a steadying breath.

“You’ve got this,” you tell yourself. “You will not get stuck in the supply closet.”

You start to shop the shelves, loading your arms up with supplies. More pens, a pocket sized notebook, a box of folders, a back up recorder — all things you’ve needed but have gone without to avoid the closet. You’re almost finished when the door flies open, making you jump, your pile of supplies scattering to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice says. You look up, meeting the concerned gaze of Clark Kent. He drops to his knees, reaching for a pen that escaped the box and rolled away. “Here, let me—“

“The door—” You interrupt, but it’s too late. The latch clicks, the sound like a gunshot in the small room. You hang your head.

He stands and tries the knob. It doesn’t turn. Of course it doesn’t. He jiggles it roughly.

“First time?” You ask with a sigh. He looks at you over his shoulder.

“Huh?”

You nod towards the door. “It locks from the inside.”

He looks back at the door, hands on his hips. “That’s a bit silly.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What if there was a fire?” He asks. He huffs incredulously, throwing his hands up. “We’d be dead!”

Your chest tightens. Your hands start to shake. You ball them into fists at your sides. “Clark—“

“And there’s no window, so we couldn’t even escape that way,” he continued, gesturing toward the walls. “I mean, who comes up with—“

“Clark!” You snap. He looks at you, blue eyes wide. “Stop. Talking.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes. “I guess I’m not really helping, am I?”

You lean against a bare patch of wall and slide down to the floor. He paces in front of the door.

“Do you have your phone?” He asks. “We could call someone.”

“No service,” you tell him, not bothering to check. He pats his pockets and frowns.

“Mine is at my desk.”

Tears burn in the corners of your eyes and you look up at the water damaged ceiling, trying to blink them away. Clark crouches down in front of you.

“Hey…are you okay?” He asks, voice gentle. Your lower lip wobbles and you inhale sharply.

“N-Not really,” you admit.

He sits beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. His palm slides up and down your arm.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he says. You’re full on crying now, fat tears dripping onto his jacket. It feels like a weight is sitting on your chest and you can’t catch your breath around it. “Breathe with me.”

Clark inhales deeply, holds it, releases the breath slowly. He does it again and you try to follow but your own inhale stutters around another sob. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps up the same steady rhythm.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Eventually, after what feels like hours, you’re able to match each breath. Hold it in your lungs. Release it slowly. Your heart stops feeling like it’s trying to beat its way past your ribs.

“There you go,” he murmurs, squeezing your arm. You lift your head to look at him and he smiles. “See? You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

Of all the people to get trapped in a supply closet with, you’re glad it was Clark. Solid, stable, impossibly kind Clark.

“Sorry about your jacket,” you mumble. He laughs, the sound smooth and deep. “Didn’t mean to turn you into a human tissue.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you. “I’ve had worse. Remember when I went to interview Superman after that slime alien attack?”

“Glad my snot and tears aren’t as bad as intergalactic ooze.”

Clark pulls away and stands up, dusting off his pants. He holds a hand out to help you up as well.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he approaches the door. He looks back at you over his shoulder.

“Getting us out.”

Before you can ask what he means, Clark lifts his leg and drives his foot against the door in a single kick. The wood flies forward off its hinges and the frame splinters. Someone in the hallway screams. Your mouth drops open in shock.

He smiles at you, like he didn’t just demolish a door without breaking a sweat, and holds out his arm.

“After you.”

Thanks for reading!

LINKS

main blog | masterlists | AO3

#clark kent (2025)#clark kent x you #clark kent fic #clark kent x reader #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent #clark kent fanfic #clark kent x gn reader #clark kent fluff #david corenswet superman #superman (2025)#superman x you #superman x reader #superman fic #superman fanfiction #no use of y/n #x reader

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ice-cream-writes-stuff · 1 year ago

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Spider and Bats Snippets 2

[0.] [1.]

I headcanon Spider!(Y/N) meets Clark/Superman on accident before Batman does.

Just, imagine. Your heading to a part time job, super excited about it! Get on the bus, and wait... Then fall asleep..

The bus driver kicks you out at the Mertropolis bus station. Not good! You don't have enough for a ticket back to Gotham so you managed to get a part-time job at The Daily Planet, as the coffee runner! Simple enough?

Bumping into a meek Clark Kent, who is shyly thanking you for his cup of joe'. Then you, eagerly wanting a new friend in a strange enviorment, (again), asking about what he's writing.

"Wow Kent, didn't expect you to snag the new girl."

Lois teased light-heartedly. "Oh, ha-ha it's nothing like that. They're a good friend."

He shrugs it off as Lois shakes her head. "Sheesh, a lot of fella's make a LOT of trouble with that word. Good luck Smallsville."

Blinking in confusion, you were suprised she didn't notice you as you walk up beside him. "Huh... Wait, you think were good friends!?" You beam in awe at Clark, happily spinning around his desk chair. "Clark! You should of said something sooner!"

You let go, now thoughtful. "Hmmm, we should do friendship bracelets then.. I mean, I did make one with another friend of mine.. OH! I got an' idea-" "-Guh.. I-I think I.. Need to rain check.."

"Hm? What's wrong? You look dizy... Vomit-y."

I know there's different versions of how Batman met Superman. Personally, I perfer The Animated Series Ver!

I would like to think, Robin and Nightwing asked her to get Superman's autograph as a casual comment if Spider(Y/N) went to Mertropolis.

So during her "stay" at the other city, she'd often patrol and help a bit when she could.

Would totally meet Supes' on acident.

"Wow! Hello! Why is your city so much cleaner? I like your cape! Reminds me of Miguel-!" You try to descalate the situation.

You happily greet him, babbling as your buddy glared at you. You shrug at Batman's gaze, giving him a slight push. Herding him close to your side incase of any... Bad, course of action, between you and the supposed "Man of Steel".

Superman paused at the greeting, after thrown into a wall. He expected more hostily from you as well, since he read most crime-fighters were, due to the Gotham Gazette. Yet you seemed more occupied with keeping the Batman away from HIM.

Using his x-ray vision, he peaked underneath your masks.

"Bruce Wayne..." He mumbled under his breath as Batman shoved you to the side. Glaring at the super-powered male, "You peeked.."

"Hm? He did what?" You weren't paying attention, more focused on the destruction and damage. Frowning worriedly, knowung your "unexpected vaction" would meet it's end.

Superman The Animated Series: Season 1 Ep 16 - World's Finest Part 1

I can see Spider!(Y/N) being pen-pals with lot's of heros and vigilantes. Possibly even anti-heros and villians?

Carefully web-shooting the civillians away, you keep squint as you watch them dance in sync. Slightly envious, before shooting a glance at Batman.

He collapsed as groups of Music Meisters pawns held him down. Grunting as he tried to move away. You used your web to toss them away quickly. Huffing as you glanced down at your comrade.

Even with the ear-plugs, you couldn't help it!

As if spotlight shone on your cue, you sang encouragingly. Smiling underneath your mask, you hold out a hand to him. He grasps it as you slowly pull him up.

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ."And you can rise above...!" ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

The Brave and the Bold Season 1 Episode 25 Mayhem of the Music Meister!

We all know that THEE Batman has a certain type.

But this is for fun, so, (。ゝ(ェ)・)-☆

Overall, I stated perviously, it's more a comedic pairing that has many set-ups to be serious.

Watching Catwoman flee once more, you walk to Bat's side. Standing beside him politely, before.. Slowly... Reaching out your hand to his. Holding it firmly with no caution.

The vigilante glares at the action, yet you don't let up as he tries to shake your hand away.

You giggle as you watch your arm swing with his, your laughter becoming louder as he finally gave in.

Batfam relationship depends on if Spider!(Y/N) came before or after the Batfam was formed.

Personally, I perfer it before. I feel like it would show growth in Bat's and Spiders dynamic.

I sorta wanna explore it, but if ya'll got ideas Im open to it.

{Yay! Another self-indulg work! Lol. I was inspired once again, I really just love that more people are intrested in the idea than just myself! Horray! Comments, art, reblogs are always wanted! This is purely for fun! If anyone gets the easter egg I put, let me know!}

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auroreliis · 10 months ago

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Honestly if I was batsis I'd pretend to have a crush on the batboys close friends(excluding Damian because he and Jon are still babies) just to annoy them. Jason bring Roy over? Suddenly I'm very interested in his tattoo's and I want to know all about archery. I catch kon in the kitchen in Tim? Suddenly i'm very into the conversation they're having and am making eye contact a lot with Kon. I feel liked they'd do something like this; Batsis: You know I really like your tattoos. Roy: Oh thanks. Jason: ... You gotta go, like, now. Roy: What-

Brilliant, anon!! What a great idea!! This was very fun to write :)

(don't mind the spelling mistakes please lol. i am tired out of my mind)

For starters, when Bruce first introduced the members of the Justice League to you (it took a lot of convincing), you just couldn’t help but flirt with them.

I mean, just LOOK at Aquaman. The moment you laid your eyes on him, you felt a spark. He hadn’t noticed you staring, but surely he had felt it too. Bruce, however, had noticed you staring. He didn’t seem particularly amused, almost as though he saw you daydreaming about your wedding with Aquaman. Just when you were making your way over to them, Bruce scowled and swiftly led Aquaman away. After that, you never saw him ever again…

Or that one time when Green Lantern came over. Wow. What a man. You didn’t waste a second walking up to him and introducing yourself. The giggles you were suppressing nearly slipped out after you saw Bruce’s eye twitch. Green Lantern entertained your advances, though you knew he wasn’t interested in you. Whenever Bruce started with his, “Hal. We should leave”, you would always interrupt him with more questions directed at Hal.

“So…do you like pasta? I’m actually really good at making it. You should come over, you know? I could treat you!” You all but winked at him.

Hal found it very interesting, don’t get him wrong, he thought you were very funny, but when Bruce is standing right there beside him, he felt…intimidated. So intimidated, in fact, that he can barely reply to your questions.

“Oh…um…” he nervously glanced at Bruce. “Green. You know what, kid? Your father and I have some business to attend to…so…see you next time. Good luck with the um…yeah, never mind.”

Hal sped off, leaving you and Bruce alone. You had been in the mood to laugh until your father turned to you with a serious expression. Suddenly you weren’t in the mood to laugh anymore. To put it simply, it was a clear warning: Don’t do it again, his look communicated.

Now, Constantine, he was fun to hang around with, likely because he isn’t as scared of Batman as the rest is. And also, he’s hot. “You are so cool, honestly. It’s really impressive how often you’ve escaped death”, you leaned against the wall. To be honest, you weren’t even listening to what he was saying, all you needed to hear was his strong English accent and little sprinkles of humor.

After some bribery, you had gotten Tim to tell you that Bruce was most concerned about you meeting Constantine. For some reason, you figured…

“So…I like older men, what about you?”, you batted your eyelashes at him. You didn’t have Bruce in your periphery, as you were focusing on John, but you could imagine him shaking in fury.

“Yeah, I like older men too”, he replied nonchalantly. Dammit, he got you. Well, he was a funny guy.

Bruce seemingly relaxed at that, but that’s not to say that he was satisfied with the interaction taking place. “You’re funny, are you single-”, you could barely finish your sentence before Dick dragged you away to spend time with you. Though, you believe that Bruce asked Dick to get you away just so you couldn’t talk to Constantine like that.

Bruce had way too many attractive friends. Well, almost all his friends were attractive: Wonder Woman, Superman, Flash…hell, even Martian Manhunter. I mean, he can read minds! Just imagine the potential…

“So, I heard you can read minds. Read mine right now”, your grin was…suspicious. Bruce couldn’t read minds like J’onn could, but he could imagine what you were thinking about. No, actually, he didn’t want to imagine it.

“J’onn.”, Bruce, ever so stern, called out and gestured towards the door. The J’onn in question had merely walked off in that direction silently, as though having understood Bruce’s point from one word. Martian Manhunter hadn’t read your mind that day, to your dismay. However, you had managed to make Bruce uncomfortable, so that was considered a win.

Dick himself had very attractive friends. Wally West, quite the flirt, was among them. Though, oddly enough, you had imagined him to be more flirty. It couldn’t be that Dick took a page out of Bruce’s book and told him to watch it, right?

“So, you’re fast, huh?”, you looked Wally up and down. “I happen to be”, Wally glanced at Dick.

“Okaayyyyy, Wally, you should leave”, Dick spoke with a strained smile.

“Yeah. Oh, by the way, what about the-”

“Now.”

Wally looked around awkwardly, “…right.”

And Raven—what a woman. Plus, Cyborg and Starfire filled your thoughts. Though Wally was the first and last friend of Dick’s you ever saw. A pity. He seemed to have learnt his lesson…

Now Roy Harper, Jason’s friend, was quite something. Tattoos? Archery? Hell yeah.

“Wow, so you like engineering books? Well, the manor has a huge variety. You should come by more often”, you smiled innocently.

“Um, actually, he will NOT be coming over ever again”, Jason frowned at your words.

“Why not?”, both you and Roy turned to Jason.

“BECAUSE I said so”, you and Roy made eye contact awkwardly.

“You”, Jason points at Roy, “Get out.”

“What? But you said you needed my he-”

“NOWWWW. Do NOT make me repeat myself.”

Yeah, Roy leaving was more awkward than anything else that had happened so far.

Jason didn’t have that many friends, as far as you knew at least. In other words: You would never see Roy ever again…

Now Tim, being charming himself, had many attractive friends.

For starters: Conner Kent.

You hadn’t had much contact with the Kents, however Conner had come over a few times. And wow. Despite being overly confident (and often obnoxious), he was very, very attractive. However, you have never talked to him. The reason? Tim makes sure he keeps you at arm’s length. In fact, you’re not sure you could ever find a way to interract with Tim’s friends…unless…

“Hey, Tim!”, Jason called out, “Bruce says you need to go to the cave right now.”

“What? But I have guests over…”, Tim eyes Jason suspiciously.

“I mean, if you wanna get in trouble with him, be my guest”, Jay raised his hands defensively.

“I-…fine. Conner, just a second, I will be right back. DO NOT move”, Tim sighs.

After Tim left, you shot Jason a thumbs-up and went to mingle with Superboy.

“Good evening. You must be Conner. I’ve heard a lot about you from Tim”, you say, taking it slow.

“Good evening! Hopefully you only heard good things!”, he grins.

“Oh, plenty of good things. Say, if you really can fly, then why don’t you take me for a ride? I haven’t ever seen the sky from…well, up in the sky”, you copied his grin.

“Ah, well, I would, really, but I’m not sure how Tim would feel, you know? I mean, he’s a bit of a-”, Conner started.

“A bit of a what.”, a new voice shocked the both of you.

Tim. Where the hell did he come from?

“I though I told you to leave if they started talking to you?”, Tim ignored you, only focusing on scolding Conner.

“Well, that would’ve been incredibly rude…”, Conner struggled to defend himself.

“You.”, Tim turns to you.

“Me?”, you said, though you weren’t scared of him anymore.

“Yes, you. What’s the big idea? Why did you pull that just to talk to Conner? I don’t know what you have planned, but forget it immediately. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll tell Bruce to reinstate the therapy sessions. Then you can explain to him why you enjoy sabotaging others so much.”

That was, quite frankly, terrifying. You hadn’t been this scared of Tim in a while.

Well, safe to say you won’t be doing this again…

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kitten-luvr · 5 days ago

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𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐧.

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰- 𝐀𝐟𝐭e𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬, 𝐋𝐞𝐱 𝐋𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫, 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐮𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞. 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐞𝐱. 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭?

𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐲! 𝐋𝐞𝐱 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧! 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧! (𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝.)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠- 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞!

𝐋𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐟 “𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐧“ 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 :𝐝

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

“What is it?” Clark asks Luthor, “What do we have to do to get out here?”

You don’t quite understand how you got in this situation.

Lex Luthor, being the absolute evil man he is, kidnapped you as soon as he found out Superman was dating you. He sent you to this pocket dimension. Clark spent days looking for you.

Now, he finally finds you.

“I’ll let her go,” Luthor says calmly, “but you can’t walk out of here hand in hand, side by side. Oh no, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 has to walk behind you.” Luthor smiles wickedly at his reveal.

“That’s it?” Clark questioned, “We can do that.”

Luthor let out a sinister laugh, “There’s a catch. You turn around to even check she’s still there, she comes right back here.”

Clark’s eyes go wide. His breathing becomes strained for a second, “You’re trying to trick us!”

“Not a trick— a 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭,” He calmly replies with a smug look.

Clark looks at you in the glass box Luthor has you in. So afraid but yet so content at the same time.

“We can,“ Clark says finally looking back at Luthor.

“Amazing,” he clasped his hands together, “All you have to do is walk from this portal to Metropolis and everything is fine.”

“Turn around even once though, and she’s mine.”

Clark just gulps at his words.

Luthor takes both you and Clark out of the Pocket Dimension and lead you to this portal that will take you somewhere a hundred miles from Metropolis.

“Good Luck, Superman,” he says before disappearing into the portal.

And so the journey begins.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Clark leads the way from wherever the hell he left you both to Metropolis. You walk about seven feet behind him at the same pace he is.

It’s night time while you’re doing this, so this just puts more weight on Clark.

‘Where is she?’ ‘What if someone gets her?’ ‘Where do I think I’m going?’

Doubt comes in.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

It’s now the fifth day of this walk.

Clark is all in his head the whole journey. What if you’re dead? God he doesn’t want to turn around but he needs to make sure. What if he’s actually all alone? What if you stopped following him? Where are you?

He can see Metropolis from where he stood, so it meant you could too.

All you could see was his tense back and his tired strides. You wish he could know you were behind him, but Luthor blocked out any type of way for you to even communicate. If you spoke, he wouldn’t hear. If you threw something at him, he couldn’t feel. He can’t hear your heartbeat or steps being taken. This was his hell.

Clark thought Luthor was tricking him. Why would he let you go? Why would he give him the chance of happiness? Where is she? Where is she now?

Doubt comes in.

Clark hesitates turning around. He needs to know you’re still there. That you are even alive at this point. Anything. He resists the urges to turn around.

Clark begins to cry.

Not from sadness that he’s walking or that his body is tired. He’s crying because of guilt. How stupid could he be? Of course as soon as he publicly said as Superman he was dating someone Lex Luthor would stop at nothing to find out who. How idiotic.

He feels guilty because now your life is on the line for his mistakes. For his stupidity.

“Wait for me,” is what you’ve been whispering to him for hours. You know he can’t hear it but it’s all that keeps you going. You should be tired— exhausted. You’re not.

“Clark, I’m right behind you. I have been all along,” you say as if he can even hear you.

You just want him to know that you are there. To know that everything will be okay in the end.

Doubt comes in.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

It’s hours later.

Only a few more minutes and he will step foot in Metropolis.

Doubt comes in.

He no longer believes you are behind him. His ears having been ringing for hours. Where is she? Where is she now?

Doubt comes in.

He wipes his tears from his eyes as he gets closer to Metropolis.

“Clark, I’m right behind you. I have been all along,” you chant to him. Still acting as if he can hear your words.

You are so close to Metropolis. So close to the point you can smell the certain air it has. You can hear the sounds it makes.

You smile.

This journey has been exhausting, yes. However, this journey has proven you and Clark’s relationship is strong. So strong he trust you, and you trust him. You two are making it out of here to enjoy spring.

Spring will come again.

Clark steps into Metropolis first. This means you’re next and you’ll finally be in his arms again. You get closer. So close it feels almost as you can touch it. One more step and you’ll be able to be—

He turns around.

You gasp in horror as you haven’t even stepped foot in Metropolis.

You both stare at each other. Your mouth parted as tears well up in your eyes.

He has a look of sadness wash over his face.

A beat passed.

“It’s you,” his voice trembled as tears stream down his face.

A long silence takes over both of you.

“It’s me,” you murmur.

The tension in the air is thick. So thick it feels like you aren’t even breathing anymore.

All of this walking and trying to leave— for nothing. Soon you will be sent back to the Pocket Dimension.

“Oh Superman,” you cry out.

He reaches a hand out watching you fade away.

“My love,” he sobs watching you disappear in daylight.

He drops to his knees and began sobbing uncontrollably.

Spring will come again.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

#clark kent #superman #superman 2025 #clark kent x reader #clark kent is superman #superman x reader #superman angst #clark kent angst #hadestown #hadestown inspired #lyric posting #spring will come #lex luthor #superman cries #ts sad

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amaris-whisperer · 15 days ago

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The Silence Between Us l Superman x Mute!Reader

Pairing: Superman | Clark Kent x Mute!Reader Genre: Soft Angst, Romance, Emotional Slow Burn Warnings: Mutism (selective or medical), internalized grief Summary: You haven’t spoken a word since the explosion. The world sees you as fragile, broken. But Superman sees something else. He starts showing up during your therapy sessions, not as Clark Kent, but as himself, floating outside your window, bringing you books, and letting you sit in silence with him. Eventually, you start writing him letters. And he writes back. But what will happen when you realize he’s been hiding more than a cape? -- They tell me the silence is a prison, but they don't know that it has kept me safe. I live inside it now, wrapped in its familiarity, shielded from the noise that took everything.

I haven’t spoken in over a year. Not since the explosion. Not since the building crumbled and the sky filled with smoke and sirens and the last thing I heard was a child's scream that wasn't mine. Sometimes I still hear it in my dreams.

People talk around me like I can’t understand them. They call it selective mutism, psychological trauma, complex grief, and all the other technical labels they like to pin on broken things. But I’m not broken. Just... quiet.

Dr. Reynolds, my therapist, keeps a notebook between us. She asks questions and lets me write my answers. Our sessions are gentle, often boring. She says silence can be a conversation. I don’t tell her I already have one.

It started months ago. The first time, I thought I was imagining him. I looked up from the therapy room window and saw a figure hovering in the sky. Sunlight caught on blue fabric, the red of his cape barely rippling. Superman. Floating silently, watching.

I stared.

He didn’t wave or fly off. He stayed a few feet beyond the windowpane. I waited, unsure if I should look away. But he smiled then. Just a tilt of his mouth, something soft and small. Then he left.

The next week, he was back.

And again the week after that.

Eventually I stopped pretending not to look for him. I’d sit across from Dr. Reynolds, fingers curled around a pencil, and the moment she turned her head, my eyes would flick toward the window.

He always came during the last ten minutes. I wondered if he knew the schedule. I wondered how someone like him had time for someone like me.

One Tuesday, there was a knock on my apartment window. Third floor, no balcony. I went cold inside until I pulled back the curtain and saw him standing there. Not hovering this time, just... standing. Boots resting on the thin ledge as if it were solid ground. Arms at his sides. No threat, just presence.

I cracked the window open. Only an inch. The wind was soft behind him.

“I brought something,” he said.

He held up a book.

Jane Eyre.

I blinked.

“I read you liked it.”

I didn’t know what to do. My hands shook as I took it. He passed it through the open window, then took a step back.

He didn’t ask to come in.

“I’ll be back next week,” he said gently. “You can just leave it on the windowsill if you don’t like it.”

He was gone before I could figure out how to thank him.

We never spoke, not out loud, at least. I couldn’t. And he never pushed. He brought more books, some classic, some ridiculous. The Martian. The Little Prince. The Bell Jar. A Calvin and Hobbes collection.

One day, a pencil and notepad were resting on top of the stack.

I hesitated. Then wrote.

Why me?

I left the note where I knew he’d see it, right between the books and the wind. He returned three days later. This time, there was paper folded and creased in his hand.

Because you look at me like I’m not made of smoke and mirrors.

I held his answer in trembling fingers.

After that, we began to write.

Sometimes it was a sentence. Sometimes a page. Sometimes just a quote scribbled in the margin of a book he left behind. I didn’t know where he went after, how he carried so much quiet when the world always needed saving. But he came back. Always.

-- One morning, I found a small square of paper tucked into Leaves of Grass. My fingers brushed over the clean, decisive letters.

Can I sit with you?

He never asked for anything until then. I opened the window.

I didn’t need to nod. He knew.

He didn’t sit on the bed or the chair. Instead, he crossed his legs and settled on the floor beside me, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It became our rhythm. Not daily. Not on a schedule. Just… often enough.

He’d bring something to read or lean against the wall with his eyes closed. I would write. Not always to him. Sometimes to myself. Sometimes about the explosion.

Sometimes about how I couldn’t stop remembering the sound of steel collapsing or the way light flickered between sirens. Sometimes about my fear that if I spoke again, it would all come crashing back.

He never looked at the pages I didn’t offer. And I never asked what haunted his silences.

But I started to hear more than quiet when he was near.

-- One night I caught him smiling at my cat, a lazy old calico who never liked strangers but slept curled beside him like they were old friends. He brushed her fur gently and said her name like it mattered.

Another time he told me a story about his dog. “He’s not really a dog,” he’d said, laughing quietly. “But he acts like one. Eats my socks. Sleeps on my head.”

It was one of the only times I’d seen him so unguarded.

“I like this,” he said once, when I handed him a note about a book of poems. “I like talking like this. I think if I didn’t have to talk so much out there,” he nodded toward the window, “I’d talk less, too.”

There was something in his voice that time. Not exhaustion, not regret, but maybe... loneliness. The kind that mirrors your own.

It was that same night I saw it. The tremor in his hand. Barely there. A muscle twitch. A delayed breath. Pain.

When I touched his wrist, he flinched. Then, ashamed, he smiled.

“I’m okay,” he said quickly. “Just a scratch.”

He was lying.

I tugged my sleeve over my hand and gently pressed against his side. He winced.

“I heal fast.”

But he didn’t leave.

I brought out the first aid kit. He let me.

It was the first time I saw the suit up close. The way it pulled across his chest, darker near the seams where blood had dried and faded. I cleaned the cut in silence. He never looked away from my face.

“You’re not afraid of me.”

It wasn’t a question.

I shook my head.

His voice dropped. “People don’t get quiet around me. Not like this. Not unless they’re afraid.”

I wrote slowly.

Maybe they’re not listening the right way.

He looked at me like I’d given him something sacred. --

It changed after that. Not all at once, but enough.

He stayed longer. He told me about space. About how stars sounded in his ears when he was above the atmosphere. How Earth was never really quiet, not even from space. He said when he was a child, he thought the world had a heartbeat. I wrote:

Maybe it’s yours.

He didn’t answer.

But that night he brushed his knuckles over my cheek before he left.

I felt it long after he was gone. --

One afternoon I opened the door to find Lois Lane standing in the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” she said, holding up a badge and a forced smile. “I don’t mean to intrude. I just… Clark talks about you. Not a lot. But enough that I needed to meet you.”

The name hit me like a slap.

Clark.

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

She noticed.

“Oh,” she said softly. “He didn’t tell you.”

I shook my head.

She closed her eyes and swore under her breath.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

I reached out and caught her wrist before she could leave.

My hand trembled as I wrote: Clark Kent?

She nodded.

A laugh escaped her, small and sad. “You probably know him better than I do. He’s loved you for months. I think he just doesn’t know how to say it.” --

I waited that night.

When he arrived, I didn’t open the window.

He hovered for a while, watching, uncertain. When I finally opened it, I didn’t write anything. I just stepped back.

He entered quietly.

“I didn’t mean to lie.”

I looked at him, waiting.

He sighed. “Clark Kent is me. I thought if you knew, maybe you’d treat me differently. I didn’t want you to see the man who writes headlines. I wanted you to see me.”

I picked up the notebook. I did.

His face changed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to. Every time. I just…”

I held up a hand. Wrote again. I’m not angry. I just wish you’d trusted me.

He took a slow breath and moved toward me. “I do trust you. More than anyone.”

He reached for my hand. “I never wanted to be a symbol to you. Or a secret. I just wanted to be… yours.”

The ache in my chest cracked wide open.

And I did something I hadn’t done in over a year.

I reached for his face.

Took a deep breath.

And I spoke.

Not loud. Not perfect. Just enough.