the0ishere

[the0ishere]

Can you believe his ass was fully convinced he wasn’t gonna get the role when he sent this self tape?

"My friends called me Superman in college" "I thought my wife was crazy for thinking I had a shot at playing Superman" Alright, whatever you say, Clark Joseph Kent from our boring universe

[the0ishere]

˚✧₊⁺˳ SuperBat˳ ₊⁺˳✧

Clark Kent x Wayne!Reader

Where you officially introduce Clark Kent as your boyfriend, not knowing your brother already is…Acquainted with him under very different circumstances.

Masterlist

Wayne Manor’s dining room felt more like a throne room than a place to eat dinner.

Everything was polished to a mirror sheen— Alfred’s touch. The chandelier’s light reflecting off the silverware in blinding little flashes like every move you made was being photographed and scrutinised.

You’d been here a thousand times— your home. Well, your house. It never really felt like home. And yet, tonight, your heart was racing.

You smoothed your dress and glanced up at the man walking up the long gravel path beside you, with a gentle hand around your waist— Clark Kent. All soft smiles and grateful eyes like he couldn’t believe people would go to so much effort for dinner— for him.

“Why are you so relaxed?” you whisper hissed. “It’s…unnerving.”

Clark’s lips twitched. “Bruce is…He’s a perfectly reasonable man.”

“Bruce?” You raised a brow. “He’s declined multiple interviews from you and you’re on a first name basis all of a sudden?”

He flushed like a child caught in a lie.

“I— We…We’ve spoken in the past.” His eyebrows furrowed like they always did when he was lying— fibbing. Lie was too extreme. Clark never lied. “And he hasn’t declined all my interviews…” A pout at that.

And so, with an ominous echo of your heels against the marble floors, you strutted on through your the dining room, your hand now in Clark’s awaiting elbow, and there he was.

Your brother.

Bruce Wayne.

Seated at the head of the table; suit crisp, jaw tight.

“Bruce,” you said, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as he refused to stand and greet you as you nudged Clark forward. “This is my boyfriend. Clark Kent.”

Bruce’s eyes snapped to Clark in disgust, as though he couldn’t quite stomach the man before him standing beside his sister.

Clark smiled politely, stepping forward with his hand out, slightly bending to meet the man who still refused to offer any cordiality. “Mr. Wayne. It’s an honor—”

“Clark Kent.” Bruce said flatly, not moving to take the handshake.

Clark’s smile stayed in place, but there was something turbulent in his eyes. An unspoken: ‘Oh, so we’re doing this here’ as you remained none the wiser.

You blinked between them, still clutching Clark’s free arm in confusion. “Oh—“ Turns out you had underestimated your boyfriend. “Wait so…You two do know each other?”

“We’ve…Crossed paths,” Bruce said, voice low, almost dangerous, as Clark nervously shuffled.

“Yeah uh—“ he pushed up his glasses, “you know…Interview things— professional. Nothing bad.” You raised a brow. “N-Not that there ever would be, of course.”

Bruce lazily played with the cuff of his blazer. “I’ll admit, at first it was funny— mocking me, perhaps. All the suitors I find for you and you choose some Country Bumpkin Reporter—“

“Bruce—“

“It’s not too late. I can still have Alfred escort him out.”

“That will not be the case, Master Wayne,” Alfred swanned it, taking in the scene before him. You— a face of murderous thunder, your brother— a calm mirror of the same sentiment, and Clark.

Undeterred as ever, a shy expression on his face as though he were interrupting something.

“Please sit. I’ll have refreshments brought out to you immediately. Excuse my tardiness, I was buttering the potatoes.”

You tugged Clark harshly before he gave any more time of day to your brother, choosing a space deliberately as far away from the man as possible, whilst still maintaining an acceptable distance for possible conversation.

Dinner was worse.

Somehow.

Clark, ever the gentleman, was doing his best— warm smile, polite tone, all small-town manners…But Bruce?

He didn’t care one bit. Staring the poor man down like he wasn’t a timid hunk of pure joy and whimsy, rather, assessing him like he was nothing but a stain on his expensive leather chair.

“So,” Bruce finally said, setting his wine glass down with a soft clink, “Clark Kent. From Kansas.”

“Yes, Sir,” Clark replied evenly. “Smallville.”

“Smallville…” Bruce repeated, his voice dripping with something halfway between smugness and disdain. “And what exactly do you do…Over there?”

Clark didn’t miss a beat. “Well, I work in Metropolis now. I’m a Journalist— Journalist slash Reporter.”

Did he really just say ‘slash’ out loud?

You cut in with a frown. “I thought you said you two knew each other?” A pointed look at your brother. “Don’t you know all this? He interviewed you—“

Clark stilled as Bruce waved his hand like it was of no importance to him. “Please. I deal with hundreds of men like him a week. You expect me to remember something so trivial?”

You weren’t convinced. Something weird was going on.

Bruce’s continued regardless, as though he were enjoying picking apart the man beside him— he was. “So, you write stories about other people doing things.”

You jumped to Clark’s defence once again. “He’s a Reporter, Bruce— he doesn’t sit around paying other people to do his dirty work.”

Clark kept his polite smile, a twinkle in his eye as you defended him so highly— God he loved you so much. “I…I like to think I help people by telling their stories. It’s…Important work.”

Bruce’s gaze didn’t soften. “Important. Right.” He took another slow sip of his alcohol before turning to address you. “You’ve always had other options. I ask again, why him?”

You blinked, caught between offense and disbelief. “Excuse me?”

Bruce didn’t look at you that time, eyes staying on Clark who he just couldn’t seem to rattle.

“You could be with someone who understands your world. Who…Fits into it. Instead, you chose a Farmboy who’s probably more comfortable in boots than in a suit.”

“I do enjoy a boot—“ You slammed your fork down as Clark winced mid-sentence.

“I chose him because he’s the most decent person I’ve ever met— not that it’s any of your business, and because he treats me like a human being, not a…Wayne heir to be managed!”

Clark’s voice was steady, but quiet as he placed a calming hand on your thigh. “I-I understand you’re protective of her, Mr. Wayne— I would be too. But I care about her— immensely. More than anything….That’s not going to change.”

Bruce’s gaze narrowed, slightly— just enough for you to notice. There was something deeper to your brother’s resentment.

“Care is one thing,” Bruce said finally. “Keeping her safe is another.”

Something flickered in Clark’s own eyes— a frustration he didn’t let surface as his jaw remained tight with restraint. “I’d never let anything happen to her.”

You leaned forward, glaring at Bruce. “Hello? Why are you talking as if I’m not here? I’m a grown woman— if you cared to remember.” Clark rubbed comforting circles against your skin despite his own unease. “So I’d appreciate if you stopped acting like you’re the only one capable of deciding what’s good for me.”

Bruce’s eye twitched as Alfred brought out the second course.

The air was still thick. Even as Clark maintained his easy tone— for your sake, asking Alfred about the wine (which he had forced himself to stomach) complimenting the previous dish, but Bruce didn’t let up his sidelong glances— glares. As though he was reading something only he could see.

Your poor boyfriend never knew when to stop trying.

“I…I hear Gotham’s community programs have expanded recently—”

“Not enough,” Bruce cut in, eyes sharp as he cut through his steak. “Some people think too much about forgiveness and not enough about consequences.”

It wasn��t subtle.

Clark’s own fork paused halfway to his mouth. “I think people can change, Mr. Wayne. They just need—”

“People like that need to be stopped before they hurt anyone else,” Bruce said, his gaze locking on Clark with a weight that seemed way too harsh for a mere Reporter’s opinion alone.

You groaned, dabbing at your lip with a napkin. “Jesus Bruce, we get it— you’re in a bad mood tonight. But can we please not turn this into a political debate? I invited you both here to meet— not to size each other up like you’re in a…A—A team fight!”

Clark almost choked on his food.

Bruce still didn’t look at you. “I’m just curious about his…Methods.”

“Methods?” you repeated, looking between them. “You’re talking as if—“

“I’m a Journalist, Bruce.” There was a new confidence to his voice. “My ‘methods’ are usually interviews and writing.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t budge. “Right.”

You pushed your plate to the side, leaning forward, your own voice sharper than intended. “Clark is one of the kindest— no. The kindest man I’ve ever met, and I’m not going to sit here and listen to you…Interrogate him like he’s on trial! He doesn’t even curse for crying out loud!”

Bruce’s jaw twitched. “You don’t know everything about him.”

“I know enough,” you said firmly. “I don’t spy on people like you.”

Clark glanced at you, something warm and almost guilty in his eyes, but he stayed silent. Letting you fight for him.

You didn’t know your brother knew he was Superman…And you didn’t know he knew Bruce was a Batman— you didn’t even know that part.

Every bite of the meal stayed tense. Clark still said thank you when Alfred took his plate, still offered to help clear the table— still tried making small talk with Bruce

Halfway through dessert, you were sick of your brother’s little jabs, excusing yourself from the table to use the bathroom, brushing Clark’s shoulder as you passed and pressing a purposely loud kiss on his lips.

As soon as the dining room doors closed behind you, Bruce cleared his throat, your boyfriend’s face still flushed from your display. “You didn’t tell her.”

Clark’s hands began to sweat, but his voice was calm. He hated lying— he was bad at lying. But you made him promise not to tell anyone else he was Superman, so really, he was only keeping his promise by not telling your brother you knew he was Superman already. “N-No. I haven’t told her about me. She doesn’t know.”

Bruce’s eyes sharpened. “Good. Keep it that way. She will never know about me, either.” There was an insinuation there— ‘you will never tell her about me’.

“You think she wouldn’t figure it out?” Clark’s tone stayed polite, but there was steel beneath it. “She’s sharp Bruce she…She’s not a kid you can keep in the dark forever.”

“This isn’t about intelligence. It’s about safety,” Bruce said, leaning back in his chair, voice low. “The fewer connections the world can draw, the better. You shouldn’t have let her bring her here. Not like this.”

Clark kept his voice steady. “I don’t…I don’t tell her what to do, I’ll never control her—“ He sighed. “She wanted me to meet her family—“

“We will never be family,” Bruce bit out. “And if you care about her, you’ll rethink this before you drag her deeper into your world.”

Clark’s shoulders squared. “Funny, coming from the man who’s been dragging her into it for years without telling her.”

For a moment, Bruce’s expression shifted— the faintest flicker of surprise. Then his jaw set again. “That’s…Different.”

“No,” Clark said quietly, leaning forward, his tone controlled but unyielding. “It’s the same. You hide behind the idea of protecting her because it’s easier than admitting you don’t trust anyone else to do it. Not even me.”

The silence between them was heavy and Bruce’s gaze was hard. “You can’t save everyone, Kent. And you won’t always be there when she needs you.”

Clark’s voice softened, but the edge stayed. “Then I’ll make sure I’m there as much as humanly possible—“

“You aren’t human—“

Both men became silent as stepped back in, fixing your hair with a hum, unaware of the cold war you’d just interrupted.

“Everything…Okay in here?” you asked. Both men looked at you, answering at the same time.

“Fine.” Bruce said.


“Really fine,” Clark echoed as Bruce closed his eyes in disbelief at the man’s obviousness.

“Right…” You rolled your eyes, “if you won’t be honest with me, no more fighting. You had your moment, and frankly I’m way too stuffed to listen to your voice anymore Brucey.”

Clark shot up, immediately pulling your chair out for you before you sat, brushing a loving hand over your back— a subtle, grounding touch, before taking his own seat again. Bruce fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“I won’t say another thing if Kent stops being so pathetic.”

“Don’t listen to him, Baby,” you shot your brother a warning glare. “He’s not a gentleman like you. He doesn’t understand.”

Bruce didn’t say another word for the rest of dinner, but his eyes stayed sharp— calculating.

When the final plates were cleared (and Bruce looked ready to vacate the planet) Clark stood and thanked Alfred— again, offering Bruce another handshake.

This time, Bruce took it— grip just a fraction too firm. Clark could’ve shattered his hand with one move, but of course, he would never.

You didn’t give your brother a hug that night, like you normally did. Even though he stiffened and pretended he didn’t like it, he always did.

He didn’t mention it, but you knew it had hurt him— good.

“Drive safe.” Came his gruff voice to the Chauffeur, sounding much less like a farewell and more like an order.

“Bruce—“ but before Clark could say anything else, the door was slammed.

In the car, you huffed. Bruce hadn’t even assigned you Alfred who he knew was your preferred ride. “What a fucking asshole—“

Clark let out a breath softly, resting his hand over yours. “It…It could’ve been worse—“

You let your head hit the seat dramatically. “How?”

He hesitated, just for a second, then smiled. “Trust me…You don’t want to know.” You felt him glancing at you, with those awestruck eyes of his. “I’m…I’m just glad you’re on my side. Thank you. For speaking up for me.”

“Always,” you said, meaning it. A sad smile on your own face. He knew the dinner had upset you,

“Sweetheart—“

“I’m sorry…” Your voice was quiet. Clark knew that tone.

“Sweetheart why are you sorry?” He held your face with such reverence you almost forgot you were sat in the driveway with rain pelting the tiny windows. “Your brother isn’t you…Just like you are not your brother.”

“But—“

“You are your own person. A ridiculously smart, kind, funny— brilliant—“

You laughed shakily, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous. I’m just…me.“

“Yes,” his hand squeezed yours gently. “And you are everything to me. You didn’t let your brother make you doubt yourself…Even for a second. I can’t say that about myself, that’s— gosh. You’re incredible. And I love that about you.” You felt your cheeks heat and Clark grinned down at you, utterly sweet and tender. “Even when your brother is being a meanie,” he added softly, and you giggled at the phrasing, nose scrunching up.

“Even when he’s a meanie?” You teased.

“You don’t let anyone intimidate you, not even…Bruce Wayne.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the warmth spreading through you.

“Well, I’ve got a good reason to be strong.”

Clark’s grin softened into something utterly heart-melting. “Yeah?” He whispered as you played with his special tie— his best one, the one he insisted on wearing to impress your brother. You hummed in response as you pulled him to your lips, feeling him smile against you.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to either of you, Bruce had been watching you (of course he had cameras in the car)— grimacing, as you both kissed.

There was no denying it anymore. It wasn’t a game to you— a fling to make him pay attention to you.

He could see it plain as day.

Clark, so genuinely enamoured by you— so tender and unwavering, had you entirely.

Superman had you entirely.

Clark, blissfully unaware of Bruce’s silent assertion, murmured as he fought to pull away. “I love you…Just so much.”

You melted against him. For the first time in hours, the weight of the world— mansions, secret identities and meanie brothers, felt eons away.

Until, your passenger door was abruptly ripped open.

“Change of plans.”

“Bruce!?”

“Someone…Saw you here. Kidnapping threat— the GCPD brought it to my intention.”

“So?” Your voice was exasperated.

“It’s not safe for you to be travelling. Especially with him. You’ll stay here tonight. Alfred will take you back tomorrow.”

You let out a cruel laugh. “And it’s safer here? With you? Where they know I am?”

“I have security.”

“They don’t know where Clark lives—“

“They can intercept you during travel.”

“Goodbye, Bruce—“

But before you could slam the door, a strong arm stopped you. Steady, not forceful.

“Sweetheart, he’s right—“

“Clark! he’s lying—“

“He wouldn’t about something like that!” oh he most certainly would. “Your safety is more important than these…” His voice lowered like he was scared to say it. “Petty arguments…Please.” His voice was pleading. “Your brother is right, my apartment isn’t equipped for…Gotham’s criminals,” a crooked smile.

“But you’re—“ you stopped yourself from saying it. He was Superman. But your brother didn’t know that…He would definitely disapprove of that relationship.

A shared look between Bruce and Clark. They weren’t wavering.

“Whatever!” You undid your seatbelt angrily, stomping your way back to the Manor as Clark called out that he would call as soon as he got home.

“Keep her safe Bruce,” Clark nodded with a firm smile, listening to your heartbeat as you ascended the grand steps.

“I always have.”

And Bruce almost felt bad about lying to him.

—

The house was too quiet.

Too big.

You were used to Clark’s homely apartment. Filled with his stupid pop music he called punk rock, if not that, his constant humming, singing, rambling…touching.

This was near unbearable.


Bruce had gone to his study without further explanation— you knew what that meant. Hours of brooding over whatever was eating at him. Definitely Clark.

You padded barefoot into the kitchen, hair let down, dress traded for one of your old silk pyjama sets you’d left hanging in your extensive closet…Moping.

Alfred was already there, putting the kettle on like it was a perfectly reasonable time for tea at midnight. He knew you too well.

“You should be in bed, Miss,” Alfred said without turning, his voice calm but fond.

“Not tired,” you muttered, perching on the counter like you had as a child. “Dinner wasn’t exactly…Calming.”

He hummed knowingly, setting a mug in front of you. “Master Bruce can be…Difficult with new people.” You snorted at the understatement. “Especially when it comes to you.”

You frowned into your tea. “He was awful to Clark…I don’t get it. Well— I mean I do, he’s Bruce, but Clark?” You took a comforting sip. “Clark is the best person I’ve ever met. He’s kind, respectful, he’s—” you stopped, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. “—he’s Clark. And Bruce sat there acting like I’d brought home some…Some criminal!”

Alfred’s mouth quirked. “I suspect Master Bruce is less concerned about Mister Kent’s resumé and more…Aware of the risks that follow him.”

You blinked. Did Bruce know?

“What…What risks?” You tried to act oblivious— at least you were better than your boyfriend. “Clark’s a Writer. The most dangerous thing he’s done lately is run into traffic to save a stray cat on his way into the office!”

“Sometimes danger doesn’t come from one’s profession, but from the…Circles they keep.”

Ah, right.

It made sense to you now. Politicians he’d angered by questioning their morals, Crime Bosses he’d criticise, people trying to get to Superman through him— the Hero’s favourite Reporter.

Little did you know that wasn’t the reason at all.

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes. “You’re still being cryptic...” you cheek was smushed against your palm. “I suppose that’s my fault for leaving you here with…Him. He’s rubbing off on you, Alfred.”

“I’m being careful,” Alfred said gently, sliding you one of your favourite biscuits— just to see you smile. “And so is your brother.” An eye roll. “But…if you’ll allow me to say, Miss, I’ve rarely seen you look at anyone the way you look at Mister Kent.”

You felt your throat tighten a little. “Yeah. That’s because I…” you suddenly felt shy. “I think he’s it for me, Alfred.”

He smiled, then. The familiar, fatherly smile that had gotten you through your entire life. “Then don’t let Master Bruce scare him off. He’s been known to soften…” A subtle tilt of his head. “Eventually.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well, I’m not holding my breath.”

Alfred’s smile lingered. “Perhaps not. But I’d wager Mister Kent is patient enough to wait for it.”

You sipped the last drops your tea, warmth pooling in your chest— partly from the drink, partly from the quiet certainty in Alfred’s voice.

“It’s not Clark I’m worried about.”

—

The rain hadn’t stopped all night.

Gotham’s rooftops were not like Metropolis’. A lingering stench of rust and damp no matter the weather. Superman’s cape heavy with something other than just water when he landed across from the shadow waiting in the dark.

“So…Dinner didn’t go so well, huh?” Clark said plainly despite his own nervousness. There was no point pretending Batman hadn’t called this meeting for exactly that reason— after he had been completely flabbergasted when Bruce had told him he had lied about the threat.

He looked like a kicked puppy at the revelation— he had trusted him about that.

Bruce stepped out of the shadows, voice low and edged. “You shouldn’t be with her.”

Clark ran a hand across his face. “We’re still starting with that? No hello? No— I’m sorry I completely betrayed your trust and—

“I’m not here for small talk.” Bruce took a slow step closer, rain dripping off the tips of his bleak gauntlets. “She doesn’t know what you are—”

“She does know,” Clark cut in, his voice calm but sharp enough to cut through the thunder. He wasn’t ready to betray your trust yet, but he’d still defend himself. “She knows I love her. That…That I’d never hurt her— that I’d never tell her what to do.”

For a moment, the storm filled the silence.

“You’re reckless,” Bruce said finally, his tone a gavel slamming down on Clark’s optimism. “Do you have any idea what being with her means? Even as Clark Kent? Now she’s a target—”

“She was already a target,” Clark interrupted again, softer this time but unyielding. “She’s your sister, Bruce. Do…Do you really think she’s been living in a safe little bubble? She’s already on the radar of every person you’ve ever crossed outside of that suit.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed beneath the mask. “You think I can’t protect her?”

“I didn’t say that,” Clark said evenly. “But don’t stand here and tell me it’s safer for her to be kept in the dark. You’ve built your entire life on secrets, but I won’t do that to her. Not when she trusts me.”

Batman stepped even closer until they were barely a foot apart, rain dripping down both of them, the city far below. “You’re too forgiving. Too…Kind. That’s going to get her hurt.”

Clark didn’t flinch. “Kindness isn’t a weakness, Bruce. And I would never let anyone hurt her. Ever.”

The two of them stood there.

Men who’d fought beside each other, now locked in a silent war over one person— their person.

You.

Finally, Bruce’s voice dropped into something quieter. Not softer— but resolute. “If anything happens to her—”

“It won’t,” Clark said, confident as ever. “Not while I’m here.”

“You promise the world, Kent. Because you believe in it,” his tone was sour. “But what happens when you aren’t there?”

“Is…Is that a threat?”

“You tell me, Smallville.” It sounded wrong when Bruce said it. Not the teasing way you would.

Callous.

Without waiting for Bruce’s next warning, Superman flew off into the rain; heart aching and curls damp. Leaving the Dark Knight alone with the city and his thoughts as you lay facing the vast ceiling, unable to sleep.

‘I love you. So much.’

Your phone screen illuminated your childhood bedroom, and you let a weary smile bloom across your face when you saw the message.

‘Love ya too Smallville, even more than Alfred’s tea 🩷’

No reply.

—

The smell of breakfast drew you into the dining room— still in one of your silk robes, still missing Clark.

You almost felt bad you could just take the day off whenever you felt like it, but heavens help whoever might’ve crossed you that morning at The Daily Planet after that disaster of a boyfriend-meeting-family/cagey older brother…Dinner.

At the very least, the sunlight spilling through the tall windows made the whole room look softer than the night before. Far less like a cold cathedral and more like an actual home.

Your home.

Because really, it was.

Bruce was already sat at the long table, a tablet in one hand, black coffee in the other. He looked…Tired. Not his usual brooding-tired, but with an extra layer of shadow hanging beneath his eyes he got after a long night doing…Whatever he did in the basement.

“Morning,” he said, without moving.

You were shocked into silence.

Normally, it was stalemate; two incredibly stubborn siblings who played the long game of whoever would cave first after a disagreement. Spoiler— neither of you.

It was usually Alfred who forced a truce.

“M…Morning?” It was confusing— no. It was suspicious.

Alfred entered with a freshly made plate of poached eggs and salmon, placing it before you as you sent a wary look towards your brother.

“Sleep well, Miss?”

“Like a rock,” you said sarcastically, watching the bright yolk spill over your toast. “You?”

“I did, thank you.” He turned to Bruce, placing his food down last— deliberately last, before clasping his hands and properly addressing the man still glued to his tech. “And how was your night, Master Bruce?”

Bruce didn’t look up. “Busy.”

Alfred hummed, his eyebrow ticking upward. “Busy working…or busy interrogating Mister Kent?”

Your head snapped up so fast you almost fell from your chair. “Wait, what?”

Bruce finally looked at Alfred, his glare promising a conversation later as the older man, completely unbothered, adjusted the cuff of his sleeve.

“I wasn’t interrogating him,” Bruce muttered. “I was merely—“

“That’s funny,” Alfred said mildly, entirely unafraid. “Because Mister Kent called me this morning ans seemed rather convinced you’d been— Let’s say…Discouraging. He even asked me what your favourite wine happened to be.”

“Like he could afford it...”

You slammed your mug down. “Bruce!”

“He’s dangerous,” Bruce said instantly, like that was enough to explain anything.

“You were mean to him last night and then you…You tracked him down to keep being mean?!” Bruce didn’t answer and Alfred moved toward the doorway with the sort of smirk that came from a life of being completely untouchable. “He even wanted to buy you a gift— Alfred!” You looked to him for support.

“I’ll leave you two to…Discuss it over breakfast.” He poked his head through the doorway, “oh and on that matter, Mister Kent has asked me to pass on the message he will be returning this evening to escort you home, Miss.”

When Alfred turned back around, you leaned forward, pointing a finger at Bruce. “You know what’s actually dangerous? You pushing away the only person who’s ever made me feel like I can be more than just a Wayne. He loves me…And I’m not going to apologise for loving him back!”

“Love is rather extreme—“

“What do you know about love?”

Bruce stared at you for a long moment before going back to his tablet, as if retreating behind the screen would shield him from the truth.

“More than you.”

—

Clark set his coffee down on his desk, still trying to shake the weight of the night before.

He had been unable to sleep without you beside him, felt wrong eating breakfast without making yours too— he even accidentally burned his own thinking about how sad he was eating alone.

And to make matters worse, you weren’t even coming to work so it’d be hours before he saw your beautiful face.

He could’ve cried.

Jimmy leaned against the side of his cubicle like a kid, waiting for gossip— he was. “Sooo,” he drawled, “how’d it go? Meeting the Big Bad Brother?”

Clark looked up over the rim of his glasses. “I’ve met him before Jimmy, he’s…He’s protective.” A sigh.

Lois, who was perched on the edge of his desk with a coffee of her own, snorted. “Protective? That’s Clark code for ‘the guy hated my guts.’”

Jimmy grinned. “Yeah, c’mon Kent, you can’t just say ‘protective’ and leave it at that. What happened?”

Clark shifted in his chair. “N-Nothing happened. We had dinner. We talked.”

“Uh-huh,” Lois said, eyeing him like she could see right through him— given her instincts, she basically could. “Which is exactly why you look like you’re about to cry and she’s not here this morning.”

“Dude…I thought it was just me, but you totally do look like—“ A frown from Clark. “Whatever. Unimportant. But really, what did he do? Forbid you from dating his ‘Precious Little Sister’ or what?”

Clark huffed softly, taking a sip of coffee. “Something like that.”

Jimmy reclined in his chair. “Man…That’s cold. You’re like…The nicest guy alive. What’s his deal?”

Clark thought about the way Bruce had looked at him across the table. Not as a man, but as an opponent— how Batman had given him a worse one that same night. “He just…Doesn’t trust easily. I-It’s understandable—“

Lois tilted her head. “Is that your polite Kansas way of saying he was a complete jerk?”

Clark almost smiled. “I’m saying he loves his sister. That’s not a crime, and…I just don’t think he knows what to make of me yet.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Well, if he’s smart, he’ll figure it out. I mean, you’d do anything for her. That’s obvious to anyone with eyes.”

Lois groaned. “Don’t remind me.” She missed your presence, of course, but was almost glad she wouldn’t witness his lovesick staring all day. “You’re a fool Clark— but a good one.” He didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment. “Don’t let him get under your skin. You’re already doing the hard part— loving someone with the last name Wayne isn’t exactly low-pressure.”

Clark’s eyes dropped to his desk, the corners of his mouth curving faintly. “That’s the easiest part…She’s worth it.”

Jimmy groaned dramatically. “Oh great, here we go again— Clark Kent, the Hallmark special. Leave some ladies for the rest of us.”

Lois rolled her eyes over her cup. “Keep proving Bruce wrong, and one day, he might even admit he likes you.”

Clark simply smiled faintly, because he knew Bruce might never say it— would never admit it, but that wouldn’t matter.


What mattered was you.

And you were worth every test your brother could throw his way.

Even if it was in the form of a bat-shaped blade.

—

Later that day, Alfred opened the Manor’s large, ornate doors to reveal Clark Kent standing on the doorstep.

Coat collar damp from a light drizzle, a bouquet of flowers (limp and slightly squashed) in his hand.

“Evening, Alfred,” he said with that warm Kansas smile of his, fervently apologising for dripping water onto the perfectly shined floors.

“Good evening Mister Kent, no need to apologise.” Alfred’s eyes flicked knowingly between the flowers and the faint tension in Clark’s shoulders. “Come in. Miss Wayne is upstairs getting dressed. Master Bruce is in the study.”

Clark’s smile didn’t falter, but Alfred swore his jaw set just a touch. “T-Thank you.”

And as Alfred’s figure retreated, he was left standing there. Not wanting to intrude. So instead of…Snooping he decided on merely standing there in the hall— rather awkwardly. Shuffling from one foot to the next until Bruce emerged from the study, dressed in one of his perfect three-piece suits like he was about to walk into a board meeting. Clark suddenly felt self conscious about his own…Damp attire.

“Kent.”

“Bruce.”

Your brother’s eyes dropped to the flowers. “Trying a little hard, aren’t you?”

Clark didn’t take the bait. “They’re her favorite. No harm in showing her I remember that.”

Silence.

“How’d you get here?” Clark gave him a confused look.“I have cameras. Everywhere.”

Clark’s voice dropped, like he was a child telling a secret for the first time. “Y-You…You know how I got here!” His voice was strained as his hands moved in exasperation. “It was the most convenient way!”

Before Bruce could respond, you appeared at the top of the stairs, face bright as ever. “Clark!”

He too lit up instantly, crossing the floor to meet you halfway as you practically launched yourself into his arms. He instinctively taking your bag from you without being asked and it was then you saw the flowers.

“Oh— Clark, you didn’t have to…” you started, but he was already shaking his head.


“I wanted to. And I missed you.”

Behind you, Bruce’s brow ticked ever so slightly. “It’s been less than twenty four hours.”

Alfred, ever the silent referee, stepped in with a tray of freshly baked muffins, mainly for you as you stuffed one into your mouth without even thinking.

“A drink before you depart?” Alfred asked politely, though angled towards a hopeful dismissal knowing Bruce’s mood would’ve soured even further and he would’ve been left to deal with it.

“No, thank you,” Clark said, smiling warmly. “We should really get going. Give you some peace.

You glanced back at Bruce, still upset with him, though softened by the man beside you. “Bye Alfred…” You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “…Bye, Bruce.”

Less enthusiastic, but still said.

“I’ll…I’ll text.” Never call. You nodded at that, choosing to settle for civility. “There’s a car for you out front. The one you like— with the heated seats.”

His way of saying: ‘I love you’.

Clark thanked him, placing a hand at the small of your back, gently guiding you toward the door. His posture stayed relaxed, but Alfred caught the way he glanced back at Bruce a final time— not challenging, nor smug…quietly steadfast.

Proving something.

When the door closed— fully, Alfred abruptly turned to Bruce, one eyebrow raised in scathing appraisal. “I’m sure you’ll find glaring across the hall to be much less productive than simply being happy for her.”

Bruce didn’t answer, but the way his jaw clenched said the conversation was far from over.

Damn that incorrigible Saint.

—

The windows of Clark’s apartment were nothing on Wayne Manor’s…But inside them? There was warmth money couldn’t replicate.

Real warmth.

You were splayed halfway across Clark (who was more than happy to act as your pillow), gently brushing a stray curl from your face as you played with his large fingers.

It was peaceful.

Until his phone vibrated.

You felt him jolt, grabbing the device from the coffee table, his entire face illuminated by the screen. “Bruce he…” he started, voice in disbelief. “Bruce just texted me!”

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh yeah? What did he say?”

Clark’s lips twitched into a small but dimpled smile. “Golly, it says—“ he adjusted his glasses. “She…She could have done worse Kent—“ He read it aloud, trying (and failing) to sound neutral. “You may be a Farmboy, but you treat my sister well. Don’t mess it up like everything else you touch.”

You frowned, sitting up. “Oh my God— he sent you that?!” You were ready to grab your own phone and give it back to him tenfold.

Clark’s cheeks pinked. “I know! I…I’m so honoured he trusts me enough to be with you…”

You looked up at him like he’d gone crazy. “That’s…That’s what you got from that?” You tried not to dampen his spirit. “Baby, I think—“

“You know Bruce, he…He never says things like that!” He fumbled with his phone, as if he could accidentally delete the text with the will of his sheer elation alone.

You sighed, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “You’re so cute when you’re like this, you know that?”

Clark tried to recover, clearing his throat. “L-Like what?”

“All…Flustered,”

“I-I-m not flustered…” He trailed off, mumbling under his breath. “Just…Grateful.”

You laughed outright this time, fidgeting against his chest. “Come on, admit it. You won him over and it’s adorable watching you freak out over it.”

Clark groaned, hiding his face in your hair. “I’m not supposed to be adorable!” He was. “You’re enjoying this too much…”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, snuggling closer. “But it’s worth it. You deserve a little credit.”

“A little?”

“Don’t push it Kansas.”

Clark exhaled with a smile, relaxing against you. “I…I just want you to know it’s not him I care about—“ He realised what it sounded like. “I-I mean I do, obviously, because he’s your brother and—“

“Clark—“

“What I mean is, I’m not trying to impress him. I just wanted to show him how much you mean to me. Even when he’s being a total…Jerk—“

“Jerk? Really?”

“Even then, and the rest of the world is utterly insane, you are the one who makes everything feel right. Only you.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “You’re such a softie...”

“Hey, you’re kissin’ that softie…”

And in the safety of the apartment, Clark finally let himself relax— still flustered by a text from your brother, but completely happy in the makeshift home you’d built together.

Bruce added him to his contacts that night— properly.

Not just a saved number with the note ‘Superman’ beneath it— no. It felt real:

‘Sister’s Freak’.

[the0ishere]

˚✧₊⁺˳ Smallville Woes˳ ₊⁺˳✧

Clark Kent x Wayne!Reader

When Clark introduces you to his parents and you struggle to swap your heels for wellington boots.

Masterlist

Clark had been quiet about it at first.

Not wanting to push you, especially considering your own family history.

You never held it against him when he gushed over his parents— perhaps you had gone numb. Being raised by an emotionally…stunted older brother and your trauma being the front page business of everyone in the city, you had practically gotten over it.

Almost.

There was still a scathing, lingering sting when you heard his “Ma” calling to check on him, his father always piping in the background, assuring he was doing fine. A part of you wished you had that, but another part of you knew every gaping emotional wound was dutifully filled by the man beside you.

It started gentle nudges and soft: “maybe sometime you could meet them” suggestions. He didn’t push.

Clark never pushed anything.

But he hoped. And that hope alone was impossible to say no to.

“They already love you— just like I do,” he all but whined as you played with the hem of your silk sleeve— anxious.

“Because you only say nice things about me,” you rolled your eyes in a huff, though couldn’t help but let a small smile escape.

“There are only nice things about you!” And the worst part— he was being sincere.

You playfully pushed his head away as he leaned in— hopeful for a kiss. “Calm down Loverboy, or I’ll have to remind you of the bad things.”

“You’re breaking my heart Darlin’…” his dimples never once disappearing as he hugged you from behind, curls tickling your neck as he nuzzled against you.

You sighed.

“Okay.” Your voice quiet. “I’ll go with you.”

You felt his grin widen against your exposed skin.

“R-Really? You mean it? If you don’t want to it’s fine, I just—“

“Clark,” you laughed as he jittered like an excited puppy. “I want to go. Why wouldn’t I want to meet the people who raised my favourite person ever?”

His eyes turned to mush.

“I’m…Your favourite person?”

You nodded, smirk growing and feeling mischievous, “especially when you do that thing I like…”

You couldn’t help running the moment— he just looked so innocently devour-able. Especially when you had been reminded what a soppy family man he was.

“What thing— Oh…Oh,”

And with wiggling eyebrows and a shriek, you were tossed over his shoulder as he scolded you for having such a dirty mind.

Not that he was really complaining.

-

So that Friday, with a long weekend ahead after Perry reluctantly allowed you and Clark the same few extra days off, you were bound for Smallville.

You packed your designer suitcase despite Clark’s insistence you definitely did not need one that big (repacking it later with more practical clothes, at Clark’s mild encouragement), but keeping your custom luggage— initials engraved and all.

Clark found it sweet you had nearly maxed out one of Bruce’s credit cards (one he had forgotten he had given to you)— not the fact you had spent so much, but made the effort to purchase some more suitable gear for the trip.

That you were trying.

“Clarkie, would you say the brown leather suits the farm’s brickwork more than the olive?” He bit his cheek to stop him grinning. “NO! Wait look how cute this raincoat is— Oooh now I need to find matching boots!”

He couldn’t help but admire you with the glow of you laptop illuminating your excited features— almost a little jealous you weren’t looking at him with the same joy.

“Hmmm…I’d love to help you but I’m not so sure Sweetheart,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “But if you ask me, you look beautiful in everything!”

And it did help.

Not Bruce’s bank account— one of them, but your indecision. As you purchased them all.

—

By the time the old Kent farm came into view, golden wheat rushing past the window like dawn-breaking waves, you were already second-guessing everything.

“This was a bad idea,” you muttered, smoothing down your coat as Clark offered his hand to help you ascend some old wooden steps.

“You haven’t even met them yet!”

“They’re going to think I’m ridiculous,” your voice wavered. “You’re bringing Bruce Wayne’s spoiled little sister to a farm…They’ll know my gingham jacket is a fraud and…And— Hate me!”

“How could anyone hate you?” Clark said simply, stroking the back your hand comfortingly with his thumb, “You’re my girlfriend and I love you, and that’s all they need to know.”

You wanted to believe him…But then you stepped into the soft, honest scent of earth, and promptly sank an inch into the wet dirt beneath, staining your cashmere socks a bleak brown

“…Okay. Maybe not all they need to know.” Clark tried to hide his laughter, doubling over so hard he nearly dropped the bags (yes, he was carrying them all and still holding your hand).

The squelch your feet made as you walked wasn’t helping.

The farmhouse was humble.

Warm and homely in the kind of way that made your throat feel tight— it was.

You could feel your hands starting to sweat, reaching out and fiddling with your hair to distract yourself as Clark reassured you thar you looked perfect— as always.

But then the screen door opened, and Martha Kent stepped out— apron tied at her waist with a smile big enough to light the entire universe .

“Oh honey…look at you!” She beamed, before you could even introduce yourself.

You barely had time to react before she was hugging you like you were already family. “Clark sent me pictures but…Gee, you’re just like one of those girls from them fancy magazines!

“Ma—” Clark began, his cheeks alight.

“No, no, don’t you dare try to talk over this moment,” Martha said firmly, still hugging you in such a way that rivalled Superman’s strength. “She’s precious. I don’t care if she can’t milk a cow, she’s family.”

You blinked, stunned, and for the first time in your life you felt truly welcomed. Not because of your name, or your money, or your image— but because you were his.

Because you were you.

“I—I brought wine?” You offered weakly, your usual confidence softened by her demeanour making you sound more like Clark than your usual self. “I didn’t know what you liked so—“

“Oh sweetie you shouldn’t have! Golly this looks expensive, we’ll have it with dinner. Come in, sit. You must be tired, Jonathan! Come meet Clark’s girlfriend!”

Jonathan Kent was quieter than his wife, but the smile in his eyes told you everything.

“Wayne is it?” You swallowed nervously. “That brother of yours is really somethin’ huh? Buying up all our land.”

Clark went pale.

You didn’t know what to say, so you just laughed. It slipped out unintentionally. “He thinks supplementing his lack of charm by flashing his cash on places that do will make people like him more…” Your voice trailed off, awkwardly, realising you were rambling. “Not that it works.”

Jonathan let out a deep snicker.

He shook your hand and then clapped Clark on the back. “You did good, son.”

The man in question blushed— actual pink-cheeked and boyish, ducking his head in coyness. You’d never seen him look more like someone’s child.

You were never more in love with him than in that moment.

—

Dinner was a welcome nourishment:

Chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans picked right from the garden.

Martha didn’t sit until everyone else had a plate, and even then, she kept fussing about you needing second helpings.

You felt like a burden and had offered your help during cooking and tried to help clear the dishes, Martha all but shooed you out of the kitchen.

“You’re a guest,” she said, with sincerity.

“I’m a Wayne,” you said, sheepishly. “We don’t… get to be family guests much.”

Martha’s eyes softened. “Then this week, I’m making up for lost time.”

Clark couldn’t help the warm ache in his chest knowing you were helping his mother as he lounged with his father (despite offering to be on dry up duty), making up for lost time of his own.

You were staying in Clark’s childhood room— The Mighty Crabjoys sheets proudly on his bed. His walls were lined with old photos, his desk left with old pen marks, shelves littered with various comics and books.

It felt like home— and it wasn’t even yours.

That night you felt lighter than ever, the weight of the city off your chest, the air cool and fresh and the love of your life looking at you like you were his— you were.

“You feelin’ okay Sunshine?” His warmth was addictive as you lay in his arms— nothing sexual, you both respected his parents to much for that.

Purely innocent intimacy.

“I’m sorry…You were right,” Clark was thinking he might have accidentally fallen asleep and he was dreaming— you admitting you were wrong. “I-It’s nice— they’re nice…Just like you.”

His smile was contagious.

“I didn’t think it was possible to fall more in love with you,” he admitted, cheeks wide as he gently drew shapes against your hip. “But I was wrong. Seeing you here—“

You silenced him with a kiss, tugging him closer by his neck.

“Yeah?” His eyes were glossed over, in a lovesick haze as he hung onto your every word, “then you owe me one Farmboy. I’ll be dragging you to a Wayne Manor sleepover next.”

—

Late morning came and Clark found you trying to wrestle your feet into the new boots you had yet to break in as your other shoes were still sodden from the night before.

He offered to show you around and you had obliged, realising halfway through your trudge through the barn, mary janes weren’t cutting it.

“Okay,” you huffed, blowing a strand of your hair from your brow, “I officially hate mud.”

Clark leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, smiling wide as he offered his arm to help you up.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

You glared up at him, ignoring his hand. “I’m about to break an ankle— And I’m covered in hay.”

“I’ve never loved you more.”

You groaned and threw a sock at him. “I miss pavements.”

“You’ll miss the pie by the time we leave.”

“…Touché.”

You spent the week learning how to live without the convenience of Alfred— no more personal drivers, food delivered to your door…Impromptu beauty treatments. Instead you chased chickens. Ruined long dresses and fell asleep in exhaustion after helping Clark collect firewood, only to wake up with his coat around your shoulders and him watching you like you were made of stars.

Despite your half-hearted complaints, the Kent’s love had infected you, right down to your deepest veins and throbbing— uncaged, in your slowly-melting resolve.

“Clarkie?” You had yawned from his arms as he carried you back to the main house, his scent familiar against the chilling breeze. He hummed, being careful not to jostle you. “I kinda don’t want to go home…”

He kissed you on the forehead then, something new shining in his eyes. Ablaze. “I’ll make this our home. Someday. I promise.”

—

On the final night, you sat on the porch with Martha, watching the sky, almost trying to memorise the way the moon shone— unheeded by man made ugliness, across the vast greenery.

She passed you a mug of warm tea and said what you knew she had been wanting to since you first stepped through the door. “I know about your mother…Your parents.”

You blinked, unsurprised. At this point you were sure everyone knew.

“Clark told me a little,” she said gently. That made you feel better. That it wasn’t from some headline. “And…I just wanted to say, if you ever need someone to talk to— or yell at, or cry to,I’m right here.”

Your throat tightened. “I don’t…I don’t really know how to do this.” You gestured awkwardly. “I wasn’t raised with—” Your hand flew towards the quiet yard, the cozy home. “Any of this.”

Martha reached over and took your hand, which she had noticed was trembling. “You don’t have to be born to something to belong to it.”

You looked at her, eyes wet. “Don’t make me cry, it’ll betray that whole cool girl thing i’ve got going on.”

“Oh Honey,” she smiled. “Means you’re human.”

Later that night, you told Clark you were scared you weren’t good enough. For the world, for his family…

For him.

He held your face in both hands, face more devastated than your own at the thought you could ever think that, reverently whispering. “I’ve never known love like I do when I’m with you…Whatever love is made of, I know for sure that it’s made of—“

You cut him off with a kiss as he made a noise of surprise.

“I only know love because of you.” You rubbed your nose against his. “And…Maybe your mother. You have competition now, Farmboy.”

He let you play with the hair at the nape of his neck as he chuckled.

“Ah gosh, how could I ever expect to compete with her?”

When you finally left at the end of the week, Martha hugged you so hard you thought your ribs might crack. Jonathan gave you an equally warm hug, though far less spirited than his emotional wife.

“Take care of her,” she told Clark, who nodded diligently, though couldn’t resist slipping in a compliment.

“She takes care of me,” he said.

Martha nodded, a tear to her eye. “That’s why I love her.”

Your smile reached your eyes.

Home was still Gotham— Metropolis, now…Clark, really.

But something in Smallville had changed you.

—

You hadn’t got to visit them much— not with work, your newfound powers and…Well, all the monsters seemingly thwarting all plans Superman had of some downtime.

The birth of your son though was an exception.

The truck rumbled down the gravel drive, the scent of wheat and sweet grass thick in the air, sunlight casting long golden shadows across the Kent farm.

Despite only visiting a handful of times prior to your son’s birth, it felt like returning home.

You sat in the backseat— still bleary-eyed from the trip after not being entirely healed from the entire pregnancy, Jonathan snug beside you, bundled in a blue knit blanket.

His tiny chest rose and fell steadily, mouth slightly open in sleep, one little hand clutching your shirt collar with surprising strength.

Clark kept glancing over at the two of you— the kind of mesmerised, wide-eyed glances that hadn't stopped since the day his son was born.

He was trying to focus on the road, but his whole face softened every time he looked at you holding your baby.

“You okay back there Honey?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Just…Feels strange.” His brow furrowed, concerned by your dejected tone.

“I…I never had this,” you explained, eyes on the farmhouse growing closer. “Family visits. Grandparents— Parents, even. Trips that didn’t involve private jets and press coverage. This is still new.” He reached behind him, warm hand resting gently on your knee. “I never thought I’d have a chance at this…And now we have a family of our own…” You trailed off as Jonathan made a sleepy noise, tiny feet kicking out as he readjusted.

“Well,” Clark murmured, trying to keep quiet as to not disturb the baby. “Get ready to be smothered.”

You half-laughed, half-sighed, but didn’t argue. Your loose hold on your son’s tiny foot grounding you to reality.

When the truck finally came to a stop in front of the porch, the screen door slammed open as if they had been peering out the window in anticipation— they had.

Martha Kent— barefoot and tearful, apron still on and absolutely glowing with joy, bolted down the steps with commendable agility for her age.

“Oh my Lord— give me that baby right now!”

You barely had time to unbuckle yourself before she was at your side— Clark already by your door, prepared to help you out, now gently handing over the little bundle to his awestruck mother.

She cradled him like he was more precious than anything before, immediately rocking him as she cried. “Oh Honey,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his soft forehead. “Hi, Precious...” A sniffle. “I’m your Grandma.”

Jonathan blinked drowsily and made a little squeaky yawn.

Martha lost it.

“Clark Joseph Kent,” she didn’t take her eyes off of the baby, “you have given me the most perfect grandson in the universe.”

Clark grinned helplessly, ears red as he practically lifted you from the vehicle. “Credit goes to her,” he gripped your hand tightly , nodding towards you.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to tear up yourself. “As you can see, he didn’t feel like taking much after me…”

Behind you all, Jonathan Kent Sr. stepped onto the porch slowly, going quiet in a way that said: if he spoke, he’d cry too.

You flashed him a drowsy grin. “Would you like to hold him? He was named after you, you know.”

His voice cracked. “I’d be honored.”

Martha reluctantly passed Jonathan over, so careful, so reverent.

You watched them both study every detail— the jet-black curls, the dimples…the soft weight of him.

“He’s even got your eyes,” the older man finally said, glancing at Clark.

“But with his mama’s attitude already,” Martha added with a wink. “I can feel it.”

You snorted. “He glared at a pigeon yesterday for being too loud.”

“Definitely gets that from her,” Clark stage-whispered.

You elbowed him gently, relishing in the way his head rested atop yours, watching the two people who raised him holding his own child.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a dampness gathering atop your hair.

Martha looked between you two, beaming.

“I’ve never seen him like this,” she said softly. “You’ve made him so happy.”

Clark chuckled lowly and you leaned into him, heart unbearably full.

“He’s the only reason I’m happy,” you murmured, “And now he’s given me a purpose.”

Martha smiled. “Maybe that’s why you shine too.”

And it was true— in both senses of the word.

That night, Jonathan fell asleep in the same cradle Clark once slept in— hand-carved by his grandfather, nestled in the corner of the bedroom Clark used to call his own.

Yes. He had cried again watching his son cooing away none the wise, matching blue eyes staring at the man who couldn’t quite believe he was here— back in Smallville, with you and a baby that looked just like him (save for your grumpiness).

You lay beside Clark on the old quilt, listening to the cicadas outside, your son just feet away, safe…And real.

“Can you believe he’s really ours?” you whispered into Clark’s chest. “That we have this?”

You both were laying facing the crib, not once taking your eyes off of the sleeping bundle.

He kissed your hair. “You deserve this.”

But so did he. Your Clark— the man who never once put himself first, the clumsy journalist who spoke to you like you were human and not just a name for him to interview. The man who always brought you your favourite drink (even before dating) stayed late just to see you home safe. The man who stood up to your brother, than man who saved the world…The man you loved.

You rolled over, pressing your face into him and inhaling. “I hope he spits up on you next time.”

Clark laughed quietly. “Understood. Every single time.”

And for the first time in a while, you slept free.

[the0ishere]

You Leashed Our Son?! || Clark Kent ||

A/n: Now that I own Superman 2025, I can fuel my obsession more

The morning sun bathed the Kent Farm in soft gold, but peace and quiet? That was long gone.

“Clark, are you serious?” you asked, arms crossed as you stared at your husband standing proudly in the middle of the yard…holding what was unmistakably a bright blue toddler leash harness.

Clark Kent—Superman, actual savior of Earth—grinned sheepishly. “It’s not a leash, it’s a safety tether.”

You raised a brow. “It has a little rocket ship on the back.”

“Yeah, well,” he cleared his throat, crouching to snap it gently around your three-year-old son’s chest, “he likes rockets.”

“Clark, he is a rocket!”

The moment the harness was secure, your son—little blur of curls and mischief—squealed with delight and began levitating six feet into the air, arms outstretched like he’d been waiting for this moment all morning.

“Oh my God—” you took a half-step back as the tether went taut with a snap and jerked Clark forward a good two feet. He stumbled, boots scraping the dirt, looking mildly offended.

“Okay,” he muttered, steadying himself. “Wow. Stronger than I thought.”

From above, your son giggled like a maniac, doing tiny somersaults mid-air while the leash cable twisted and snapped in every direction, tugging Clark like an unwilling kite handler at a superhero rodeo.

“Wheeeee!” your son cried.

“I’m starting to think this was a terrible idea,” Clark admitted through gritted teeth, his glasses askew as he braced his feet deeper into the soil.

You snorted, trying not to laugh too hard as you whipped out your phone. “I’m starting to think we have to film this.”

“Oh no,” he groaned. “Please don’t post this anywhere.”

"Just for your parents." You muttered keeping your phone trained on the two.

Clark gritting his teeth as he gripped his son's leash but it was too late—your son dive-bombed straight into the upper branches of a tree, the leash snapped back with a vengeance, and Clark was yanked off his feet entirely, dragged a few feet along the grass with a thud.

“Clark!” you gasped, but the way he just laid there—flat on his back, hands still clutching the leash handle like it was a lifeline—sent you into a fit of wheezing laughter.

“This is your genetics, by the way,” you teased, walking over and looking down at him.

He blew a leaf off his face. “That feels unfair.”

From somewhere high above, your son shouted, “I WANNA GO TO SPACE!”

Clark exhaled like a man at the end of a long war.“We are never skipping nap time again.”

Clark had managed to get back on his feet, dusted off, and was now doing his best impersonation of a man in control of the situation. You were leaning against the porch railing, coffee in hand, smirking.

“This is fine,” Clark mumbled. “This is fine.”

From thirty feet above, your son twisted upside down in the air like a tiny, giggling astronaut on invisible wires. The baby leash—blessedly reinforced with Kryptonian fibers from the Fortress—held strong as it zigzagged through the sky, dragging Clark along with every sudden loop and dive.

“Okay, buddy,” Clark called up with forced cheer, planting his feet again. “Let’s try using our inside energy—like we talked about!”

Your son answered by dive-bombing toward the barn at mach toddler speed.

Clark braced, but the jolt from the leash yanked him forward again, this time slamming him face-first into a hay bale. You snorted so hard you nearly dropped your mug.

“Did you just get tackled by our kid?” you called out.

“Mmmph,” came the muffled reply. “Possibly.”

“And this was your idea.”

He stood slowly, hay sticking out of his hair and shirt like a scarecrow at a crime scene. “Do you know how hard it is to find a preschool that has anti-gravity rooms?”

Before you could respond, the leash slackened—way too slack.

Your eyes snapped upward. “Clark, where is he?”

Clark blinked. “Wait—what—? Jon?!”

Suddenly, a squeal of laughter echoed from above the barn. Your son had climbed onto the roof by floating sideways and was now perched proudly like Simba being presented to the world.

You clapped a hand over your mouth. “Clark.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna have to fly up there.”

Clark sighed and lifted off the ground. “This was supposed to be a ground-level test…”

⸻

Five minutes later, Clark touched back down with your son tucked under one arm like a football, both of them wearing matching expressions of sheepish defeat.

“Alright,” Clark said, setting him down. “I think we’re gonna retire the leash.”

You patted his back sympathetically. “Yeah. I think you got walked more than he did.”

Your son chose that moment to latch onto Clark’s leg and giggle, “Again! Again!”

Clark just looked at you. “…We’re in so much trouble when he starts school.”

You sipped your coffee, smiling sweetly. “Better get started on that Kryptonian-proof jungle gym, Daddy.”

And somewhere in the distance, the rooster crowed—probably in warning.

It was later in the day, a golden afternoon had settled on the Kent Farm, the kind that made the grass seem greener and the old red barn glow like something out of a postcard. Birds chirped. A breeze swept across the wheat field. And the very serious matter of gravity was being explained on the porch.

Little Jonathan Kent, all curly hair and bright blue eyes, stood on the wooden steps in his tiny overalls—rocking back and forth on the heels of his red sneakers as Grandpa Jonathan Kent knelt in front of him, eyebrows stern behind wire-rim glasses.

“Now, Jon,” Jonathan said patiently, pointing to the grass, “you stay on the ground when you’re outside, alright? People aren’t supposed to float around like balloons. That makes the neighbors… real nervous.”

“But I go whoosh,” Jon whispered with wide eyes, extending his arms dramatically. “Like Daddy!”

From the porch swing, Martha Kent gently smiled, knitting needles paused in her lap. “Sweetheart, we know. But until we figure out how to keep you safe and unseen, you’ve got to practice your flying inside the house.”

“Inside,” Jon echoed, voice solemn. “No ‘sploding chickens.”

You choked on your lemonade.

Martha cleared her throat. “Yes, uh… especially no flying over the chicken coop again.”

Meanwhile, Clark was slouched on the railing nearby, arms folded like a grumpy farm boy, pouting.

“He listens to them,” Clark muttered under his breath. “But when I say it, he flies straight into the windmill like it’s the best day of his life.”

You grinned and bumped your shoulder into him. “Maybe because you accidentally cheered the first time he did it.”

“I was proud! It was a perfect arc!”

Below, Jon raised his little hand in a salute. “I promise, Grandpa. I stay on the ground like a big boy.”

Jonathan Kent ruffled his grandson’s curls with a proud nod. “That’s my man.”

Clark leaned closer to you with a dramatic sigh. “I taught him how to hover. Spent weeks working on that. And now he’s out here pledging allegiance to dirt.”

“You’re just jealous he listens to someone,” you teased, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

He tilted his head, voice mock serious. “When did my life become a sitcom where my toddler prefers my dad’s rules over mine?”

Just then, Jon bounded up the steps and launched himself into Clark’s arms with perfect toddler precision.

“Daddy!” he beamed. “I stay down! I’m a ground boy now!”

Clark caught him effortlessly, heart already melting. “Yeah, kiddo,” he muttered with a smile. “You’re grounded alright.”

Jonathan from the yard: “We heard that, son.”

Clark groaned as you laughed, Jon giggling between the two of you like he hadn’t just violated every law of physics last Tuesday.

And up on that porch, beneath the Kansas sky, Superman was officially out-parented—by Grandma and Grandpa Kent.

Again.

[the0ishere]

Headcanon that everyone who meets Nanami falls just a little bit in love with him. The employees at the grocery store, the students at those cooking classes he takes, the teachers n’ parents at his little daughter’s kindergarten. And when they see you walking right beside him- well, they’re realizing that no one could be in love with Nanami Kento as he is in love with you. 

[the0ishere]

thinking hard [part 2]

📲 kageyama tobio x f!reader

[part 1]

tags: college au, roommates au, sub!kageyama, hinata is tired, kageyama is socially awkward, yn loses her damn mind

warnings: some kms jokes, suggestive content

✗ !!! minors do not interact !!! ✗

✗ ignore timestamps! ✗

[the0ishere]

thinking hard [part 1]

📲 kageyama tobio x f!reader

[part 2]

tags: college au, roommates au, sub!kageyama, hinata is tired, kageyama is socially awkward

warnings: some kms jokes, suggestive content

✗ !!! minors do not interact !!! ✗

✗ ignore timestamps! ✗

[the0ishere]

You and Ushijima had agreed from the start — keep things quiet. Not because it was forbidden or scandalous, but because you liked having something that was just yours.

And it worked. For months.

No one seemed to suspect a thing. Not Tendou, not Semi, not even Shirabu — and that was a miracle in itself. Between subtle glances and casual brushing of hands under tables, you’d perfected the art of hiding your relationship.

Until now.

It started like any other day — you showed up to Shiratorizawa’s gym to drop off a water bottle Ushijima had left at your place. The team was wrapping up practice, sweaty and boisterous, but Ushijima was calm as always, toweling off as he walked toward you.

You handed him the bottle with a soft “You forgot this.”

“Thank you,” he replied, voice even but just slightly warmer than usual.

Then it happened.

You turned to walk away, and he — without thinking — leaned down and kissed your forehead.

A soft, slow, casual kiss.

The kind of kiss that said this is normal, this happens all the time, I love you — except you were in the middle of the gym. Surrounded by his entire team.

And silence.

Pure, stunned, jaw-on-the-floor silence.

You both froze.

You blinked.

He blinked.

“…Wakatoshi?” Tendou said, blinking in shock. “Did you just—did you just forehead kiss them?”

You watched as Ushijima calmly capped the water bottle.

“Yes.”

Shirabu choked on his sports drink.

Semi stared between the two of you like he was seeing ghosts.

“We were keeping it private,” you said quickly, cheeks burning. “But... that kind of went out the window.”

Ushijima looked down at you, unconcerned. “I forgot we were keeping it private.”

You covered your face with your hands, laughing despite your embarrassment.

Tendou whooped. “I knew it! No way two people could make that much eye contact during water breaks and not be in love.”

Semi groaned. “Why are you two the cutest couple ever? This isn’t fair.”

Ushijima reached out and gently took your hand, threading his fingers through yours. “They are very cute,” he said sincerely.

“WAKATOSHI.”

You were half laughing, half hiding, and he just stood beside you like he hadn’t just cracked your secret wide open.

From that day on, there were no more secrets — but there were a lot more forehead kisses. And everyone (begrudgingly) agreed: as far as couples went, you two were disgustingly adorable.

m.list

Sol's Report: for the amazing wonderful @tlissablr ily babes and I hope you approve!!

© 𝑺𝑿𝑵𝑵𝑬𝑬, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 ᯓ★

[the0ishere]

who paid for them?

james potter x reader ┃ 1.7k

summary: james isn’t exactly thrilled when he finds out that someone else paid for your nails.

cw: established relationship, slight jealousy, kissing, james is filthy rich in this one, fluff and crack.

One thing about being James Potter’s girlfriend was that you were officially the most spoiled girl in the entire world. This man didn’t just worship the ground you walked on; he made sure you never needed anything at all. 

Money had never been a concern. James came from a a family so wealthy it could have been mistaken for another world entirely, yet he carried it lightly.

There was nothing ostentatious about him; more often than not, he appeared in a hoodie and casual trousers or shorts, blending easily with the crowd, as if wealth were the furthest thing from his identity

And yet, for all the simplicity he chose for himself, he never let it extend to you. If James was careful not to wear his privilege, he was even more careful to wrap you in it, as though loving you was the one place he refused to be ordinary.

In short, James loved to see you draped in luxury.

Your walk-in closet had become a curated shrine of designer shoes and handbags, the kind of collection most could only dream about. There were weekly dinners at places where the chandeliers glittered like constellations, surprise gifts that appeared in your lap as effortlessly as his laughter, and every thoughtful indulgence in between.

James spoiled you shamelessly, and you reveled in it, not for the things themselves, but because each one carried the warmth of his love.

If you asked him, he would only smile and say it was because he loved to see his girl adorned in the beauty he always knew she deserved.

Right now, you stood in front of him, breathless and animated as you rambled about your new nail technician. 

Your hands were the star of the show — freshly painted almond-shaped nails in a deep, glossy red that caught the light perfectly. James held your hands gently, eyes tracing the curves of your fingers, lips pressing soft kisses to your knuckles like they were precious treasures.

Then, without warning, he slid his hands down to your waist and pulled you close, settling you right onto his lap.

His gaze locked on your nails with an approving smile. “Nails look so good, baby,” he murmured, voice low and easy. “You got red f’me?”

You smiled, a little shy but confident. “Mhm. I know red’s your favorite. Thought you’d like it.” Your fingers instinctively twined around his neck. “Do you?”

James chuckled softly, his thumb grazing the side of your cheek as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered there, as though even the excuse of fixing your hair was too sweet to end too quickly.

“Like them?” he murmured, his gaze dropping deliberately to your freshly painted nails before flicking back up to your eyes. “I love them, baby.”

You raised a brow, not entirely convinced. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he insisted, his voice warm with amusement. “Honestly? It’s not just the color. It’s you, sweetheart.” His hand caught yours, lifting it to press a gentle kiss against your knuckles, a gesture both playful and reverent.

You laughed, the sound making him smile wider. “They’re just nails, James.”

“Not to me,” he whispered, leaning in until his breath brushed against your skin. “Pretty nails, pretty girl. What more could a guy ask for?”

Your lips curved, but before you could reply, he tipped his head slightly, studying you with that earnest devotion you were still learning to accept.

“Now gimme a kiss,” James said, his voice low and playful, the teasing glint in his eyes impossible to resist.

You laughed softly, leaning in without hesitation, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was brief at first, warm and sweet, but it carried the kind of electricity that made your heart race.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he murmured, his hand lingering against your cheek.

You laughed, heart swelling in that perfect, unspoken way that only James could make you feel.

“I was kind of nervous to try a new place,” you admit, resting your head on his shoulder while holding your hands out to admire your nails. “You know how picky I am. But then my regular spot shut down, and this one was so nice. Like, really nice. Clean, quiet, sweet techs… Honestly, it felt kind of like a spa.”

James hums, gently running his fingers over your freshly done nails. “M’happy you liked it, sweetheart.”

You smile to yourself. “And you’ll be happy to hear that you didn’t have to pay for them.”

That makes him pause. He pulls back just enough to look at you properly. “What do you mean I didn’t pay for them?”

You shrug, casual. “I was going to—had your card and everything. But when I went up to pay, the tech told me they were already covered.”

His brows pull together. “By who?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Some guy. Said I was cute or whatever and paid before I even realized what was happening.”

James’s hand, which had been lightly stroking your arm, stills. His entire body shifts—shoulders tensing, posture straightening—and then he’s turning you in his lap, so you’re straddling him, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Who paid for them?”

You blink at him, thrown by how sharp his tone has suddenly gotten.

“I don’t know, James,” you repeat, softly. “Some guy. I didn’t talk to him. I didn’t even look at him. I was just waiting and then the tech said he’d already paid and left. That’s it.”

His jaw clenches. “So a guy saw you, paid for your nails, called you cute, and walked out like that was normal?”

You exhale slowly. “I wasn’t flirting with him, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t entertain it. I didn’t even smile back.”

“No, I know, baby,” he said, pausing for a moment as his eyes softened on you.

“It’s just that I’ve told you a hundred times, sweetheart—my card is with you for a reason. Anything you need, anything you want, you use it. I don’t care what it is. I’ve told you many times you can spend thousands if you want, and it won’t even make me blink!” His grip on your thighs tightened slightly.

“I was going to use it,” you whisper. “He just… got there first.”

James leans back a little, gaze still unreadable. “Where is this place again?”

You cradle his face in your hands, thumbs brushing just beneath his cheekbones as you look him in the eyes.

“Jamie,” you murmur, voice gentle, “you don’t have to worry. I promise. I don’t even know him. And if I did, I would’ve never let him do something like that.”

He exhales, slow and heavy. His eyes flicker between yours, searching, softening. “I know, sweetheart. I do. It’s just…” He swallows. “I don’t like the idea of someone else thinking they get to do things for you. That they get to look at you and think they even stand a chance.”

You chuckled softly, brushing your thumb across his jaw. “Awww, are you jealous?”

“What? Me? Jealous? Never!” he said quickly, a grin tugging at his lips. “He was probably some ugly, broke dude anyway.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh really? That’s your excuse?”

He froze for a moment, brow furrowing. “Wait… was he not ugly?”

Your eyes widened in mock horror. “James Potter! I didn’t even glance at him!”

Your thumb traced the slope of his jaw as you leaned in, your nose nudging his. “Besides, I am yours, and I’ve got eyes for you only.”” you whispered.

He lets out a breath that almost sounds like relief, hands sliding up under the hem of your shirt to rest warm on your waist. “Just don’t want anyone paying for my girl’s stuff. That’s my job. I like doing things for you, baby.”

You grin. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” He tilts your chin up and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, then another to your cheek, slow and soft.

“Want you to use my card, want you to text me when you’re nervous, want you to call me when you’re bored. Want to be the one who spoils you, comforts you, makes you smile like that.”

“That is quite a list of wants, James Potter,” you murmur, squishing his cheeks between your hands until his lips pout against your palms. He muffles a sound of protest, eyes glinting with mock offense.

“All I want is what’s mine, baby,” he manages, his words slurred by your grip.

You laugh, leaning forward to steal a quick, playful kiss from his lips. “You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, shaking your head. “And you’re gonna make me cry over a nail appointment.”

James laughs, bright and warm, and pulls you closer into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like he never wants to let go. “Well then, I’ll have to wipe your tears and book your next three appointments myself.”

You gasp, mock offended. “What if I don’t want you to pay for those?”

“Too bad,” he grins. “You’re stuck with me.”

You let yourself melt into him, your face resting against his neck as his fingers trace gentle patterns along your back.

Everything seemed to vanish, leaving only this singular felicity; the quiet sanctuary of his embrace, the steady cadence of his voice, and the ineffable warmth that unfurled within your chest whenever he was near.

After a moment, you pull back just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. “So dramatic,” you tease.

James raised a brow, his tone half-teasing, half-serious. “You should change the salon. I don’t want him near you.”

You laugh, exasperated. “James!”

“What? I’m just saying. He better hope I never see him again.”

You groan, hiding your face again as he chuckles, arms tightening around you.

“God, I love you,” you laugh, shaking your head.

He smiles against your temple. “I know. I love you more.”

[the0ishere]

dad!satoru watching his daughter fall with nobody to catch her

dad!satoru who wasn't a present figure in his daughter's life. the strongest? how could he keep her safe when everyone around him died? that's why he shut the two of you out.

dad!satoru who still kept an eye on you, just from further away. you used to be a jujutsu sorcerer, so he knew you could sense his cursed energy, but you never said anything about it. never pointed him out to his daughter, who wasn't even sure she had a father in the first place.

dad!satoru who often gazed from the comfort of the roof of the house in front of yours, legs kicked up and a popsicle melting in his hands as you shouted at the movers for not packing all the furniture properly.

dad!satoru who knew he should've been down there, helping you. except if he went down there, he probably would've never been able to let go. and it was too late to start making an effort now.

dad!satoru who watched as the days dragged past. your little girl would sit on the curb looking just as dejected as you, holed up in your house. sometimes you would come outside with a computer and encourage her through meetings as she pumped her legs on her little bike.

dad!satoru who, every time, watched her fall. because there was nobody to catch her. that should've been him. he should've been standing there, being the father she deserved.

dad!satoru who yearned to come back home. to tangle himself in your sheets and cuddle with his daughter and cook breakfast for your bleary faces and scold her for drawing on the walls.

dad!satoru who knew that with his line of work, happy memories often led to death. and it would hurt worse if the two of you died.

dad!satoru who watched you try sometimes, your hands carefully finding the edge of your daughter's bike as you guided her along the roads. and she would do just fine then. but as soon as you disappeared again into the cold cave of your home, she faltered and slipped up and fell back down onto the pavement, bloody knees and tear-stained face and all.

dad!satoru who knew that once upon a time, people relied on him. now he just lounged on the roof and watched his daughter try and try and fail and fail. and it sort of broke his heart.

dad!satoru realized that the memories were the best part of his life---even if they made up the majority of it. and what was he doing searing in the sun when he could be making more with his daughter?

dad!satoru who knew it was an odd sight to see. after weeks of knowing he was on the roof and just never pointing him out, you probably didn't expect to see him guiding her down the road, running by her side as he shouted encouraging things.

dad!satoru who, knowing you, knew you were thinking, i oughta beat this guy up. but he couldn't blame you. at least you bothered to show up. he didn't even try. and that was the worst heartbreak of all.

dad!satoru who stlil turned and grinned at you, pointing eagerly at your daughter successfully biking down the road and shooting you a thumbs up. you wanted to cry. ironically, you didn't even know why.

dad!satoru who stood by as instead, you ran across the road, nudged him out of the way with your elbow and grinned down at your little girl, buckling to your knees to press a kiss against her cheek.

dad!satoru who had the most genius revelation at that moment. you hadn't turned away for more than five seconds when you heard a squeal followed by giggling.

dad!satoru, in all his glory, was crammed into a bicycle three sizes too small for him but managing to pedal down the road and swerve back around to your driveway.

dad!satoru who wheeled back around when you finally managed to calm your daughter down. you quirked a brow at him, unspoken questions. but your husband just grinned and offered his cheek.

"c'mon, she gets one and i don't?" "she's my daughter." "so... what i'm hearing is that you're being unjust. i'm your husband." "okay...? you sure haven't been acting like it." "... don't be cruel! where's my kiss?" "get out of here. get back to your roof, lover boy."

dad!satoru heard the nickname and his heart went fluttering back up into the sky, because that was when he knew that you had forgiven him. and even if he didn't say it out loud, he swore to himself that he would never forsake the two of you to his fears.

dad!satoru who realized, after all, if he couldn't keep the two most important people in his life safe, what was the point of being the strongest? a cruel twist of fate was what it always seemed to be.

dad!satoru who dodged your batted hand at him but you were grinning as he slipped off of the bike---more like stumbled and crashed, but that was irrelevant. what mattered was that your daughter was back to zooming down the road, and he was back to standing by your side.

"you're doing great. thank you for..." "for raising her?" "i'll be here, for you. for her. i was scared." "you're admitting that? to me? insane." "you're my wife. if i can't tell you, who can i tell?"

dad!satoru who stilled when you reached up, brushed a lock of hair from his cheek, and pecked a small, chaste kiss to his flushed skin. he trailed his fingers down where your lips had just been, a grin splitting his face.

dad!satoru who couldn't believe he ever thought of giving this up.

a/n: this one is a little sad too but i really like this one

[the0ishere]

taking reqs!!

MALE READER'S LISTEN UP...

WE NEED MORE MALE READER WRITERS ASAP!

95% of the fanfiction on all fanfiction places (Tumblr, Wattpad, AO3 ect.) is either straight ships or stories for female reader's or "gender neutral" readers with she/her pronouns through the entire story. Most of the male reader writers that we had have left or quite and we need more, I'm sick of re-reading the same stories over and over again and I have no talent, believe me I've tried writing on multiple occasions but can't. So please male readers or female readers who want to, please start writing male reader fanfiction.

For some of us this is our only escape from the struggle of Daily life, so please somebody out there start writing male reader content. 🥺

PLEASE! start taking requests for male reader stories (if it's smut, fluff, angst) please people, help a guy out here- I have so many amazing ideas that I have nothing to do with or nobody I can find to write them.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

And I mean anything (male x male reader or female x male reader) please somebody start taking requests.

[the0ishere]

Hi! I'm new to your blog, but I absolutely love your x male reader fics 💖

Anyway, I was wondering if you could write a Nightwing x male reader where reader is an alien that has recently moved to Earth. Nightwing attempts to flirt with him but he just kinda stares at him and smiles awkwardly.

Nightwing thinks he's making him uncomfortable so he stops but really, it's just cause reader is still trying to get the hang of English and is still learning human customs/phrases. He didn't want to assume anything.

A friend explains to him later that dick was flirting, but because he stopped, reader thought he's no longer interested.

FLIRTING? WHAT'S THAT?

pairing: nightwing x male reader

You had only been on Earth a handful of weeks when you realized two things: humans talked a lot, and they talked fast. Their words darted and skipped, often carrying more meaning than they said aloud. Back home, communication was more straightforward—intent colored every phrase, body language spoke louder than tongues. Here, though, the smallest smile or tilt of the head seemed to change everything.

Your cousin Clark had been patient with you, guiding you through the most bewildering parts of Earth’s culture. He even made sure you were introduced to his closest allies in the Justice League. Which was how you ended up face-to-face with Gotham’s favorite acrobat, Nightwing.

The first time you met him, you were in the Batcave, of all places. Bruce’s realm was cold, metallic, buzzing with quiet machinery. Dick had been leaning casually against the hood of the Batmobile, arms crossed, blue symbol on his chest gleaming faintly.

“So, you’re Clark’s cousin,” he said, voice light, teasing. “Guess flying and good looks run in the family, huh?”

You stared at him. Not out of rudeness, but because you were running the sentence over in your mind, trying to catch every nuance. Flying…good looks…family. You forced a smile, small and awkward.

Dick tilted his head, the grin on his face faltering just a bit. He tried again later, when the League went out for patrol. On a rooftop in Blüdhaven, while the two of you scanned the streets, he nudged your shoulder. “You know, most people would kill to get private rooftop time with me. Lucky you.”

Again, you smiled, a polite curve of your lips. But you didn’t say anything, still uncertain. Was this a warning? A boast? You didn’t want to answer incorrectly. So silence seemed safest.

For the first time, Nightwing’s confidence slipped. His grin flattened, his playful lilt quieted. “Sorry,” he muttered, shifting his weight. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll keep it professional.”

You nodded automatically, not because you agreed, but because you didn’t understand. And then he was gone, cape trailing behind him, leaving you staring at the empty rooftop and wondering if you had broken something without realizing it.

Later, back in Metropolis, you found Clark waiting in his apartment's kitchen. He was pouring two mugs of coffee, though you’d told him you still weren’t used to the taste. He pushed one toward you anyway.

“You look like something’s weighing on you.”

You frowned, cupping the mug for the warmth even if you wouldn’t drink it. “Nightwing spoke strangely. At first, he smiled, and then he stopped. Did I…offend him?”

Clark arched a brow, leaning against the counter with that unnerving ease he had. “What exactly did he say?”

You repeated it as best as you could. Clark listened, then actually laughed under his breath. “Oh. He was flirting with you.”

Your head snapped up. “Flirt…ing?”

“It’s when someone’s trying to show they like you—more than just friends. Humans use playful words, smiles, hints. It’s not hostile. It’s interest.”

You blinked slowly, the realization hitting like a weight. “So, he liked me. And I said nothing. He thinks I do not like him.”

Clark’s gaze softened. “Exactly. And I’m guessing you do like him.”

Your silence was answer enough.

It wasn’t long before you and Nightwing crossed paths again. This time, you were determined not to let words slip past you. After patrol, when the others had gone, you caught him stretching after a sparring session. He noticed you, offered a polite nod, but nothing more. No grin, no light words. Just distance.

Your chest tightened. You replayed the words you had practiced for hours in your mind, Clark correcting your phrasing, Kori teaching you to soften your accent.

“Nightwing,” you said carefully, stepping closer. He glanced at you, brows raised in mild surprise. “Before…when you spoke to me. I did not understand. The words. But I know now. You were flirting?”

His eyes widened, and for a second, he looked caught off guard. Then that famous smile crept back across his face, slow and dazzling. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I was doing. And I thought you weren’t into it.”

You shook your head quickly, feeling heat crawl up your cheeks. “No. I like it. I like you.”

Silence stretched for a heartbeat before Dick laughed—low, warm, relieved. “God, you have no idea how good it is to hear that.” He reached out, brushing his gloved fingers against yours, testing the waters. This time, you didn’t hesitate. You let your hand rest against his, steady, sure.

Of course, nothing with family ever went unnoticed. Clark cornered Dick the next time they were both in the Watchtower.

“So,” Clark began casually, arms crossed over his chest, cape brushing the floor. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with my cousin.”

Dick, ever the charmer, grinned. “Yeah. He’s…great. Actually, I was going to ask him out. Dinner, maybe.”

Clark’s smile was polite. Too polite. “That’s nice. You know, I don’t mind as long as you treat him right. But if you don’t—” His voice dipped, calm as a still ocean but carrying the weight of storms. “Well, let’s just say I can see Blüdhaven from space. Always.”

Dick’s grin faltered for a second, uncertain whether this was a joke. “Noted.” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. Clark’s smile widened, but it never reached his eyes.

[the0ishere]

aint no fucking way ppl actually write for mahito and find him attractive.

[the0ishere]

@zehina

REBLOG if you have amazing talented artist friends!

[the0ishere]

fucking stupid. wdym ppl have eating disorders and sh problems and this and that like. you're fine. stop punishing yourself???? bbg, you're okay. if not, you'll be at some point.

[the0ishere]

FOMO

Toji Fushiguro x female reader, ft. baby Megumi FLUFF!

You and your husband Toji are trying to get your one year-old to sleep alone, but Megumi has other plans…

comments, likes & reblogs are appreciated and lets me know i should write more!

"But we're not even going to sleep now," you spoke, head turning to your husband Toji, who was checking his next mission on his phone. The dim lamplight accentuated the contours of his face, including the dark circles under his eyes.

His large, muscular body took up his side of the bed, one leg over yours. He left his shirt on for now, unlike how he usually took his shirt off to sleep.

"If we make him think we're going to sleep at the same time as him, he'll fall asleep," Toji spoke, as he read the information sent by Shiu. "Fear of missing out."

You nodded, with a small chuckle. "I'll check up on him a bit later. Let's just bring him here to sleep if he's still awake or if he cries."

"'S okay," Toji replied in his deep tone, shutting off his phone and setting it on the bedside table, before turning his head to you. "Seems cruel to leave a one year-old to sleep in his own room alone, doesn't it?"

"I get he needs to learn but…feels like he's already a grown man this way," you replied, thinking about the toddler in his room alone in his crib. It was a lower crib, so he didn't get scared.

"If that's the case, he needs to start doing the taxes for me." Toji yawned, shuffling so his back was fully on the bed and his head lay on the pillow, black hair spreading out.

"Now, you’re the tired one. He'll be up all night, doing your taxes," you half-joked, though you glanced at your husband in concern.

He turned his head to you and closed his eyes, looking exhausted. "I'm beat, sweetheart."

Your heart clenched at his mumbled reply.

"Want me to turn off the lamp?" you asked and he shook his head, keeping his eyes closed.

"Turn it off when you feel tired," he responded, before yawning.

You both fell into silence, as Toji lay still and quiet, and you glanced at your book, unable to focus on the words. You could tell Toji hadn't fallen asleep yet, despite his eyes remaining closed. His shoulders were tense, eyebrows furrowed.

His missions had been dysfunctional lately, ruining his sleep schedule and he couldn't get to sleep until late, despite feeling tired early on.

The bedroom door was left slightly ajar. From the top of the bed, you couldn't see anything at the bottom. You were still trying to get engrossed in your book, so you didn't notice if there was any sounds of shuffling.

It was only when you felt movement at the bottom of the bed and the duvet slightly dragging that you turned to Toji, who's eyes were now open and glancing at you too. You closed your book, slowly setting it beside you to not make a sudden movement.

The two of you remain quiet, staring at each other as if to question what was going on.

Until, a small head of messy black hair popped up between you underneath the covers.

Toji let out a low laugh, rubbing his eyes and adjusting back to the dim light of the lamp. "Well, hello there."

Your son Megumi got out from the top of the covers that he had crawled all the way up. He stood up and his small body ever so slightly dipped the bed, in the middle of yours and Toji's lying figures.

The one-year-old paused, standing on the bed and over his father's head. Toji gaze up at the toddler, a small smile on his mouth as he attempted to figure out what Megumi was up to.

"I knew you'd get out of the crib again," you said to Megumi, with a lighthearted sigh.

"I heard him as soon as he walked through the door, I could hear his tiny footsteps when I had my eyes closed," Toji spoke.

"It's good we have you because I couldn't tell when a ninja came in," you replied.

Megumi turned around suddenly, whipping his head around and facing you with a blank expression, as if he understood what you said. You rose your eyebrows slightly, wondering what was wrong.

He was a confusing, but adorable toddler. His matching midnight purple pyjmas were crumpled, with one leg of his trousers slightly folded up. His static black hair was even more unruly, completely unlike Toji whose hair was naturally down.

Then, facing you, he jumped up and sat on his father's torso.

Toji let out a fake groan, pretending that it hurt for the small toddler to suddenly use Toji as a chair. Megumi looked down at Toji again at the sound.

Toji threw his head back on the pillow, eyes closing and playing dead. "Man down, mission accomplished."

Small giggles arose from Megumi and he jumped up and down on Toji from excitement. Now, Toji had him thinking it was playtime.

"Megumi…" you lightly scolded, steadying the hyperactive toddler. "Daddy is very tired, it's bedtime."

"What about me gets you so hyper?" Toji asked, before wrapping his large hands around Megumi and beginning to tickle him. Megumi let out a squeal of laughter, squirming and fidgeting at the tickling. "Huh?"

"Well, the proof is right there," you spoke, shaking your head lightly at your husband’s antics.

Toji slowed and stopped his tickling, as if to disprove your words and calm Megumi down. "I'll probably need to be stern with him when he's older, no need for it now."

"I don't think you'll have to when he's older," you responded, tilting your head as you considered it. "But I don't know how much longer we'll have him sleep here with us.”

"Will he be a sap like you when he's older too?" Toji remarked.

You lightly shoved your husband, to which Megumi copied you and patted Toji, making you laugh.

"He's copying you?" Toji asked in disbelief, glancing between Megumi and you.

"Well, yeah, where have you been, old man?" you said. "He's a mini-version of me too, even if you took most of the phyiscal genes."

"Who are you calling, old man?" he retorted. "I'm not even that much older than y-"

Megumi babbled loudly, as if he was interrupting and giving his input.

"Exactly, that's what I'm sayin’, she's out of her mind," Toji agreed with Megumi, making you lightly roll your eyes.

"Toji, do you ever just shush?" you replied, even though everything was a joke.

Toji's eyebrow twitched, glancing at his son who was sat on his torso. "He's the one that can't shush, in fact, he snuck in here."

"He got lonely. What did you say, fear of missing out?" you recalled.

"That's only for sleeping," Toji mumbled, letting out a deep yawn at the mention of sleep.

You gently pick Megumi off of Toji, not that he wasn't welcome there, but you were afraid he'd go flying if he fell asleep on his father and Toji turned over in the night. Instead, you lay him down in between the two of you, so his head was comfortably propped on the pillow.

"There we go," you said gently, making sure enough of the duvet was over him, but not too much to drown him in. Megumi luckily complied and didn't get back up, seeming to understand it was bedtime. "Maybe he only wanted to sleep here."

"Of course," Toji murmured, glancing at the small toddler with a look of guilt.

"You don't have work tomorrow then?" you asked.

Toji shook his head against the pillow. "Nope."

"But you should still sleep tonight," you advised, before turning to Megumi who was watching intensely, even if he didn't fully understand. You spoke to the toddler this time, "He'll get cranky if he doesn't sleep well, and Daddy doesn't play when he's cranky."

"Hey, I always play," Toji protested, calmly.

"What about the other day when you left for work?"

Toji scoffed, lightly pinching the toddler's cheek for a second. "That was because someone wrapped himself around the bottom of my leg when I was about to open the door."

"He was going on strike," you replied.

"From what?"

"From you leaving."

"You used to do the same thing," Toji groaned.

"I did not cling to the bottom of your leg," you retorted, not recalling a single moment of his blatant lie.

"No, but you jumped up on me and wrapped yourself around me before work. You a koala or somethin'?" he spoke.

"Wait a few years and you'll have a baby koala," you said, gesturing your head to Megumi.

"'S alright. Makes me come home faster knowing you both are waiting," Toji replied.

"And you called me a sap."

Toji gently rolled his eyes, but didn't protest. "He'll get it from both of us. Or maybe he won't be emotional at all."

"That's why I want him to stay like this forever," you sighed. Megumi babbles again, though his voice sounds tired "I'm sorry, baby. We weren't talking bad about you, I promise."

"Actually, your mother was just saying she hates how sneaky you are," Toji lied.

"Shush, Toji. What happened to being tired?"

"He stole it from me," said Toji.

When you both turned to the boy between you, his eyes were slowly closing. His breathing was slow, but his small chest moved up and down. You made sure he was comfortable and warm.

Toji leaned forward, placing a kiss on Megumi's forehead, before expectantly looking at you.

"What is it?" you asked, raising your eyebrows slightly.

"Well? Are you gonna come here too?" he asked.

You caught on to what he meant and you leaned close, expecting a forehead kiss. Instead, your husband pressed his own lips against yours, leaving you shocked and you didn't know why; you always kissed.

He reached back and turned the lamp off, enclosing the room into darkness, albeit the ajar door that Megumi slipped through.

"Goodnight. I love you."

You knew those words were for both of you.

[the0ishere]

Perfect Night

ღ summary: Bruce is late for patrol. Damian doesn't have the patience of a saint.

ღ pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

ღ warnings: Damian. (<3)

"Father. Wake up."

If anyone were to see a child dressed in a Robin costume squatting on their headboard in the dead of night, staring at their sleeping figure with unnatural silence, they'd probably freak. But not you or Bruce, who's lovingly laid in each other's arms with years worth of experiences under your belt.

Bruce had fallen fast asleep after coming home from Wayne Enterprises, careless with his attire which was still simply strewn messily on a hanger by the closet. He was only dressed in his boxers, one heavy arm slung over your waist while the other pillowed his head, your own tucked right under his chin. The absence of the usual hardness present on his face made him look peaceful, relaxed. His mouth was opened slightly, soft breathes puffing out a steady rhythm. If you were awake right now you’d have your phone out to take a picture.

Usually the vigilante is quite punctual with his schedule, but it had been a tough week for him. One which included not one but two galas, a criminal breakout from Arkham and one nasty visit from the Joker.

You recall him muttering something about "resting his eyes for a bit" before patrol, but it feels like age is catching up to him because he's well passed out beside you without a care in the world.

Damian must've been too impatient to let the man bring himself down the cave, so he resolved it by approaching his father himself.

But of course, Damian couldn't just wake him up normally. The young boy was bent down right onto Bruce's face, gloved fingers physically prying apart the older man's eyelids to show a peek of blue underneath. And Bruce with his killer instincts,—even when half-conscious—snapped right up at the intrusion, only relaxing slightly when he was greeted by Damian's masked face. Naturally, he sported an irritated face, as if his father had inconvenienced him by being asleep.

Another perfectly normal night at the Wayne household.

"Come on, let's go, patrol time. The streets are waiting." Damian insisted, still with his fingers all up in Bruce's eye. The older man blinked out into the darkness of his bedroom, making shape of blurry dark eyes, nostrils sticking out and a pair of eyebrows that looked like his own.

Damian was practically vibrating with energy, Titus panting heavily on the side of the bed as if mimicking his owner. He was always like this ever since he took the mantle of Robin. The first to be up for patrol, the first to stand in the Batcave with full gear on. Always so eager to be the one fighting crime. He had that same thirst for justice like all your other kids did.

Bruce let out a low grumble, sighing deeply as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He remembered the weight of you in his arms and peeled you off gently, keeping an eye on your face to make sure none of this ruckus awoke you from your well-deserved slumber. He would much rather stay with you in the very expensive sheets he exclusively bought for the master bedroom, but he equally wouldn't let Damian run around Gotham alone. Despite whatever reason he came up with each week to go out as vigilante alone, Damian is his son before he is Robin. No amount of training and Assassin 101s could take away the fact that Gotham doesn't discriminate when it comes to showing no mercy.

So with a resigned sigh, he ran a hand through his tussled dark hair, the motion doing absolutely nothing to tame the mess. Without even looking, he reached his left arm out to point at the door, muttering a tired but firm, "Cave."

Damian leaped from the wooden headboard, yellow cape bellowing behind him and landing with a sound thud. Though he was light on his feet, Bruce still whipped his head around to warn him sternly, mindful of his sleeping wife beside him.

"Quietly, Damian. Don't wake your mother up."

He was just about to check on you when he noticed the dog not hot on its heels behind Damian, followed by the quiet croak of your voice.

"Dami?" You stirred, hearing muffled voices of what you could guess as your husband and son.

Well, neither Bruce nor Damian woke you up, because Titus was already in front of you, panting and licking your cheek.

Even if usually well-behaved, the Great Dane had a certain affection for you. You and Alfred, aside from his owner, were the two people constantly around him around since he was a small puppy. Especially when the boys were out doing their nocturnal activities, the two of you would feed him treats and play with him.

Before you could turn around to confirm who the voices belonged to, you felt the heat of pants right in front of your face. One that suspiciously smelled like beef and dog treats. Titus seemed to respond even more eagerly seeing that you were awake, pushing his head onto yours as he sniffed the hand that laid in front of you. "Oh hello Titus.."

Damian, like the good son he is, stopped right in his tracks and immediately responded to your call. He zoomed past to your side of the bed, bending down to your level when you reached a hand out.

"Ummi." He greeted, melting under your palm on his head. You smiled sleepily at your boy. Despite the darkness tempting to swallow you back up into sweet dreams, you could still make out the bright green of his eye mask and the silhouette of his spiky hair. And especially the special lift at the corner of his lips that only showed when you showered him with affection—like he was proud to be noticed by you. You love him so much. He's just like a little cat.

A stubborn, homicidal little cat.

As much of a heartwarming scene this was, Bruce could tell that you were nearly fully awake. It wasn't helping that Titus was getting louder with his excitement, pawing the floor while his collar rustled loudly. Even if his life felt a hundred times better when you waited up for him to come home, he didn't like when you skipped out on resting time.

He needed Damian and Titus out of the room stat, but it didn't seem like the former noticed, too busy being fawned on by his mother.

Bruce stared down at his son with just enough intensity that Damian could feel a definite weight on the side of his face. When he turned, they engaged in a staring contest when Damian started fighting back with defiance. Prideful little thing. Once he finally piped down with a quiet "tt" (which Bruce couldn't bother to scold him for), the man jerked his head to signal for Robin to leave for the cave.

Damian for once, happily obliged Bruce's command.

He didn't forget to give your hand a squeeze before he left, getting up with a newfound vigor as Titus bounded behind him.

Immediately the older man leaned forward to settle his weight next to you, one bare arm finding the strewn duvet to cover your body before softly landing beside your shoulder.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We're leaving for patrol." He whispered gently, closing in on your face to nose at your cheek.

You were already back on your side at this point, sleep starting to set back in once the room quieted down. When you felt his breath on your cheek, you lazily reached a hand to land on the side of his stubbled face and gave it a soft pat. "Oh.. okay. Be careful. Love you both."

Bruce felt your arm slacken and smiled at the way your voice trailed off into small breathes. Cute. He lifted his left hand to take your palm off his face, pressing a small kiss to the center before doing the same to your temple. He took the chance to pause and breathe in the moment, staring at you with deep, unabashed love. With reverence. As if the mere sight of you slumbering could solve all the problems of this world and fight the darkness that plagued it.

He placed one more soft kiss to your cheek, promising his and Damian's safe return before he got up from the bed, knees cracking in a weak protest.

"We love you too."

And off he goes, Gotham University shirt only halfway on, trudging behind his eager son to go fight crime while his wife slept soundly at home. Maybe not a normal one, but it was a perfect night at the Wayne household.

CHAT WE LIVE FROM GOTHAM CITY. Thought this comic scene was really cute!

dividers @hyuneskkami @strangergraphics ; masterlist

@ pls don't repost or feed my works into ai thaaank you