#clark: maybe I don’t want kids… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 2 months ago

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ok yall! i couldn't stop thinking of neglected Reader falling for Clark Kent, so instead of writing a new chapter of "I bet on losing dogs" I wrote an AU!!! Batfam's neglect stays till reader is 18, Tiffany isn't exposed till later. I got kinda carried away tbh! Remember, THIS IS AN AU!!!! Ya'll aren't ready for this plot actually. Or who really steals readers heart. Thank you to the wonderful anon who sent me down the rabit hole of this man. Reader is 18 when the romance actually starts.

Part 1:

Part 2: Here

Part 3:

When you were younger, you had always idolized Superman. Clark Kent, the unassuming, nerdy reporter with glasses, was a far cry from the intimidating presence he became when he donned the cape. You first saw him when you were 9, during a charity event your father had taken you to. At first, you thought he was just another well-dressed man who smiled too much. But then, when he lifted a car to save someone from an accident, you felt something shift in your chest.

That’s it, you thought. That’s what I want. I want him.

From that day on, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he saved people with a smile, how gentle his voice was. You’d daydream about being near him, holding his hand, his deep blue eyes looking down at you with affection. But Clark never saw you that way. To him, you were always just Bruce Wayne’s little girl—the kid he barely knew.

Maybe it was a result of being neglected by every man in your life that made you so feral for Clark Kent. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only person you knew who didn't prefer Tiffany to you. Whatever it was, it didn't matter, he'd never feel the same.

So, you pushed your feelings aside.

Or at least you tried to.

You’d flirted with boys before. You’d flirted with grown men. With your powers, you needed an outlet, a way to let go of your frustrations, to feel good. You lost your virginity only days after gaining your powers. It felt amazing, during those moments you were in control of your body, the pain went away, the neglect went away and you were loved.

But nothing had ever been like the times you found yourself in Clark’s presence. At 16, you’d started testing the waters, teasing him with subtle remarks. You’d gotten a little bolder in your attempts over the years, but he always brushed them off as playful jokes.

"Don’t you think you’re a little young for me, kiddo?" he’d chuckle every time you got close.

You hated that. He saw you as a kid. That was it.

But you didn’t stop. Because you were determined.

And by the time you turned 18, the world around you had shifted. You had grown into someone new, more mature, more confident. Your body had changed. Your personality had changed. But Clark... he still looked at you like you were that little girl from all those years ago.

It hurt. But you told yourself, Just be patient. It’ll come around. I just need more time.

You soon realized time was too long. Clark would never see you as anything more than a kid, he literally had children your age. He was old enough to be your father. His youngest son had a crush on you and Clark is a good man. He would never consider you romantically.

You couldn't keep chasing after another unrequited love. Not after years of chasing your family's. Not after years of being pushed aside for an imposter who always outsmarted your attempts to expose her.

You wanted to move on. To leave everyone behind.

And that's what you did. There was no dramatic breaking point, no emotional stand-off. You were looking out your window one day and you realized you've done nothing. You've never been happy, never once truly happy, you lived for everyone but yourself. Not anymore. One random sunny Tuesday, the summer after you graduated highschool, you packed up and left everything behind, no goodbyes. Not even a note for Alfred. None of them deserved it.

You were tired, tired of chasing people.

You wanted to be chased and that's what you got. Every week it was someone new, your professor, your friends, your boss, anyone who was attracted to you, you slept with. It was so freeing. It was euphoric, making them fall in love, leading them into your bed, then kicking them out as soon as the next one came along.

The only thing that you truly loved now was music, it was all that got you through years and years of mistreatment. No matter what happened in the manor, you could turn your headphones on and forget. You could grab your guitar and strum your worries away.

College sucked. Long ago, you would've pushed yourself to go, even though you hated it, just to make your family proud. To chase approval you would never get. Not anymore, you knew you needed a degree to make a living, but a gap year never hurt anyone.

You began working as a singer in different bars. It let you write songs and make money. There was nothing more addicting than feeling eyes on you, enchanted by you. Your voice was magnetic, drawing people in, and like any good predator, you feasted on their hearts and left as soon as they stopped inspiring you. Yet, no matter how good-looking or good in bed they were, they would never be Clark.

One night, after a few months of your reckless, self-destructive pattern, you found yourself in a dimly lit bar on the outskirts of Gotham, a place where nobody would recognize you. You weren't gonna sing, not tonight.

You weren’t here to find love, you weren’t here to talk or connect. You were here to forget.

The clink of glasses and low murmur of conversation surrounded you, but it was the figure in the corner that caught your attention.

A man with a commanding presence sat alone at the bar, his back straight, eyes locked on the dim-lit television above the counter. His hair was peppered with gray, but there was something ageless about the way he carried himself; tough, confident, dangerous. The eyepatch over his right eye only enhanced the mystery, adding a cruel allure to his already intimidating presence.

You couldn’t quite place why you were drawn to him, but the moment you saw him, a spark ignited. Slade Wilson. He worked with Bruce somehow one time, everyone hated him, even Clark. You remembered him because he was the only man, other than Clark, not to fall for Tiffany's charm and that was a win in your book.

You’d heard of him in passing, mostly in rumors—whispers of a deadly mercenary, a ghost in the shadows of Gotham, a man you wouldn’t want to cross. But here he was, sitting like a predator in a place filled with prey.

You weren’t afraid. You never were. You’d been raised in the shadows of Gotham, after all, with men who didn’t even know how to love you. You’d seen dangerous men before. You knew how to handle yourself.

You sauntered over, taking a seat next to him, your movements casual but purposeful. He glanced at you briefly, his lips twitching into the slightest of smirks before his eyes returned to the screen.

"Mind if I join you?" you asked, leaning into the counter, placing your drink beside his.

His gaze flicked toward you again, this time a little longer. There was something predatory in the way he sized you up, assessing your every move. "Not at all."

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. "I’ve been told I’m a good time."

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, but it was cold, calculated. "That so?"

You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped briefly to your lips, but he didn’t let his attention linger for long. He took a long sip of his drink and leaned back, unbothered, as though you were nothing more than another fleeting distraction.

You were used to this, the indifferent types. But you weren’t going to let him slip away that easily.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who spends his nights in places like this,” you said, turning towards him with a sly grin. “I imagine you’ve got better places to be.”

Slade didn’t look at you when he responded, his voice low and smooth, like gravel being ground underfoot. “I’m where I want to be.”

You laughed, the sound rich and teasing. "So, what does someone like you do for fun, then?"

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, and then he finally turned to meet your eyes, the weight of his gaze making your stomach flutter for reasons you couldn’t explain. "Fun... isn’t what I’m here for."

You let out a slow breath, leaning in a little closer, just enough for the scent of his cologne to hit you, something spicy, with a touch of danger.

"Then what are you here for?" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You could see the muscles in his jaw tense slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he met your gaze head-on, his lips curling up ever so slightly at the corners.

"Business."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Business, huh? I love business."

“I'm sure you do” he said cryptically, but his voice was thick with unspoken meaning.

The tension between you was palpable, electric. You couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. It wasn’t just his looks, though they were undeniably attractive in their own gritty, dangerous way. No, it was the way he carried himself, like he was someone who could destroy everything in his path if he wanted.

You weren’t intimidated, though. If anything, it intrigued you more.

You leaned closer, the warmth of your body pressing against his, your breath hot against his ear. “So, what do you do when business is done?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just stared at you, his eyes hard and calculating. And then, before you could react, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You don’t want to know."

You shivered at his words, at the heat of his breath, but you were beyond caring. You were tired of being the one who was always desired but never loved, the one who always chased but was never caught. Tonight, you wanted to be wanted, and you wanted him to want you more than anything.

"Maybe I wanna find out" you breathed, your hand sliding down his arm.

His hand shot out like lightning, grabbing your wrist before you could make contact. His grip was firm, but not painful—just a reminder of his control, of how easily he could break you if he wanted.

“Not tonight,” he murmured, voice rough. "Not the way you think."

You stared at him, uncertainty flickering in your gaze for the briefest of moments. You had gotten used to men not wanting you the way you wanted them, it was all you knew growing up. But now things were different with your abilities. This wasn’t the first time someone had pulled away, but with him, it felt different, like he was holding back, just as much as you were.

You smirked. "What makes you think you can stop me?"

His lips curled again, this time with something darker in his eyes. "Because I’m the one who calls the shots."

A challenge. A warning. And for some reason, that only made you want him more.

Before you could react, he stood up, his hand lingering on your wrist for just a beat longer. "If you’re serious about this, I’ll be at the back exit in thirty minutes."

Then, without waiting for a response, he was gone, disappearing into the shadows of the bar.

You sat there for a moment, staring after him, the heat of the moment hanging in the air between you.

You weren’t sure whether to follow or not, but you knew one thing for certain: tonight was going to be a night you wouldn’t forget.

And so, you found yourself standing outside in the cool night air, your heart racing. You hadn't planned for this, but somehow it felt inevitable.

When you saw him again, waiting by the dark alley, it was clear this was a man who didn’t let anything slip through his fingers. And tonight, you weren’t going to let him slip away either. You approached him, your steps measured and confident.

He didn't speak immediately, just gave you a slow, knowing smile as you came closer.

This wasn’t the start of a love story. This wasn’t about feelings or connections. This was something darker, something more primal.

This was a game. And you weren’t sure if you were the predator... or the prey.

But you were ready to find out.

The cool Gotham air settled in your lungs as you closed the distance between yourself and Slade, your heels clicking softly on the pavement.

He stood by the alley entrance, leaning casually against the brick wall, his figure lit only by the faint streetlight behind him. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, making his presence feel like an almost dangerous secret—something you weren’t sure you were ready to unravel, but damn, you were more than willing to try.

Slade didn’t say a word as you approached, his one visible eye catching yours with that piercing, unreadable stare of his. You knew that look. It was the same kind of look your father gave you when he had to make tough decisions, when he saw things for what they truly were. Cold, calculating. But this? This felt different. This felt like a challenge. And you were more than ready for it.

“Still think you can handle me?” His voice was low, but it had that same teasing bite, as if he were daring you to prove him wrong.

You were close now—too close for comfort, but you didn’t care. You stepped into his space, the heat of his body now radiating against yours, his scent filling your senses. “I don’t need to handle you,” you murmured, your lips barely brushing his ear as you leaned in. “I think you need to handle me.”

There was a flicker in his gaze, something almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make your pulse quicken. He didn’t move away, didn’t flinch like others would have. If anything, the air around you both seemed to crackle with intensity.

“Is that what you think this is about?” Slade asked, his voice rougher now, as though the control he so carefully maintained was slipping just a little. “You’re not the first woman who’s come to me thinking they can make me want them.”

You were sure he was referring to Tiffany, there was no way a man like him ever forgot a name or face. Knowing he knew who you were and knowing he didn't care made you want him more.

You smiled, feeling that familiar rush of excitement surge through your veins. It wasn’t about making him want you. It was about making him need you.

“Maybe,” you said, leaning even closer, your lips almost touching his. “But I’m the first one who might actually make you lose control.”

For a heartbeat, you could have sworn the world around you stopped. Slade’s eye darkened, the intensity in his stare shifting from challenge to something sharper. More dangerous. But there was something else in his eyes now. Something that made your heart race faster than you cared to admit.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a force that had your breath hitching in your throat. The familiar spark of danger lit up your skin, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your body melt into his, feeling the pulse of raw, untamed power that radiated off him.

“You think you can push me?” he growled, his voice like gravel, each word like a warning and a promise all at once.

You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you let your fingers trail across his chest, feeling the ridged muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Your touch was deliberate, slow, each movement a calculated game of power.

“Maybe I want to push you,” you said softly, your breath a whisper against his neck, “until I break you.”

The grip on your wrist tightened for a split second, his muscles flexing with controlled restraint. For a moment, you wondered if this was where it would end, that he’d push you away, tell you it was all just a game. But when he finally spoke again, his voice was thick with tension.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Slade murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking for.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your body pressing even closer to his as your lips hovered dangerously close to his own. “Maybe I don’t,” you whispered. “But I’m willing to find out.”

Slade didn’t move for a long moment, just holding you there in that thin space between danger and desire. And then, finally, he closed the gap, his lips crashing into yours with the force of someone who had been holding back far too long.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was a brutal, desperate collision of mouths, a clash of power and need. You could feel the tension in every muscle of his body as he claimed your mouth, his hands gripping your arms, his touch insistent and almost hungry. But you didn’t break, didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him back just as fiercely, hands roaming up his chest to grasp the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer.

For a second, you wondered if this would be the point where you lost yourself to the heat of the moment, but the longer you kissed him, the clearer it became that this wasn’t just about passion. It was about control. About testing boundaries.

And you were willing to play that game, because you were ready to win.

As the kiss deepened, Slade pulled away suddenly, his breath ragged, eyes darker now with desire and frustration. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to someone who didn’t give in.

“Not so easy, is it?” you whispered, your voice rough from the kiss, your body still pressed against his.

He glared at you for a moment, lips curling into a knowing smirk, the kind of smirk that made you feel like you were dancing on the edge of a knife.

“You’re not the first one to test me, Slade said, voice low and dangerous, his hands sliding down your arms with intent. “But you might be the first one who wants to."

Slade didn’t pull back, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm, but his gaze never left yours. His hand, still gripping your wrist, was no longer a force of restraint; it was an anchor, a silent promise of just how far this could go.

The weight of his stare sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was from anticipation or something deeper, something darker that he carried with him, but you felt it in every inch of your body. You weren’t here for games anymore, you were here because you wanted this. You wanted him.

But there was more to it. Something about the way he held you in his gaze told you that, for once, you weren’t in control. Slade Wilson was a man who played by his own rules. And now, you were learning the cost of trying to break them.

He released your wrist with slow precision, letting his fingers linger over your skin for just a second longer than necessary. You could feel the heat of his touch as he took a step back, eyes darkening with a new kind of challenge.

“You really think you’re the one calling the shots here?” His voice was low, rough, as though it had been soaked in whiskey and smoke.

You weren’t about to back down now. You smirked, leaning into him again, almost too close for comfort. “I think I’m just... along for the ride.”

Slade’s lips twisted into something dangerous, a mix of amusement and something else, something far more raw. He took a step toward you, crowding your space, his presence suffocating in the most exhilarating way.

“Not sure you know what that ride entails,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, sending another shiver down your spine.

“I’m starting to,” you replied, reaching for him, but this time, you didn’t touch him the way you had before. You trailed your fingers slowly, almost teasingly, down his chest, feeling the firmness of muscle beneath the fabric.

Slade didn’t stop you. His body stiffened, though. Just enough for you to feel that tight pull of control he was holding onto. It only made you want him more. You pressed a little closer, your body brushing against his in a subtle reminder that you were still in the game, too.

“I like doing things i'm not supposed to” you said, your lips grazing his ear as you spoke. “And I think you do, too.”

He stiffened at your words, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, you thought you saw something flash behind his gaze—something far more primal than the cold, calculating predator you’d come to know.

Slade’s hand shot out, gripping your chin with surprising gentleness, forcing you to look up at him. The control was unmistakable in his hold, yet his eyes… his eyes were like a storm just about to break. “Don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

“I never said I did.” Your voice was steady, confident, even though the truth was you didn’t fully know what this was. But you knew what you wanted, and right now, it was him.

He searched your face, his gaze intense, like he was deciding something. just as you thought he might break, he leaned in, closing the gap between you both.

His lips brushed against yours, barely a touch, but enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. For a moment, it was almost like a game of cat and mouse. He was holding back, just enough to make you ache for more.

His lips moved to your ear, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “You should walk away now. Because once this starts, there’s no going back.”

You leaned into him, your breath shaky, but your resolve unwavering. “I never look back. Not anymore.”

Slade didn’t hesitate. His lips crushed against yours with an urgency that felt like a storm breaking free. There was no softness. It was rough, driven by something savage, and it made you lose your breath as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

You felt his hands on you, strong and sure, pulling you into him, his grip possessive in a way that made your pulse race even faster. You let him guide you, let him take the lead—because, for the first time in so long, you didn’t need to be the one in control. You didn’t want to be.

That night, Slade Wilson made you forget about every other man in your life, even Clark Kent.

For the next three weeks, you and Slade continued game of cat and mouse. Every other day, you would go to a bar to play and he would somehow appear in the crowd, like a sailor lured by a siren.

Yet everytime, in the morning when you woke, still hot after the previous nights activities, Slade Wilson was nowhere to be found.

You knew he was too old for you, too rough and unstable, but he could be kind at times, when he wanted.

And he was fun.

And you're sure your family would have a joint aneurysum if they found out.

It was fun until one night, he didn't find you.

Two months later, nothing changed. No word from your 'family' asking where you were, only Alfred's weekly check up, and Damian's insufferable posting of him, Tiffany, and the rest the family having fun without you on Instagram. He didn't even bother to block you.

No word from Slade either, yet you still hoped he would show one night. Seems like you had a thing for men ignoring you.

But tonight, something felt electric in the air.

Slade’s shadow stretched across the dimly lit bar, his presence pulling every ounce of warmth from the room. You hadn’t seen him in two months, not since he’d walked away without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces of everything. You’d told yourself you didn’t care, that his absence meant nothing. But seeing him again, standing there with that predatory stare of his, you couldn’t help but feel the heat rise in your chest.

You were busy, sure, singing and flirting, giving the crowd exactly what they wanted. But you couldn’t ignore the sudden heaviness in the air. The way the music seemed to fade as his eyes locked onto yours from across the room. The same gaze that had always made you feel like you were his—like he could take whatever he wanted and leave you with nothing.

You kept the smile on your face, tossing your hair over your shoulder, a flirtatious laugh escaping your lips as you tossed a wink at one of the men leaning against the bar. You could feel Slade watching you, not just with his eyes but with every inch of his body. He hadn’t come to listen to the music. He didn’t give a damn about the crowd or the drinks. He was here for you.

And he was pissed.

He approached you with slow, deliberate steps, his frame imposing, his eyes cold with that familiar edge. When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, almost drowned out by the noise of the bar, but it cut through everything like a blade.

“Well, well, well… look at you, darlin’. Didn’t take you long to move on, huh?”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your head high. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission, babe.”

He ignored the jab, his lips twitching in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Haven’t seen you in two months, and this is what I come back to? You’re out here playing with the other boys now?”

You didn’t flinch. “You didn’t exactly leave me with much of a choice. You were the one who disappeared, remember?”

Slade's gaze hardened, and before you knew it, he was right in front of you, close enough that his breath stirred the strands of your hair. He leaned down, his voice dropping low, rough. “You really think you can just forget about me? Move on with them? Cute little act you've got going, sweetheart, but I can see right through it.”

You pushed back, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just having fun. I’m living my life, Slade. You should try it sometime.”

His smirk curled, but there was no warmth in it. “I don’t need advice from you. And I don’t give a damn about your ‘fun.’” His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a brutal grip, pulling you closer. “Where’s your old man? Where’s your daddy been? What about your brothers? Do they even know what the hell you’ve been up to?”

The sharpness of his words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. Slade always knew how to hit you where it hurt, and he wasn’t giving you any room to breathe. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped, but the defiance didn’t reach your voice the way you wanted it to.

“Funny, that’s what I thought you’d say.” He released your wrist, but not before giving it a firm squeeze. “I already know what’s been going on with your family. They’ve been too busy holding onto their precious Tiffany, haven’t they?”

You flinched at the mention of her name. Everyone knew Tiffany was the golden child, the one your family had actually cared about. The one they’d all protected, even when she turned out to be the one using them. You’d known for a while that she was a spy, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Slade’s eyes glinted with that sharp, calculating look. “You knew what she was doing, didn’t you? All this time, she was playing them like puppets, and now they’re gonna come crawling back, pretending they care. They’ll be looking for you soon enough, you know. Guilt’s a hell of a thing.”

The words sank into you, twisting painfully. You hated how right he was. Your family had always been so focused on Tiffany that they hadn’t noticed how you were slipping through the cracks. And now, with her gone, they were going to realize their mistake. They were going to come for you, but it wouldn’t be because they cared. It would be because they felt guilty.

Slade took a step closer, his hand lightly grazing your cheek, the touch cold and commanding. “They’ll come running for you when they realize what they’ve lost, sweetheart. But don’t fool yourself. It won’t be about you. It’ll be about guilt. About making things right because they fucked up. But you know better than anyone, those kinds of people always forget when the next shiny thing comes along.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “What do you want from me?”

His smirk widened, his fingers trailing down your jaw with a casualness that made your skin crawl in a way you couldn’t quite explain. “What do I want from you, sweetheart? Maybe just the same thing I’ve always wanted. But let’s be clear: I’m not here to save you from them. Hell, I don’t even know if you want saving.”

You glared at him, feeling the bitter edge of your own anger. “Then why the hell are you here?”

Slade's eyes softened for a brief second—just long enough to make you wonder if this was something more than just a game to him. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the moment was gone, replaced by that familiar coldness. “I’m here because you’re a hell of a lot smarter than they’ll ever give you credit for. And you’re not stupid enough to think you need them. You know they never cared, not really.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. He was right. You did know it, deep down. You’d always known. It stung, more than you cared to admit, but you were done being angry about it.

He leaned in, his lips brushing just below your ear. “When they come, and they will come, you can show them what it feels like to be abandoned. You can make them feel just how you felt. But don’t think for a second you can do it without me.”

You didn’t respond right away, your heart pounding in your chest. He wasn’t offering you a way out, he was offering you a choice. A choice between playing the victim to your family’s guilt, or standing beside him as he carved his own path. Neither option was a clean one, but something about him made it feel like the one you’d always been meant to choose.

Slade stepped back, his eyes scanning you as if he was trying to figure you out. “You’re not like them, sweetheart. And you’re not gonna let them walk all over you. Not this time.”

You finally met his gaze, the anger and frustration swirling in your chest. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Slade grinned, that predatory, dangerous grin that made you feel like you were in over your head. “Oh, I know more than you think.”

Slade’s presence was suffocating, his shadow looming over you like something darker than the night itself. He’d always had that effect on you, but tonight, with the way he leaned in so close, his words cutting through the air like daggers, you couldn't help but feel a chill creep down your spine.

His eyes never left yours, not for a second, his smirk tightening as if he knew exactly how to push every button. "You know, sweetheart, you always think you’ve got everything figured out, don’t you?” His voice was soft, dangerous, like a whisper in a dark alley. “But you’ve been running from something for a long time. Something you can’t hide from anymore."

You felt your heart beat a little faster, but you refused to show it. You’d dealt with him long enough to know that showing weakness only made him more dangerous. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Slade’s gaze slid over you, dismissive yet calculating. “I think you know exactly what I mean. But let’s not play coy here. You used to be close with Jason. Back when he was alive, at least. You were a team, weren’t you?”

The mention of Jason made your stomach twist, but you clenched your jaw and forced your face into something resembling indifference. You refused to let Slade see you hurt. “What about it?”

“Nothing, just... funny, isn’t it?” Slade’s lips curved into a grin that made your skin crawl. “You two were close. But then, Jason died, and who was left? The family? They couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to you. They didn’t notice when Tiffany came around, and they sure as hell haven’t noticed since.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the truth hitting a little too hard. But you kept your composure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it stung. “What do you want, Slade?”

His eyes softened just enough to make you think for a second that he might’ve been telling the truth—only for that same grin to return, sharper than before. “What I want? You're not getting it, sweetheart. It’s not about me. It’s about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out just how much of this conversation was manipulation. And how much was something more... personal? The tension between you two was so thick, it felt like it might snap at any moment.

Slade took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “You’ve been wasting your time, haven’t you? Hiding behind that bar, singing, flirting with men who’ll never understand you. You could do so much more than this, you know. You’ve got potential.”

He said the word like it was something sacred. A promise or a curse, you couldn’t quite decide.

You shook your head, taking a small step back. "I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what I can and can’t do."

Slade’s eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. “Oh, I think you do. I think you want to know. Deep down, you’re craving someone to show you how to unlock it. Your powers. Your real potential. You want something bigger, something more than this.”

Your pulse quickened, and a sickening unease washed over you. How the hell did he know about your powers? How much did he really know? The idea that he’d been watching you from afar, or worse, had been tracking your every move, made your skin crawl.

You tried to push that thought away. “I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you’re wrong. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Slade studied you for a long moment, his gaze never faltering. He was evaluating you, and you could feel the weight of it pressing on your chest. When he spoke again, his tone was almost... too calm, too casual.

“Let’s be real here, darlin'. You do need help. You’ve got power, and I’m not talking about the small-time tricks you’ve been playing with. You could be so much more. But you're stuck. Trapped in this little life you’ve built for yourself because you’re too afraid to face what's really inside you.”

“Why are you even here?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the edge was starting to creep in. You wanted answers, and you wanted them now. “You disappeared for two months, and now you’re showing up like you know everything about me. What’s your game?”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his figure blocking the dim light above you. “My game? I’m not here to play games. I’m here because I’m offering you an opportunity. An opportunity to stop hiding from yourself. To work with me. To really figure out what you’re capable of. I’ve seen the way you move. The way you think. And I know you’re capable of so much more than this little bar. But you’ll need training. You’ll need guidance. My guidance.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you couldn’t stop the involuntary shiver that ran through you. He was offering you something, something you didn’t quite understand, but the implication was clear: he wanted you to join him. To work together.

But there was something... off. The way he was talking. The way he seemed to know everything about you, the things you hadn’t told anyone, not even yourself.

“How do you know all this?” You demanded, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound confident. “How do you know about Jason? About Tiffany? About whats happening to me?”

Slade’s grin widened, a strange glint in his eyes as he leaned in, almost as if savoring the tension. “There's nothing I don't know. I know more than you think. But here’s the thing: you don’t need to understand everything right away. You just need to trust me. Trust that I know what you need. And trust that I can give you what you’ve been searching for. What they could never give you.”

His words were like a knife, each one digging deeper. “I’m not asking for your loyalty. Not yet. But think about it, yeah? I’m offering you something bigger than this... this place, these people. I can offer you something real. Power. Freedom.”

Your eyes were still locked with his, but your mind was racing. You couldn't stop the unease creeping through you. There was a part of you that wanted to know what he meant. Wanted to know how far your powers could go. Wanted to trust him, even though everything in your gut told you not to.

“And what about Clark?” You blurted out, unable to stop yourself. “I’m supposed to just... forget about him too? You don’t think I notice? You think I’m some naive little girl who doesn’t know what’s going on? You think I can't see you using me? Trying to groom me?”

Slade’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, before his lips curled into a snide smile. “Clark.” He scoffed. “The big, shiny boy scout with all the answers. I wouldn’t worry too much about him. You and I both know how far that age gap really stretches. He’s too good for you, always will be.”

He took a step closer, his eyes glinting with something dark. “But me? I don’t need to pretend. I know exactly what you need. And I won’t keep running from it like your little superhero friend. I’m offering you something real, and you’re smart enough to see that.”

His words, sharp and possessive, lingered in the air. You swallowed, your throat dry.

“I’ll think about it.” The words came out more breathless than you intended, but Slade didn’t seem to mind.

“Good girl.” His tone was sharp, like an order, but there was something more in it, something possessive, like a claim. He reached out, his fingers brushing your arm as if he had every right to touch you. And the worst part was, you didn’t pull away.

“Don’t take too long,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear. “I’m not the patient type. And when I come back, you’ll have an answer. I’ll be waiting, sweetheart.”

You hated how that sent a chill down your spine.

OKKKKKK WHAT DO YALL THINK??? IS IT GOOD??? BE HONEST!! I BARELY KNEW WHO SLADE WAS BEFORE THIS SO IT MIGHT BE OOC! REMEBER THIS IS AN AU! SORRY IF THERE'S TYPOS I WROTE THIS ON MY PHONE IN BED. I FEEL LIKE IT SUCKS SO I MIGHT TAKE IT DOWN AND NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!!!!

#yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere jason todd #yandere damian wayne #yandere tim drake #yandere dick grayson #yandere x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere clark kent #yandere slade wilson #yandere batfamily #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batman x reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere

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stxrkiss · 1 month ago

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𓈒⠀݁⠀﹙ 𝓢﹚𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 ☆ ₊⠀ ៸៸៸

君を愛しすぎて、恐ろしいくらいだ。

# 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝒞𝓁𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒦ℯ𝓃𝓉 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 ☆ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ¹

# 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺 : 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘉𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳... 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

# 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘵, 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱, 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳/𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘋𝘕𝘐 ⚠

# 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬 : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦.

The first time he met her, he had smiled—all warm and friendly, kneeling slightly to meet her gaze.

"Hey there, kiddo," he had greeted, holding out a hand for a handshake. "I’m Clark. It’s nice to meet you."

She had looked at his hand. Then at him.

Then she slapped it away.

"Don’t touch me, you giant farm freak," she had huffed, crossing her arms with the most dramatic pout he had ever seen.

Bruce had sighed in the background, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Sweetheart," he muttered, rubbing his temple.

Clark, ever the optimist, had laughed it off. "That’s okay, I get it. You’re shy."

"I’m not shy, I just don’t like you."

Oh.

Well. That was… blunt.

Bruce had sighed again, clearly exhausted.

"She’s a little difficult," he admitted, shooting Clark a look and said, Don’t take it personally. She’s like this with everyone.

But Clark did take it personally.

Because why didn’t she like him?

Every time he visited, she made it her mission to make his life miserable.

She refused to be in the same room as him.

She glared at him when he tried to talk to her.

She scoffed whenever he spoke—literally scoffed, as if the very sound of his voice was offensive to her.

But the worst part?

She hit him.

Not in a playful way, either. No, she slapped him.

Like the time he tried to ruffle her hair and she smacked his hand away so hard he actually had to take a step back.

Or the time he tried to pick her up and fly her around Gotham for fun, thinking maybe she’d like to see the city from above—only for her to kick him in the chest with all the force her tiny body could muster.

It didn’t hurt, obviously.

But emotionally?

It hurt a lot.

"Bruce," Clark sighed one evening, after yet another failed attempt at bonding. "Why does she hate me?"

Bruce, sitting at the Batcomputer, barely looked up. "She hates everyone."

Clark frowned. "No, she doesn’t. She loves Alfred. She loves Dick. Hell, she even tolerates Jason."

Bruce exhaled through his nose. "She’s… selective."

"Selective?" Clark echoed. "Bruce, she tried to bite me yesterday."

A pause.

Bruce rubbed his temple. "She has… behavioral issues."

"No kidding," Clark muttered.

And yet, despite everything, despite all the slaps, the glares, the insults—

Clark still tried.

Because deep down, Clark just wanted to be the cool uncle she could count on.

Even if, right now, she wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face.

She was nineteen now.

Not a bratty little girl anymore—at least, not in the way she used to be. She had grown into her attitude, into her wicked little smirks and sharp, teasing words.

And Clark?

Clark had never stood a chance.

"Come on, Clark," she hummed, tugging on his tie as he stood behind her in the luxury boutique. "Be a good boy and carry my bags."

There was nothing sweet about the way she said it. No hint of genuine affection. Just amusement, like he was some plaything she enjoyed toying with.

Clark exhaled slowly through his nose, the fabric of his tie clutched between her fingers. She smelled expensive—velvet and jasmine, something rich and indulgent.

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

But he still took the bags from her hands without a word. Because she expected him to.

Because she always expected him to.

And God help him—he never had the strength to say no.

It had started gradually.

One day, she called him to help carry her shopping bags. The next, she was dragging him into dressing rooms to critique her outfits.

She’d smirk at him through the mirror, knowing damn well what she was doing when she turned too slow, when her fingers brushed his as she adjusted a strap.

And he?

He tried—God, he tried—to be good. To be the man he was supposed to be.

But she made it so difficult.

Because she was Bruce’s daughter.

Because she was forbidden.

Because she wasn’t a child anymore—and she wanted him to notice.

And he had noticed.

Every time she crossed her legs just a little too slowly.

Every time she leaned in, speaking so close to his ear.

Every time her lips curled in that smug little smirk, like she knew exactly what kind of thoughts were crawling through his mind.

Clark felt sick.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

He was supposed to be better.

But she… she made it impossible.

And she knew it.

"You’re staring, Clark."

Her voice was smooth, honeyed with amusement. She leaned against the railing of balcony, sipping from a champagne flute like she owned the world.

Clark tore his gaze away, clenching his jaw.

"I wasn’t."

She laughed—soft, teasing, utterly cruel.

"You’re a terrible liar."

And then she turned to him, slow and deliberate, like a cat playing with a mouse.

"I like it, you know."

His breath hitched.

She tilted her head, her smirk widening as she caught the way his hands flexed at his sides.

"Knowing that even you aren’t so perfect."

Clark should have left.

He should have flown away, should have ended this madness before it spiraled even further.

But instead, he stood there. Still. Silent. Waiting.

Because she was right.

He wasn’t perfect.

Not when it came to her.

Never when it came to her.

Clark tried.

God, he tried.

His hands were on his wife, his mouth on her skin, his body moving inside her—fast, hard, like he could pound her out of his head.

Like he could fuck her out of his head.

It didn’t work.

No matter how tight his grip, no matter how deep he buried himself in the warmth of the woman he swore to love, it wasn’t enough.

Because she was there.

Not in the room. Not in his bed.

But in his mind.

"I like it, you know."

Her voice curled around his brain like silk, soft and sweet.

Clark clenched his jaw, his rhythm faltering.

He couldn’t think about her. Not now.

Not with his wife’s nails dragging down his back.

Not with her soft, breathless moans filling the room.

Not with her beneath him, giving him everything, and yet—

Yet it still wasn’t enough.

His fingers dug into the sheets as he thrust harder, desperate, as if he could fuck his way back to sanity. As if he could drown out that voice, that goddamn voice whispering in his skull—

"Knowing that even you aren’t so perfect."

Clark growled, pressing his face against his wife’s shoulder, biting down as he spilled inside her.

He didn’t moan her name.

He barely moaned at all.

Because deep down, in the filthiest, most twisted part of himself—

He knew who he had been fucking in his mind.

Later, when his wife lay naked on his chest, fingers lazily caressing his skin, Clark stared at the ceiling.

What was wrong with him?

She was here. The woman he loved, the woman he married, the woman who had given him her body, her vows, her whole damn heart.

And yet, all he could hear was her voice.

All he could see was her smirk.

All he could feel was the way she had pulled his tie, the way she had toyed with him, knowing damn well she had him by the throat.

Clark squeezed his eyes shut, his breath tight in his chest.

It was wrong.

It was so fucking wrong.

And yet—

When he finally drifted off to sleep, it wasn’t his wife’s warmth he dreamed of.

It was hers.

The clinking of silverware against porcelain filled the quiet space of their dining room.

Clark should have been present—should have been engaged, smiling at his wife, asking his son about his day.

Instead, his thoughts were somewhere else.

Or rather, on someone else.

Her lips.

Soft. Smirking. Painted in that deep, wicked red she loved to wear.

For God’s sake, she could be his daughter.

Clark swallowed, forcing himself to focus on his plate, on the sound of his son talking about his day, on the warmth of Lois sitting across from him.

Then—

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang.

Lois stood, her brows already furrowed as she moved to open it. Clark exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. Maybe it was Bruce. Maybe it was anyone else.

But when he heard Lois’ voice—tight, cold—he already knew.

"What are you doing here?"

And then—that voice.

"My father wants Clark to take me shopping. He’s the only man he trusts, after all."

Clark’s stomach dropped.

Slowly, he turned in his chair.

And there she was.

A tight black dress that hugged every curve. The hem too short, the neckline too low, her makeup subtle, like a trap waiting to be sprung.

She smirked at him, as if she knew exactly what kind of thoughts were twisting in his mind.

Clark could see the way Lois’ jaw clenched. She didn’t argue, but she didn’t have to. Her silence was enough.

"Give me two minutes," Clark muttered, pushing away from the table.

She only smiled as he brushed past her, heading to grab his coat.

The silence in the car was thick.

Clark kept his hands on the wheel, his knuckles white. He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t.

But she?

She watched him.

Legs crossed, lips curled, one manicured finger tracing patterns on her bare thigh.

He cleared his throat. "So… where are we going?"

A slow, lazy hum. "Oh, nowhere in particular."

He frowned. "I thought Bruce wanted—"

She laughed. Soft. Sweet. Cruel.

"He didn’t say anything, Clark," she admitted, voice syrupy with amusement. "I just thought we should have dinner. A little apology, you know, for my behavior the other day."

Clark finally glanced at her, suspicion in his gaze.

She smiled.

"I was rude. And my father always taught me to respect my elders."

The way she said it made his stomach twist.

Her eyes flickered over him, slow, appraising.

"So let me make it up to you."

Clark swallowed, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

This was a bad idea.

A very bad idea.

And yet—

He didn’t turn the car around.

The restaurant was lavish—gold-trimmed chandeliers, soft candlelight flickering over polished mahogany tables, the air thick with the scent of fine wine and indulgence.

Clark felt out of place.

Not because he wasn’t used to luxury—Lois had dragged him to a fair share of high-end places before—but because of who he was here with.

She sat across from him, poised and elegant, her black dress clinging to her like it had been poured onto her body. Her hair was sleek, her lips painted that same sinful red, her nails tapping against her wine glass as she gazed at him with something dangerous in her eyes.

Like a cat watching a mouse.

Or worse—like a predator watching prey that didn’t know it was already caught.

"Order whatever you want," she murmured, voice light, playful. Too easy.

Clark’s throat was dry. He glanced at the menu, barely able to focus on the words. "This place is expensive," he muttered.

Her smile widened, lazy and amused. "And?"

He sighed, setting the menu down. "I can pay for my own meal."

A small, soft laugh. "I know you can," she mused, tilting her head, studying him like he was a particularly interesting specimen under glass. "But I invited you. That means I pay."

"That’s not necessary," he muttered.

She hummed. "Just let me take care of you, Clark."

He tensed.

Because the way she said it, the way she let his name slip from her lips like silk, was wrong. Too intimate. Too indulgent.

Still, he said nothing as the waiter approached. He ordered something simple, quick, something to get this dinner over with. She, of course, ordered the most expensive wine on the menu, smiling sweetly as the waiter practically tripped over himself in the presence of her beauty.

Clark stared down at the table, willing himself to act normal.

She was Bruce’s daughter. She was half his age. She was off-limits.

And yet—

She made it so damn hard.

Conversation came easy. Too easy.

She asked him about work, about Smallville, about Krypton—things she had no reason to be interested in, and yet she listened, really listened, her chin resting on her palm as she sipped her wine and smiled.

Clark hated how good it felt.

Hated how, for just a moment, he almost forgot that this was dangerous.

And then—

Her fingers brushed against his.

Clark’s breath hitched.

It was soft. Barely there. A fleeting touch as she reached for her glass, her fingertips ghosting over the back of his hand, warm and delicate.

He tried to ignore it.

Tried to pretend it didn’t happen.

But then she did it again.

And this time, she let it linger.

Clark swallowed hard, staring down at the table, at the way her slender fingers curled around his own, as if testing, as if seeing how far she could push before he pulled away.

He should have. He should have yanked his hand back.

But he didn’t.

Because his body—traitorous, weak, craving something he shouldn’t—refused to move.

"You’re so tense," she murmured, voice smooth as silk, as warm as the candlelight flickering between them.

Clark’s jaw clenched. "This is inappropriate."

She laughed—soft, amused, unbothered.

"Inappropriate?" she echoed, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand, slow, deliberate. "Clark, I’m just holding your hand."

He inhaled sharply. "You know what you’re doing."

Her lips curled. "Do I?"

"Yes," he ground out.

She tilted her head, her nails lightly dragging against his skin. "Then tell me to stop."

Clark finally looked at her.

She was waiting.

She knew. She knew damn well.

That he wanted to.

That he should.

That he couldn’t.

And that—

That was what made her smile widen.

The drive was silent.

Not peaceful. Heavy. Suffocating.

Clark kept his hands tight on the wheel, his knuckles white as the city lights blurred past. She sat beside him, her posture relaxed, her scent curling into his lungs—velvet and jasmine, warmth and sin.

He needed to take her home. Now.

His body felt wired, skin too tight, thoughts too loud. He needed to get away from her. Away from the way she made him feel. Away from the things she made him think.

And yet—

“Take me here,” she murmured, tapping a name into his GPS.

Clark’s gaze flickered to the screen. A hotel.

His jaw clenched. “No.”

A soft laugh. “Just drop me off, then.”

Clark should have refused. Should have said no, should have driven straight to Wayne Manor and let Alfred deal with her.

Instead, he turned.

He didn’t know why.

Or maybe he did, and that was the worst part.

The hotel was opulent, grand, the kind of place meant for people who could afford indulgence.

Clark felt wrong being here with her. Felt sick.

And yet, he still walked her inside, following her through marble hallways, past velvet-draped corridors, his mind screaming at him to leave, leave, leave.

But he didn’t.

She stopped in front of her door, swiping the keycard, the soft click of the lock echoing too loud.

Clark took a step back. “Go inside.”

She turned to him, tilting her head. “Walk me in?”

“No.”

A smirk. “Why? Afraid?”

Clark exhaled sharply. “Go inside.”

She didn’t listen.

Instead, she stepped closer—so close he could feel the warmth of her breath against his throat.

And then—

A kiss.

Soft. Feather-light. A touch of silk, a whisper of warmth against his lips—like a butterfly’s wing, there and gone in an instant.

Clark froze.

Wide eyes peered up at him, watching. Waiting.

He could still feel it. The ghost of it. The soft press of her lips, something innocent yet tainted—something so terribly, horribly wrong.

She leaned in again.

And this time, he kissed her back.

God forgive him.

He let her.

For a moment—just a moment—he let himself fall.

And it was wrong. So, so wrong.

But she tasted like everything forbidden. Like something that would ruin him completely.

His hands should have pushed her away. Instead, they lingered at her waist.

Her fingers traced his jaw, trailing down his chest, toying with the hem of his shirt—and he let her.

Clark felt sick.

And yet—

He still didn’t stop her.

Because maybe—deep down—he didn’t want to.

And that?

That was the worst sin of all.

The first thing Clark felt was warmth.

Soft. Smooth. Wrong.

His eyes snapped open.

And there she was.

Curled against his chest, her breath slow and steady, her fingers still faintly gripping his skin. The sheets tangled between them, silk pooling around her bare shoulders like some cruel parody of innocence.

Oh, God.

He sucked in a sharp breath, nausea curling in his stomach.

What have I done?

Slowly, carefully, he untangled himself from her. Every movement felt like a sin. His limbs felt heavy, his body aching in ways he refused to acknowledge. He swung his legs off the bed, planting his feet against the cold floor, trying to breathe.

He needed to leave. Now.

But then—

A sleepy murmur. The rustle of silk.

"Clark...?"

His shoulders tensed. He didn’t turn around.

The bed shifted as she sat up, the sheets sliding against her skin. He could hear the way she clutched the fabric to her chest, could feel the weight of her gaze pressing into his back.

"What are you doing?"

Her voice was soft, uncertain. Almost pleading.

Clark clenched his jaw. His hands trembled as he reached for his shirt. He needed to get dressed. He needed to get out.

"This..." His voice came out raw. Ugly. "This should have never happened."

Silence.

Then—softly—"Clark—"

"No." He snapped, whirling to face her. Her eyes widened at the fury in his voice.

"This was a mistake," he hissed. "A disgusting, unforgivable mistake."

Something flickered in her expression—something fragile, something almost wounded.

Clark didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to care.

He yanked his coat over his shoulders, moving toward the door.

But before he could reach it—

Arms wrapped around his waist.

Clark froze.

Her body pressed against his back, her grip tight—desperate.

And then—

A choked breath. A broken whisper.

"Please don’t go."

Clark’s entire body tensed.

Her voice—so different from its usual teasing cruelty—was shaking. Unsteady.

"Please... please don’t leave me alone."

And then—wetness.

Soaking into his shirt. Silent tears.

Clark stared at the door, his hands clenched into fists.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

She was lying. She had to be lying.

But her grip on him only tightened.

"I feel so lonely without you."

Clark’s breath hitched.

For a moment—just a moment—he thought about turning around.

Thought about holding her.

Thought about whispering things he shouldn’t.

But he didn’t.

He pried her hands from his waist.

And he walked out the door.

Leaving her behind.

Alone.

— PART 2 ☆

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wonderjanga · 4 months ago

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What do you do?

Bruce has literally no idea about Marvel’s personal life. As a result, the JL have no idea about his personal life. The only thing they know is that they want Marvel to have their jobs. Cause, Marvel already let them rants about whatever they’re passionate about. Once they find out his job, and if he’s maybe passionate about what they’re passionate about, they can yap together!

Supes: *ranting*

Marvel: *listening intently*

Supes: “And, you know, I’m a reporter-”

Marvel: *sounds surprised* Wait, you’re actually a reporter?”

Supes: “Uh… yeah? Did you think I wasn’t? You’ve heard me go on fifteen minute rants just about it.”

Marvel: *shrugs* “I just thought it was something you were really interested in. What company to do you work at?”

Supes: “The Daily Planet?”

Marvel: “Oh, I’ve heard about them!”

This went on to be an hour long conversation of them exchanging tips, talking about which companies can’t be trusted, which reporters are good versus bad, and so on. They probably would’ve gone on longer if some aliens hadn’t tried to invade earth for the millionth time. Even then, after the battle, they continued the conversation back at the Watchtower. Clark was honestly so happy about this entire thing because whenever he talked about reporting to Marvel, he would normally just nod along and ask questions. Instead, this time, the Cheese actually yapped with him instead of patiently listening. Clark was like 50 percent sure Marvel was a reporter now, and he was right. Technically. Billy was a reporter.

Meanwhile, Bruce is hypothesizing that Marvel is a teacher or caretaker of some kind because he’s really good with kids. Most of these kids are, for a lack of a better word, idiots. He is the only hero that’s interacted with them that hasn’t lost his temper yet. A good example of this was when Marvel was obviously having a bad day and Jon came to talk to him since Clark was busy.

Marvel: *nodding along, as he stress bakes, stirring something in a bowl* “That’s nice. Can you go get some flour for me?”

Jon: “Sure!” *runs off to grab a bag of flour and as he comes back he accidentally drops it and gets it all over the floor, now looking guilty* “I’m sorry.”

Marvel: “It’s… fine.” *takes a deep breath and is trying so hard to not lash out him* “It’s fine.” *takes another deep breath and smiles at him* “Jon, you’ve made pies with Mrs. Kent before right?”

Jon: “No, mom doesn’t like making pies. I make them with Grandma though!”

Marvel: “That’s who I meant.” *hands Jon the bowl* “Hold this please?” *walks over and picks up the flour bag, and puts some into the bowl Jon was holding before putting the bag in a sink* “Mix that and pour it into the pan while I go clean this up.” *ruffles his hair*

Jon: “Okay.” *determined to help him make the best pie ever*

Later…

Batman: *walks into the kitchen* “Marvel-” *does a double take when he sees Jon* “Why is Superboy’s entire lower half covered in flour?”

Marvel: “He dropped a bag of flour earlier.” *shrugs as he lets Jon put a bunch of sprinkles on the pie*

He later watched the feed of the kitchen and that’s how the Marvel potentially being a teacher theory came into existence. Of course, this incident wasn’t the only reason, but still.

While all this is happening, Diana thinks he’s has a job in the archeological field because the man seems to love history.

And Billy does. His dad and mom loved it, and at first he only got into it because they liked it, but he realized he actually found it fascinating.

So, here are the options.

1.) Reporter

2.) Teacher/Caretaker

3.) Archeology

They finally asked when they couldn’t take the suspense anymore.

Marvel: “Oh uhm… well, I don’t work often, (doesn’t work often as Marvel, he works quite often as Billy) but every now and then, I help with unloading pallets and stuff.”

That was… not what they expected. After this conversation, Clark not so sneakily snuck Billy his business card for the Planet. Wondy straight up just gave him the card. Batman didn’t know what to do other than reset to his default and actually sneakily snuck like a thousand dollars to Marvel.

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics #superman #clark kent #superboy #jon kent #jon el

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fancyfeathers · 4 months ago

Text

Okay thinking about DC yanderes with baby trapping, I’ll probably do a part two with other Justice League members

With Hal Jordan, he would not exactly plan on it, but he certainly won’t turn down the opportunity. His vision he had in his mind went from just him and his darling to a family. The idea of that perfect sort of family took root, his darling making dinner in the kitchen with his arms around her waist and children playing in the living room, like those perfect families from American television. It’s like a dream that has been lingering in the back of his mind for as long as he could remember and now it’s finally coming true.

But his dream is his darling’s dread.

He just won’t shut up about the baby, clothing, the nursery, the last ultrasound. He practically keeps a hand on her baby bump at all times, cuddling, going for a car ride with the other hand on the steering wheel.

But life is harder on his darling than he thinks it is, when the baby comes and he is off on mission she does not have his help to take care of their child. She has to wake up in the middle of the night when she is staying at the watchtower when their baby starts crying, feeding time on her own, diapers, baths, god she’s doesn’t know how many hours she’s slept. There is help sometimes when other members of the Justice League are around or their darlings, but she is pissed when Hal finally gets back and makes him take care of the baby while she rests and Hal really doesn’t complain about getting to spend time with his little baby who he’s missed more than anything… well besides his darling of course.

He also definitely has a bunch of baby photos in his wallet that he shows everyone in the Justice League and Green Lantern Corps.

Clark Kent will not even hide the fact that children are something he desperately wants. Like in the middle of dinner he will just ask his darling how many kids she wants, maybe three, oh but one might feel lonely so maybe four. Or what if something happens and it’s not safe for her to have kids, it’s better for them to have them sooner than later. The worst part is that he knows she is pregnant way before she does, he could hear that second heartbeat as soon as it has one, though he doesn’t tell his darling because oh he wants her to find out on her own and tell him like it’s a surprise-

Oh god she’s crying in the bathroom…

No, no, no, no, no, this is supposed to be happy, they are staring their lives together, oh don’t cry.

He is there at his darling’s side during whenever he has a free moment, hell he always is listening in on her to make sure she is okay, what if she slips in the shower? What if she falls own the stairs? What if-

For the most part she is fine, but if she needs anything she literally just needs to say Clark’s name and he is there.

But then the fact that their kids may inherit their father’s powers come up, and they do, and it is a fucking headache for his darling. Clark does train them to be able to properly control their powers and what not, but she has to deal with the misuse of them around the house.

“No flying in the house!”

“Do not use your cold breath or whatever it is, I have the heating on!”

“Please put down the car before you drop it and damage it.”

#yandere dc #yandere green lantern #yandere hal jordan #yandere #yandere green lantern x reader #yandere hal jordan x reader #yandere justice league #yandere dc x reader #Yandere justice league x reader #yandere justice league x reader #yandere superman #yandere superman x reader #yandere clark kent #yandere clark kent x reader

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buggysummers · 1 month ago

Note

Could I please have angst with a happy ending with Best friend Clark, where you’ve been pining after him for the longest time, but he’s still after Lana. So you give up and start going on dates/bars to get over him, and he’s confused at the sudden emotional distance because you’ve never done that before, and he finds himself jealous. 🙏🙏🙏

a/n: sorry this took a bit anon! i am such a busy gal this semester </3. this one's a lil long - might not be as angsty as you were hoping but i haven't written angst in agessss so i apologize. ty for the req my love!

"who's this?"

is what you hear before you can even turn your head to see clark approaching you in the beanery. you had figured he wouldn’t even be here—he’d surely be supporting lana at the talon—but clearly the world had a way of taunting you, because you’d recognize his voice anywhere.

“clark,” you start, finding it absolutely unbelievable that he found a way to worm himself into your life regardless of how much you tried to avoid him. “this is steven. steven, clark—my friend.” you give a pointed look to clark. “what’s up?”

“oh, i just wanted to see you.” you’re kidding. as often as clark says things which make you double take, this is not a time you doubt what he means; even your date is baffled by his words.

“i wanted your help, actually. with my english project," clark says, and it almost seems like he came up with that on the spot.

“what? clark, you’re good at english.” there is no way.

“well, this one’s giving me trouble.”

“i… can it wait? or can’t you ask chloe?” you try urging, hoping it'll make him get the hint.

“chloe’s busy.”

“okay, whatever, i can come by later.”

“i have a thing later," clark says, and it's taking all of your power not to strangle him. he never even acted this way if you were talking to people he knows.

“a thing?”

“yes, a thing." you roll your eyes, finding clark's behavior beyond absurd.

“you know what – i was gonna go soon anyway,” steven says awkwardly, standing.

“no, stay. clark was just going." you jump to your feet, trying to resolve the situation.

“no, i wasn’t!”

“oh my god, clark shut up!”

“i’ll call you, okay?” steven grabs his jacket, and that’s when you know that clark has entirely ruined this for you.

“are you sure? i’m sorry about him, he’s—”

“i’m what?” clark interjects.

“intruding.” you finish, and it's clark's turn to roll his eyes. “i really am sorry about this, my friends usually don’t interrupt my dates, i promise.”

“that’s okay. it was nice spending time with you.”

steven isn’t even out of earshot when you start scolding clark, swatting him with a magazine off the table. “are you serious?! what is wrong with you!”

“what’s wrong with me?”

“yes, you!”

“you’ve been avoiding me for weeks!”

“what are you talking about?” you ask, trying to play dumb.

“what am i talking about?" clark touches his hands to his chest, confused how you're turning this on him. "are you kidding? you used to hang out with me nearly every day, and now i barely even see you at school.”

“and?”

“and?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting up. “and i like spending time with you? i care about you? is that seriously something i have to tell you?”

“maybe it is,” you say, hands moving to your hips.

“who even is that kid? you didn’t tell me you were going on a date.”

oh. oh.

“that’s what this is about?”

“uh. yeah. you tell me everything." the sass in his voice is a quick reminder that you have such strong feelings for clark, but you try to push that thought away. and clark's right, anyway. you would typically tell him most things.

“i do not tell you everything,” maybe it’s the way that you say it—or maybe it's just the sentiment in itself—but clark furrows his brows, the sentence hitting him like a punch.

“what don’t you tell me?”

“i don’t know, clark—things!” but you do know, and it’s that you’ve been harboring feelings with him for god knows how long. “you keep secrets from me all the time. i don’t pry.” and that seems to shut him up. “listen, can we not talk about this now? let’s go back to yours.”

“okay. okay, yeah,” he says, walking towards the door and holding it open for you. on the walk back to his house, you start talking about other things—the english project that he didn’t need your help with so urgently, the errands his mom had him run earlier, and what chloe had been telling him about yesterday.

clark’s english project took far less time than he’d hoped, and he was only able to keep you an extra half hour because his mom joined the conversation. and when you left, that only made the cut deeper, because she brought up how she’d barely been seeing you around lately. he doesn’t see you the next morning at school, and barely catches sight of you at the end of the day, talking to steven. he’s about to walk over there, interrupt the two of you again, but pete appears in front of him and drags him over to the torch before he can protest.

the next few days pass slower than time ever has for clark. it’s like he’s spending every minute thinking about you, and he doesn’t even realize why until it hits him that he’s been seeing lana with whitney and it doesn’t make him feel the same way it used to. the only thing making him feel that way is you. that realization occurs in his math class, and he nearly thinks that he’s around some of the meteor rock because of how it makes him feel. he’s lucky that his actual teacher is out sick, because when clark comes back from the bathroom, he’s already thinking about what he’s going to say to you.

“please open the door, please open the door, please open the door,” clark whispers to himself as he rings the doorbell. it’s not too long until the door’s creaking open, and luckily it’s you—not your parents—on the other side. “hey.”

“hi.”

“how are you?” he stalls.

“i’m fine. you?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe. honestly, it kills you to be so cold towards clark, but there’s not another way you can imagine to get over him. every second you’re with him is indescribable.

“i wanted to talk to you, actually.”

“okay.” you look back into the house before stepping out front, shutting the door gently behind you. it’s a moment of you looking at him expectantly before he takes a deep breath, preparing himself for your reaction.

“i don’t think you should see steven anymore.”

“what? why?”

“i just don’t think he’s the guy for you.”

“okay, well, that’s a really great and specific reason, clark,” you say sarcastically. “what do you have against him?”

“i don’t have anything against him!” wrong. “i just don’t want you going out with him.” and wrong thing to say.

“you don’t get to control who i go out with, clark.”

“that’s not what i meant–”

“what did you mean, then?” you ask, angrily. it takes clark by surprise, really, ‘cause he can’t remember the last time you’d snapped like that, and he never thought you’d react that way to him.

“i just think you deserve better.”

“you don’t even know him! you have no idea how he treats me.”

“just trust me.” clark looks down at you with what you can only describe as puppy eyes. “come on, i know you trust me.”

“i do trust you—usually—but this is so unlike you.”

“this is unlike you! you never talk about boys or going out with anyone or—”

“yeah, well maybe i had my eye on someone.”

“what?”

“nothing, clark! nothing.”

“how does you being interested in someone mean that you don’t ever talk about them?”

“god, clark, you’re so blind,” you mutter under your breath. “because it’s you!” oh.

“what?” clark replies, his eyes wide. it doesn’t even cross his mind what it actually means, he’s just so shocked. “what?”

“you heard what i said.”

“no, yeah, i did. but what?” “i’m not repeating myself.”

“how long?”

“i’m not answering that, clark. that’s humiliating.”

“no, it’s not. i—” he takes another deep breath, shaking his head slightly. “i’m jealous.”

“what?”

“of steven, i’m jealous of him. and i—i don’t really know where it’s come from, but i don’t want you seeing him, i want you seeing me,” clark’s words make you still, the anger being drawn out of your system. “i miss you,” he adds quietly.

“okay. wow. that’s… okay.”

“okay?” he teases, taking a step forward with a smirk. it’s starting to set in that you feel the same way, and he suddenly doesn’t feel so bad about the way he’s been sneaking glances at your lips this whole time. clark watches you grow a little nervous, starting to fluster, and he’s kicking his past-self for never realizing how cute you are.

“i’m nervous.”

“i can tell,” he smiles, the toothy grin nearly making you implode. “so, what does this mean?”

because of how close clark is, you’re having to really look up at him, and though it’s already hurting your neck, you can’t make yourself look away. “i’m not gonna talk to him anymore. i wasn’t going to, anyway. it’s not fair, using him to get over you.”

“was it working?” you shake your head. “good.” he’s staring down at you for another moment, and the silence isn’t awkward. all he’s waiting on is a sign, something to tell him that you actually do want him—more than just words. then you’re looking at his lips for a little longer than a simple glance, and he’s bending over, leaning in. clark would be lying if he says he’s not nervous, but he’s wasted so much time being blind to your feelings that he won’t do it any longer.

clark snakes a hand around your body, pulling you closer to him as he presses his lips to yours in what can only be described as a rom-com kiss. it feels that way, too, and he has to force himself off of you. he almost wants to apologize for how eager he is, but he doesn’t.

you stare at each other for another moment, like neither of you really knows what to say, and then you look to the side, half hiding your face as you try not to giggle out of excitement. “um, i have to go back inside. my parents are…”

“yeah, that’s okay,” clark says, beaming. “let me take you on a date. are you busy later?”

“no, later works,” you nod. clark huffs at how adorable it is, before glancing back at the front door—making sure nobody’s looking—and pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“i’ll come get you at six.” he starts to walk off before turning back around, “and, uh, maybe wait a second before you go back in. your face is all red.”

#clark kent x reader #clark kent #clark kent smallville #smallville #smallville x reader #lana and whitney mention!!!#i wrote their kiss thinking about the one when he has the red k ring...#needthat

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superbat-love · 1 year ago

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Bruce: Are you sure this is where you last saw your dad, kid?

Jon: Yeah.

Bruce: Any chance that you can spot him among these dense trees?

Jon: [shakes his head]

Bruce: Your powers haven't developed sufficiently yet, huh? I don't even know if your dad is conscious and can hear us or not. [hears the rustling of leaves] Who’s there?!

Damian: Stop, don’t shoot! [climbs down from the tree]

Bruce: Damian, I should have known. Why are you here?

Damian: I just wanted to help!

Bruce: [pinches the bridge of his nose] Fine. Looks like we’ll have to do this another way then. Damian, grab the kid.

Damian grabs Jon.

Bruce: Jon, I want you to make the saddest face possible.

Jon: Like this?

Bruce: Hmm, a bit more on the sad side and less disgust maybe?

Damian: Jon, imagine that you switched on the television and realized that your favorite tv show was canceled.

Bruce: Now you look like the world just ended, but we can work with that. [turns around and raises his voice] Superman, I have your kid! Come out and face me or I’ll turn your son into the ultimate weapon of destruction and take over the world!

Clark: [crawls out of the bushes, covered in leaves, with his eyes glowing red] Let. Go. Of. My. Son.

Jon: Dad, you’re alive!

Bruce: Superman, we finally meet at last.

Superbat Family Fics

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caplanbuckybarnes · 6 months ago

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Flowers (clark kent)

Summary: Clark has a surprise for you

Warnings: Fluff

WC: 451

A/N: i wrote this while holding back several emotions because i'm being sensitive af today. it's probably crappy and all over the place, but i'm okay with that. Please reblog if you enjoy <3

Read on Ao3!

---

The sound of rain tapping against the window filled the quiet of the apartment. Clark was pacing in the kitchen, running a hand through his messy hair as he glanced at you nervously. Something was up. He’d been acting strange all evening, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact, which was not at all like the calm, steady Clark Kent you knew and loved.

You sat curled up on the couch, watching him with a raised brow. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“What are you hiding from me?” you asked, half teasing, half curious. He froze at the sound of your voice, eyes widening like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

“Hiding? Me? Nothing,” he replied, his voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing.

“Clark.” You gave him a pointed look. “You’re the worst liar ever. Spill.”

He let out a long sigh and stopped pacing, turning to face you with a sheepish smile. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and you could tell whatever it was, he was embarrassed about it.

“Okay, fine,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “But you can’t laugh.”

You grinned, sitting up straighter. “No promises.”

Clark walked over to the couch, standing in front of you as if he were preparing for a big reveal. He reached into his pocket, fumbling a bit before pulling out… a small, slightly crumpled bouquet of wildflowers.

Your heart melted immediately.

“I, uh, picked these on my way home,” he said, his voice soft. “I was going to surprise you, but then I thought maybe it was silly, and I didn’t know if you’d even like them—”

Before he could finish, you were already on your feet, throwing your arms around his neck and laughing. “Clark! That’s what you were hiding? You’re too cute.”

He blinked, caught off guard by your reaction, but quickly relaxed as you hugged him. “You think it’s cute?”

“Of course I do!” you said, pulling back slightly to look at him. “They’re beautiful. And it’s the sweetest thing ever.”

A relieved smile spread across his face, and he let out a soft chuckle. “I don’t know why I was so nervous. I just wanted it to be perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” you whispered, standing on your toes to press a quick kiss to his lips.

Clark’s eyes twinkled as he handed you the flowers, his earlier nerves completely gone. “Well, if you say so.”

You took the flowers, grinning as you brought them to your nose. “I do say so.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as you both stood there in the warmth of your little apartment, the rain falling softly outside.

And in that moment, everything was perfect.

#clark kent x reader #henry cavill x reader #clark kent x you #henry cavill x you

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supermenz · 3 months ago

Text

one

summary: One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do; two can be as bad as one, it's the loneliest number since the number one. Or: you're two years old when you lose your parents. Your brother, a kid himself, is unable to give you the love you deserve, and you end up at twenty being as burn out as only a Gotham University student can be. So, what do you do? Change scenery, of course.

pairing(s): clark kent x wayne!reader, bruce wayne x sister!reader, eventual platonic batfam x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: genius kid trope, kinda doomed siblings, language, there are reference to what happens in "the batman" but there will be a merge of both comics and films, written with david!superman in mind cuz he's my pookie 😞, bruce is so pathetic i love him sm

word count: 2.2k

author's note: my first ever fanfic for the dc universe!! constructive criticism is welcomed as english is not my first language,

next | series masterlist

Gotham has left you feeling more claustrophobic in the last few months than it did all your life.

Maybe it’s because you’re seeing your brother slip into his work — aka beating criminals in the night as a hobby — more and more, or maybe it’s just your brain playing tricks on you. It’s probably the latter.

You’ve never been good with emotions — it comes with being a Wayne, and surely, having your parents die before you were three didn’t help your situation. Bruce spending most of your childhood abroad with barely any contact with you also probably didn’t help either.

“But I’m here now,” he had said once, “Am I not?”

He is, but even if you love him with all your heart, sometimes you think that you’re more like colleagues rather than siblings. Your bond is strained, with him being so closed-off and spending most of his free time cosplaying as a bat, and you having just entered your twenties, trying to get your second degree in biology after an early graduation and an even earlier PhD in engineering. And since his first big case four years ago, neither of you has been the same.

Your relationship has never been easy. The flood and the Riddler’s case basically forced you to trauma bond over what you both had experienced, as surely no therapist would’ve wanted to hear about all the horrors that you two experienced, even for all the money in the world. Besides, it’s not like Bruce could just enter a therapist’s office and tell them that he’s the fucking Batman.

As of now, you tend to have your… ups and downs. Both prefer to just hide behind paperwork, projects, cases or research rather than just talk some things out. Because yes, Bruce’s your brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s easy to love. There are some days where he seems to be barely able to talk to you, others where you know he just wants to scream at you for whatever reason, others where… others where you think he might just crumble at your feet and start crying.

You don’t have a lot in common. Maybe that’s why he manages to stay in Gotham even after all that’s happened — combined with the fact that he’s spent ten years or so abroad. Maybe you need that, too.

“I’m thinking of moving out,” you tell him during one of your rare dinners together. You have already talked about your plan to Alfred, who has shown his support towards the idea and urged you to get out of Gotham as soon as you could, but you also wanted to tell Bruce — just to be honest with him.

Yes, he left you to study abroad all those years ago without any kind of goodbye or anything, but you have no intention of leaving him behind like he did to you — you may be grown adults now, but that doesn’t mean that being left behind doesn’t exist anymore. You doubt Bruce would ever feel left behind by you, of all people, but still. “Found a faculty in Metropolis that will be able to transfer all my credits and studies and a nice flat downtown near the Wayne Enterprises’ site there. I think I need a breath of fresh air– I need to go somewhere where the sun actually shines and not everyone has hidden agendas.”

You’ve heard good things about Metropolis, and you think that the Martha Wayne Foundation could be expanded a bit more — somewhere far from Gotham, where surely there are other orphanages, other people in need that could use some help. “I could handle Wayne Enterprise’s gestion and settle our matters there while continuing my studies in a more… calm environment.” calm is a big word for a metropolitan city as big and populated as Metropolis, but every city is calm in contrast to Gotham.

Your brother doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, wide-eyed, fork still raised to eat the potatoes Alfred cooked, his face blank. Is he having a heart attack? You didn’t think that you moving out would’ve been such horrendous news for him. Yes, even if you are not that close he’s still very protective, but he went to live abroad at ten. You’re twenty and you’re just… moving to Delaware. It’s not like you’re going to the fucking Himalaya mountains as he did.

(Meanwhile, Bruce is spiraling. He wonders when the hell did his little sister grow up, how it can be that she isn’t the little girl he used to sway around anymore, and why would she ever want to move out. Is it because of him? Did something happen?

Isn’t Metropolis in another state? Is he so tremendous that you have to move states in hopes to forget about him? Is he too overbearing? He thought he had always given you enough space to do your own thing–)

Instead of saying all of the things he’s thinking, he tries to muster up a smile, even if it comes out as a grimace. “Alright.”

He nearly jumps out of his seat when you beam at him — is he really that obnoxious that you can’t wait to move out and have him out of your life? “Oh, I’m happy that you’re taking it well! I was afraid you’d freak out.” you get up from your seat and move over to hug him, and he chuckles nervously. “Why would I? You’re an adult, you can do what you want.”

(What do you mean?!, his conscience screams in his head, She isn’t even twelve! Just yesterday she was talking about going to the homecoming dance with her friends–

But time has passed, and even if Bruce feels that it was particularly hard on him, he didn’t think it’d affect you too, somehow. It’s weird acknowledging something’s — someone’s — changes in the years in… so little. He had gotten so used to you being his little sister that he didn’t even think about you becoming a full on woman. He still remembers the pink bundle of blankets your parents had given him that day at the hospital, telling him to be careful with her, she’s your little sister.

When have you grown this much? Where did the time go? He swears it was just yesterday when you were admitted to Gotham University.)

“But… a flat? Are you sure you’ll be comfortable there? It’s not exactly as big as a manor.”

You avoid his gaze, scratching the back of your head. “Yeah, about that…”

He raises an eyebrow, “Let me guess, you bought the whole building?”

You snap your fingers, “They don’t call you the greatest detective for nothing!” you sit back down, cutting the meat on your plate, “I plan on making the floors I won’t live in into a laboratory of sort– almost like the Batcave, y’know, so I can continue working on the models I designed undisturbed.”

When Bruce had started his crusade as Batman, you had just gotten your bachelor’s degree in engineering, and were working on your master’s degree. You had basically given him the head-start, creating the software of the Batcomputer (or of the computer, as he calls it), designed and adapted a sport’s car to the Batmobile (just call it the car, Bruce always insists) and basically modified and created every single one of the gadgets and systems he uses.

You just hope he won’t let the Batcomputer get hacked as soon as you land in Metropolis — you spent weeks programming her and years perfecting her system. You spent so much time on her, she might as well be your firstborn by now.

“I’ll always be a call away,” you murmur when your brother’s eyes get a little dazy, unfocused– like he’s in another world, always thinking about the worst that could happen. “You know that, right?”

Bruce blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, I– I know that.”

(He isn't sure about that.)

You pat his hand, mustering a smile. "Maybe you should take a break, too. Why don't you book a vacation in, let's say... the Bahamas? Just to get a bit tanned and remember what the sun actually looks like."

He shakes his head. "Can't. Batman doesn't go on vacation."

You raise an eyebrow, sighing in defeat. "Well, I'm sure the GCPD could handle Gotham for a few days, but do as you like."

Your arrival in Metropolis is, of course, followed by an unhinged swarm of journalists and press that surround you as soon as you land.

You can already see the headlines — THE PRINCESS OF GOTHAM NOW IN METROPOLIS or some other corny predictable shit like that — as they shove their cameras in your face, screaming and trying to grab you, as your bodyguards try to contain them. You're much calmer than they are, having already endured years and years of invasive journalists.

“Miss Wayne, would you care to tell us the reason for this abrupt change in scenery?”

“Has your move got anything to do with your relationship with your brother?”

“Miss Wayne, look here! A smile for the front page–”

“Miss Wayne, why Metropolis, of all places?”

“Miss Wayne, a word for the Daily Planet?”

The guy for the Daily Planet catches your attention– he seems far too nice and isn’t elbowing anyone; he must be either new at the job or is too nice for it. He’s got a mop of curly, black hair atop his head, thick glasses perched on his nose, baby blue eyes behind them. His posture is a little crooked — he’s getting squeezed by reporters on both of his sides — but, even as disheveled as he is, you notice a thing.

Ohh, he’s pretty. Like, jaw-dropping pretty, the kind of pretty that makes you want to bite his cheek and never let go for the rest of your life.

You stop in your tracks, lifting your sunglasses to your head, bodyguards panicking at the swarm of journalists that suddenly all point to one direction; you reach for the pocket of your jeans and take out a business card that you pat on the pretty reporter’s chest. “Another time, pretty boy,” you promise as he takes the card, his fingers brushing yours, the other journalists speechless around you. “I’m kinda busy right now.”

You don’t stay long enough to see him blush and hold the business card tight in his palm so that the other reporters don’t snatch it out of his grip — the bodyguards urge you forward, towards the SUV with obscured windows that is waiting for you right in front of the arrivals’ exit of the airport. One of them opens the door for you, and you don’t hesitate to get inside, the car speeding off as soon as everyone’s inside.

“Never seen anything like this,” one of the men mutters.

You shrug, “I’ve had worse.”

The ride to your building is short, mostly because it’s late in the evening and there aren’t many people still around. You leave a generous tip to both the bodyguards and the driver, thanking them but assuring them that you can walk alone the thirty steps that separate you from the entrance to what’ll be your home for the foreseeable future. They help you take out your trolley and duffle bag, which you swing over your shoulder right after taking the keys of the building out.

You open the front door, carefully closing it behind you, taking the elevator right in front of it. You press the number thirty out of thirty-four, which turns green with a ding, and wait for the doors to open back up. And once they do, you’re not disappointed.

The loft is arranged just like how you asked the movers to — it would’ve been hard not to, as you sent them the 3D interior design plan you had made, but still. You’ve been raised with the idea that if you want something done well, you have to do it yourself, so you’re pretty happy about how it turned out.

Still, something’s missing.

You check around the loft for any pieces of missing furniture or something like that, not finding anything. You even go back to the 3D model to make sure that everything got here safe and sound, only to find that yes, everything is in the colour you ordered and exactly in the place you asked for it to be.

You sit on the U-shaped couch that sits right in front of the giant windows that let on the skyline of Metropolis, eyebrows knit in deep thought. The house is nice — for fuck’s sake, you bought a whole building just for you and your projects — but it’s weird not having anyone else around. There’s no Alfred to welcome you, no half-asleep Bruce roaming without an idea of where he is, no squeaking and creaking of the floor when you walk.

You sigh. “Maybe I should get a cat.”

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clockwayswrites · 2 days ago

Text

Danny in Metropolis, Ch3 P5

masterpost this is a first draft and the fatigue has hit me hard today, so please no editing or concrit <3

Kon had insisted on taking one of the top floor rooms, even though the one side of the ceiling was slanted because of the roof line and he had to go down a flight of stairs to get to a bathroom. The only other room on that floor was Clark’s tiny office and the cramped storage space that was mostly holiday decorations. It was just that it was a little easier when he needed get some space from everyone else. Upstairs was his space. He liked that.

He hadn’t, however, thought about what his room must look like to anyone else until Danny was standing in the doorway and obviously looking around.

The sloped chunk of ceiling was covered in posters, photographs, and stickers. There was even a few t-shirts pined on it. While it has started a just a few band posters, Kon’s friends enthusiastically added to it every chance they could get and now it was a constellation of their friendship.

“Oh, wow, cool,” Danny said as he wandered closer to the wall. He tilted his head at a cluster of photos from last summer. “Are these your friends?”

“Yeah.” Kon knew that he sounded a little sappy, but he was, he guessed. He was trying to concentrate more on school this year and that had left him with a lot less time to see them. “They don’t live in Gotham, but we do a… summer camp thing together. Some of them are kids of Clark’s friends too.”

Danny reached out, fingers almost touching a photo of the group all piled onto one giant beanbag. Kon was being squished on the bottom of the group. “Do you get to see them often?”

“Not as much as I want. That’s Tim, Cassie, and Bart.”

“I’m sorry, I bet you miss them,” Danny said and dropped his hand.

“Yeah.” He did. “There anyone from Amity Park you miss?”

“Tucker and Sam,” Danny answered immediately. “I get to talk to them, and I still play games a lot with Tucker, but it’s not the same as being there. It’s stupid, but I miss just being able to go and get a burger with them.”

Kon bumped their shoulders together. “It’s not stupid. It just means you care. I hope you can get that burger soon.”

“Thanks,” Danny said with a smile that looked a little wobbly. “Um, I guess we should do some work so that we have something to show Lois?”

Kon grinned. “Oh I see, up here she’s Lois but down there she’s ‘Miss Lois’?”

Danny blushed back. “Shut up.”

“Nope, teasing you about that forever,” Kon said. “Are you good if I put on some music?”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t recognize like, any of the posters you have,” Danny said as he dropped the armful of snacks onto Kon’s bed.

“Oh you are so getting a musical education after we have enough work done,” Kon warned as he searched for a playlist to work to.

“Going to try to turn me into a punk like you?”

Kon snorted. “You wish you were punk like me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny said and flicked a wasabi pea Kon’s direction.

Kon of course caught it (with the help of a little TTK) and popped it in his mouth. “Yeah I’m right.”

Danny looked Kon over with faux seriousness, which Kon totally did not blush from. “The earrings are cool, I guess.”

“You could get one.”

“Yeah, right. My parents wouldn’t even notice if I came home with one, but they’d never take me to get one,” Danny said.

“I could do it.”

Danny blinked at that. “You could what?”

“I could pierce your ears, if you want. I’ve done it before and I promise that all ears are still attached,” Kon said and flopped down onto his bed next to Danny. “We’d just need to buy some starter studs for you first.”

Danny blinked down back at him. “I—huh. Okay, I’ll think about it. Maybe.”

“Okay.” Kon reached up and brushed a rogue chunk of hair out of Danny’s face before he could think better of it. Fuck, he was definitely blushing now. “Um, right. So, where were we with the work?”

“What? Oh, right, yeah!” Danny started with a little jolt and reached for his backpack. “Gotta impress Lois, right?”

“Right.” That’s who Kon wanted to impress, sure.

Totally not Danny.

#dp x dc #danny in metropolis #danny/kon

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feyburner · 11 months ago

Note

In ur version, does Batman or Superman even approve of Kon and Tim being together?

Lol sorry I’m sure you intended this as an art prompt but instead I used it as a silly little writing exercise.

Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »

Hi! Do you have a moment to chat?

« Bruce Wayne

That depends.

Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »

On what?

« Bruce Wayne

On the subject matter, Clark Kent, Daily Planet Reporter.

Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »

Shoot. hang on

Superman (Justice League) »

Hi! Do you have a moment to chat?

« B

How many times a day does that happen

Just tell me. I can take it

Superman (Justice League) »

Not… that many…

« B

How many records are we scrubbing.

This week.

Superman (Justice League) »

Listen

You are the one who chose to make secret phones that are identical to normal phones

I don’t know what you were expecting

« B

It’s precautionary. In case they get lost.

They’re not identical. The Batcell’s haptic interface hardware is superior to the iPhone’s.

Slightly bigger too.

0.3mm.

Superman (Justice League) »

I’ll refrain from the obvious comment

But know I am thinking it

« B

So there’s a visual difference.

You have x-ray vision.

Superman (Justice League) »

If you think I’m going to x-ray my phone to figure out if the haptic interface software is 0.3mm larger than an iPhones every single time I need to send a text you are nuts

That’s you

« B

Learning memes are we.

Superman (Justice League) »

That’s not a meme. It’s a reaction image

I think

« B

Doesn’t a reaction image have to be sent in reaction to something? By definition?

Superman (Justice League) »

I dont know.

« B

I don’t either.

Superman (Justice League) »

Okay.

« B

You said you wanted to chat?

Superman (Justice League) »

Yes

And let me just preface this with:

I am about to tell you something and I need you to be, with all due respect, so normal about it

« B

Jesus fucking Christ, what happened?

Superman (Justice League) »

Nothing!! bad

Nothing bad

« B

Where are you? Can you call?

Superman (Justice League) »

Ok calm down, I’m fine, everything is fine

I can theoretically call but I think this is the kind of thing you’re going to want to sit with, on your own, for a second

Maybe 30 full seconds actually. Maybe sit for 30 full seconds before taking any action

« B

Kal El, I am catastrophizing at the speed of sound.

Superman (Justice League) »

Then I bet it will be such a huge relief to learn that all Im going to say is I have it on good authority that Superboy has something to tell you, and normally I would never breach his trust like this, but again: I cannot emphasize enough that I need you to be so, so normal. When he tells you. Which I have reason to believe he will, imminently

« B

Alfred has just informed me that Superboy is on the doorstep.

On the doorstep, Kal.

Of my home.

Superman (Justice League) »

Huh!

« B

He’s asked to speak with me in the parlor.

“In the parlor.” Quote.

I forgot we had one of those.

What is this.

Superman (Justice League) »

Well

I think there’s a chance Kon is about to be very, very brave, to your face

And—keep in mind I’m saying this as someone who thinks the world of you and has boundless trust and faith in your ability to be kind, selfless, and accepting—

If he doesnt leave that house with a smile on his face and a spring in his step I will ruin your life.

« B

Jesus.

I know you’re only threatening me because of that, thing I said. Last time.

And yet, it’s still effective.

Superman (Justice League) »

« B

Yeah.

Superman (Justice League) »

Yeah?

« B

Yeah.

Superman (Justice League) »

« B

I have to go meet your kid. “In the parlor”

Superman (Justice League) »

Be nice :)

« B

I will.

I know what he’s going to say anyway.

Superman (Justice League) »

Oh?

« B

He, and coincidentally also Robin, needs to work on his situational awareness.

With an emphasis on remembering to scan the environment for CCTV cameras.

Superman (Justice League) »

Ok to be fair there are a lot of cameras these days

« B

The incident in question took place on the rooftop of Wayne Tower.

Superman (Justice League) »

I see.

« B

Yeah.

Superman (Justice League) »

Yeah.

Unrelatedly are you coming over later?

« B

So you can ruin my life?

Yes.

Superman (Justice League) »

See you then :)

« B

Yes.

Wait.

It’s not weird now that…?

Superman (Justice League) »

Holidays may get awkward but I’m sure we will all cope.

« B

Okay.

Superman (Justice League) »

Tell Kon I said hi!

« B

I will.

« B

Hey it’s Batman. I fucked up.

Superman (Justice League) »

What??

« B

Not with Kon’s thing. That went fine. But we kept talking and I mayh ave let something slip and I’d liek to apologize in advance bc I htink he’s on the way

Superman (Justice League) »

Kons at my window???

« B

Sorry.

Superman (Justice League) »

I will ruin your life!!!!!

« B

Nuts.

#feyburner ask #my writing

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storiesfromafan · 13 days ago

Text

Princess - Wally x Reader

A/N: So I’ve been toying with a Wally from School Spirits idea. And finally wrote it out. It might be the only one I write for him, but I thought to share it anyways. Haha.

Warning/s: fluff, cute Wally, maybe inaccuracy of CD walkman, possible spelling/grammar mistakes

Wally looked around the field, eyes looking for one person in particular. As this was their favourite place to bask in the sun, even if they couldn’t feel its warmth anymore. He looked to the stadium seating, and there in the sun, laying on a bench half way up, was you.

From this position he could see that one foot was planted on the ground, while its counterpart was propped up on the bench, possibly tapping away. Walking up the stairs, destination to you, Wally could see your hands resting on your stomach, also tapping away.

One of the luxurious from your life, that you could still use years later, was your CD walkman. Those flimsy looking headphones sat over your ears, your luscious natural curled hair half fanned above your head.

Standing by your head, Wally looked down at you. Admiring the beauty of your face. Your porcelain like skin with a natural glow, the 90's makeup that gave you an angelic look, but mostly your glossy lips. Which rested in the most naturally beautiful pout. You gave off this ‘sleeping beauty' feel, even with your foot and hands moving.

Quietly and with minimal movement, Wally sat down next to your head. His blue eyes watching you. You were both from different eras, but you were closer to his age then any other girl he’d been around. And you were just the sweetest thing he’d ever met.

You don’t know when it happened, but for a little while it felt like you were being watched. But the last two songs had been to good to pause. Music was one of the few things you had in this limbo of an existence. Along with your lips loss and old 90s magazines from the library.

But that being watched feeling didn’t ease up. So on the next song, even though it was another good one, you slowly opened your eyes. And what did you find? Wally Clark looking down at you. This love sick puppy dog look on his face. Which made you smile softly.

The moment your eyes fluttered open, for Wally, it was like seeing the most beautiful sight in this world. He wanted to see those eyes every moment of everyday for ever how long you both were stuck in this place.

“Hi Wally" you said softly, voice sounding content and relaxed, as you removed the headphones from your ears.

He swallowed. “Ah, hi...”

You giggled, yet didn’t move. Enjoying this version of Wally. This was the shy, cute Wally. Compared to the self-assured, flirty Wally. This one was rare, and you wanted to bask in it.

For years now you’d been tiptoeing around the boy above you. Pushing aside his flirt and charm, ignoring the butterflies that fluttered every time you saw him. Or your racing heart when he’d smile your way. He was golden retriever energy, while you were more cat energy. Or as the kids these days had put it.

“Can I help you?” You finally asked when the boy above you floundered.

Wally snapped out of his daze. “Ah, yeah" he sat back up and not hovering over you. “W-was looking for you, we’ve got group...”

Sitting up, you turned your body to mirror his sitting forward on the bench. Nodding your head you did a little stretch. All the while Wally watch contently. How your back arched, your cropped top rising to reveal a small amount of skin.

And then you stood up, turning to grab your hounds tooth jacket, which matched your shorts. That tied in with your crop top, over the knee socks and loafers, it was a very ‘Clueless' look. Which has and will always be one of your favourite movies, and fashion icons. As six months after its release, did you end up dead, forever stuck in that aesthetic.

You turned back to Wally, a soft smile on your face. Just adding to his daze. But then you snapped your fingers in front of his face, well-groomed eyebrows drawn together.

“Earth to Wally" you said amused.

Snapping out of his daze, Wally quickly got to his feet, nervously laughing, and apologising. You just giggled, making his heart skip a beat once more. That sweet, cute sound was something he could listen to forever.

He moved to stand on the bench below the one you’d been laying on, and jumped down to stand on the concrete. Turning back, Wally held out his hand, as this was something he did on occasion for you. Helping you to jump down a row or two before moving to the aisle. When you both could have just walked to the aisle in the first place.

Placing your forever manicured hand in his, even as ghosts feeling the other was always nice when it’s been years since you could truly feel anything. Almost grounding and familiar.

With his support, you stepped onto the bench before jumping down to stand beside Wally. Who then moved to the next bench, and jumped down, all the while still holding your hand. When you made it to stand on the next bench, rather than just jumping down, you decided to walk along the bench. And he was happy to walk beside you, hand in hand.

Soon, though, you removed your hand from his but placed it on his shoulder for support. One foot in front of the other, you walked like on a tight rope and not a bench. It amused you, made you smile. And Wally, he happily let you do this. Enjoying this playful moment.

Coming to the end of the bench, and the aisle, you were going to jump. But had a better idea in mind. Turning to Wally, who then turned to you, you placed your other hands on his shoulder, stepping closer to him. Silently asking for his help.

Looking at you with the sweetest confused look, it took only a few seconds for Wally's brain to work out what you wanted. Shakily he brought his hands up to your waist. Firmly he held as he effortlessly lifted you down to stand before him.

With your feet planted firmly on the ground of the bleachers, your hands on his shoulders slipped down and over his covered chest. All the while you smiled brightly up at him.

“Why, thank you Wally" you said softly, removing your hands from his chest.

A movement that he truly wished didn’t happen. That was the first time you’d ever placed your hands on his shoulders and his chest. It was progress.

“Ah, no problem, Princess" he muttered clearing this throat, as well as his clouded mind.

Your smile fell slightly. “Princess?” You questioned in surprise.

Wally's eyes widened, and he was mentally kicking himself. That was the nickname he used in his head, and sometimes when talking to Charley and Ronda about you.

“Ah, um, yeah...” he sputtered trying to think. “I-it’s my, um, nickname for you...?”

You watched him, eyes blinking a few times, processing what just happened. Wally nicknamed you Princess, a name that once was used as an insult to you, but he had used it in a warm, almost terms of endearment way.

“You nicknamed me Princess?” You asked, needing clarification.

His mouth opened and closed a few times. “Ah, yes...but only I use it!” He rushed out, hoping you wouldn’t be mad.

And then you giggled, that sweet sound gracing his ears. Looking down at you, he could see the warm smile on your glossy lips. Eyes shining brightly.

You stepped closer to him, manicured hand moving to rest on his chest as you looked up at him. “Well, I think I can let that slide...so long as I’m your only Princess". And you winked at him.

Wally was shocked, eyes wide and mind blank. You had just approved his nickname, so long as you were his only Princess. And you winked. This was big progress, this had to mean you liked him too, right?

As quick as you invaded his space, you stepped back, removing your hand. With another giggle you began to walk down the aisle towards the field. All the while Wally stood, shocked to his core.

Half way between Wally and the ground, you stopped to look back up at him. This time you laughed, seeing him still in the same spot you left him.

“Wow, have you frozen or stuck in a loop?” You called out in a tease. “We have group!”

Snapping back to reality, he finally noticed you had walked off without him. Quickly he moved his feet, making short work of the steps to come to stand beside you, as you continued to laugh.

His face warmed, embarrassed for you to have seen him like that. But you didn’t mind, you liked this Wally a lot.

“You know, I think I like this cute, flustered Wally" you mused with a tilted head, smiling up at him. “It’s adorable”.

Wally rolled his eyes, yet couldn’t help the small smile on his face. You grabbed his arm and proceeded to pull him down the stairs, and out of the stadium to group.

Yes, this definitely the start of the Princess and the jock.

#wally clark x reader #wally clark x you #wally x reader

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