OMGG I absolutely adore your fics about superbat !! They're soo cute and adorable đť
Tho I have a question? Why don't you post them on Ao3 too?? They're so good and also are you planning on writing longer fics for them!!? I would love to read themâ¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¨
Hiii, thank you so much!!đ I donât post them on Ao3 since theyâre just small snippets for now (like 1k words at most). Iâd love to write something longer eventually, but I donât really have the time to care for a full fic at the moment. Hopefully in the future tho!
Superbat, but Bruce drinks an ungodly amount of coffee every day, so Clark secretly swaps his beans for decaf.
It takes Bruce exactly one sip to notice.
âClark.â
The tone alone sends a shudder down Clarkâs back. He looks up from the couch, already knowing heâs caught.
Bruce stands in the doorway with a mug in hand, eyes narrowed in that terrifying, worldâs-greatest-detective way.
âYou switched my beans.â
Clark blinks, feigning confusion. âI have no idea what youâre talking about.â
âYou switched my beans,â Bruce repeats, quieter now, which somehow makes it worse.
âI just thought,â Clark begins carefully, âmaybe your heart would appreciate a break from the⌠seventeen espressos a day.â
âDo you want me to be functional, or unconscious?â
clark sighs as he rubs the back of his neck. âAlive would be nice.â
Thereâs a pause. Then Bruce sets the mug down on the table, steps closer, and looks down at him. âYou think I wouldnât notice?â
âI was hoping love would make you less perceptive...â
Bruceâs lips twitch like heâs fighting a smirk. âYouâre a terrible liar.â
âAnd youâre a caffeine addict.â
They stare at each other for a long moment. Then Bruce sighs, shoulderrs relaxing just a little.
âNext time,â he mutters, âat least use a better decaf.â
Clark grins. âNext time Iâll just hide the coffee machine.â
Krypto adores Bruce.
Bruce pretends not to like Krypto.
(He 100% likes Krypto.)
Whenever Bruce visits Clark in Metropolis, itâs always the same routine. He walks in, glances at Krypto, maybe gives him a single pat on the head, and then proceeds to ignore him completely.
Krypto, of course, takes this as a personal challenge.
If Bruce sits, Krypto sits. If Bruce stands, Krypto follows.
And when Krypto curls up at Bruceâs feet, Bruce either shifts a few inches away or pretends not to notice.
At first, Clark honestly thought Bruce might be scared of him. The idea didnât quite make sense (this is Batman, after all) but it was the only explanation he could come up with.
Then he considered that maybe Bruce just doesnât like dogs. Theyâre loud, energetic, often covered in mud. Not exactly Bruce Wayneâs preferred company after a long night in Gotham.
Clark never asked, though. He didnât want to make Bruce uncomfortable or force him to talk about something he clearly didnât want to. Instead, heâd just quietly try to call Krypto away whenever the dog got too close.
That is, until one evening.
Clark came home late from an interview, loosened his tie, and froze halfway through the living room.
On the couch, Krypto was sprawled out on his back, snoring softly and pressed right against Bruceâs chest. And Bruce, very much asleep, had one arm draped over the dog.
clarkâs heart just about melted on the spot.
He took out his phone. Of course he took a picture.
At first, he figured Krypto mustâve snuggled up to Bruce while he was asleep. That Bruce would wake up, shove the dog off, and scowl due to the embarrassment. But the longer Clark watched, the less sure he became.
He sat down at the dining table, chin in his hand, and hust watched them.
After a while, Bruce stirred. His eyes slowly blinked open before he glanced down at Krypto. And instead of pushing him off, Bruce sighed quietly and ran his fingers through the dogâs fur. Then he closed his eyes again.
Clark smiled so wide it almost hurt.
He thought maybe, if he was quiet enough, he could get away unnoticed. But Bruceâs instincts were too sharp for that.
His eyes snapped open and he jerked upright immediately, sitting up straight like a kid caught doing something forbidden.
Clark stared at him, brow raised and a little smirk on his lips.
âItâs not what⌠I justââ Bruce started, but Clark didnât let him finish. He walked over, leaned down, and kissed him gently on the lips.
âItâs okay,â he murmured against his mouth. âYou donât have to explain yourself.â
Clark brushed his thumb over Bruceâs cheek as he tried not to grin too wide.
âI am,â he began, âstill going to hang up that picture I took of you two though.â
Bruce glared at him (or tried to). It didnât look quite convincing, not with Kryptoâs fur stuck to his shirt and that sleepy blush covering his face.
Clark just laughed and kissed him again.
[We almost hit 100 followers so here are two posts at once! Thank you guys so much!]
It started by accident.
During a fight that had gone sideways, Bruce was shoved off a high-rise before he could react. His grappling gun had been smashed somewhere in the chaos, so he had nothing. No plan, no gear, no way to stop what was coming.
He just fell.
The air slapped him from all angles, and for the first time in years, there was nothing he could do. No control, no choice, no rescue plan forming in his head. Only the fall.
And in that helplessnedss, something strange happened.
He felt at peace.
It didnât last long, of course. Superman caught him before the ground could.
Clark looked down at him with worry written all over his face, but Bruce could barely speak. He was still processing what heâd just felt.
The calm, the freedom.
He didnât tell Clark right away. Not until months later, when they were in a relationship and Bruce trusted him in a different way.
He carefully brought it up one night.
âI want to try something,â heâd said.
Clarkâs brows had furrowed immediately. âThat tone never means anything good.â
Bruce hesitated, then admitted, âI want you to drop me.â
âExcuse me?â
âNot⌠like that. I want you to fly me up, let me fall, and catch me again.â
Clark just stared at him for a moment, concerned and in disbelief. âYou want me to throw you off a building on purpose?â
âNot a building. You.â
âThatâs supposed to make it better?â
But after a long silence and some very persuasive reasoning (and maybe because it was Bruce asking) Clark agreed. He couldnât say no. Not to him.
So they started small.
Bruce hated the first part. The flying up always made him tense because there was too much dependence on someone elseâs power. But he gritted his teeth and endured it, because what came next always made it worth it.
Clark would hold him close, one arm under his knees, the other around his back. And his eyes would soften with affection and the promise that heâd never let anything happen to him.
Then heâd sigh and say, âYou know I donât like this, right?â
Bruce would nod. âYou donât have to like it. Just trust me.â
âI do. Thatâs the problem.â
And then heâd let go.
The first second was always the hardest. That moment when the warmth of Clarkâs hold disappeared and Bruce was weightless again. Then came the wind, the rush, and the adrenaline.
No control, no plan.
He knew Clark was there. Always. He never doubted it.
And right when the ground came closer and closer, Clark would appear and catch him again.
Every time, Clark noticed the same expression on Bruceâs face. It was calm and peaceful, like heâd just spent a few seconds away from his own thoughts and everything that plagued him.
That look made it all worth it.
Clark would always pull him in closer after, pressing soft kisses along his temple and murmuring something about how insane this habit was. Bruce would only huff a quiet laugh and rest his head against Clarkâs shoulder while still catching his breath.
It became their thing. A strange ritual that made sense only to thhem.
Whenever Bruce was wound too tight or when his thoughts were too loud, Clark would wordlessly take him up into the sky.
And afterward, when Clark held him close again, Bruce would whisper against his chest, âThank you. Iâm feeling better now.â
Clark would smile, because in the end, it didnât matter how strange their habit was.
It was theirs.
And that was enough.
I'm sorry if this is rude to ask but what prompted your last post? Did something happen in the whc community?
please read this if you want to support whc writers more !
hi! not rude at all, dw. if anyone doesn't know what this refers to, it's about this post here. it's about how greedy and ungrateful this community can be towards writers đ
there's no specific drama or anything, it's just something I've been talking about with my friends for a while now, since other writers have noticed this too / are put under pressure by it.
SOME of you guys are genuinely ungrateful and disrespectful towards writers. it's not only whcblr, but since I specifically write for whc, I'm going to direct this at the whc community.
1 : SHOCKING NEWS! we have a life lol?
@tojivu and I have discussed this in detail before, but a lot of you people don't treat us like human beings. the amount of AUDACITY some people have is actually embarrassing. why do you feel so entitled to this.
there's so many people who treat having fics to read as a human right, rather than a luxury, and fully ignore that there's actually someone writing those fics behind the screen. we have lives and do this in our FREE TIME. I could be doing other things, but instead I'm writing. for FREE. I do not get paid for this. yet, people cannot even be bothered to give anything back in return. there's little to no appreciation towards writers.
of course I am happy about the growth of my account and there ARE positive interactions with people, but it gets overshadowed by the sheer disrespect we face as writers.
*your + my friend gets a lot of messages like this. literally how difficult is it to be patient and shut your bitchass up for once. omg if you're so desperate then start writing urself. maybe then you'll start to appreciate writers some more. If the person who sent this to my friend sees this, I'd like you to know that I hate you and you suck. đ I bet none of the people who say shit like this even bother interacting with writers. get your asses off our pages and touch some grass omg.
2 : don't pmo now
aside from the fact that some people tend to not like that we also have a private life and can get busy, it also quickly becomes rather obvious that people really don't care about your actual writing, once you start posting fics.
when i first started posting, I was really positively overwhelmed by the feedback I got, but the more requests I get, the more obvious it becomes to me that no one actually values my writing itself. a lot of people just want quick mass produced content, regardless of characterisation or effort being put into it.
Like. Do you people actually read posts by a writer before requesting things? I always thought people would send requests because they like my writing, but it's really just... them being too lazy to write it on their own, and therefore requesting random people. I know this doesn't seem like it's that deep to someone who doesn't write, but as the writer, it kind of hurts to not be seen as an actual person, but rather a machine who will write for every request we get. people don't value as at all. i get most requests because people are greedy, not because they like my content.
I get requests that genuinely offend me, because it's so obvious that those people don't actually read anything i say. (maybe they also just don't have the comprehension skills to understand it, who knows.) I get requests that so very obviously go against what I usually write, that it's genuinely ridiculous that people even ask me to write that. My boundaries are pinned on my profile, yet I still get requests that completely disregard those or anything I've ever said.
This part isn't only about the whc community. they're not the only culprit.
there's a big fat NO next to whether i write about squid game / valorant or not, and i STILL get requests for them. the big fat NO is like 3cm underneath the requests button. Be so fr rn. like oh my god can we normalise actually reading the author's boundaries b4 requesting things. HOW!!!! HOW!!!! difficult is it to see me as a person. i hate tumblr so much sometimes it's genuinely making me lose my mind.
3 : type of greed they talk about in the bible
there's this one person who has asked half of the whc writers community to write for the same prompt, and that level of greed just lowkey sickens me. Like oh my god you don't need 10 people to write the same thing for you. how GREEDY do tou have to be. (+ i kms every time a request mischaracterises someone. you guys, seongje is NAWWT that horrible of a person for noncon to be included omg)
same with people DEMANDING what amount of detail they want you to write / how long it should be.
you people do not have the right to tell us how long our posts should be. we decide that. we're the ones who write it. PLEASE you people have to start writing yourself so you get a fucking reality check and see how long this takes and how much effort writers put into their posts, just for everyone to feel like its their âď¸đ¤ god given right đ¤âď¸ to read fanfics. ur so damn ungrateful.
4 : đ
people used to comment WAY MORE under posts, and now whenever you post something, there's so. little of anything. I have my mutuals and we always comment under each other's posts, but thats bc we're friends. there's little from actual readers.
I and so many other authors value comments and human interaction way more than likes. there's no need for detailed comments, a fucking thumbs up is enough. takes you a second to comment that. there's even people who ask to be put on TAGLISTS and are so desperate to get notified when their favs post, just to not???? Interact????? Oh my god just start supporting writers again, I'm begging. we give you so much for free and spend so much time writing and ur ungrateful asses can't even give some writers a thumbs up đđđ
I like and comment under posts even if i didn't like the writing style much or found it corny. simply because I know how much it means to us writers. (It also only takes like 30sec of my life to write 'this was so cute!!!!') I do it because we are supposed to be a COMMUNITY, yet so many people just take fanfics for granted.
And that is exactly where they're so so wrong. SOME of you take everything for granted and then give nothing back to us.
I know i get a good amount of likes on most posts, but it's obvious that people only want seongje smut in this community and any other author / post is basically worthless. I've literally started writing for seongje bc otherwise people won't gaf about you. I don't even like writing for him đđđ like omg even if oomfs write for fandoms I'm not in, I'm STILL gonna hit that like button and comment bc I want to show my appreciation for authors. can we start hyping up EVERYONE, instead of only glazing seongje writers (no ooffenseto them, keep writing seongje. u guys aren't the issue) you're also ?? Going to get more content that way? If you start hyping up authors, then they'll feel more motivated to write.
Me and other authors are just genuinely sick of being treated like an ai that you can just put prompts into. Like omgg I got the same request THREE times bc some of you are so greedy you don't even remember who you already requested things from. Be so fr.
5 : is this about you? it likely is!
if you feel like this is directed at you, then please reconsider how you talk to us and how you view us. there are a lot of genuinely sweet people in this community and I appreciate those a lot. this is NOT about you if you're nice and kind and normal and respect us. (shout out to the person who requested a baekjin os + the one who asked for hcs of a holiday trip. this isn't about u guys, I love u. I swear I will post that soon) this is about all those greedy asses who hide behind anonymity in order to pressure us and make us resent something that's supposed to bring joy.
I had immense burnout from writing for two or three years, and joining the whc community helped me a lot to find joy in writing again. I don't want to start disliking it again, just because some of you guys are just.... lowkey too dumb to realise that we're just as much of a person as you are. u don't even understand how close sha (tojivu) and I get to leaving this community every day bc of people like that. same with others. if I ever quit tumblr, you all better feel guilty bc it's likely because of the fucking disrespect we face.
If any of this offended you, then you're the issue lol. if anyone says some shit like "ohh no one is forcing you to write this", just know that fanfic writers are the backbone of this community and you wouldn't be anything without us and other artists đ
Bruce and Clarkâs first kiss wasnât at all what anyone expected.
It wasnât soft, or calm, or slow. It wasnât tender or romantic.
They werenât even together. Hell, they hadnât even admitted their feelings to each other yet.
It was chaos, all frustration and fear and years of holding back, crashing together all at once.
And it all started with their first real argument.
Bruce had just returned from an infiltration mission again, despite explicit orders from the league (and Clark in particular) not to go in alone. The mission was supposed to be planned through first, but Batman being Batman, he went deep into enemy territory, nearly got himself killed, and came back bruised and bloody but acting like it was no big deal.
Clark had been furious and terrified, just pacing the Watchtower. And the moment Bruce appeared throuhh the zeta-tube, wiping blood off his face, Clark was there, jaw tight and fists clenched.
âYou disobeyed a direct order,â Clark began, his voice uncharacteristically low. âYou were supposed to wait for backup.â
Bruce didnât even look at him. âBackup wouldâve slowed me down.â
âBackup wouldâve kept you alive.â
As Bruce turned, that familiar calm fury became visible on his face. âI am alive.â
âThatâs not the point!â
âThe point,â Bruce began, âis that I got what we needed.â
âAnd what if you hadnât? What if that building collapsed on you? What ifââ
âThen Iâd deal with it.â
Clarkâs hands balled into fists at his sides. âYou always say that. Like itâs nothing. Like your life doesnât matter.â
âDonât pretend you understand what itâs like to be fragile.â
That hit like a slap. Clark saw red for a fraction of a second. âDonât you dareââ
âDonât what?â Bruce snapped. âTell the truth?â
âDonât stand there bleeding and act like youâre some kind of martyr!â Clarkâs voice rose, not just angry but afraid. âWeâre supposed to be a team. You canât just keep throwing yourself into the fire and expecting everyone else to clean up after you!â
While taking a step forward, Bruceâs expression turned stone cold. âNo one cleans up after me.â
Across the main deck, Barry and Jâonn exchanged a look.
âWe should go.â
Barry blinked. âNow?â
âNow.â
A second later, the zeta-tube flashed again, and the two men were alone.
Clark didnât even notice they were gone. He was too close now, too angry.
âYou think youâre invincible just because youâre Batman?â Clark growled. âYouâre not. Youâre human. You break. You bleed. Youââ
He stopped, because Bruce was right there. Close enough to touch. And suddenly Clark could see the blood drying on his cheek, the split in his lip, the tremor in his shoulders that he was pretending wasnât there.
âI mean, just look at yââ
But then, before Clark could say the next word, Bruce moved.
He grabbed Clark by the front of his suit and slammed him back into the wall with a thud that caused the ground to shake. The breath left Clarkâs lungs, and before he could react, Bruceâs mouth was on his.
It wasnât gentle. It was all teeth and anger, the kind of kiss that burned more than it soothed. Clarkâs hands came up automatically, one catching Bruceâs wrist, the other gripping his shoulder like he didnât know whether to push him away or pull him closer.
But Bruce didnât stop. It was like every unspoken thing between them, every glare, every touch that lingered too long, was pouring out all at once.
When Clark exhaled against his mouth, a sound that was half a growl, half a gasp, something snapped in him too.
In one swift motion, he spun them around fast enough to make Bruceâs breath hitch, and now it was Bruce pressed against the wall, wirh his cape caught between them and his hand still fisted in Clarkâs suit.
It was warm and wet as soon as their mouths met again, tongues dancing for the first place in a competition. When Clarkâs teeth caught on Bruceâs lower lip, a low sound, something between a groan and growl, broke out of him.
Instinctively, Clarkâs knee slid between Bruceâs thighs, making him gasp and arch against Clarkâs chest. The movement sent a spark through Clark that he swore he could feel all the way to his fingertips.
Even through the haze of fury and worry, that touch hit him like kryptonite.
He could feel everything. The heat between them, the uneven rhythm of Bruceâs breathing, the faint twitch in his muscles. He could hear Bruceâs heartbeat pounding faster, could feel the effort it took for him to hold himself back.
It made Clarkâs pulse race. It made him dizzy.
It felt too good, too consuming. Better than anything heâd ever imagined.
Bruce Wayne, Batman, coming undone under his touch.
What a sight.
The sound of their kissing turned lewd and almost dirty. And in addition to the quick breaths and quiet gasps between them, it felt almost scandalous to be doing this in the Watchtower. For a fleeting second, Clark almost felt embarrassed.
But still, he couldnât stop.
He couldnât stop tasting him, couldnât stop feeling the warmth of Bruceâs waist under his hands, gripping him to make sure he doenst disappear. Every instinct screamed to stay close, to keep this impossible thing from slipping away.
âClark,â Bruce eventually breathed against his mouth, his voice strangely hoarse. But Clark didnât stop. He didnât even think he could.
However, when Bruce finally pressed a hand to his chest, Clark froze. The pressure wasnât hard, but it was enough for him to pull back.
They stood there, breathing hard, chests heaving, faces only inches apart. Their lips were swollen and red and aching to meet once more.
When Bruceâs gaze flicked past Clarkâs shoulder, he turned as well, only to be met with⌠Hal, grinning from ear to ear as he leaned against a pillar.
âBarry owes me twenty bucks,â he muttered with a smirk before strolling away again.
It was quiet for a moment then. A very short moment, though.
âAt least now I know how to get you to shut up,â Bruce murmured.
And before Clark could even think of a reply, Bruce grabbed his collar and pulled him down into another kiss.
After Bruce finally gave Clark the go-ahead to make their relationship of 10 months semi-public, Clark became the happiest man on earth.
Heâd laughed and kissed Bruce all over his cheeks, his jaw, his shoulders, until Bruce had to pretend to be annoyed just to stop grinning himself.
They werenât going to announce it to the press, obviously. Bruce wasnât that reckless. But they also didnât have to hide anymore.
No more meeting halfway between Gotham and Metropolis to spend time together in a Bruce-approved hotel. No more dinners trapped in the manor because, at some point, even the Gotham Gazette had started asking why Bruce Wayne was being interviewed every week by the same very flustered reporter from the Daily Planet.
They could go out now, take walks, have a meal, exist in the open, together.
And for Clark, the first small step toward that freedom sat right there on his desk.
A photograph.
It was a selfie heâd practically begged Bruce to take. Him kissing Bruceâs cheek, arm wrapped around his waist, with Bruce looking both unimpressed but incredibly sweet at the same time.
It wasnât even a big picture, just a small silver frame next to his monitor. But to Clark, it might as well have been a billboard declaring âIâm dating Bruce Wayneâ in big letters.
He couldnât concentrate. Every few minutes, heâd pause mid-article and just let his fingers hover over the keyboard as he glanced around the bullpen.
Lois walked by with a cup of coffee, Jimmy rolled his chair past to show someone a photo, and Perry shouted something about deadlines.
But no one noticed.
By lunchtime, Clark had decided they must all be blind. By three, heâd half-convinced himself Bruce was right about him being paranoid. And by five, the tension had eaten a hole straight through his calm facade.
Finally, as the office began to empty, he turned to his coworkers and asked, way too loudly, âSo⌠no oneâs going to say anything?â
Lois didnât even look up from her computer. âAbout what, Smallville?â
âAbout that.â Clark gestured helplessly toward the frame.
âThe photo?â
âYes! The photo!â
Jimmy leaned back in his chair as he craned his neck. âOh. You finally put something up.â
âFinally?â
âClark, honey, weâve known,â Lois sighed, setting down her pen.
âYouâve known?â
âOf course weâve known,â she repeated, as if explaining something painfully obvious.
âYouâre the first to snatch up any assignment involving Bruce Wayne. You go to Gotham for âweekend storiesâ every other week, and you quote him in articles he hasnât even given interviews for.â
Jimmy held up a finger. âAlso, your tie is always slightly crooked after you come back from Gotham.â
Clark opened his mouth, closed it again, and made a soft strangled sound. âThatâthat doesnât meanââ
âPlease. You think I donât know that look? Youâre in love, Clark. Half this officeâs bets were about when youâd admit it.â
âYou had bets?â
Jimmy grinned. âLois won.â
âTold them I recognized that dumb lovesick grin months ago.â
Clark dropped his head into his hands. âYou guys are unbelievable.â
âUs?â Lois muttered sweetly. âYouâre the one who kept blushing every time someone mentioned Bruceâs name.â
Clark muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like Iâm never living this down.
Later that evening, he couldnât wait to text Bruce as soon as he got home.
Clark: They already knew.
The reply came within seconds.
Bruce: I told you they would.
Clark: They had bets.
Bruce: Smart people.
Clark: I hate you.
Bruce: No you donât.
âSuperman! Whoâs your favorite human?â a reporter shouted from the back row during a League press conference.
It made Clark pause for a second. Not because he didnât have an answer, but because it was such an unusual question.
âBatman,â he replied eventually, with that bright, charming signature smile of his.
Instantly, the room went dead silent.
Every camera in the world turned to Bruce. Batman.
He blinked once, twice, then stared directly at Clark with a twitch in his eye.
âUh,â Hal muttered under his breath, âyou sure you donât want to think about that answer?â
âWhy would I? Heâs my favorite.â
While Barry started choking on his own laughter, Billy hid his snicker behind his hand.
Bruce adjusted his cowl like it personally offended him. âYou couldâve said anyone else.â
âWhy? Youâre human.â
âThatâs debatable,â Hal whispered.
If looks could kill, the Lantern wouldâve dropped dead right there.
By the time they got back to the Watchtower, Supermanâs Favorite Human was trending worldwide.
And while Bruce pretended not to be bothered by it, Clark pretended not to be proud.
âReporters are going to ask about that for weeks,â Bruce muttered as he scrolled through the headlines.
âMaybe theyâll stop if you tell them I was joking.â
âBut you werenât.â
Clark laughed, dimples soft he placed his hands on either side of the chair Bruce was sitting in.
âNo. I wasnât.â
The Leagueâs âSuperbat Evidence Spreadsheetâ
It started as a joke.
Barry made an offhand comment in the Watchtower chat:
âIf Batman and Superman arenât dating, then why did I just see Clark fix Bruceâs cape???â
Hal: âProof or it didnât happenâ
And then, because Barry has no sense of restraint and way too much free time, he made a digital sheet.
The title?
âSuperbat: The Evidence.â
Tab 1: Physical contact (Non-mission related)
⢠Clark brought Bruce coffee again â
⢠Bruce fixed Clarkâs curl in the debrief room (!!!)
⢠Clark hovered to hold an umbrella over Bruce during rain (unnecessary, dramatic)
Diana: âYou realize this is invasive, right?â
Barry: âYou realize youâre editing the sheet right now, right?â
Diana: ââŚadding the gala from last week. He straightened Clarkâs tie.â
Tab 2: Verbal affection
⢠âBe carefulâ (said by Batman, in tone described as soft???)
⢠âYou look tired, Bruce.â
⢠âClark, I swear to god.â â âLove you too, B.â
Tab 3: Suspicious activity
⢠Clark seen leaving Gotham at 3:14am
⢠Batmobile parked in Metropolis alley
⢠Bruce mysteriously âbusyâ during Supermanâs press events
⢠Alfred liked Clarkâs latest Instagram post (Alfred has social media??) (Yes he does)
Jâonn also added a note:
⢠Their heart rates synchronize when they argue.
Eventually, Bruce finds the spreadsheet.
He scrolls through it for exactly sixty seconds, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Then, without a word, he types at the bottom:
Batman: âThis is an unacceptable invasion of privacy. Also: weâre not dating.â
He closes the tab.
Ten minutes later, another edit appears:
Superman: âYou sure about that?â
And then a few seconds after that:
Batman: âClark.â
Superman: âWhat? Just contributing dataâ
Barry: âOH MY GOD THEYâRE FLIRTING IN THE SPREADSHEETâ
By the end of the week, the sheet is locked.
No one knows who password-protected it.
(Just kidding. They all know it was Bruce.)
Except, a month later, it mysteriously updates again.
New entry:
âConfirmed: Status - Complicated.â
Last edited by: Superman.
Superbat trying to prove theyâre not dating (and failing miserably).
The Justice League was convinced Bruce and Clark were dating.
The problem was that the two of them had absolutely no idea how to prove otherwise.
Because, sure, Clark did bring Bruce coffee every morning during briefings. And maybe Clark did patch Bruce up personally in the medbay instead of letting himself handle it.
And fine, maybe they occasionally left missions together and came back suspiciously at the same time.
But that didnât mean anything. Obviously.
At least, thatâs what Bruce told himself every single time Barry waggled his eyebrows across the meeting table.
âJust admit it,â Barry started one afternoon, leaning over the table with a grin. âYouâre together.â
Clark laughed. âNo, weâre just good friends.â
Bruce didnât even look up from the mission report. âColleagues.â
âFriends.â
âColleagues.â
âSure, Bruce,â Diana sighed as she rested her chin on her hand. âThatâs why he calls you sweetheart over comms.â
âHe was⌠joking,â Bruce muttered.
âHe was asking if youâd eaten.â
There was a long pause. Barry snorted so loudly he had to fake a cough.
â
After that meeting, Bruce decided to put an end to the rumors once and for all.
Clark agreed, mostly because he thought it would be funny.
It was not funny.
âAlright,â Bruce began, arms crossed in the Watchtowerâs common area, âweâre going to prove weâre not dating.â
Across from him, Barry and Hal exchanged identical grins. âThis I gotta see,â Hal muttered.
Clark looked vaguely amused. âAnd how exactly are we doing that?â He whispered.
âBy behaving like professionals.â
Barry snorted. âThatâs what youâve been doing. Itâs not working.â
Bruce ignored him. âWeâll demonstrate appropriate team dynamics. Minimal personal interaction.â
â
It lasted exactly three days.
By day one, Clark had âaccidentallyâ brought Bruce tea again.
By day two, they were caught mid-conversation, standing too close in the hallway. Bruce was fixing the buckle on Clarkâs suit because it was âmisaligned.â
It was not misaligned.
By day three, someone noticed Bruceâs comm ID was renamed âđŚâ¤ď¸â on Clarkâs communicator.
Clark swore it was âa glitch.â
Bruce deleted the entire comm network.
â
They were midway through a cleanup operation in downtown Metropolis when Barryâs voice came through the comms:
âHey, uh, question. Are Batman and Superman flirting right now?â
âNo,â Bruce replied instantly.
Clark, however, sounded too cheerful. âWhy, does it sound like we are?â
âBuddy, it always sounds like you are.â
âFocus,â Bruce barked sharply. âWe have hostiles incoming.â
âYeah, yeah, hostiles, sure,â Hal muttered. âJust saying, your âbattle banterâ sounds a lot like foreplay.â
âHal,â Bruce growled.
âOkay, but it does,â Berry chimed in, clearly smirking. âThe growling, the yelling each otherâs names.â
Clarkâs warm voice came over the line. âMaybe thatâs just our friendship dynamic.â
âDynamic, my ass,â Hal yelled. âYou call him darling over comms!â
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. âThat was once.â
âTwice,â Diana corrected smoothly. âThe second time was when you thought the line was muted.â
There was a long pause.
Bruce had nothing to say anymore.
â
By the end of the week, the League had collectively decided that Bruce and Clark were together, had been together for years, and were simply "private about it."
Bruce gave up arguing entirely.
Clark, meanwhile, seemed to find every excuse possible to stand a little too close, smile a little too warmly, and say things like "thanks, sweetheart" over comms just to see if Bruce would react.
He didn't.
Mostly.
Though Alfred did quietly set two plates for dinner that night.
And when Clark showed up, Bruce didn't send him away.
Because at that point, trying to prove the League wrong started to feel like lying to himself.
Clarkâs love confession was something Bruce would never forget in his life again.
It was just so damn ridiculous.
It wasnât romantic, wasnât calm or sweet or loving.
No, it happened mid-battle, in the middle of chaos, with smoke, gunfire, and one very angry alien warlord trying to vaporize them both.
Bruce had just thrown a batarang that barely missed Clarkâs head when it happened.
âBruce!â Clark yelled, catching a flying car before it would crash into the building behind him. âI love you!â
Bruce instantly froze. For a full second. In the middle of combat.
A fatal mistake.
A full second was all it took for a shockwave to slam into his chest, sending him crashing into a pile of rubble with enough force to make his ribs ache.
âAre you insane?â He furiously shouted into the comm, knowing damn well Superman could hear him just fine without it.
âAlright, maybe this wasnât the perfect moment to tell you that!â
âYou think?â Bruce barked, staggering upright and brushing concrete dust off his chest armor. âYour timing is appalling.â
Clark hovered down beside him, still batting bullets away with one hand. âI was worried!â
âAbout what?â
âThat something might happen to you. And I didnât want toââ Clark caught a massive stone, tossed it back at its source, and continued without missing a beat, ââregret not telling you!â
Bruce blinked at him. âKent, youâre invulnerable.â
âI said you!â
Bruce just stared. Then threw another smoke bomb at his feet, because it was either that or let Clark see him blush under the cowl.
.
.
.
Okay, maybe that was two years ago, and maybe Bruce shouldâve been long over it by now.
But sometimes, when he stared at Clarkâs sleeping face next to him, he could still hear it. That ridiculous, shouted I love you.
âYour timing really is terrible,â he whispered, too quietly for anyone human to hear.
Clarkâs lips curved lightly, eyes closed. âStill worked, though.â
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