While the desperation was evident on Jason’s face, the reality of his betrayal only made your skin crawl.
Just the look of him had summoned an annoyance and discomfort so heavy that you were sure he could see it. His fingers curled around your waist and dragged you closer so he could drop his head in the crook of your neck.
“Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No.” Finality in your tone. “Go away Jason.”
He whines like a dog. “I didn’t mean to do it ma. I swear it meant nothing to me.”
Sighing hard, you shove his head off of you and grab his chin. “Oh, so cheating on me meant nothing to you?”
His expression shifts and his brows lift. “I didn’t cheat on you, I just, I—I forgot.”
The scoff that came from deep in your core felt like a knife cutting through his skin. He knew he fucked up. He knew it was over for him.
Already shaking your head as his puppy eyes bore into yours. “Right, so you forgot about your girlfriend? That makes it so much better.”
Gripping onto you tighter even when you try to pull from him again, he practically turns into a puddle around you. Molding himself to your skin like this could suffice a means to your forgiveness.
“No. No. Nothing like that. How could I forget you? You’re perfect. It’s my fault. I should’ve known it could hurt you. I should’ve thought.”
A creep of satisfaction warms your skin.
You’re trying to hide your snickers as he nuzzled closer to you like he’s rubbing his scent in. Though you keep your expression still and impossibly quiet. Like you hadn’t forgiven at all when you knew deep down, you could never hate him. Not really anyway.
Nuzzling his head into your chest, he makes a sound that reeked of desperation. Pleading for you to listen to him and hear him out just one last time.
“Say something please princess?”
You hum, pretending to think. Letting a hand run through his hair while he kept still, trying to evaluate where he fell now. “Okay fine. I forgive you.”
Perking up immediately, he looks up at you with sparkles on his pretty eyes. “Really? You do?”
Taking turns looking into each of his eyes, you nod. “Course baby. Just don’t do that again, okay?”
He takes your hand from his hair and kisses the back of it. Then the knuckles and the wrist, devotion evident in his actions that it brings a smile to your face. Jason continues peppering his kisses over your skin and sighs dreamily.
“I’ll never watch our show without you again okay?”
You can’t help but smile. “Not even if I’m not home for a couple days? Not even if you see spoilers?”
Eyes tracking his movements as he stilled and leaned up to look at you. His hard chest against yours as he pulls you flush against him on the couch, kissing the side of your face and nodding vigorously. Murmuring yes, over and over again.
“You’re way more entertaining than that damn dating show.”
You blink at him. “It’s called love island.”
“More like lust island.” He scoffs. Huffing and puffing, he buries his nose in your hair and pulls you impossibly close so you couldn’t escape him now. “They’re all so messy and I was bored out of my mind without you. You know I love drama ma.”
Reaching up and ruffling his hair, you pull his head up enough to kiss his forehead.
“Yes baby, I know you like dramatics. Now you have to watch the three episodes you watched without me again.”
Jason perks up a little. “Of course. I’ll rub your feet too if you want.”
Making a face at him, you giggle. “I don’t need you to—”
He’s already pulling off you and grabbing your legs, pulling off the socks and shaking his head.
“Nope. I should pay the price of betraying you. Don’t worry about me sweets, just pretend I’m not here.” Smiling ear to ear like he’s the one getting a reward here.
He hands you the remote and you raise a brow as he starts pressing his thumb into your heel. “You’re enjoying this too much for it to be a punishment.”
He quietly shushes you and places a gentle kiss to your ankle. “Watch your show ma.”
A/n: Hey guys! As a reminder my request are open if you guys want to see something specific!
Note: Got the star divider from @cafekitsune
Tags: fluff
Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, and Wally West
Dick Grayson
Absolutely adores you when you rant and rave about your research. Thinks you're cute when you're passionate about something.
May not understand every concept and niche in your major but learns new facts from your yapping.
Is a little concerned about your sleep schedule (boy can't really talk).
Reminds you to take breaks and to eat.
Would be so concerned with crashouts if you have them, but will comfort you through them.
Will help you study!
Tim Drake
Depending on your major you both can geek out together, but overall I do feel like Tim is well rounded, so even if it's not a specific subject he's passionate about he can still hold a conversation with you regardless.
That being said he'll definitely give you advice and input on any reports/research projects you have to do.
Would definitely worry more about your well being than his lol.
Has he gotten any sleep in the last 24 hours? No. But you shouldn't follow his example and get some rest.
Both you would end up becoming each other late night buddies lol. (I haven't met a stem major who hasn't stayed up late for at least one semester lol).
Wally West
He would have a hard time not distracting you while you study.
Is that friend you can't have around you or you're doing everything but studying for the next four hours.
But he's not your friend, he's your boyfriend so he's around you a lot of the time.
He does try his best to be quiet because he wants you home and not in the basement of the library, but baby boy fails so hard lol.
Though he's really sweet will get you any snack you want. Isn't in the apartment? Dw he'll just run and get them in a few seconds.
pairing: jason todd x prof!reader
synopsis: meddlesome siblings have some fun with jason to set him up on the perfect date, though it doesn't go quite as planned...
word count: 4.9k
The miscellaneous assortment of people who found themselves living–or rather, occupying–Wayne Manor were not known to band together under a common goal unless it was of the utmost importance.
Such times was when Bruce Wayne, who thought himself foolishly as the head of the household, had banned each of his children from driving the Batmobile; so, naturally, each child had formulated a respective excuse (and time slot) for when they all drove said Batmobile.
Damian, being the youngest, was quite aggrieved when he found his slot in the middle of the night. Not only was his sleep schedule in shambles—more so than being Robin—but he had encountered his father while driving. That had, in turn, created a much-lengthier lecture than hoped. To this day only Dick, Duke, Barbara, and Selina were successful in their driving endeavours.
Another was when Bruce (most of their excursions involve him) had made more appearances as Batman rather than his charitable, ‘pompous’--as stated by the Gotham Gazette on account of some writers disliking him–persona.
When the time came and yet another organization needed funding, he was rather confused when they all agreed to attend a gala with him, though it was more for the sake of letting the public know he was still alive and well than enjoying themselves.
Today, they–mostly Tim, much to his disgruntlement at the lack of enthusiasm from his siblings–had set their sights on a younger, though slightly identical prospect.
“God, you guys look like death.” Jason muttered–and reluctantly laughed at his impromptu joke–upon seeing both a stressed out Tim and Stephanie.
Stray strands of blonde hair were splayed over several keys on the Batcomputer, with a wide variety of Batbugers scattered around the vicinity.
“Oh, finally, someone other than Tim.” Stephanie grumbled when she noticed him, though her voice was muffled against random jumbles of computer keys, much like a cat who had found a new resting spot on a laptop would.
Tim, seemingly too tired to shove his desk-mate, simply blinked at the girl, mumbling something semi-coherent Jason thought was, “shut up”.
“Okay…clearly, this is a bad time…” Jason muttered, beginning to swivel his body before the both of them jumped from their seats in record time.
“You can’t!” Tim protested, followed by a grunt of agreement from Steph.
With an eyebrow raised and a foot hovering over the threshold, Jason questioned them with a simple, “why not?”
“Because!” Stephanie exclaimed, with a new burst of life. “We need your help on a case! Obviously.”
The man seemed even more skeptical than before, eyeing both of them. “...Right. You need me. You do realize the both of you are detectives…right? What happened to being the daughter of Cluemaster and the supposed ‘best Robin’?”
Tim waved a dismissive hand, forgetting how much he’d boasted the newly proclaimed title after memorizing every cheat code in Super Smash Bros. that had led to his win. “Pssh, that was a while ago. It’s totally forgotten.” It was last weekend. He was planning on bringing it up at dinner tonight.
Jason, who had planned on coming into the Batcave for spare tools he had forgotten to fix engine issues with his motorcycle, saw multiple opportunities with this situation his distressed family-members were presenting to him.
Potentially be of help and solve the case, putting away criminals in Gotham and keep the streets (just a bit) safer.
Blackmail.
Freedom from the relentless grip of boredom.
“Fine, then. What did you both need?” He went with the safest choice, the second option. He was gunning to take the Batmobile out again, anyways. For research purposes: (seeing how red Bruce’s face would get).
Tim spun his chair around to its original position, swiping all of their junk food with a wave of his arm. “It’s the Riddler, actually.”
Hearing his name, Jason groaned, his fingers automatically moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. “No.”
“No!?” The two of them blurted in unison, thoroughly not expecting him to decline their offer.
“Seriously, no. It’s too early to be dealing with his shit. I don’t need a migraine trying to connect his dots from here to Metropolis. Besides, can’t Bruce, Cass, or literally anyone else deal with him? Or even Damian, he always likes to mess with him.”
“No, because they’re all doing something!” Stephanie blurted, ready to list out what had preoccupied Gotham’s vigilante’s before Tim interjected.
“Well, that’s a damn shame, because he keeps sending out these weird quotes and neither of us know how to decipher them.
“I mean: “It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection, uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted.” What the hell does that even mean? Are we the ‘inexperienced youth’? That’s more of an insult than anything.” Tim quoted, his eyes scanning the slope of each letter.
“Real mouthful,” Stephanie added with a firm nod of her head. “We’re not certain about it, either, though this was said to be one of the easier ones. The letters were scrambled, and you know how old English is.” She mumbled, her head threatening to loll again.
It only snapped back into place, her hair giving her a new parting, when she realized Jason was laughing. His hands had come up to clutch his stomach as he toppled over, the rare sound echoing throughout the cave.
It was so foreign that Stephanie wasn’t sure where her priorities lie: getting a camera to immortalize this moment or getting Jason to be of assistance.
“You guys cannot call yourselves detectives if you can’t figure out some book quotes.” He cackled, rubbing his eyes of the tears that had sprouted from their incompetence.
“Okay then, smart guy, can you figure them out?” Stephanie scowled, her arms crossing as she did so.
“Yeah, that one’s from Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë. You all need to pick up a book once in a while.” He scoffed, though his feet shuffled closer to their computer without thinking.
“Eye-er?” Stephanie murmured, just loud enough for Jason’s keen ears to twitch.
“Aire, Steph. Like, the shit you breathe on the daily.”
“Ah, you mean when we’re not ingesting fear toxins or floral poisons? Gotcha.”
Tim’s eyes glimmered then, unsubtly pushing Jason’s unfathomably large body back to the doorway. “Well, I think we’ve got all the information we need. Thank you, Jason, you’ve been uncharacteristically helpful.”
“What the hell?!” Jason protested, “I thought you wanted me to help you both. Clearly, you guys don’t know jack about these quotes. It’s not like Dick’s going to be helpful.” He grumbled, throwing a light sibling jab as his heels skidded against the floors.
“Right! And since you know so much—apparently more than everyone else—we thought you could stop down to the library and pick up a copy of this Jane…”
“Eyre.”
“Exactly! Silly me, can’t even remember the title! Well, you just go and stop by and we’ll wait for you here!”
Using the doorpost as a means to stop Tim’s pushing, Jason swiveled around, unconvinced of their newfound love for small businesses.
“You know you could just buy the online copy, right? Don’t you have Bruce’s credit card information–I’m sure he wouldn’t even notice. Hell, I don’t even think he’s made a purchase in weeks.” Jason offered, if only to stop the strange way the both of them were staring at him.
“Well, who needs to support a billionaire when we could be supporting our local library! Right, Tim? We’re eco-friendly like that.” Stephanie quipped, to which Tim grinned, fighting the urge to list off the headlines of dying libraries.
“Fine, Fine! But you both need to do something while I’m gone. A nap should be like crack to you guys.” He muttered, but eventually walked out, presumably to the library.
After being sure he was well and truly gone, Stephanie slumped back in her chair, followed suit by Tim; both of them tired–though the spirit of quiet victory hovered among them.
“For fuck’s sake, I thought he’d never leave.” She groaned, pulling her vibrant purple hood over her eyes.
“Missions always take time,” Tim hummed, thoroughly pleased with himself. “But you’re right, he was getting suspicious. I had to speed things up somehow.”
“Because you were so subtle.”
“I thought we were on the same side!”
Forgetting their grievances with each other, the two shared a victorious fist-bump, followed by a relieved bite of their Batburgers.
“I can’t believe he thought we hadn’t read Jane Eyre.” He spoke in between chewing.
“Well, I was more of an Austen girly.” Stephanie quipped before speaking again. “Y’know, I don’t think he’s realized yet! I mean, we played him like a fiddle, didn’t we?” she snickered, thinking of how Jason must be on his way to the perfectly-planned setup they had curated.
“He better not be mad about it, either. I don’t think he’s seen the sun in a while–he needs this.” Tim muttered, sticking a handful of french-fries in his mouth.
“I know, right! You’ve seen his skin–he’s totally pale now.”
“Maybe we should sneak some garlic in his food, see how he’ll react.”
Shaking her freshly-iced fruit punch, she chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before braving herself to ask the question that had been plaguing her, since this plan was originated.
“Tim?”
“Yeah, Steph?”
“You don’t think we’ll get our asses beat if he finds out, right?”
“...Just finish your burger.”
.
Due to Jason’s motorcycle being obsolete at the moment because of repairs, he took the time to walk. Not that it was a long hike, per say, just some fifteen minutes with no one for company but his thoughts.
It was on this walk where he pondered why Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown—some of the strangest, though, smartest people he knows—would ask him for help for something as simple as decoding some literature quotes, but thought nothing more than them having a lot on their plates and needing a bit of help.
Alfred had scolded him into being more family-forward, after all. Who was he to decline them? Especially with a case that was aligned with his own interests, it’s almost as if it was tailored for him.
Almost.
In truth, Tim had solved the case a week ago with the help of Barbara, and Stephanie had finished putting away the last of Riddler’s goons the night before.
No, they were solely scheming for meddling purposes. Getting Jason out of the house was their first goal, the one that seemed to make the most sense at the time of their brainstorm, though three energy drinks in a ten minute succession can do a lot to a person’s mind.
Stephanie, who at the time, was practically buzzing, was the one to initially suggest the idea: Jason having a lover. It was met with much criticism—and a playful pillow slap—before it was actually thought over.
Naturally, the next discussion was who they could possibly set Jason up with. Many ideas were introduced. The hotel concierge was one discussed option, though found himself removed from the list as he was deemed, ‘too far’ from both the Manor and Jason’s apartment. A Jason stuck in traffic is one that nobody should deal with.
Another was the woman who works as the gym manager downtown, whom Tim had discovered with Duke that she also frequents the gun range. A seemingly match made in heaven, though Dick was the one who shot it down as he thought they were ‘too similar’.
Finally, at the ungodly hour of 2:45 A.M., they remembered the librarian. The slightly angered, yet dedicated girl who–if memory serves–was the closest in age with Jason. Thinking it to be a perfect pair, Tim was quick to formulate a plan to push the two together, with Stephanie adding helpful ideas here and there.
Cass, on the other hand, inaugurated a bet (mostly against Stephanie), where 20 dollars went to the blonde if the plan worked, and vice versa.
.
Jason had arrived at the library five minutes early. Whether it be due to his unnaturally large steps or his discrete eagerness of going, he couldn’t say.
Sticking his umbrella in his pocket, his ears twitched as the curious bell jingled above his head when he walked in, gusts of lavender and rosemary filling his senses as he stepped deeper into the building.
The library was quaint, almost homey despite the quantity of books, novellas, and collections they seemed to offer. Soft yellow lighting mimicked the color of the pages of olden texts, and the ladder that hinted up to more rows of books seemed to have been crafted when some of these pages were written.
Jason was ecstatic.
Not that it could be read on his face, of course. His lips were pressed into sharp, thin lines as he scanned the titles nearest the check-out stand, numbering the ones he had already read.
He had never been to the library, at least not after the Lazarus Pit, but my God did it seem like euphoria to him. Really, there was no need for him to make the trouble of coming here. The Manor had a fine assortment of novels, and with Bruce’s seemingly limitless credit card, Jason had bought more books online than he could remember. And still, there was something alluring about the environment in which he found himself.
Gotham was always depressing—it was practically its trademark. And yet, somehow, this small library seemed lively and bright. It was almost blinding.
“Excuse me?” A gentle voice called, peering into the one of the back rooms. “Is anyone there?”
Jason raised an inquisitive brow, head tilted as he watched a woman–who seemed to be running late for something: tapping foot, anxious fingers, all key signs to stress.
“Do you…need help?” Jason murmured, suddenly wishing he was mute as the words left him.
Upon not hearing him correctly, this gorgeous woman asked him to repeat himself, which he reluctantly did with utmost clarity and embarrassment.
“Oh! Thank you, but I’m just looking for something.”
“A book, I’m guessing?”
“Yes, Watson, I am. Though the librarian doesn’t seem to be…available.” She chuckled, continuing to scan the area, her heel a continuous tempo against the tile.
“Right, right…wait, I don’t get to be Sherlock?”
“Sherlock doesn’t fetch books from libraries for his cases–he has them at home. Thus, Watson.”
“Ah. Nice deductioning.”
“Why, thank you.”
His eyes, traitorous as they were, stare at yours for a time that has long since passed what is considered appropriate before his brain connects with his mouth again.
“What book were you looking for?” At the moment, Jason was unsure if the words he was speaking were formally correct or not, as he couldn’t hear much over the incessant beating of his heart.
“Wuthering Heights, actually. I’ve tried to check the aisles, but it’s all sorted weirdly. I mean, Dante’s Inferno was placed next to Diary of a Wimpy Kid.”
“Both classic literature,” Jason murmurs without thinking, eyes widening when he sees you laugh. Your shoulders eased in their tension, taut back alleviating as you giggled. It made Jason wish he could die. Again.
His heart lurched at the sound, and suddenly he forgot what it was he came for. What book could possibly hold the words as sweet as your laugh? He doubted one existed entirely.
“Is there no librarian here?” He asks, and you shake your head, cherry-tinted lips tugging into a frown.
“I’ve looked all over, but this place seems abandoned of any workers that could help. Honestly, I think she’s been out for a two hour smoke break now.”
“Well, we all have our vices.”
There’s a lull in the conversation then, and Jason suddenly wishes something he would never dare voice in front of his siblings–that he could be Timothy Jackson Drake. As much as the boy infuriates him, Jason can’t deny Tim is good at this: talking. The teenager is frustratingly witty.
“It’s…funny that you’re looking for Wuthering Heights,” He says after remembering why he had come to the library in the first place. “I’m actually in need of Jane Eyre, myself. Maybe we could…help each other with our Brontë’s?” Smooth, Todd. Real smooth.
Your ears perk up at his suggestion, eyes sparkling as if you’ve been waiting a long time for someone to ask you the very question.
“I have my own copy on me, believe it or not. You could borrow it.” You don’t wait for any rejections, already fishing out the novel after you had remembered.
“You’d let a stranger borrow a copy of your book?”
You hum, tracing the slope of each letter before handing the novel. “You don’t seem like the type of person to do some damage to it. At least, more damage than it’s already received. I’m sure you won’t drown it.”
Jason took the copy with grateful hands, nodding his thanks as he flipped through. Different-colored highlights varied across a multitude of pages, with writings and markings underneath significant quotes and chapters. Some were more eloquent than others, though the one that stood out to him was simpler in nature, plainly saying, ‘Brocklehurst should die’.
He refrained from making any comments about the annotations, though he did stifle a snicker seeing the absurd amount of explanation points and the equally scribbled happy faces next to the scene where Jane had confronted her tormentors at Gateshead.
“Well, thanks for this. My friends will really appreciate it.” He admitted, his hand running through the stubborn tuft of white hair that never seemed to go away.
“Oh, well, I only give out my books to strangers who’ll appreciate them. Not those strangers' friends,” You said, a teasing smile plastered on your face.
Jason choked back a cough, forcing himself to make eye contact with you. It was almost ironic, just mere moments ago he would have had to be pried to get him to look away. “Can I show my appreciation by helping you look for your Brontë?”
You grinned, your smile blinding in its authenticity as you nodded. “Yeah. That would be great.”
.
Jason finally understood Superman’s disdain for Kryptonite.
All this time, he had figured that the man who practically glowed with power and authority was just being…dramatic. Now he figures he has to apologize to the superhero on account of saying some very un-Superman comments about his relationship with the radioactive material.
The way he’s seen footage of Superman recoiling in pain at the proximity of the mineral had to be what was happening to him when he was with you. Scientifically, it was the only astute explanation.
His hands were never idle when he was helping you, always pulling out books to find their titles and put it in its correct position.
“I wonder who organized this library in the first place.” You mused after you both had filled out the ‘Sci-Fi’ section.
“Someone who got paid very little, I suppose.”
He could feel his heart stutter as you made references to media he was never able to tell others about, books beginning to slip from his hands as they started to sweat.
He had never met a force as formidable as you.
Suddenly, the walls he took years forming were threatening to shake. He was struck frozen when he realized he wanted you to tear down the walls shielding him from the outside world, and he had to remember that you are, technically, a stranger.
“Aha! Found it! Next to…I’m Glad My Mom Died? Damn, whoever shelved this is seriously out of their mind.” Your brows furrowed for a moment, thrusting the copy of the younger Bronte’s work into Jason’s hands before dashing off to shelve the former actress’ memoir into the ‘Non-fiction’ designated area.
He grunted as you gave him the book, quickly skimming through the pages as he diligently carried the sacred treasure. It confused him, he realized. That the same hands that were scarred with carrying a wild assortment of weapons with more precision that most army recruits would be so gentle with holding a novel you specifically asked for.
When Jason found himself distracted by the amount of special-edition covers the library had procured of Pride and Prejudice, he was surprised to eventually discover you deep within the aisle of textbooks.
“Do you have a test coming up or something?” He questioned, trying his damndest not to spook you.
As in his fears, he saw your shoulders slightly jump at his voice and intruding presence.
“Sort of. I’m the one handing out the tests, actually. I’m a classic literature professor, so these are my lifeline. Technically, we’re supposed to start off with Greek and Roman works and work our way chronologically, but I wanted to start off easy this semester.” You rambled, your arms straining to carry the masses of textbooks that surrounded you.
As if on instinct, Jason bent down to be of assistance, bumping his head against one of the shelves.
“Are you alright?” You grimaced, though hints of a smile peaked through as a small bump formed. Your hand automatically reached upwards, but came down when he was still focused on the injury.
“I’ve had worse.” He sighed, going back to the task at hand. When he was finished, he helped you to your feet when you began to exit the area.
“Somehow, these were correctly shelved. I suppose it’s due to the lack of enthusiasm the general public has for analyzing classical literature.” You laughed, though it was more somber than your earlier giggles. “Hm…a surprising lack of Toni Morrison, but an incredible influx of James Baldwin.” Your fingers trailed the volumes, leaving slight fingerprints over dust-bounded leather covers.
“The general public are all idiots.” Jason gruffed out, mentally debating between Persuasion and Crime and Punishment for his next visit, (which he decided would be soon, depending on if he could get this lucky with the customers again).
“How’s…teaching?” He asked, straining for any pieces of information that he could latch on. Jason hadn’t been a favorite student himself, what with him not graduating and all, though he could appreciate education.
“Ah, an experience. The Gotham University kids are all too unique to be defined in one word.”
“What, they’re not stupid, are they?”
“No, not at all! They’re brilliant students, I promise.”
You hummed, a sly smile forming as you looked up at him. Your eyes strayed to his white streak, stubborn and unyielding, and it brewed a question on your tongue of its origins. You forced it down, not wanting to accidentally offend.
“I didn’t surprise you when I told you I was a professor, did I? I’m sure you were expecting someone different. White, curled wigs, briefcase in hand, maybe a gavel.”
“Now you’re just describing a judge.” He snorted, looking down at you.
“Mm, I plead innocent!”
.
When the pair was ready to check-out their selected novels, an actual worker had appeared.
“You know, it’s a hazard to leave the building without someone in charge for so long,” You casually mentioned as you slid a library card across the counter, warily watching the one scanning them.
“Are you sure this is you?”
“Excuse me?”
She narrowed her eyes, fingers pointing at your photo. “This photo doesn’t match with what I’m seeing.”
“I’m sorry to inform you—but that’s me. We have the same features. I can bring you the same shirt if you need more proof.” You muttered, hands tightening into fists.
The woman, whom Jason had read her name as Norah, refused to believe what her mind had been set on. It reminded him of a multitude of people in his own life.
“Look, lady, I’m sure you’re great at your job, but if she says it’s her, then it is.” He eventually spoke up, his height towering, almost imposing.
“Look, sir, I’ve been trained to recognize people in their photos—I think I have the superiority here. Now, she needs to either get her photo redone or admit this isn’t her. If you’re going to continue disrupting the environment, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Her voice had leveled up an octave, and Jason noticed in his peripheral vision of a young woman scampering away with a child who was starting to sniffle.
“For fuck’s sake, give us the book and let us leave!” You both had shouted, though Jason’s lower—and frankly, more powerful—tone had reached her ears quicker. Norah, seemingly realizing how little she gets paid to be arguing with customers for so long, finished scanning the book and allowed the two to leave–though she had huffed and scowled throughout the process.
Winding your way throughout carts and aisles, the two of you eventually resurfaced to the outside world, Jason’s eyes squinting to readjust to the natural darkness.
“Thank you for helping me back there. I think you intimidated her enough.” You quietly chuckled, your steps moving in tandem with his own.
“That was nothin’.” He countered, forcing his eyes straight ahead so as to not lose himself in yours.
“Hm. Whatever you say, stranger.”
“Stranger with a good taste in literature.”
“Ah, you mean Diary of a Wimpy Kid? Yes, I’ll mention it at book club Thursday.”
Streetlights illuminate the city in waves of gold, the smell of apples and coffee lingering in the air, long after seas of customers have washed out.
Jason could almost appreciate Gotham like this. Quiet, but not eerily so. He appreciated the familiarity that came with seeing motorcycle engines being turned into ignition, and storeowners keeping their fluorescent lights flickering as Gothamites arrived to purchase small, meaningless items.
Hairs along his forearms and the nape of his neck stood up in preparation, waiting anxiously for the sound of guns cocked or a distant scream. Nothing came, but he didn’t allow the constant knot in his stomach to loosen.
“It got dark fast,” You acknowledge, eyes transfixed on the copper-colored leaves, the crunch echoing under the point of your heels.
Jason nods in agreement, wanting to continue this conversation but already seeing its end. He’s conjuring up potential phrases to further the evening when a singular water drop falls on his head. It reaches yours not a second after.
“Ah, shit.” He grumbles, blinking away the rain that soon pelts down, his hands fumbling for his umbrella.
You follow his lead, beginning to burrow in your purse for the item you were certain you had brought with you. “A five dollar bill, two packs of gum, hair ties, snacks, another book…” You whisper to yourself, the miscellaneous objects cluttering at your feet from where you were perched on the pavement, Jason curiously looking over you, scooting closer so his umbrella would cover your frame.
“No spoonfuls of sugar, Mary Poppins?”
“Ha ha, no. Just looking for my umbrella, is all. You’d think I’d be able to find it, it’s bright yellow.”
Jason Todd was never one to be superstitious. He’s knocked on wood perhaps once in his lifetime. The notions of ‘fate’ and ‘destiny’ seemed foreign to him; created as ideas overworked parents would retell their children with the hopes of lulling them to sleep, or as consolations friends would give to others who had their hearts trampled on.
Jason Todd was also, not someone who carries an umbrella with him. He never needed to venture outside that much, and when he did, it was for a mission; and then all care for his person left as he was outrunning Black Mask’s goons.
He had made a decision this morning before heading to the Manor, and it was to bring an umbrella. A simple, sleek, black umbrella. It was peculiar and out of character, but he was glad to have it in his possession now, especially seeing your body stiffen and tremble as the rain continued.
“You’ll catch a cold.” He insisted, helping you up before handing the umbrella to you as you did to him with the Wuthering Heights copy.
You’re about to protest when another session of rain falls, goosebumps trailing up your skin at the touch of the element.
“I suppose I’ll have to see you again to give this back to you.” You confessed, tilting your head upwards to look him in the eye.
“Yeah. I suppose you will.”
.
Deciding to get his motorcycle tools on another day, Jason headed back to his apartment, forgetting that he was supposed to deliver the book back to who had initially assigned him this mission.
Instead, he dialed the Manor’s phone and called them. Again, this was out of character for him, but he decided that this entire day had flipped his nature on its axis.
“Hello?”
“Hey,”
“Jason! Hi!” Stephanie’s shrill voice pierced his eardrums, his phone impulsively leeching away from his ears.
“Hi, Steph. I got the book you and Tim were wanting.”
“The book?...”
An almost comically long pause commenced here, with audible shuffling noises heard along the line.
“Steph? You still here?”
“Yes, yes! The book, of course I remember! I’ll go tell Tim–he’ll be happy.”
“Okay...I guess I’ll end the call now.”
“No! No, I’ve gotta ask you something.”
“Shoot,”
“How’d you like the librarian?”
“She was rude. Why?”
“Nothing,” An equally long sigh ran down the phone. “I just owe Cass twenty bucks.”
thank you for reading!
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please do not copy, repost, translate, or feed my work into a.i
summary: when your cat went missing, there was a man willing to search for your fur baby to the ends of the earth to make you happy.
part 2 coming soon!
word count: 5.5k
warnings/mood: fluff, slight angst —or too much if you lost a cat like me—, reader's cat is missing, but not dead!!! clark being adorable as always, it is mentioned that clark's blazer is too big for reader in case that is an issue for you. english is not my first language, and it's kind of crap, i'm sorry. google translate and i are besties but lmk if you see any grammatical errors pls.
a/n: hiii! it's been a while since i last wrote one shots here, hope this isn't shitty. i wrote this because my cat is missing —too— and i really miss him. idk, it was my way of comforting myself and right now i wish superman was real and brought my baby back:(((
my english has become terribly rusty, it took me ages to research each sentence and see if it made sense, so i hope it does. xoxo
Clark Kent was searching for the courage to ask you out.
He'd been interested in you ever since Perry White introduced you as the newest addition to the Daily Planet. He read everything you wrote, listened to everything you proposed, smiled every time you struggled with the printer, and thought of you whenever he should've been focusing on something else.
You were the most precious thought that had ever inhabited his mind.
Lois had been encouraging him for weeks, but he could've sworn that every time he got close, you'd put an invisible wall between you. He honestly didn't understand. You'd never been rude, but he could see how you placed a subtle boundary every time he tried to get to know you.
And he would have taken it as a clear rejection and walked away immediately if it weren't for the way your heart raced and your face flushed when he was close.
On Monday, as always, he arrived at work rehearsing in his head how he'd approach you. He wasn’t arrogant, but he wasn’t a complete fool either, not enough to screw it up just by asking the girl he liked out. But you made him nervous. Your smile made him nervous. And your unreadable attitude made him even more nervous.
But on Monday, you didn't show up.
Not five minutes later. Not fifteen. Not thirty. Not an hour or two later. Not even when he sadly glanced at the door, hoping you'd be the one walking in. And never—since you'd arrived months ago as the new reporter at the Daily Planet—had he regretted not asking for your number as much as he did then.
He knew he wasn't the only one who noticed your absence, or who worried when Perry explained you were sick and had taken the day off. But he truly felt like a lost and abandoned puppy.
Was this a sign from the universe that he shouldn't ask you out?
Still, his mind wandered elsewhere: how sick did you have to be to miss work? You hadn't missed a single day since you arrived. In that moment, he wished he'd approached you sooner, maybe then, he could've helped.
He was distracted all day, and no one missed it.
After all, it wasn't like it was a secret to anyone in that office that Clark Kent looked at you like you'd painted every sunset in the sky. Everyone knew it.
Except you, of course. Obviously.
ꫂ❁
On Wednesday, against all odds, you arrived at work 15 minutes late, with a scolding from your boss and a huge thermos that took Clark no more than 5 seconds to figure out had coffee in it, not water, as usual.
His happiness at finally seeing you was overshadowed by concern when you gave him a soft "Hi" an attempt at a smile that looked more like a grimace, and then walked straight to your desk.
Your hair was a little—maybe more than a little—disheveled, as if you'd rushed to get there, but also like you hadn't even tried to style it in the first place. You had dark circles under your eyes that your concealer did little to hide, your nose was still red, and you wore the dullest, saddest look he'd ever seen on you, or any human.
He hesitated, but after exactly seven minutes of staring at his desk, he sighed, stood slowly, and walked over with a thin cardboard box you'd recognize anywhere.
"Hey," his soft, low voice filled your ears, making you look away from your phone.
The familiar object in his large hands made you immediately raise your head to stare at him in disbelief. Your heart practically leapt out of your chest when you saw his tender smile and shy gaze.
"You always say the cookies from that coffee shop are your favorite," he explained, slowly bringing the box closer to you. "I thought you might feel better." He shrugged a little, as if he hadn't just forced you to blink multiple times to keep from crying.
"Clark..." you whispered, your surprised gaze still fixed on him as you took the box of cookies, almost flinching when his hand brushed against yours. "Clark, I don't know what to say. Thank you so much, I really, really appreciate it."
Normally, you wouldn't have been so sentimental about it, but your cat, whom you had rescued three years ago, was missing. You'd been searching high and low for him, without success. You still hadn't recovered from your cold. Your emotions were terribly unraveled. And the fact that the small gift came from the charming man you were silently pining for... Yes, you were justified.
"It's nothing, really. I knew you were sick, and it was the least I could do," he assured you, still with that smile but with a more serious expression.
Clark leaned forward a little, resting one hand lightly on your desk without invading your personal space, as if he were going to tell you a secret—which was partly true, but it was more so you wouldn't have to crane your head to look at him and end up with a sore neck.
"I know we're not very close," he began again, and you could almost hear the disappointment in his voice as he said those words, but you chalked it all up to your imagination. "But... Are you really okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned, staring at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his that nearly made you break down.
It took you a few seconds to answer.
"Yes..." your voice came out barely above a whisper. "I'm fine, Clark, thank you. I'm not that sick anymore." You tried to smile amused, but he didn't notice a hint of amusement in you.
"That's not what I meant..." he replied, not sounding insistent, just... kind, genuine.
You had to hold your breath and blink quickly again so you wouldn't cry right there. You really needed to vent to someone about the nightmare your last few days had been. Clark inspired confidence, and just as you were about to speak-
"Clark, don't you think she already has enough work to do for you to distract her with desserts and 'love serenades'?" Perry's voice, a few feet away, froze you both for a moment. You felt your face heat up, and the dark-haired man in front of you opened his eyes as if he'd been caught red-handed.
"I-I..." He shook his head, letting out a nervous chuckle and adjusting his glasses, but he didn't find the strength to deny with his own words what the older man had just said, so he avoided the mocking glances of his coworkers and looked back at you, ashamed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you troubles."
"It's okay, Clark, really." You looked at him with a smile that, while meant to be reassuring, didn't reach your eyes. "Thanks."
"I should go, but..." He straightened and gestured his thumb behind him. "If you need anything, anything. I'll be right there." He pointed at his desk, which was a few feet from yours and that you definitely saw every day.
Then he walked away, leaving you alone with your sadness, your thoughts, your cookies, and the memory of his smile.
And it was just that Clark Kent struck you as the most attractive man you'd seen in a long time.
And no, obviously it wasn't just his gorgeous face, his height, and his strong body. It was everything: from his passion for his work to his kindness and kind heart. His entire personality made you believe you'd met a damn unicorn.
But you did nothing for your little crush. You smiled at him and were as friendly as you could be with a man you didn't really want to get to know for fear of discovering he was more perfect than you thought, and that would turn your little crush into a real crush.
And how would you allow yourself that in your new job, where you weren't indispensable and still had to prove your worth?
You didn't try to get his number, a date, or a conversation beyond whether or not the coffee pot at the Planet should be replaced.
But now he was really making it difficult for you.
Clark spent the rest of the time wondering if he should approach you again. He couldn't help but notice how you dropped everything to check your phone—which you never let go of—every time it buzzed.
He wasn't trying to be weird, but since he couldn't see you because of that, he focused on listening to make sure you weren't crying or just still breathing because you hadn't spoken to anyone.
When he strained his ears, the only sounds he heard coming out of you were a quiet "Shit" every time you unlocked your phone and the way you sniffled occasionally because of your cold.
And although he was a little confused and curious, he was more concerned.
But he did not approach again.
No matter how much he wanted to comfort you about whatever was bothering you. You didn't seem to want company, and he would never push you.
ꫂ❁
It had just started raining when you left work.
The sky had been cloudy all day, like it had been all week, but the downpour with brutal force arrived in seconds just as you were getting ready to leave.
"No, no, no..." you muttered under your breath as you stepped out of the elevator and headed for the building's entrance.
You pressed your palm to your forehead, letting out a heavy sigh as the icy wind leaking through the door sent shivers down your spine. Your long-sleeved shirt wasn't thick enough to keep out the cold, or the stares once it got soaked and turned see-through.
And there was no way you were asking the receptionist for help, he was the same one who always acted like paying attention to you was a personal favor.
You didn't need this. You definitely didn't need it pouring. Not when your whole week had already been a mess.
You shook your head and hugged your arms around yourself. It was already getting dark, so you didn't think it was a big deal. You had just stepped away from the glass walls and were heading for the door when someone called your name.
You didn't even have to turn around to recognize the tall, cute guy behind you. It was Clark Kent. Clark with his messy black hair. Clark with an umbrella in one hand and his briefcase in the other. Clark without a smile, but still with that face full of kindness. You'd recognize him anywhere.
You'd both stayed late that day. You did because you were buried under a backlog of work. He... you weren't sure why. It didn't really make sense.
He approached you with a slight frown, clearly confused by what you were about to do.
"Are you going out like that?" he asked, not rude, just... concerned. And even a little shy.
"I have to get home somehow," you said with a shrug, your lips curling into a faint smile.
"But you're still sick. Don't you have a coat? A sweater? Something...?" He glanced over you, clearly noting you had none of those things, though he still seemed to hope you'd magically pull one out of your bag. You didn't even have an umbrella.
You looked down, a little embarrassed. "No... I forgot. I had to rush to get here."
But Clark didn't judge. He set his briefcase down and started taking off his blazer, then held it out to you.
"You don't have to-" you began, but he just shook his head and gave you that charming smile only he could pull off, nudging the blazer forward.
"Please."
You couldn't help a weak smile as you slipped your bag off your shoulder to take it. How could you resist? You didn't have the energy to argue. You were exhausted, stressed, and sad. And Clark saw it all.
His blazer was far too big on you; it swallowed your hands completely. But the moment you slipped it on, the scent of his cologne surrounded you, warm and comforting. Heavenly. He heard your heart race, just like his, but that didn't stop the worry in his eyes.
Then he said your name softly, making you look at him. He was close, but not invading your personal space, and when his blue eyes met yours, you had to remind yourself to breathe.
"What's wrong?" he asked, gentle, but full of concern, and your heart skipped a beat. He tilted his head slightly, like a puppy trying to understand commands. You secretly cursed him for making you feel so much.
You sighed, struggling to find the words. "I didn't... miss work because I was sick. I mean, I am a little sick, but... I was looking for my cat. Lucifer. He... went missing."
Clark felt his heart sink when he heard the sadness in your voice. Of course it was about Lucifer: your cat, your baby. Your little pet with oddly perfect fur and, in your words, a receding hairline so dramatic it made him look funny. And those huge, cartoonish eyes that always looked like they were judging everyone. You talked about him constantly. You even had him as your wallpaper on your work computer.
You looked away and rushed to explain, not wanting him to think you were careless with your cat.
"S-Sometimes I leave the window open 'cause he likes the air. Sometimes he goes out, but he always comes back. Always. He's been doing this for three years. He always comes back. He has a collar, and his tags have all my info in case this ever happens, but..."
You took a shaky breath. His free hand gently touched your shoulder as he leaned closer.
"Hey, hey. You don't owe me any explanations," he said calmly.
"I spent the whole weekend looking for him. Monday, Tuesday too. I put up signs everywhere, whistled for him every night, left some windows open in case he came back, and... he hasn't."
You finally let out a sob, and that was all Clark needed to pull you into his arms.
You covered your face with your hands and leaned against his chest as the tears came. The warmth of his body was like a shield made just for you.
You didn't know how long you cried wrapped in his arms, you only knew that you let out what you had kept inside for a whole week, and that you did it with the right person.
"I don't know what else to do. I've run out of ideas. And now it's raining, and he's probably out there, soaked and cold." You sobbed once more, trying to breathe. "I really miss him."
Normally you wouldn't allow yourself to be so vulnerable, even if you weren't surrounded by people. But there was something about Clark Kent that made you feel safe and trust him blindly, and for the first time in days, you felt a little calm, only in his arms.
It felt like your tears were burning his soul and breaking his heart as he felt you tremble. In that moment, he knew one thing for certain: he never wanted to see you sad again.
"I know. I will help you." His low and warm voice filled your heart with comfort. You tried to calm yourself, shaking your head as tears still ran down your cheeks.
You thought you looked like a mess. Clark thought you probably made the stars feel insecure.
"You already helped me today," you said with difficulty, pulling away while wiping your tears. Your breathing was uneven, and you sighed, trying to stop sobbing. His hands moved gently to your arms, not wanting to pull away or distract you. Before he could answer, you added, "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or..."
"You didn't." He smiled softly despite the slight disappointment at losing your touch. You felt a little self-conscious under his tender gaze but forced yourself to wipe your tears once more.
"I know it must seem stupid to cry like this over a cat, but..." You sniffed, biting your cheek to keep from breaking down again, this time unable to hold back. But he was already shaking his head.
"No. It's not stupid." He lowered his head slightly, looking at you fully so you'd know he was genuine. When he saw your expression soften and your attempt at a smile, he glanced up at the sky, noticing the rain still hadn't stopped.
He slung his briefcase over his shoulder and picked up his umbrella from the floor. "You should take this." He held it out to you, looking shyly at you.
"No, Clark... You'll get wet, and you could be the one to get sick now." Even though you immediately felt cold where his hands had been, you found the strength to refuse.
He let out a barely audible nasal chuckle, not mockery, but tenderness—which showed in his flushed cheeks and lowered gaze—. He wouldn't get sick, he knew that, but you didn't, and he imagined what you were thinking.
So he seized another chance.
"Will you let me walk you back to your apartment, then?" His hopeful eyes met yours, glistening with both tears and surprise.
And who were you to deny Clark Kent anything when he looked at you as if you were the meaning of his existence?
The walk home felt peaceful—for you. He had to keep asking you questions, just to focus on your voice and not the racing heartbeat—which he wasn't sure was yours, his, or both—that thundered in his ears every time you leaned too close to stay under the umbrella or avoid bumping into strangers.
You told him how you'd rescued Lucifer a few years ago; how tiny he was, how unruly his fur used to be before turning into the exact opposite. How you'd fed him milk with a syringe, or the baby food you made just for him. Clark already understood why you missed your cat, but the more you talked, the more he understood you.
Even if it twisted his stomach to see you so heartbroken, talking about how much you missed your kitten, Clark had never been more certain of his feelings for you, that he truly liked you. After all, he once let himself be arrested just to save Krypto—and Krypto wasn't even his. Why wouldn't he help you find your cat?
Once you reached your building, still under the shelter of his umbrella, you looked at him with a weak but genuine smile and sighed.
"Thank you, Clark."
He smiled softly.
"You don't need to thank me... but, if you'll let me... Can I ask you something?"
His question caught you off guard, but you nodded, eyes curious.
"Don't go looking for Lucifer. At least... not tonight. It's late. Let me help you," he said soft, pleading, yet with a firmness that made your breath hitch.
"Clark... you're very sweet, but... I don't know. You probably have better things to do than help me find my cat." Your voice trembled, uncertain, because deep down, you wanted his help more than anything. But you'd already done everything you could think of. What else could he possibly do?
"I don't have any, and even if I did... I wouldn't want to. I wouldn't offer if I didn't think I could actually help," he assured, though he hesitated, knowing he couldn't explain how. So he spoke again, not with arrogance, just clumsily: "Besides... I've got some friends."
There was something tender in his attitude, but it was his quiet determination to be there for you that truly moved you.
Still, you couldn't help but joke, "What? Cop buddies or something?"
He chuckled and shook his head. And of course you thought about it; after all, Clark Kent had interviewed Superman more times than anyone else at the Daily Planet... —not that there were many— but you dismissed the thought just as quickly. There was no way he'd even think of asking Superman to find your cat.
"No... but sometimes he wears a red cape and flies, if that helps"
Okay. He thought about it.
"Superman?" you asked, incredulous, genuinely surprised. "You’re going to ask Superman to help you find my cat?"
He'd do anything for you.
"He will," Clark said, firm and confident in a way you’d never seen before. So confident, it almost felt suspicious. "He... he’d never say no to something like this. He saves squirrels, after all, doesn’t he?" he added with a nervous, amused smile.
Of course you were surprised. Superman surely had far more important things to do than help you find a lost cat. So did Clark. But the absolute certainty in his voice almost sounded like a promise.
Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him tight, careful not to knock yourself with the umbrella.
Now Clark was surprised too, and more than surprised, he was completely smitten. In that moment, he wasn’t a man who could bring down buildings with a flick of his wrist. He was just a man melting under your scent, knees weak from your body pressed to his, heart racing as your thanks vibrated through his chest and turned his cheeks a soft shade of pink.
But before he could react—before he could properly wrap his arms around you—you pulled away.
"Thank you, Clark. Really... thank you so much. If... if he agrees, I have thousands of pictures of my baby," you said, fumbling through your bag for your phone.
"I—I don’t really know how his powers work, but… maybe he could hear him? He’s really loud. Or maybe he has a super sense of smell. I could give him one of Lucifer’s sweaters..."
You unlocked your phone, and then froze, realizing what you had just said. "Not like he's a sniffer dog or anything, I mean..."
Clark's chuckle silenced you instantly. Your cheeks burned even more when you realized he wasn't laughing at you. He was touched. His smile, his gaze, were filled with something you hadn't seen before... something that made you forget how to breathe. And when he reached out again to place a hand on your arm, it was your heart that forgot how to beat.
You wondered if he had always looked at you like that or if you had just never noticed.
"Don't worry about that... He will. I'm sure he'll bring Lucifer back to you." He dared to stroke your arm with his thumb, and his reassuring smile widened when your lips curved upward and you let out a soft sigh.
You held yourself back from throwing your arms around him again; you didn't want to be reckless anymore.
But it was almost physically painful not to properly thank the man who looked at you as if he was waiting for you to tell him to fly around the world just to ask "When?"
And while, to you, it was simply his way of offering peace and hope, Clark was making a promise.
After all, Clark Kent was Superman. And he wouldn't let you suffer one more day.
ꫂ❁
After finally exchanging numbers with Clark you walked into your lonely apartment, for the first time in days, feeling hope.
Hope that this time, your cat would actually come back to you.
You also allowed yourself to believe a man, because he wasn't just any man. He was Clark Kent, and that's why you trusted him when he assured you that Lucifer would be found, and kindly asked you not to go out looking for him at night.
Clark wouldn't admit it to you at the time, but even for someone like him, it was incredibly difficult to find an animal as small and elusive as a cat in a city like Metropolis.
But he always knew that teamwork went a long way, and that there was a group of other superheroes perfect for helping him.
Back in your apartment, when the rain stopped, you set out your cat's food and left it by the window, just as you had been doing for the past few days.
The television was playing a crime series that didn't interest you, but you kept your eyes on it anyway, trying not to stare out the window.
You'd made dinner, but you'd devoured the pasta dish out of anxiety, not hunger, because you didn't have any.
The hours passed slowly and torturously. At that point, you couldn't remember a single moment when your leg wasn't bouncing up and down and your fingernail wasn't scratching the armrest of the sofa.
You wanted to go out, to find Lucifer on your own and try your luck, but Clark was right. Even though Metropolis wasn't nearly as dangerous as Gotham, it still had its own dangers.
So you channeled your nerves into cooking. You made cookies. You'd had enough cookies for the day, but you knew you didn't have to eat them, so you baked as many as your kitchen's ingredients allowed.
You were listening to pop songs, the kind where the singer never shuts up, to help you avoid overthinking and just sing along quietly.
Then, a noise from outside stopped you just as you were taking the cookies off the tray.
You practically threw it onto the counter next to the spatula and rushed into your living room.
You gasped when you saw the balcony of the emergency stairs, and two figures you knew like the back of your hand.
There he was: Superman, in red and blue, with a little dirt on his face and a small smile as he gently placed your cat on the window sill, right where his food bowl was.
And there was your kitten.
Superman's smile grew enough to crinkle his eyes when he noticed you, but even so, you could see the shyness in him. And it was so familiar it made your chest swell with affection.
But before you could even try to remember who else had made you feel that way, he simply raised his hand, waved goodbye, and flew away.
You were stunned for a few seconds before you heard Lucifer's chewing grow louder, and you didn't hesitate to run to him with a smile and watery eyes.
"My baby," you whispered with tenderness and a joy that you couldn't describe in words upon finally seeing your kitten. "I missed you so much." you picked him up and separated him from his food for the first time without any guilt.
You placed several kisses on his head while repeating "I love you" over and over again. The cat snuggled up to you as always, and you leaned closer to him, sniffing. "Don't ever do that to me again. That was stupid. What's wrong with you? You scared me so much." You pulled away slightly to look at him, already prepared to lecture him, until you saw a strange piece of paper stuck between his neck and his blue collar.
You held Lucifer steady with one hand as you took the paper and unfolded it.
"The Justice Gang (temporary name) also helped save Lucifer.
If it happens again, don't put yourself at risk. You can always ask me for help :)
- Superman."
You hugged your cat tighter as you put the paper back in your pants pocket with a smile. Lucifer finally had enough of all the affection, and you left him to eat again.
"I had to ask the same superheroes who saved the city from being cut in half to find you. You're grounded, Lucifer." You pointed your finger at him, speaking firmly, causing the cat to look at you for about two seconds before going back to eating.
You sighed, moving closer to the window and and stuck your head out a little, hoping to catch a glimpse of your hero flying by, but you saw nothing but a beautiful sky full of stars.
"Thank you, Superman..." you whispered, petting your Lucifer and smiling into space, unsure if anyone would hear you. You just needed to say it.
And he heard you, of course he did.
That night, you slept with your cat on your pillow again, and for the first time in a week, you truly rested.
ꫂ❁
The next day, Clark arrived fifteen minutes early. So did you.
You'd both been on each other's minds that day, much more than usual.
He had just finished giving directions to an intern downstairs when he saw you walk in, wearing a radiant smile that made his heart swell.
Your eyes landed on him, and your smile widened. He forced himself to say goodbye to the intern, though his voice was shaky and he was suddenly out of breath. You were glad to see him.
You ran—really ran—toward him, not just smiling, but laughing. You had his umbrella and blazer in your hands, your purse hanging from your shoulder, but none of it mattered when you grabbed his wrist and let out the most excited "Come!" he'd ever heard.
He was never happier to follow someone.
You quickly led him to a slightly more secluded spot on the ground floor: the hallway leading to the storage rooms and basements. Anyone paying attention might still see you, but at least you wouldn't be in plain view.
And before he could make a sound, you launched yourself at him with a force that should have knocked you both off your feet.
But Clark didn't flinch even a bit. This time, he immediately wrapped you in his strong arms as you threw yours around his neck.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Clark, thank you!" you exclaimed, your eyes closed as hard as your heart was beating, because thanking him through a message did not come close to showing your true feelings. The happiness in your voice lit up his soul and he couldn't help the silly smile that formed on his lips.
It almost hurt to pull away from him, but you needed to see him. So you leaned back just a little, your hands resting on his biceps, silently lamenting that you couldn't see them without those elegant shirts and blazers.
How was he so strong?
His hands rested above your waist, not wanting to overstep, but not letting go either, because you hadn't. And that alone made his brain short-circuit.
He was completely stunned when your eyes finally fell on his. You took in his cheeks, now tinged with red, his slightly parted lips, and the furrow in his brow, like he couldn't believe he had you in his arms like that.
You forced yourself to speak, before you gave in to the urge to throw your arms around his neck again and kiss him until you both lost your minds.
"You have no idea all the crazy things I've done. I put his litter box outside because someone said he'd come back if he could smell it. Left his food on the window sill. Looked through every trash can of the streets. I talked to every cat I came across and asked them to look for him because an old lady told me to and..." You took a deep breath, thinking of how much you'd missed your cat, then forced yourself to stop and look at him.
Big mistake. Your knees faltered for a second at the sight of his affectionate smile, the kind that made his eyes crinkle, while his grip on you waist tightened ever so slightly.
"I think they're the cutest things I've ever heard anyone do."
And it was as if the world around you slowly faded away, just to appreciate this one moment between the two of you.
After seconds of silence and staring at each other as if you'd designed summers at the beach and he'd designed winters in front of the fireplace, the only thing that came out of your mouth was your slightly high-pitched voice saying, "I brought you cookies."
His eyebrows lifted and his eyes lit up, as if you'd just offered him the whole world instead of just some homemade cookies.
Though he forced himself to find the willpower to let go of you, that his hands now hanging at his sides, felt strangely out of place, like once they'd been where they belonged they had no longer a purpose.
First, you handed him his blazer and umbrella, which he took with a soft "thank you" and that familiar kind smile of his.
Then you held out a small—well, small for him—red container with a clear lid that revealed the neatly stacked cookies inside.
He took them gently, his eyes flicking up to yours with a mix of surprise and tenderness.
"You didn't have to, really," he said with a shy smile, his voice low. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
You forced yourself not to be inhibited by his sweet attitude and continued. "I wanted to get something for Superman and the... Justice Gang too, but it was like leaving cookies and milk for Santa, so... If you ever see them, tell them that when I'm not at work, I can make decent desserts," you shrugged, and you both giggled.
"I'll see what I can do," he assured you, amused, still staring at the cookies in his hands as if they were the eighth wonder of the world.
"I'm no expert baker, but... I needed to thank you with more than a hug," you sighed. "And even then, cookies don't seem enough."
Clark shook his head, looking into your eyes with a reassuring smile. His gaze suddenly changed, scanning your face as if trying to read something in your expression, and you felt your cheeks warm.
He opened his mouth slightly, but before he said anything, he took a deep breath, looking for courage.
His smile faltered a little nervously, as he looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to you and finally spoke.
"So what about a date?" His voice came out barely above a whisper, filled with shyness and longing.
But your silence didn't help, and this time he kept talking. "Only if you want to... I mean, anything: dinner, breakfast, lunch, coffee, tea... Or nothing, obviously you don't have to..." he stammered, his face burning all the way to his ears.
And now you interrupted him. You had no idea, you couldn't imagine how long I'd waited for this.
"When?" you asked with a bright smile.
And Clark Kent had never been more grateful to an animal.
But don't tell Krypto.
if you liked it, you can also read this! and this!
Where Clark Kent might be maybe a little jealous of that rumor of yours about you dating a movie star
Where Superman visits your balcony as a really pretty surprise, because he's definitely not jealous!
Part one here! Model!Reader series here
You could imagine Clark Kent in so many scenarios. Stopping robbers about to rob a bank like Superman, writing an article about the latest and most dangerous threat at his job at the Daily Planet, or even just going about everyday activities like any other adult: going for a morning run, trying to train his cousin's dog, reading a fashion magazine—of course, not just because you're in it.
But you definitely wouldn't dream of seeing him arguing with Cat about celebrity gossip. Of course, there was a big exception if the gossip was about you. About you dating a movie star.
"It's so fake and silly! you can't publish an article about false information! No—it's not ethical!" Clark followed Cat while he hurriedly adjusted his glasses, trying to convince the girl writing the gossip column that your rumor was a lie. A joke in very bad taste if you asked him.
"What's fake?" Jimmy appeared next to Clark as Cat took a seat at her desk, ignoring the conversation between the two men. "Oh, the model and the movie star?" Clark nodded, his expression that of an indignant man asking for support from his best friend. "It's just gossip, right? They've been on everyone's mouth lately."
"Personally, I think they look great together! She's a very pretty girl, and he's very handsome. Apparently attractive people attract each other." Cat rolled her eyes at Clark's expression, deciding to ignore him. She sighed, thinking about the movie star you were rumored to be dating: tall, handsome, charismatic, and with a smile that made any girl's knees weak.
Clark Kent was in denial.
He was in his apartment, his eyes glued to his laptop, his brow furrowed, his nose wrinkled, growing more serious with each post he scrolled about people fangirling over your supposed relationship with that actor.
"He's not even that handsome," Clark grumbled to himself as he looked at a photo of you and the man at a movie premiere. Obviously, the man didn't know you well; it was clear just by the way he held your waist: roughly. Clark's blood boiled when he saw how he didn't treat you the way you deserved; he definitely wouldn't treat you like that. He knew you didn't like rough gestures; he would have gently held your waist, after asking your permission, like a true gentleman.
It was that and many more other publications. Clark was sure they were all gossip and rumors. Because Clark knew you: and he knew you'd never date a person like that actor.
Still, he couldn't help but feel jealous of seeing you smile at him.
His hand had unconsciously formed into a fist as he watched a clip of the actor making a flirtatious joke with you and you giggling back. What if maybe you were dating him? What if that special connection he felt with you was just his silly imagination?
Clark had already made several appearances in your life, of course under the Superman cape. Okay, not to be possessive or territorial, but you had admitted in an interview that you had a crush on Superman, and that you thought he was handsome, and kind, and sweet. (It's not like he has your words burned into his memory like you could carve them into stone.)
Superman 01—Movie Star 00.
Still, seeing you dedicate your time and attention to another man did something to him. He didn't want your voice to soften for any other man, nor for you to smile at him the way you smiled at him when he saved you from someone else. He wanted your attention for himself, he wanted your praise all for himself.
Clark felt childish.
And despite that, he quickly took off his glasses, transformed from Clark Kent to Superman, and flew out the apartment window almost in a hurry. He knew the address of your apartment: you had given it to him the day of the jewelry opening robbery, when he had graciously offered to drive you there. You lived in a nice area; no surprise that it was uptown. Your apartment had a balcony, which made everything much more convenient for Clark.
The balcony screamed yours. It had a beautiful view of Metropolis, and right there you had your flowers and plants so they could enjoy the sun. Clark took three deep breaths when he reached the balcony of your apartment. You can do this, Clark. She likes you. She likes you more than that dumb actor.
Clark was about to fly over the balcony to touch the sliding glass door that led to the interior of your apartment: if it weren't for the curtains, anyone could see inside your home before you stepped out, wrapped in a half-open silk robe that gave a great view of your legs. The super man blushed immediately.
"Superman!" You said almost with the excitement of a little girl, covering your mouth with your hand once you realized you might have spoken too loudly. "What are you doing here?" You hurried to comb your hair, slightly embarrassed.
Your smile made Clark want to stay prostrate on your balcony forever. And by forever, he meant this life and all the others a man in love could have. And the way you were fixing your slightly disheveled hair, as if you wanted to look good for him!
"I—I wanted..." Clark searches for an excuse: but really, what could he possibly think of, when you were looking at him with those eyes that lately were driving him crazier than usual? He wanted those eyes to always see him and only him. "I wanted... To make sure you weren't—you weren't in danger. You know, since you work for all those brands—maybe someone wants to hurt you."
"Of course, I wouldn't let that happen," Clark said after clearing his throat and returning to his confident demeanor.
"I wouldn't let anyone ever hurt you."
After a few more minutes of shy words between the two of you, you invited him in, taking his arm, Clark letting you direct and command him with more pleasure than he could admit. "Shall I get you something to drink?" Clark asked you for a glass of water before taking a seat on your couch, his eyes darting around your apartment. It was so much you that it didn't surprise him; in fact, a part of him loved it.
A couple of magazines and a very pretty vase full of flowers on the coffee table in front of your couch caught Superman's eye: the one on top of them all was a celebrity gossip magazine with you and him (super movie ass star) on the cover. Clark grimaced in disgust, like a little kid who hates veggies.
"What's wrong?" You took a seat next to him, placing the glass of water on the coffee table next to the magazines.
"It's nothing," Clark lied shamelessly, his nose still wrinkled before nodding at the magazine. "Everyone's been talking about it lately, haven't they? You and him." He did his best not to make another childish face when he said "him."
"Oh," you stared at the magazine for a few seconds and shrugged. "People like to talk, as usual. And the truth is, he really likes the attention media gives us." You let out a chuckle, which lightened Clark's mood at least a little, before noticing that the flowers on your coffee table had a dedication.
Him. Clark suddenly felt as if the combination of those flowers and the magazine cover were kryptonite in disguise. He felt weak.
"You're not dating him, are you?" Clark wished that had come out less quickly than it actually did, he wished he hadn't sounded like a pathetic teenager. Still, his eyes were like a puppy's, waiting to hear your answer.
You shook your head as if you'd already been asked the same question six times in one day. "No, no. It's just stupid gossip." Your words felt like a personal victory. Of course you weren't dating him; Clark knew that from the start.
"So why—well, why the flowers?" Clark gestured to the flowers, trying not to sound like a possessive boyfriend or something. He wasn't supposed to have the right to ask you such things, wasn't supposed to have the right to be there, in your apartment, alone with you, suppressing that urge to kiss you senseless right there.
You shrugged as if dismissing it. "I'm telling you, he loves attention." You stood up to move the vase somewhere where it wouldn't make you feel slightly embarrassed. "It's kind of his way of marking his territory."
Marking his territory.
Well, that was a game Superman could play, too.
"Hey," Jimmy greeted Clark as he passed by his desk. Clark's smile was contagious. "Cat's article is doing really well, and I haven't seen you complaining about it. Were you brainwashed?"
"Nope," Clark shook his head, smiling. "Nobody brainwashed me. Actually, that's not how it works, you know? Brainwashing was first mentioned by a journalist in 1950; it's the practice believed to be used by the government of always repeating and repeating—"
"You're such a nerd," Jimmy let out one last laugh before returning to his desk, leaving Clark alone with his goofy grin again. Why so happy anyway? Well, maybe he, under the Superman signature, placed an order for a flower arrangement to be delivered to your house this morning.
One flower arrangement. Or, well, maybe two. Or three. He doesn't even remember how many he ordered. The point is, he knew you'd love them, because who else but him knew all your favorite types of flowers? He had even spent a few minutes thinking about what to put on the card, it had to be especially perfect for you.
"Don't forget that you have someone who will always remember your favorite flowers. You deserve to be listen, and I always love to listen to you. Always yours—
Superman"
While Clark was working inside the Daily Planet building, not far from him, you were sitting in your apartment, surrounded by several large bouquets of all kinds. All your favorites, of course. It didn't go unnoticed, of course. The news that the most famous fashion model had recently received a bunch of flower arrangements at her apartment quickly spread through the gossip magazines. Did she have a secret boyfriend? Who was he? Does it have anything to do with the hero Superman visiting her balcony recently? Neighbors confirm it in an exclusive interview! Does Superman have a model girlfriend?
"So, these arrangements confirm your relationship with the movie star of the moment?" Clark raised an eyebrow at the interviewer's question, feeling indignant from the comfort of his couch with the TV on in front of him.
"What? No, no!" You shook your head instantly, still smiling. "All those flowers were sent to me by someone else. Someone much more special to me. Someone more romantic, more tender." The entire audience burst into applause at your words. Clark blushed slightly, still smiling from his seat.
"May I happen to know who this romantic gentleman is?" To Clark's relief, you shook your head. "You know, some people say they've seen Superman outside your balcony, with a certainly charming smile."
"I'm so sorry. All I'll say is, if that romantic gentleman is watching me right now..." the camera focused on your face. "...I hope he knows he's made me feel like the luckiest woman in the whole city." The audience let out a standing ovation that made the interviewer laugh.
"Okay, blow a kiss to your romantic gentleman, girl" Laughing, you blew a kiss to the camera focused on your face, continuing the interview with another topic, something about fashion week and heaven knows what else.
Clark was on cloud nine.
Now everyone knew you definitely weren't dating a movie star. And maybe, you only had eyes for Superman.
That you had someone special willing to give you all the flowers in the world as long as you smiled at him. Of course, nothing territorial or possessive
I honestly had no hope for the past part of this—I thought no one would like it! I was really happy to see that some people were even able to make it through part two, so here it is. It's not the best, but I promise to improve! 💓
To add u to my permanent Taglist 💗
Tag list: @officialcaptain @chamorunsmiles @elitesanjisimp @ohnaurshayla @starincarnated @yondiii @tickerbo @preciselyshifts
