VIVA SUPERBAT!

heyyyy there, honeybunch!(˶•̀ ᎑-˶）unfortunately, i have a VERY bad habit of not bookmarking anything so the only fic i was able to find is this one

https://archiveofourown.org/works/77889306

its only 1,215 words, but it’s really cute!

there’s also this one

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25614613

since bruce and clark fuck like rabbits, they’ve got kids popping up left and right (jason, tim, cass, etc.) and every single time, poor richard gets the “honor” of being the first to know his siblings gender. and every single time, hes completely losing it. he’s sweating bullets 24/7, overthinking every word that comes out of his mouth, replaying conversations in his head, worried he might of said too much or overthinking whether he sounded too suspicious. he starts dodging people and clamming up mid sentence. someone says “blue” and he’s visibly fighting for his life not to react.

*dick in the kitchen, eating*

Bruce: hey chu-

Dick: DONT TALK TO ME GOSH *skedaddles*

Bruce: just wanted to know how my baby’s doing ☹️

poor bruce has zero clue dick is going through it rn cause he’s actually doing a great job at acting completely normal(i mean he’s trained by the best) so he just assumes dick is upset with him. pregnancy hormones hit and he’s tearing up bc his baby hates him (◞ ‸ ◟)

i absolutely will once my exams are over, my precious anon! i’ve tired writing one yesterday, but i was struggling so much with the dialogue i just gave up. here’s a doodle instead. i love needy bruce and his devoted hubby who’s he got wrapped around his finger (๑˃̵ ᴗ ˂̵)و bruce is a well collected babe around everyone. his parents always receive compliments on how well behaved their boy is, and while he does have the occasional tantrum, they are so sparce that people hardly believe it. at school hes shy, still willing to play with other children but with a certain skittishness. even with friends, he clearly prefers a bit of personal space. but having said that, the moment bruce is with his hubby, all that composure melts away, and he becomes clingy and whiny. he always wants to hold clarks hand, always needs to sit right next to him, and always needs clark’s attention on him, even if it makes him nervous. if he’s gone more than a few days without seeing his hubby, his parents have to constantly hear about it until they finally give in, which they inevitably do every time. clark, for his part, never even thinks about refusing him. whatever his wifey asks for, whether it is holding hands, sitting closer, or simply being looked at, clark is already doing it before the sentence is finished. not because he has to, but because he wants to. bruce’s poutiness comes from trust, not entitlement, and clark’s willingness to give in comes from genuine love and obsession for his wifey. bruce knows hes safe enough to be soft and a little unreasonable, and clark is more than happy to meet him there every time. he takes two seconds longer to hold bruce’s hand when they’re walking? well now bruce is pouting, but he’s more than willing to get on his knees and beg for his wife’s forgiveness and attention again. clark would be more than happy to be nothing more than an annoying little fly, hovering and circling bruce just to stay within his orbit, even if it means risking the inevitable swat of a fly swatter. as long as he gets to linger in bruce presence for even a moment before being squashed, he’d consider it a fair trade. he’s grateful he’s not really a fly, but bruce’s devoted husband, and he will happily give in to whatever his clingy wifey wants.

i’m sorry you’re not able to enjoy it, my anon!! D: though, to be fair hon, i’m writing about superbat- it ain’t canon either, so for my own enjoyment i like making them lovey dovey with each other(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ ) it’s just what i wish i could see since i ship them. i get that it might feel too ooc for you, and that’s totally fine! <3 it’s not going to be for everyone. i can’t speak for others, but for me, it’s just fun and a bit comforting to write them this way, especially when canon can be a lot. pleasee don’t let my version and writing of them to take away from other writers at all, there are so many amazing authors who write superbat, batfam etc in ways that feel really close to canon and do it amazingly well. honestly a lot of writers on here and on ao3 have a way better understanding of dc characters than actual dc writers!! i still appreciate you giving it a chance, and for calling it cute

if u do plan on writing a piece for it, id like to know a few things if that’s okie?

1:what are their ages in this? just want to imagine them properly 2:are they the same bruce & clark who got married in one of ur works?

tysm for baby!superbat i love it! would love to see more if u have the chance🥺💕

greetings, my anon! to answer your question 1-hm, like around 12/13! bruce is older, but clark definitely doesn’t look 12 so imagine him to be a lot taller and broader than his wifey ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)ﾉ 2- fack, that’s a good question. umm yes and no???let’s say they did get married the exact same way, only difference being it happened in gotham, since i had it in mind when writing this aaand they didn’t part ways, yippieee!!! ty for asking, if im being honest, im not quiet happy w the way it came out. but i might edit it in the future, welll quien sabe. anygays besitoss! :3

edit:pls go check out this beautiful art!!!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Clark didn’t need to hear more over the phone-Bruce sobs and the way his words were slurred was enough to make him drop what he was doing. He already knew where Bruce was supposed to be spending the night, and he’d been wary about it. He hated the idea of Bruce being with anyone who wasn’t him. Whether it was possessiveness or just worry for his wife, he couldn’t bring himself to trust anyone else with Bruce. He only wished he hadn’t been proven right when he heard how scared Bruce was over the phone.

Clark dropped down a little too hard when he spotted Bruce sprawled out across the stairs of one of the brownstones, his face even paler than usual. He was still crying, squirming slightly, clearly uncomfortable. He was by Bruce’s side in milliseconds, quickly sitting him up against the rails.

“Why you out here, my love?”

There was a flicker of relief across Beuces face when seeming to realize who was with him at the sound of his voice. But it was immediately tangled with shame.

“Clark…” he rasped weakly, shaking. “I don’t…i’m really sorry, ”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, just breathe, baby,”

“Wan’ go home,” he mumbled, sagging back as his eyes slipped shut, though nothing in his face came close to relaxed.

“I’ll call Alfred,” Clark said quickly, reaching into his pocket.

That seemed to jolt Bruce awake, and he abruptly pushed himself upright as fresh tears spilled down his face. “Noooo! He’s gonna be so mad at me!” he cried, the fear in his expression so sharp Clark’s body stirred with anger, not at Bruce, but at his friends who had let him get this bad. Bruce was shaking, drenched in sweat, and clearly in pain, and Clark knew without a doubt that none of this was his fault. Even if it was, why would they let Bruce be out here all alone!He didn’t let himself dwell on it, though, his focus narrowing to one thing only-taking care of his wife.

“I’m sorry, Bruce! Don’t you worry, I won’t call him. Let’s get you home. I’m going to pick you up, okay?” Clark said, already on his feet, one hand resting on Bruce’s shoulder to keep him from tipping toward. He carefully scooped him up bridal style, and Bruce quickly sagged into the hold, his body going slack.

Clark’s heart kept tightening in his chest, even though Bruce seemed to be passed out now, he was still letting out faint, small whimpers. Clark didn’t know if he could even help properly, but he would try his damn hardest-he couldn’t stand seeing Bruce like this. Clark’s mind flicked between flying them home or walking-it was late, but still not deserted fully. Bruce knew what Clark was contemplating and was quick to reveal his fear at the idea, struggling to get out of his hold. Clark couldn’t even fault him for it-aside from today, he had only flown once-when he’d first realized he could. There was no real reason for Bruce to trust his ability to, especially in this state, and Clark wouldn’t hold it against him.

Clark carried Bruce the entire way, finding it more difficult than anticipated. Bruce’s head continued to loll back, his body shifting restlessly as Clark carried him. He cycled between brief stillness, tears, and restless movement. At one point, Bruce convinced Clark to set him down, then immediately attempted to walk in the opposite direction.

The only improvement Clark noted was the absence of nausea, but it barely did anything to dull his solicitude.

Gradually, they made it home, a relief in itself that was short lived. Bruce was pleading for it to stop, promising he’d never drink again.

Clark, in a complete dither about how to help, took him straight to the bathroom.

Bruce was over the toilet, rocking himself back and forth, waiting for the inevitable. His mouth filled with saliva, and he decided that was the worst part. The waiting felt like the universe was mocking him.

“You’ve got this, pumpkin! Just-holy moly that’s a lot, shoot is that normal?” Clark hovered awkwardly, clearly unsure on how to help any further. He’s never thrown up before. “It’s gotta be right? It’ll pass soon. Just let it out, okay?”

“Arghhh!” Bruce groaned, hitting his thigh in frustration as he gagged again. It wouldn’t come up anymore- just an awful feeling of it caught in his throat. He broke into tears again, wishing he could just fall asleep and not have to deal with any of it anymore.

“Breathe, hon, you’re doin’ great! We’re gon’ to-shoot, I mean you’re goin’ to be okay. Maybe jus’ lean forward at bit? Wait actually, no, probably not a good idea. Maybe try si-”

“Clark, shut up!”

“Right! Sorry! I’ll just be here. You just breathe in nice, and slow! And I’ll be right here if y-.”

“Ughhh!”

Clark snapped his mouth shut, though it took effort, his chest pulling tighter the longer Bruce went on in pain. He reached out instinctively, rubbing slow, steady circles along Bruce’s back, only to have his arm swatted away.

“Uhh, god..I’m sorry, Clark,” Bruce whispered, a piercing moment of clarity forcing him look over at Clark’s surprised face. Bruce felt a surge of anger at himself for putting Clark in this position- for batting him away when he was only trying to help. Clark must hate him now. He’d probably have enough after tonight, and probably end up leaving him, just like others had, all because he couldn’t keep himself under control.

“Don’t worry, my love. Just focus on yourself, okay?” Clark said softly. “I ain’t mad at you,” he added, already knowing where Bruce’s mind was most definitely going. Clark’s lips twitched faintly at the earlier shout, findjng it amusing more than anything. Bruce was shy around others, including Clark, but it was different-Bruce didn’t feel the need to be as composed as he was with everyone else. Even so, despite the fact that they were together, he still carried himself as if it were almost one-sided. He was constantly aware of how he came across, always afraid that one wrong word or gesture might change Clark’s opinion of him. Most days, around Clark, Bruce was dainty in the way he moved and presented himself, so it was that contrast that left Clark enthralled when Bruce swatted his arm away. Clark gave Bruce a fond, patient smile, because nothing in the world could make him think less of him.

Nothing about Bruce could lessen what Clark felt, in fact, everything he did only deepened it. He loves him too much for that. Bruce was strong, yet delicate in a way that made him impossible to ignore, impossible not to watch, even when he was unraveling like this. Clark saw everything and still wanted more of him, not less. There was no version of him that dulled what he saw and felt for his dear wife. There were only versions that made him more addictive, deepening Clark’s urge to stay closer than necessary, closer than reasonable. Even like this-messy, shaking, and miserable, Bruce still took his breath away.

Was this really the time for Clark to be so caught up in him? Probably not, but his attention always drifted back to Bruce anyway.

Clark wished, not for the first time tonight, that he could just wrap Bruce up in his arms and keep him there until the world stopped spinning.

But he knew how overwhelmed Bruce was, still bent over the toilet, retching, tension in his shoulders, a sheen of sweat along his forehead. Hugging him would do no good, even if he wished fiercely that he could squeeze the discomfort out of him. But that was impossible, so instead, he just stayed put. Right where Bruce could feel him, far enough so that’d he wouldn’t feel trapped by him.

Clark didn’t have much experience helping someone who was this drunk, so he pulled out his phone and quickly searched for ways to ease the symptoms, hoping he could do something-anything to help Bruce feel better.

It only took him a minute before he got up and turned off the bathroom lights. He felt bad as soon as he saw Bruce’s face relax slightly-the harsh fluorescent light must have been making it even harder for him to keep his eyes open or worse, giving him a headache. Clark felt a wave of guilt for not thinking of it sooner. After a while, to both of their relief, Bruce began to feel slightly better, the ache in his tummy easing.

“I’m gonna go get you some water. You want anything else,” Clark asked, keeping his voice low-keeping an eye on how loud he was speaking. He didn’t want to overwhelm Bruce with too many questions, but he also didn’t want him to stay silent if there was something he needed.

“Opalized fosssil would be nice, they’re cool.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, angel, I can’t really get that for you right now. Would ya like some crackers though?” Clark asks, voice soft in that fond way he always slips into around Bruce.

Bruce makes a small, pouty face. “Nah…jus’ water then.”

Clark lingers a second longer, memorizing him, then turns to get it. As he walks away, he hears Bruce murmur under his breath, “Mmph, why ask…”

Clark smiles to himself immediately, a little dazed, like he’s the one who’s drunk now. There’s no missing out in that sense, cause then again, Bruce has that effect on him. He can tilt the whole world off balance just by sounding a little annoyed or laughing. It’s ridiculous, really, but Bruce manages to make him feel almost lightheaded anyway at just the soft murmur of his name coming from his lips.

He sets the things he gathered down on his nightstand and returns to Bruce. Bruce still looks disoriented, but Clark wants to ensure he’s at least comfortable. He moves over and lifts him again, carrying him to the bed.

Bruce immediately flops back into the mattress. But he hadn’t expected lying down to be worse than sitting up. Even with his eyes closed and his body completely still, the room feels like it’s shifting-tilting back over and over. It makes his head pound and brings the nausea rushing back.

Clark notices the shift in Bruce’s breathing. He’s quick to sit him up again, steadying him with one hand as the other brings a trash can up, holding it there without a word.

They remain like that for a while, Bruce gripping the bedsheets as Clark holds the bin up for him, wishing he could kiss away his tears. When the nausea finally begins to ease again, Clark sets the bucket aside and retrieves a shirt and a pair of pajama pants from his drawer. He gently helps Bruce out of his clothes, keeping his hands light even as Bruce insists on managing it himself.

As soon as they’re done, Bruce already feels lighter. Clark’s clothes are far more comfortable on him. There are probably some of his own things tucked away somewhere in Clark’s closet, but this was undeniably better. There is no tight collar pressing at his throat, no rough denim scraping against his skin. The absence of that suffocating discomfort makes it easier to breathe.

With the tension fading, Bruce slides his arms around Clark’s waist and buries his face against him. The relief is real, but it doesn’t go unchallenged. Guilt creeps in as he notices a notebook and a textbook spread across Clark’s desk, clear evidence that he had been studying before all this. Bruce knows how much Clark cares for him, and that only makes it worse. The comfort he takes now clashes with the quiet insistence in his mind that he should be able to handle this on his own. He tells himself he’s old enough, capable enough, and yet he still clings to Clark, holding back tears.

Clark, for once, doesn’t seem to notice the shift in his thoughts. He simply relishes in the chance to hold him again. It has been too long since he has been able to. Well, actually, it was only this afternoon, when Bruce hugged him goodbye after had told him his plans for the weekend, but even so, it had been long overdue.

There’s a selfish relief in it, in having an excuse to pull Bruce away and, perhaps, to give him a reason in the future not to consider spending his time with anyone else. It would sound wrong, if he ever said it out loud, but tonight feels like enough proof that he should be the only one Bruce turns to, the only one who gets the privilege to be by his side. The idea doesn’t feel cruel to him. It feels right- like fate written in the margins of some ancient scroll.

Having him within reach again is enough to quiet most of his worry. He no longer has to wonder what Bruce is doing or wait for him to return from time spent with his so called friends.

It’s not until he hears a choked, swallowed down cry that Clark realizes Bruce is crying again. He moves quickly, dropping to his knees in front of him and settling between his legs. He rests his hands on Bruce’s thighs, rubbing gently through the fabric in a grounding motion, trying to coax him back from whatever is overwhelming him.

“Sweet thing, what’s wrong? Do you feel like throwing up again?” Clark asked, keeping his voice just as tender, hoping Bruce would be more willing to share whats wrong.

Bruce shakes his head.

“Want me to dim the lights more?” Clark tries again, already beginning to turn.

Bruce shakes his head once more, gently stopping Clark before he can fully move away.

Clark stills immediately, refocusing on him.

“You can tell me what’s wrong,” he says quietly. “Let me help you.”

The words are good to hear, but they still sting in a way Bruce can’t fully explain to Clark, or to himself. It feels like Clark is always the one saying them and that one day, he will run out of patience altogether. That eventually Clark will get tired of asking, tired of waiting for an answer Bruce can’t always give.

“Are you upset about something? Is that it?”

Bruce finally nods.

“And you don’t want to talk about it?” Clark continues.

Bruce nods again.

“That’s okay, my angel. We don’t have to if you don’t want to, alright?” Clark crooned. He leans in to press a soft kiss to Bruce’s cheek, then takes his hands carefully, stopping Bruce from picking at his skin. He smooths his thumbs over Bruce’s knuckles for a moment before placing kisses on them too, then placing them down letting them rest again.

Clark reaches for the glass of water and holds it out, gesturing slightly for Bruce to drink.

“Tiny sips, okay?” he instructs as he supports the cup while Bruce leans in and tries to drink too quickly.

“I know you’re really thirsty, but you might throw up again,” he adds softly, adjusting the glass so it’s easier for him, “so you’ve got to go a little at a time.”

Bruce does as he’s told, taking small sips, his cheeks warming slightly at how gentle Clark is with him.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce mutters.

Clark’s expression softens, already knowing what Bruce feels guilty for. “For what?”

“For having you deal with me,” Bruce says, his voice breaking as he tries to hold himself together and not cry again.

“What would you have done?”

“What do you mean?” Bruce asks, confused.

“If it had been me in your situation. If I had been the one who needed help. Would you have left me, or would you have taken care of me?”

“Taken care of you,” Bruce whispers without hesitating.

“I know you would,” Clark smiles softly. “And I hope you can learn that I would always do the same for you.”

“But you al-”

“Ah, ah, no buts,” Clark cuts in gently but firmly. “Bruce, my life, I’m really, really proud of you for calling me when you needed me. I need you to understand that you could never be a burden to me. If saying sorry makes you feel better, then it’s fine. You can say you’re sorry.”

“I’m really sorry, C-Clark,” Bruce murmurs.

“I forgive you,” Clark replies brightly, warmth returning to his voice as he looks at him with devotion.

“Now, I know you want to sleep, but google says you’ve got to sober up first. Think you can hang in there a little longer?” Clark asks.

Bruce makes a face. “I feel better now, I swear.”

“Sucks for you,” Clark replies lightly. “You can’t lie to me.”

“Ugh, please,” Bruce whines softly. “I wanna stop feeling like this.”

“I know, I know,” Clark soothes, his tone softening again. “But I can’t risk it. Twenty minutes, that’s all I’m asking. If you don’t feel sick after that, I’ll let you sleep.”

“Just say you hate me,” Bruce mumbles, exhausted.

Clark lets out a quiet laugh and gently sweeps Bruce’s hair out of his face. “You’re so pretty, Bruce.”

“Thanks,” Bruce mutters, growing pink, and Clark can’t help but think and say it again, because it’s easy to notice every detail about his perfect wife when he’s this close. It’s impossible to not say it out loud.

“Jeez, at ease, soldier,” Bruce adds weakly, trying to deflect with humor.

Clark finally rises from where he had been kneeling, so he can feed Bruce a few crackers. He’s patient and unhurried, then wipes Bruces hands and face with gentle wipes so he can fall asleep without feeling uncomfortable or unclean. He remained where he was, gently massaging Bruce’s temples-pleased when he heard Bruce let out soft hums of contentment.

When the twenty minutes are up, Clark is reluctant to let Bruce sleep, but he does anyway. He eases Bruce down onto his side, wanting him as close as possible so he can pick up even the smallest shift in his breathing. Clark ends up staying up for four hours, watching Bruce. Is it creepy?

Nope.

Just precaution, if you ask him.

Once there’s enough light filtering into the room, Clark carefully shifts Bruce off him, moving slowly so he doesn’t wake him. He plans a quick trip to the corner store to pick up a few things, electrolytes, something light, and a small treat for Bruce to wake up to. He runs the whole way there and back, not wanting to be gone for long.

But Bruce ends up waking up anyway while he’s still at the store.

He’s groggy and parched, his throat so dry it feels almost raw. At rhe moment he reaches for a glass of water, it hits him that he might still be a little drunk…or not, he does feel really sluggish. He gulps down every drop, before laying back done to fall asleep again, when the night before starts replaying in his head. The more he remembers, the worse it gets-all his dignity just gone, somewhere between his friends…and his freaking hubby.

When he hears Clark sneaking back in through the window, he’s just begging to be obliterated.

“Oh god, I’m going to fucking kill myself.”

“Baby! You’re awake!” Clark beamed, quickly making his way over with bags.

“How are you feeling? Better, I hope! I brought you a few things.”

Bruce didn’t respond, only pulled the blanket over himself, hiding from him.

“Bruce?” Clark set the bags on his desk, climbed onto the bed and stretched out over him, arms slipping around his covered form.

“Hrm.”

“I brought you some soup. It is not mulligatawny or made by Alfred, but I read that menudo is good for hangovers,” Clark coaxed. “I also picked up some cookies. More importantly, I brought pedialyte, so come on, sit up.” Bruce showed no sign of moving, which deepened Clark’s concern.

“Are you okay? Please, just tell me.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then why won’t you get up?”

“You’re on top of me.”

“Right, sorry, darling.” Clark shifted off him and waited, but Bruce remained perfectly still. Clark tried to slip a hand beneath the covers, but was meet with resistace as Bruce clung to them with a death grip. He only managed to brush his fingers along Bruce’s neck before Bruce yelped and squirmed.

“Clark! Tickle me and I swear I will throw myself out the window,” Bruce threatened, finally uncovering himself.

“Id just catch you, silly,” Clark teased, Bruce finding his answer deliberately annoying.

What he found almost as irritating right now was the fact Clark looked as if he lost himself in watching him, barely blinking. He liked having Clark’s attention, if it was any other day, he’d blush and do anything to keep those eyes on him. But right now, it felt unbearable. He could just implode from the embarrassment, cringing the mire he remembers.

“Stop looking at me,” he complained.

“I’m just making sure you’re okay,” Clark lied. His ma had always said he was a smitten kitten when it came to Bruce, slippin into some trance whenever Bruce was in his line of sight. Especially now, with Bruce’s hair a mess, his nose slightly red, and his eyes still a little puffy.

He wanted to keep taking Bruce in, but he needed to focus on his original goal. He shifted away and started digging through the bags, pulling things out one by one. He cracked open the pedialyte for Bruce, then handed it over before turning to the soup. He stirred it carefully, trying to cool it down while Bruce drank.

“I surprisingly don’t feel hungover,” Bruce commented.

“Yeah, you got ‘bout thirty minutes,” Clark replied without looking up.

“How would you know?”

“Reddit.”

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” Bruce inquired.

“I did,” Clark answered easily. He knew if Bruce knew, he would only spiral into it again. It was pointless, not stopping Bruce from going there anyway.

Bruce set his drink down and reached for the food.

“I got it.”

“No, I got it.” Clark shifted away, keeping it just out of reach. “Let me feed you.”

“Stop, Clark. You’ve done enough. Give it.”

“Bruce, we can have this conversation again if you need to hear it,” Clark added, a quiet insistence in his tone. “Again and again, if that is what it takes.”

“Sorry,” he uttered quietly “I shouldnt be making this harder for you.”

Clark paused, then shook his head. “You aren’t making this harder for me, I do it cause i like to,” he sighed out. As much as he wanted to be the one to feed Bruce, he finally handed over the container, recognizing that Bruce needed at least this small act of control to feel a little more at ease.

“But you shouldn’t have to, is the problem,” Bruce grumbled. “You were supposed to study and have a weekend without dealing with me. It took me less than ten hours to ruin your day.” He was tempted to admit that his “studying” had amounted to him huffing and puffing, sulking over the fact that they wouldn’t be spending the weekend together.

“Ruin? I told you last night, and I’ll tell you again today, and a million more times after that,” he said, completely serious, “You could never ruin anything for me.”

He scooted closer and paused before continuing, “You’re worth it, Bruce. Just like you think I am worth your love and trust, I think you are worth my care and patience.”

“it’s a pretty good deal if you ask me,” Clark added.

“Guess so, sunshine.”

“Ugh, finally,” Clark bubbled, leaning in to give Bruce a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you to call me that since yesterday!”

A small giggle slipped out of Bruce, loving the cheeky smile the spread across Clark’s face.

“You’re way too patient with me,” he murmured.

Clark huffed a soft laugh. “Could say the same about you.” He tilted his head slightly. “Are you okay right now?”

Bruce took a moment, then gave a small, reluctant nod. “Better,” he admitted. “Still sorry, though.”

“Are you going to stay with me until Sunday night?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’re forgiven,” Clatk said simply.