Side Blog strictly about superbat!!

Main blog @darlinglovedoe but it’s so deep into the Pitt so all my superbat stuff gets lost lol

• will be posting all my superbat fics and blurbs here!

Fanfics!

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Superbat College AU - 6 parts✔️

Superbat Civilian AU - 6 parts✔️

Superbat Mafia AU - ongoing

Superbat Mafia AU Part 7

Bruce laid in their bed staring up at the ceiling. His mind ran with every word Clark had spoken to him, but the one thing that haunted him the most was the way he tried so hard to hide how much he still loved him.

Bruce knew Clark’s every little quirk, and one of them was how easy he was to read when he didn’t want to be. Clark had never been one to hide his love. Now it felt as if just the feeling of it in his chest disgusted him. Bruce didn’t sob hysterically the way everyone thought he would. Rather, he bathed himself in darkness and let his tears slip silently.

Perhaps Clark had been right. Perhaps he did have control issues. Bruce would be the first to admit to his own faults, but having it thrown in his face by the one man that had always accepted him was a kind of pain that couldn’t be protected by Kevlar.

He didn’t know how long he had stayed there nor how much time had even passed outside. He called the jail frequently to check on Clark and see if he could visit. He knew he could visit whenever he wanted—but it was not about what he wanted. Clark didn’t want to see him. He had made that abundantly clear. From his spot on their bed, covered in Clark’s clothes, he had been able to pull some strings and get the court to put Clark on house arrest until his trial.

Clark was coming home today, but he didn’t have it in him to get up. Clark wouldn’t be coming into the room anyways. He had sent word through Gordon that he’d be spending his house arrest in the spare room. Bruce hated it. He hated that he couldn’t lay in Clark’s arms at night anymore. He hated that he couldn’t greet him at the door with a kiss.

He hated that Clark hated him now.

There was a knock on the door. He didn’t startle nor answer, but the voice spoke anyways. “Master Bruce, Master Kent has arrived.” Alfred was kind enough to give him a reason to finally get out of bed—he knew the old butler had been trying to weeks now. It didn’t work, however, as he heard Clark’s gruff voice say from down the hall. “Let him be, Alfred. You know Bruce would much rather wallow in his own grief than try to come to terms with his wrong-doings.” This are him flinch. It made him hold Clark’s shirt closer to his chest.

Bruce admitted that what he did might’ve been done things the wrong way, but he didn’t regret it. Rather, he regretted getting caught, and perhaps that’s what pissed Clark off the most.

Clark shut the door of the guest room behind him. The last time he had stepped foot in here was when they had first bought the house. A part of him wanted to beg Bruce to go back to the manor with Alfred, but another part of him prickled at the idea of Bruce being away from him when he couldn’t leave.

The bed dipped as he sat on the edge, his suit a mess of ash and dust from that day. He wanted to change out of it, but all his clothes were in the other room. The one currently occupied by the very man he both wanted to avoid and needed to see. It was confusing. He hated being confused.

With a sigh, he ran his hands through his hair, tugging at his roots as he processed the past few weeks. He had a lot of time to think while he was stuck in that cell. He thought about everything he had said to Bruce when he came to visit and what he would say once he came to visit again. Except, Bruce was too good at listening to him when he knew it’d hurt. So, he never showed up. He did as he was told and never came for another visit.

That probably was what angered Clark more. He knew he had said some harsh things—things he meant and things he didn’t. The really issue was: what did Bruce take as the truth?

He knew his husband better than anyone. He knew Bruce would take anything and bury it deep in his chest until he couldn’t breathe. He could imagine him laid in their bed, face tear-stained, as he held one of his shirts close to him. But, as much as the imagine hurt to think about, he couldn’t bring himself to go in there and comfort him. He couldn’t tell him everything would be okay because it wouldn’t. He couldn’t tell him he forgives him because he still didn’t.

Someone knocked on the door, lightly, meaning it wasn’t Alfred. “Go back to our room, Bruce.” He sighed, but Bruce spoke instead of retreating. His voice was steady. “I just came to leave you some of your things.” A silence rang between them as Clark stood up and walked to the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle, sighing as he leaned his head against the wood. “I can leave, Clark. You won’t have to worry about seeing me around.” He couldn’t see him, but he could tell Bruce had stepped closer to the door. “You can move around the house freely. You won’t ever have to see me again.” Clark was smart enough to know Bruce didn’t mean ‘for now’.

Bruce meant forever. Bruce was giving him an out.

“Stay.” He answered without thought. The idea of never having Bruce in his life—of the last time they ever saw each other being Clark accusing Bruce—pained him. This couldn’t be the end. They just needed time. “Just stay, Bruce. Don’t go anywhere, please.” Bruce didn’t answer for a second as he set down Clark’s things next to the door.

Like, he’d definitely leave a bread crumb trail for Clark to follow and do what he wants while pretending it was all Clark’s idea. He leaves his bedroom window unlocked for him and whispers his name in his “sleep” for weeks before that.

He’d make sure to wear those really tight gray briefs that hug his ass the right way, bending over to “pick up some documents” from the coffee table by the window, knowing that Clark was standing across the street watching him. Using his X-ray vision to see.

When Clark would sit too close during JLA meetings Bruce would “accidentally” lays a hand on his knee, scatting it up his thigh, pretending he “missed” the chairs armrests.

When night fell, and Clark had finally snuck into his bed, he’d keep his breathing and heart beat steady as he backed up into Clark hold, rubbing the curve of his ass against Clark hard bulge, trying to hold it together as he heard the man suppress a moan in his ear.

Clark would always tell. Always. Bruce was an open book to him. Yet he couldn’t see anything past the way Bruce laughed at everything the man said and didn’t recoil whenever the man flirtatiously touches his wrist.

It enraged him. It took him years to get Bruce to even look at him for longer than two seconds, and just recently Bruce had stopped grunting in disapproval whenever he lingered too close. Yet this man was getting all his smiles and touches.

Smiles and touches that didn’t belong to him.

“Cool it, Boy Scout.” Lois’s voice suddenly came from beside him. “I’m fine.” His voice was clipped as he took the champagne float she offered him and downed it in one go. Alcohol didn’t affect him, but it was moments like this where he wished he could drown himself in it.

“Sure you are.” Lois looked in the direction he bore holes in. It was obvious to her in ways it wasn’t to Clark. Her friend was a man that knew everything about Bruce—as scary as it was at time—it was funny that he couldn’t tell what Bruce was doing. “He’s not your boyfriend, Clark. You remember that, right?” She knew that was a low blow, but sometimes he needed the reminder that he didn’t own Bruce Wayne.

Clark’s jaw clenched as Bruce turned to the side just long enough for their eyes to connect for a second. There was a sparkle in the he’d never seen before. It was driving him insane.

“I know, Lois. He just-“ he cut himself off, swallowing before he could say something he couldn’t take back. He wanted to monopolize Bruce. Keep him locked away in the fortress of solitude where no one else could ever find them.

Not here, in a glitzy gala hall, talking to a man he didn’t know and getting way too close for comfort.

“I’m going over there.” Clark decided, not enjoying the way the man’s fingers wrapped around Bruce wrist nor the way his lips just barely touched the curve of Bruce’s ear as he whispered something into his ear. “Clark!” Lois grabbed his forearm, feeling him slightly weaken against the kryptonite ring on her finger that was made for moments like these, but it didn’t work. Clark was running on pure fumes now.

Nothing could stop him as he yanked his arm from her grip and moved his way through the crowd towards him. As if sensing a raging bull coming towards him, Bruce turned. Clark towards over him, the slightest tint of red shining in his eyes.

“Bruce.” Clark gritted, not sparing the other man a glance in fear that he might do something drastic. “Clark! I knew I saw you here!” He played up his Brucie bit, pulling his wrist from the man’s hold to wrap his arms around Clark’s instead. “Perry sent me to get interviews.” He explained his presence, his anger subsiding a little from Bruce’s touch.

Bruce hummed, his eyes bright as he looked at him before turning to look at the man again. “I don’t think you’ve met yet! Clark this is my new friend-“ He didn’t let him finish. Perhaps if he knew the man’s name, it’d solidify that there was someone out there that could take him from him.

“May I steal you away for an interview, Mr. Wayne? It’ll be quick so you make come back to your…friend.” The word felt bitter on his tongue, but a pleased smile stretched across Bruce’s face regardless. “Of course!” Bruce’s arms squeezed around his before he let go and faced the man.

“I’ must go but, do enjoy the gala!” He excused himself before he walked off with Clark on his tail.

Lois watched from afar as Bruce dragged a seething dog by the collar into a darkened, secluded, hallway within Wayne Enterprise. She knew the game Bruce was playing. He was cunning, smart. He knew Clark’s every tick and intention.

Clark gets jittery every night whenever Bruce comes back from patrolling, his every sense slowly tuned into Bruce. His every move. His every breath. All of it is monitored. He waits until he hears Bruce’s breathing even out to fly over there so quickly, most ppl in both Metropolis and Gotham think he’s a shooting star.

He sneaks in through the always unlocked window (odd for Bruce but Clark’s mind is so hazed over by the thought of holding Bruce that he doesn’t realize it’s odd) and pulls his shirt off until he’s just wearing his sleeping bottoms.

He carefully lifts the blanket and sneaks under the covers, wrapping an arm around Bruce’s waist while the other sneaks under him until it’s wrapped around his chest. He lets out a sigh of relief as Bruce stays asleep, shuffling back into Clark rather than away.

This felt right to him, having Bruce in his arms every night. Bruce wasn’t much better in his need. He was just better at hiding it.

He’d been ending his patrol seconds earlier than usual, his skin tingling with the anticipation of a good nights rest in Clark’s arms. It was the only time he slept so soundly that his body didn’t completely ache the next morning.

Him flying onto a building across the Wayne building to stare at Bruce through his office windows. Using his Xray vision to watch him through the walls.

Clark using any excuse to sit next to him at his desk in the batcave, monopolizing his time whenever he had a chance. Bruce pretending he doesn’t enjoy the company as he knocks their knees together, flipping through his documents.

Bruce’s bed always dipping late at night, him pretending to be deep in sleep at Clark sneaks in. Clark pulling him in close, every inch of Bruce’s back molded with Clark’s front. Bruce leaving his bedroom window unlocked on purpose after Clark had melted the lock the first few times.

Clark standing too close during JLA meetings, towing over his shoulder and staring down anyone that got too close to Bruce or looked at him a certain way.

His hands itched and tingled whenever Bruce was within arms reach and he couldn’t touch him.

Dick couldn’t sleep. His mind kept replaying the past fourteen hours and the same five seconds that changed his life ten years ago. He was well into his teens now—thought he could hand anything that came at him.

But he was wrong. He couldn’t handle the sight of Bruce holding Clark’s limp body in his arms as he tried not to cry. He couldn’t handle having to pull Bruce off his other father’s body so that the rest of the league could help.

He couldn’t handle losing another parent and watching his only living one fall apart.

The moon felt too bright as it cast into his room. Clark recovered in no time, having J’onn look him over before and while he spent time under the leagues yellow sun beams. Clark was now safely back home, insisting that what he really needed was his family. Everyone had gone back to their respective cities or apartments, but Dick had stayed. Even Damian had opted to stay with John at the Kent farm for the weekend.

Dick couldn’t go though. He knew he had duties to attend to: files to run through, cases to close, people to help, but his mind and heart weren’t in the right place to focus on that.

He wasn’t Nightwing tonight. He was Dick Grayson. Son of Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent, and not even twenty four hours ago he had held his super powered father’s cold hand in his own after having lived his life up until now believing that he’d live forever. It was daunting remembering that no matter how alien Clark was, he could still die.

Dick let out a tired sigh as he shifted onto his back, staring up at the glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling. Clark had bought them and helped him set them up ages ago when he’d just moved into the manor. Back then, Clark and Bruce hadn’t been together yet. Clark, however, had been his father ever since.

There was a small knock on the door, startling him out of the memory of Clark carrying him up and floating them laying down so that it’d be more comfortable to stick the stars. Dick would giggle at the fact that they were floating and Clark would only smile fondly at him as if the world had finally reached its peace. “Dick? Can I come in?” Clark whispered through the door. Dick didn’t say anything for a beat before humming. It wasn’t loud, and if it weren’t for Clark’s super hearing, he would’ve never heard it.

“Hey, bud. Can’t sleep?” He asked as he sat on the edge of the bed, back facing the moon light. Dick didn’t respond, not knowing how to tell him how he felt. It had never been difficult to express himself with Clark, if anything, it’d always been the easiest thing. Clark was always so understanding and was ready to comfort or help when it was needed.

Dick shook his head, “I don’t know.” Clark couldn’t read minds, but sometimes he was so perceptive that Dick couldn’t help but wonder. “I didn’t mean to scare you guys.” Dick had turned to face the window now, not being able to look at Clark as the imagine of his pale face still haunted his every blink. “You didn’t.” He tried to reassure,but Clark was too smart, noticed too much. “I did. Scaring you two is the last thing I would ever wish for. I’m sorry.”

The room was so silent that Dick could hear the swishing of Clark’s fingers carding through his hair. It was a soothing method he’d done for him since he was a kid and would hurt himself attempting a new stunt. Clark would hold him close to his chest, ear pressed against his beating heart, and run his fingers through his hair until the tears and sniffles stopped.

“Seeing you like that was terrifying.” Dick finally admitting, sitting up as Clark’s fingers fell from his hair. “I thought you- I didn’t want you to-“ he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, scared that if his biggest fears were spoken aloud, they’d come true.

Without another word, Clark pulled him into his embrace, holding him as close as he did when he was a kid. Clark was a large man, but Dick was a teenager now. He didn’t get picked up and held like this anymore. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to be in his father’s hold again.

The tears started before he could register them. He gripped onto Clark’s t-shirt collar tightly. “I’m okay. I promise I’m not going anywhere where you can’t find me.” Clark spoke softly, rocking them back and forth as he held Dick’s head under his chin. “A child should never see their parents like that, especially not as much as you have, my boy wonder.” He placed a chaste kiss on the crown of his head. Dick didn’t say another word, reveling in his father’s warmth and strength.

Nothing could hurt him here. Nothing could take this from him again.

“Do you want me to stay?” Clark asked, noticing that Dick’s grip on him wasn’t going to let up any time soon. Not that he minded, he missed when their children were small enough to hold and young enough to not feel embarrassed to ask for it. Dick would always be his baby, no matter how big he got.

Dick nodded into his shoulder, letting Clark lay them down so that he was laid on top of him like old times.

“I love you, dickie.” Clark whispered into the night, running his hands through his son’s dark strands again. “I love you too, pops.”