i'm superman and it's super obvious

I was gonna post this yesterday, but it didn't seem very uh, Valentine's-y

tw: light talk of suicide/suicide ideation

part one, part two, part three, part four

Clark loves you. He knows he loves you. And, he knows with reasonable certainty that you love him back, despite your struggles with depression. He sees it in the way you beam at him whenever you open the door for him. In the way you always send him articles that you've read and want his opinion on. In the way that you still try to coax your cats to sit on his lap, and sheepishly hand him a band-aid when they inevitably scratch him in their haste to bolt from him after he shifts one too many times.

What's eating at him is the lack of progress in your relationship. The two of you have been dating for quite a while, but that's it. Just dating. At first, he was hesitant to initiate anything deeper, given your depression, but you've seemed to even out, for the most part. There are still hard weeks, but they're very few and in-between. While he's very happy with your progress, and the progress of the relationship, Clark wants more. He can't help but wonder what your past relationships have been like, for you to be so content with just dating for so long.

Maybe it's the small town living bred into him, or maybe it's just who Clark is, but...wouldn't it be nice? To have a small home with him? To come home to each other every day? To take his glasses off for him when he falls asleep, or remember to take the cups you tend to leave in the bedroom out to the kitchen each night before bed? To love, and be loved, in a place the two of you built up together?

He's tried dropping hints. Tried pointing out apartment listings that would he thinks you would like, right in the middle of both of your places of work. He points out pieces of furniture the both of you like. He always asks to spend the night at your place, but you always give a surprised, if stilted "yes". It's eating him to the core, and he needs to get to the bottom of it.

*

It's a good night, he can tell. You're in a placid mood, and he's ordered your favorite takeout for dinner. You've agreed to watch his favorite documentary with him, fiddling with your DVD player as he plates the food. Clark feels jittery, plating the food with shaking hands. I'm about to blow up our entire relationship, he thinks, setting down the silverware a tad too abruptly.

"Sweetheart?" He asks. You jolt from your position behind the TV, and disentangle yourself from all of the cords.

"What's up?"

He pulls at the base of his shirt, nervous. "I've been thinking. I feel like I've been very subtle, but maybe it's time to be blunt. I love you, and I want to progress our relationship further. I feel like we've been together long enough, and I want more. D-do you not? Do you want to stay where we are?"

Your face pinches awkwardly, and start playing with your fingers. "I just...I dunno. I don't really think about the future much. I just uh, take it one day at a time. I mean, I wouldn't mind, if that's what you want, but..."

Clark nods, and chooses his next words carefully. "Well, it doesn't have to be immediately. I just want you to think about it, okay? I'm sorry I sprung it on you, I've just been thinking about it a lot."

You come around the counter and slide your arms around his middle. "S'okay, I get it."

*

It's been three days since that night in your apartment, and Clark's afraid he pushed you too far, since it's been nothing but radio silence. He's been tapping his pen against his keyboard for 30 minutes now, staring blankly at the word document in front of him when his phone vibrates. He practically dives for it, earning more than a few glances from the desks around his. He just sheepishly smiles and shrugs, then checks the notification.

Hey, do you have time for lunch? I've brought your favorite, your text reads. Clark quickly opens it up and responds in the affirmative, getting up so fast he bangs his knee against his desk, once again getting stares from his coworkers.

The elevator isn't moving fast enough for Clark's liking, and he's left wishing he had taken the stairs. When they finally open, and he sees you standing by the reception desk with a huge bag in hand, the relief on his face is immediate.

You exchange pleasantries and head up to the roof, your usual lunch spot that's slowly become his own as well. Once there, with the food unpacked and the two of you facing each other, you know it's time to come clean.

"So...," you start, leaning back against the lip of the building.

"So," Clark replies, mouth already full of sandwich. You sigh.

"I'm gonna be really honest, man. I don't think about the future. I haven't thought past tomorrow. I tend to live in the here and now, mainly because when I was younger, I didn't think I'd live past 25. Hell, I think it's crazy I've lived this long. Sometimes I still think it would be nice to stop existing." Clark drops his sandwich, and you look to find his face full of heartbreak. You roll your eyes and rest your head against the brick, staring at wide blue sky. "Listen, I really don't want to get into it right now, okay? But...you deserve to know why I'm so noncommittal. I just don't make long term goals, okay? I mean, I guess I have to start doing that, huh? Maybe I will be old."

You roll your shoulders and finally take a look at him, startling when you see that he's crying. "Look, it's not a big deal! Or at least, I don't want to make it a big deal right now. All of this is to say; yes. I want to go further with you. I want to move in with you, Clark Kent."

tw: abusive parents! hurt/comfort.

You told Clark, maybe about four months ago, that you'd be thrilled to meet his parents, thinking he meant far far in the future, like maybe a couple of Christmases from now. But now here you are, fresh out of your rented car, stepping onto the gravel driveway leading to the Kent's home. You like the house, it reminds you of the houses you knew growing up, tucked away in the middle of nowhere.

The Kents stand outside beside the rocking bench, waving at the two of you. You wave back hesitantly as Clark rounds the car with your luggage, beaming at his parents. The both of them give you an incredibly tight hug once you reach them, quite frankly knocking the wind out of you. Martha goes on and on about how much Clark has spoken about you, and how they have the whole week planned out, hitting all of Smallville's hot spots. Jon squeezes your shoulder and tells you with a sincerity that overwhelms you, how happy he is that you're there for their son. You just nod, dazed by all the open affection.

At dinner, it's more of the same, but this time it's all about Clark. They gush about how cute he was as a kid, the hi-jinks that his powers got him into, and how nervous they were that he was going to be all alone in Metropolis, but how ecstatic they were when he finally started talking about you.

Martha slaps her hands down on the table, barely missing the plate piled high with baked ziti. "But, but, enough about our boy, why don't you tell us about you! Where are you from? What do you do? Do you have any allergies?"

You let out a nervous laugh, and feel Clark's hand overtake your own under the table, giving you a gentle squeeze. He smiles softly, and nods encouragingly. You take a deep breath. "Oh! Um. Well. I'm actually from the south, myself, so um, it's actually really nice being out here. It reminds me of home. I, uh, moved to Metropolis for college actually. Taking my turn in the big city, as it were," you huff a laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. "That's where I met Clark. But uh, I dropped out after one semester, and I couldn't really go home, so we lost touch for a while, Clark and I, and um," you immediately pivot, not wanting them to think you're taking advantage of their son for his job, realizing what you've said. "-but now I'm making some decent money-"

"We reconnected after I saw them ordering from that falafel stand near my apartment, y'know, the one I told you about?" Clark cuts in, realizing the hole you're digging for yourself.

"Ain't no shame in not having a degree," Jon says quietly. "Lots 'o ways to make money, especially these days."

"Thank you, sir." You shovel the rest of your food down, even mopping up the sauce with some garlic bread. Martha beams, ready to offer you more (she made plenty, Clark's already had four plates). When you cough and stand up. "I'm just gonna hit the bathroom really quickly, before dessert. Thank you so much, this was so good."

You stumble down the hallway and trip into Clark's old room, shutting the door behind you. You sink to the floor at the foot of the bed, legs crossed, eyes welling up with tears. You take a deep breath as they start to fall. I dunno why I'm acting like this. It isn't their fault. I just- You cut off your own thoughts by burying your head in your hands.

You only get a couple more minutes to cry it out, it seems, before Clark comes to get you, knocking on the door softly. "Can I come in?"

"It's not my bedroom," you point out bitterly. He takes that for the permission it is and slides in, shutting the door, thankfully behind him. He joins you on the floor, leaving one hand out, palm up, on his thigh, for you to take when you're ready. You just turn your head and bite your lips, willing yourself to stop crying. "It's stupid, before you ask."

"It's not so stupid if it's got you crying all over my childhood bedroom," he retorts.

You roll your eyes. "That's an exaggeration. I was doing a perfectly good job of crying silently, thank you very much. And I'll do an even better job next time, so you don't even know it happens."

"We'll see, sweetheart." He says it in a tone that tells you he's definitely going to come flying in the next time he hears you crying, cape and all. It makes you want to shove his face into the dirt like a schoolyard bully.

You let a couple more tears loose, against your will, before you finally decide to give up the ghost. "They just love you so much, Clark. o much it's overwhelming. Your parents act like you brought sunlight down to the earth yourself, the day you crash landed here. It's suffocating, to me, to be near it. Because....because..." You take a shuddering breath. "I'm gonna say something really shitty, okay? Because I didn't get that. I didn't get parents that adored me."

Clark starts rubbing circles onto your thigh with his thumb, hoping to provide you some comfort, and to encourage you to continue. You've always been cagey about your family life, talking sometimes about your sister, but even then sparingly, and never about anyone else.

"My mom? She's one of those people that like, definitely shouldn't have had kids. And maybe that makes me, again, sound shitty, because then I wouldn't like, exist, right? But I wouldn't fucking care, if I'm being honest. It was always like a contest to get her to give a shit, about any of us. She's one of the most selfish, self-centered people I've ever had the displeasure of meeting." You lean back, staring up at the ceiling, your eyes becoming blurry once again.

"Nothing was ever her fault, and if it was, she'd twist an argument to put the blame on you again, bringing up issues from literal years ago, as long as it meant she was right again, and you were wrong. She would get irrationally angry at times, and expect everyone to walk on eggshells around her. And even when you did, she would still scream at you and storm off. And then, she would act like nothing ever happened, and that everything was okay, like she didn't just try to blow your head off with a loaded gun. So like, watching your parents just love you, unconditionally, wholeheartedly, like that? It's fucking me up. Through no fault of your own, obviously." You heave a sob. "I just felt so unloved growing up, and quite honestly, up until I met you, Clark. And to see where it all comes from, this seemingly endless fountain of love, so strong it fucking motivated you to become the hero for an entire planet?! It's fucking insane, to me. Overwhelming. I just...I just fucking-fuck, I-"

You break down crying again, and Clark pulls you into his lap, one arm going across your back, the other holding you by the back of the head. He kisses the top of your head as you sob, your hands balling up into his shirt. When you finally calm down, you push yourself off of him and stand up, rubbing your eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have unloaded on you like that."

Clark shoots up, grabbing you with a speed unlike anything you've ever seen. "Never apologize for opening up to me, sweetheart. I want to know everything about. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Nothing is too much for me, I promise. And my parents? I bet, if you'd let them, they'd love you just as much as they love me."

You scoff. "I doubt that, Kent." You look down and play with your fingers. "But, thanks."

He lets out a long breath and wraps you in another hug. The conversation is far from over, but he knows you're not going to give up anything else tonight. "Do you still want dessert? Ma made a strawberry pie."

You turn your head to the side, freeing your mouth. "I would hate to waste her hard work, I guess."

You're awake at 6AM, like you always are. Clark is still dead to the world, having had a late night once again saving the world. You smile softly at him from your side of the bed, then heave yourself up and off, ready to start your day, whether you want to or not. Going back to bed is just going to give you a headache.

You decide to get your morning chores out of the way first, which means dragging all of your cat litter boxes into one centralized location to clean. Clark, the sweetest man to ever live (according to yourself and also Ma Kent), offered to buy you an automated litter box, to cut down on cleaning time, but you had just waved him off, saying your cats were too old to adapt to something that new. Also, when you'd seen the price, you nearly popped a blood vessel behind your eye from the stress. So, you just do them first thing in the morning, never letting Clark see.

Once you get back from taking out the trash, you start on breakfast. Checking the contents of your fridge, you nod to yourself and take down the measuring cup. It isn't until the absurdly high stack of pancakes is done, and you're just finishing the second pan full of scrambled eggs that Clark emerges, hair mussed all to hell, pajama pants slung low on his hips, and a dopey smile reserved just for you, on his face.

He walks up behind you, bracketing your hips with his own. "What's all this?" he asks, voice still rough with sleep.

"Well, if you don't want it, the cats will certainly eat their fill," you say, reaching to turn off the stove. As if on cue, one of them jumps up onto the counter, making a beeline for the still steaming eggs. Clark whips around and picks her up, plopping her on the floor with a loud yowl coming from the beast herself. You snort as she tries to twine herself between your legs, meowing loudly.

"What happened to this one?" Clark points to a pancake about three down on one of the stacks, suspiciously darker than the rest of the golden brown tower.

You make a face. "I didn't realize how hot the pan had gotten, so I thought I had time before I had to flip it, and went to go change out the DVD in the player. We're on season 6 now of Adventure Time! It's so crazy to me you've never seen it before, babe."

He just shrugs his shoulder, and picks up the plates, moving them around the counter, into the living room. "Didn't watch much TV growing up, I suppose. Was kinda busy doing other things."

You roll your eyes. "Right. I forgot. Doing sports or whatever you Kansas kids do when you're not tending to the 'ol cornfields. And I'm sure you were like, pulling tractors and shit, Mr. Incredible style, right?"

Clark turns pink. "Only when they'd get stuck in the mud. I didn't want Pa throwing out his back trying-"

You shut him up with a kiss to the cheek as you pass by with the pancake toppings. "Yea, yea, Supes, can't let anybody in need go. No need to preach to me, of all people."

I can taste the Chinese buffet from here, you think as you fill out the intake form. Clark looks over your shoulder for any mistakes, frowning at your answers to the questionnaire portion.

"Why aren't you telling them the truth, sweetheart? You do have trouble sleeping, and it's certainly more than "rarely"," Clark points out.

You roll your eyes and cover up the sheet with your arms. "Because, Clark, if I was honest about how I'm doing, they'd just tell me to exercise and eat better and send me to a psychiatrist. Trust me, I can manage. Besides, mind your business." You lower your own voice and lean in closer. "You wouldn't understand the relationship between patient and physician because your physicians are stone cold robots located at the North Pole. Get off my back."

He tinges pink and puts his hands up in surrender. "Alright, you've got me there."

Just as he's about to open his mouth to say something else (probably to extol the virtues of honesty), the door opens, and a nurse calls your name. You get up, dragging your big lug of a boyfriend with you.

After getting your height and weight taken, you're put into a room, where the two of you watch the small informational screen they have playing continuous ads for the health care center and other supplements.

"Y'know, they're right, babe. You're getting older, maybe we should get you on the books for a prostate exam," You say, budging your elbow into him. He flushes again and just pushes you away from himself with his shoulder. The push is just a touch too hard, as you go reeling from it, ending up on the floor. Clark apologizes profusely and helps you up, just as your nurse practitioner walks in.

You stand ramrod straight. "Oh my god, this is so embarrassing. Um-"

Your nurse practitioner puts on a calm smile and sticks out her hand. "Hello, I'm nurse practitioner Clearwater. And you are?"

Clark stands up immediately, and gives her a firm handshake. "Clark. Clark Kent. Boyfriend."

From there, the whole thing is pretty routine, in your opinion. You talk about your general health, she asks about your meds, and you go on little diatribes about your continuing journey with mental illness. It's all routine until she's listening to your heart and sees some mottled bruises on your upper arms, and again peeking from your shorts as you sit straighter on the table. She takes a look at Clark, taking in just how large he is, and takes a deep breath.

"Mr. Kent? This next part of the exam is bit...private. Would you mind stepping out into the hallway for a moment?"

He perks up and nods enthusiastically. "Of course, it's no problem." He gives your hand a squeeze on the way out, and you just give him a soft smile in return. Clearwater then turns to you, all business.

"And how is your home life?" She asks.

You scratch your head. "I mean, if I'm honest? Vastly improved. Clark is a good guy, and means well."

Clearwater types something into the computer hooked into the wall and just nods. "I see. And you're not experiencing any...issues?"

You huff a laugh. "Well, we had an argument about the laundry last week, but nothing a little "tough love" can't fix, right?"

Outside, Clark is just beet red, covering his face with his hands. He knows exactly what she's asking about, and he is mortified. Mortified at the thought that anyone would think he would ever lay a hand on you in anger. As if he isn't the most careful man in the world with you, as if he doesn't hold you like a glass figurine every time you so much as give him a hug, as if-

"And what does that look like?" She's typing more quickly now, and you quirk an eyebrow at her.

"I'm sorry, are you insinuating something here? because I can promise you-" You cut yourself off with a laugh. "It's the bruises, isn't it? You saw the bruises on my arms and thighs and assumed they were from him?" You laugh more loudly, and even wipe an imaginary tear from your eye. "Oh, god, I'm sorry, I should be taking this seriously. Have you never read my chart? I answer every questionnaire you guys give me, every time, so I'm surprised it hasn't been noted in my chart what I do for work. I'm a veterinary technician. I get the shit kicked out of me by dogs all the time. They can be finicky bastards, when they want to be. Clark would never put his hands on me, unless he wanted me to beat the sense back into him, I promise."

Clearwater pales, then quickly hits the back button on the keyboard, keeping it pressed for a good chunk of time. "....I see. And would you like me to send the refills to the pharmacy we have on file?"

*

The second the two of you clear the office's door, you burst out laughing, hanging onto Clark's arm. "You heard all of that, didn't you babe?"

Clark's face screws itself up, clearly affronted. "I can't believe that! She doesn't know me, how could she assume! I would never! And to think! Who could even! And if-"

You pat his bicep, still snickering. "Don't worry baby. you heard me set her right. I know you wouldn't, and I love you for it." You tug on his arm to get him to stop walking, and pull him down to your level. You slot your lips against his and give him a full thirty second kiss. When you finally pull away with a pop he looks dazed, with a small, marveling smile on his face.

"...gee..." He mutters.

hey guys, girls, and gays. thanks.

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine , part ten, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen, part fourteen , part fifteen, part sixteen, part seventeen, part eighteen, part nineteen

"Fuckin' stupid, putting it this high up, this is an accident waiting to happen," You mutter under your breath, fingers just grazing the bag of cat food on the top shelf. You step up on your tip toes, the shelf gets no closer. Stepping up onto the shelf helps, giving you another 3 inches, and you grab a corner of the bag, letting out a triumphant noise.

"Gotcha!" 3 inches too many, it seems, as it all gives way and you crash back to the floor, eighteen pound bag of cat food clutched tightly to your chest. You're staring into the fluorescent lights when a sharply manicured hand pops into view.

"Need a hand? I saw your valiant struggle against that dastardly-placed food."

You lift your head and look up. An extremely attractive woman with looks down at you and smiles, her brown eyes crinkling at the corners. You shift the food to the floor beside you and take her hand. "Uh yea, thanks. God, that's embarrassing that you saw that. I would've preferred to have been crushed under the food, actually."

She laughs. She laughs? Your brain short-circuits. "Well, you recover nicely, I'll give you that. What's the name that would've been on the obituary?" You giver her your name as you stare at her with wide eyes. Damn, she's good. She nods as though thinking about it. "Selina Kyle. And here, if you ever find yourself trapped under some cat food, and you can move your arms, give a ring, and I'll come over to dig you out. And hey, if you're not too beat-up after that, maybe we could grab dinner."

She hands you a slip of paper with her name and phone number, gives you a wink, and waltzes down the aisle. You stand there for three uninterrupted minutes before you haul the bag of food off of the floor and start calling Alfred's name.

*

"-and then she gave me her number, unprompted, isn't that fucking crazy?" you ask, shoving the piece of paper in Bruce's face. You'd put away your pet store findings once you'd gotten home and had gone to find him, finding all of this very funny, if baffling. You'd found him reading in the library, book now closed on the arm of his chair.

Bruce takes it, and turns it over carefully. You immediately backpedal. "I mean, I wasn't gonna call her, obviously, what we have is too important to me, and it's going so well, but this has never happened to me before, and I-"

"Selina Kyle is one if my exes. And she knows I'm Batman."

You deflate. "Oh."

Bruce catches the spiral you're going on. "That's not to say she didn't truly find you attractive, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is that it brings up memories for me. Particularly painful ones. Selina and I, we have an incredibly complicated history, one that almost ended in marriage, if only-"

You kneel in front of him and cup his face with your hands. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Or, even if you want to, but can't right now. I'm in it for the long haul, remember?"

Bruce simply nods and rubs your hand with his own, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Another time, then."

*

Batman stands on a ledge, surveying the city. The night is quiet, surprisingly, given how warm the weather's been. So quiet, that she couldn't hide the taps of her heels if she wanted to.

"Going silent for a bit," Bruce says into his ear piece, then switches it off and turns around. "What do you want, Selina?"

"Oh, can't a girl just enjoy a night out on the town, Batman? Not all of us have such fulfilling careers," she replies, slinking into view from around the door to the roof. "Or relationships, for that matter."

"Did you know from the beginning?" His eye twitches underneath the mask.

"Honest to god, I didn't. I genuinely thought I was just playing the field, until I saw Alfred as I was leaving. That and Harley showed me some tabloids that weren't afraid of getting sued. I gotta say, this is pretty underwhelming, for you. Not a cape, not a villain, hell, not even somebody remotely famous. I'm impressed, I-"

"Don't talk about them like that. This is different. This is-" His hands are tightening under the cape. A master of his own mind and emotions it seems, until it comes to you.

Selina holds up her hands in surrender and smiles coyly. "Relax, B. I'm just here to tell you I'm not stepping into your territory. I'm not stupid enough to try and take something that's yours again." She pulls out a grappling gun and shoots it off into the night. "Just let me know when you're done, 'kay? I wanna take a turn."

She's gone before Bruce can formulate a reply. He switches his comm back on, and starts making plans.

*

You've been out at the pool entirely too long, Bruce thinks. Like a cat laying in their favorite window, as soon as it had become warm enough, you were out in the gardens, at the pool. You always told him that given the opportunity, you would stay out there all day, but he hadn't quite believed it until it became an inconvenience to his plans. You've been out there for seven hours now, and likely for longer, now that Dick, Steph, Duke, and Jason have joined you.

"Sir, if I may suggest going to them, instead of waiting for them to come to you?" Alfred asks, hands perfectly poised behind his back.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, Alfred."

He simply nods. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Depends on how this goes. I'll let you know."

"Quite good, sir."

Bruce makes his way down to the pool, and walks up just in time to see you break the surface in the deep end, much like a polar bear in their enclosure at the zoo. Jason, Steph, Duke, and Dick have a volleyball game going in the shallow end, while Titus lays in the pavement and watches. His heart clenches when you catch his eye.

"Babe, hey! Are you finally gonna join us? The water's great! Steph says it's too cold, but here she is, right? Of course, Tim told us to drop dead when we invited him, but I think that's just because he's too skinny to appreciate how refreshing this cool water is." You swim up to the edge, smiling wide. His other children snicker.

Bruce kneels down by the edge. "Actually, I came to ask you something, would you mind coming up for a second?"

You note the way his smile falters for a millisecond, and how he tightens his hands. He's nervous. Anything that can make the Bat nervous warrants your full attention, you suppose. "Oh, uh, sure, one sec."

You climb up out of the water, and Bruce thinks you look radiant with the late afternoon sun behind you. You join him on the lounge chairs, toweling yourself off carefully. Bruce has never felt anxious until this moment right here. "Okay, big man, shoot."

Bruce clears his throat. "Right. Yes. So, I've been thinking. About our relationship, specifically, and how much it has changed me. Changed us, for the better. I never thought that something like this, given my line of work, would ever be possible, but you seem to have proven me wrong, and gone against every calculation I could have had for our relationship to play out. And it has been the greatest thing to behold, really. I want to deepen our commitment. I want us to commit to each other, despite our problems." Bruce pulls a small box out of his pocket, and flips it open. Sitting in the center are two rings, both with a silver band, but one with a ring of some crushed blue stone inlaid, and another with your favorite color instead of blue. He says your name like it's the first time he's ever said it before. "I love you, will you marry me?"

You immediately stand up, going, "Are you fucking sure?"

His children stare at him in shock, while Alfred simply walks down the pathway, champagne and sparkling grape juice in hand. Bruce's eyebrows start to draw in, and you speak quickly. "Shut up, shut up! I know you're sure, I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that, yes! I meant to say yes, sure, whatever! I just, I don't, I've never-"

Bruce shoots up and kisses you. There are stars behind your eyes as you comprehend what's just happened to you, what's going to happen to you, and all you can think about is that you're soaking the front of his shirt right now. Bruce must not realize he's losing himself a little bit, because just as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, Dick whistles. The two of you spring apart, Bruce combing a hand through his hair in embarrassment, and you burying your face in your towel. Alfred is already passing flutes of champagne around, and Tim and Damian are tearing down the pathway.

"Father, how could you!" "Bruce, holy fuck!"

Bruce just smiles wider than you've ever seen in your life as he pries your left hand away from the towel, and slips the blue ring onto your finger. Looks just like his eyes, you think as you stare in awe.

part one, part two, part three

You quit your job. Or more accurately, you get a better offer for the same job you're currently doing at another place in the city. It's also closer to The Daily Planet, so Clark uses it as an excuse to check on you more often. You start making a real effort to eat real food. You're still working on actually cooking and making fresh meals, but for now the frozen ready made ones you eat are enough. At least you're eating. It takes you a while, but you finally fall into a rhythm.

*

You decide to stop your antidepressants. You spend a whole session speaking to your therapist about it, weighing the pros and cons. Pro: you haven't really felt like they've been doing anything for you lately with how well you've been doing. Con: what if you stop them and everything goes to shit? Pro: you have an actual support system now to help you. Con: you feel bad making people care about you.

"I wouldn't say you're forcing anybody to care about you," your therapist says. "People choose to care."

"Fair, I guess. I just hate making people worry. I can take care of myself; I'm an adult." She looks at you pointedly at that. "Alright I don't have the best track record but I've made it this far in life and that's gotta count for something."

She taps something into her laptop. "Well, if you do decide to, just know that there is a washout period, so don't be surprised if it takes you a while to feel normal."

*

You go out more. You find that while staying at home is nice and definitely what you prefer, going out for small things can help improve your mood. Even if it's just to the corner store for some chips.

Then Clark gets stuck in deep space for three weeks right before your birthday, and you spiral. It starts small, with minor annoyances making you angry. Then, your new friends at work seem to back off (through nobody's fault, really, but you can't help but feel like it's entirely your fault, and that they don't like you anymore). Your days off become days full of nothing but sitting on your couch trying to occupy your time with multiple hobbies, only to abandon them out of boredom or frustration when things don't go like they're supposed to. You want nothing more than to reach out to Clark, but he's indisposed.

You find yourself bottling up emotionally, unable to cry or articulate your frustrations. You feel stupid for feeling like this, for being unable to reach out to anybody for help. The loneliness is eating you alive, and you're content to sit there and let it swallow you whole.

*

You wake up from another nap to the sound of keys in the door. You heart leaps at the sound, but you roll over anyway, pulling the blankets more tightly around your neck. You feel achy and gritty from laying in bed since yesterday, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

Clark notices the groceries first. There are empty boxes of ramen noodles stacked up beside the garbage, and there are half eaten bags of chips stacked on top of your fridge. The inside of the fridge is almost barren, except for a gallon of milk and one shelf in the door full of condiments. He exhales heavily, having expected the sight, but disappointed nonetheless.

He makes his way to your bedroom, slips on your light, and puts down his bag. He knows you're awake, he can hear your heartbeat pick up when he sits down on the bed. Clark puts a hand on the lump he deduces is you, and you shift, rolling towards him and squinting up at him. You uncover your mouth enough to speak to him.

"Hey, babe." You voice is nothing more than a croak, from sleep and disuse.

"Do you want to talk about it now, or later?" Is all he asks in response.

You bristle, ready to go on the offense, then close your eyes and take a deep breath. "Not really."

He nods. "How can I best help you right now?"

You think. You gut response is to get angry, tell him to leave. But he loves you, you remind yourself. It's not fair to take my terrible mood out on him. "I have a headache."

"Okay, when was the last time you ate and drank anything?"

You silence speaks volumes.

Clark peels back the blankets, untangling you for the first time in a while, from what he can tell. "Okay, let's head to the kitchen and see what we can find, okay sweetheart?"

this is my ode to a fic i read YEARS ago! it was also about a fat reader being clueless as hell, which i found to be very personally real lmao

You're lonely, you'll fully admit that. You have your friends and your family, for sure, but it's not quite the same as romantic entanglement. You've been on the apps, started and stopped chats with people who seemed interested until you refused to give them whatever disgusting thing they wanted. You can honestly say you've tried, but it's not like people meet each other in real life anymore, so you've resigned yourself to being alone. It also doesn't help that you're fat.

You've always been fat with big hips and arms, a stomach that rolls over itself. You've always been realistic about the way you look, and you try to treat your body well, despite how many people have told you you're abusing it. Of course, this came with childhood teasing and bullying. You could count on two hands the amount of times people tried to insist someone liked you, only to have the person in question shaking their head vehemently, horrified that you might think they consider you romanceable.

So, in short, you've closed yourself off to romance, finding fulfillment in your friends and family. Until you're at the library and you meet him.

*

The library is running a trade in event where people can bring their old books in and put them into a pool for equal exchange. It's a hot September afternoon, and you've come to the library with a stack almost as high as your head. You're almost all the way up the frankly stupid amount of stairs that lead up to the main branch's doors when your flip flop doesn't quite make it all the way to the top of the next stair and you trip.

"Oh fuck me," you say, clinging to the books in your hands, fully expecting to meet the pavement. You hear some of the books hit the concrete in front of you and brace yourself. You open your eyes a full 20 seconds later when the impact doesn't come, and feel hands on your shoulders.

"I'm not trying to be in your business or anything, but why are you carrying so many books at once?" A voice behind you asks.

You let out a long breath and set down what you have left, and turn. "Because I forgot my little red wagon at ho....me," you trail off, staring upwards. A man, about 6'1'' if you were to hazard a guess, stands there in tight black jeans and a red tank top, the small patch of white at the front of his otherwise black head of hair shaking as he snorts, his blue eyes looking at you appraisingly.

"Well then, let me at least help you inside," he says, moving past you to pick up whatever you had dropped.

"Alright," you say dumbly, unsure of how to refuse his help. The two of you make quick work, collecting everything and getting it safely inside. You start perusing the other books, deciding if any were worthy of your time. The man watches you with his hands in his back pockets.

"So why did you bring so many? Books, I mean," he asks, taking a look at the titles you've brought in.

"I was finally cleaning out my apartment and these were the ones I didn't find to be too memorable, or I've had them since high school and I like to think I've grown as a reader since then. Had to get 'em out today or I never would've. I get that from my mother." As soon as you say that, your cheeks start to burn. Why would I say that to a stranger?

The man pulls a deep purple book from the stack and reads the inside of the jacket sleeve. "Aidan Gray was a strange enigma, to be sure..."

You whip around and snatch it from his hands. "Look, this was right after the Twilight boom, okay? I can't be held accountable for 15 year old me's tastes. It was a difficult time for the YA industry."

He holds his hands up. "Alright, that's fair."

He looks through the stack again and pulls out a small chunky book, about 400 pages, but with a beautiful cover of a sundial in a garden, dyed by the sunset behind it. You pipe up. "Oh, that one kicks ass. It's about two sisters that inherit this huge mansion right before the stock market crash in the 30's, so the older sister steps up and does what she has to do to protect her family home, becoming the mistress to one of her father's old business associates, but then she eventually-"

"Whoa, whoa, as you gonna let me read it for myself, or explain the whole plot?" He asks, turning it over in his hands. It's clearly well loved, for sure. "Why are you turning it in, then?"

You rub the back of you neck. "I, uh, didn't actually mean to. I must've been cleaning off my bookshelf and forgot to put it back."

The man adopts an easy smile. "Tell you what, let me borrow it, since you love it so much. I'll return it when I'm done, scout's honor," he says, raising his hand.

It's your turn to snort. You shove your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. "How can I be sure of that when I don't even know your name?"

He nods, acquiescing. "Touché. I'm Jason. Here, gimme your phone and I'll put in my number, so that you can pester me until I finish it and give it back."

You give him a suspicious look, but finally dig your phone out of your basketball shorts and hand it to him. You put in your info, adding the melting smile emoji next to your name. "If you don't respond to me, I swear to god I'll take legal action."

"Duly noted. I have a feeling this is the start of something beautiful."

*

You fully expect to never see Jason, or your book for that matter, ever again, but lo and behold he texts you two days later at an ungodly time, to tell you that he's enjoying it so far. You reply at a much more sensible 7AM, after you've been awake for a little bit, and are surprised when he asks to meet you for coffee. You're even more surprised when you find yourself agreeing. You throw on a t-shirt and jeans, and meet him half an hour later at some hole in the wall place he insists has the best coffee on earth. You dash his hopes to be praised when you order a smoothie, citing a sensitivity to caffeine. The two of you chat for what feels like forever, and you're hesitant to, but eventually you break it off, telling him you have to go to work. He lets you go with a two finger salute.

You leave the interaction smiling to yourself. You've finally made a new friend.

*

Convinced that he's strictly there for friendship only, you let yourself get comfortable with Jason pretty quickly. You invite him over to your house for pizza and movie nights, he takes you out to all of the seediest restaurants in the city, where the people seem to know him and the food is incredible. He's seen you in your rattiest pajamas, unshowered, apartment on just the wrong side of needing a cleaning. There are a couple of times you think you see him staring at you with less than friendly intentions, but dismiss the notions immediately. This isn't a rom-com, get a grip, you always tell yourself.

But the longer your friendship goes on, the more your resolve starts to crumble. Over the months he's gotten more comfortable touching you, which has always been one of your biggest insecurities. Not that you hate to be touched, but you've gotten so used to going months without a friendly one that every time Jason puts his hands on you, you resist the urge to flinch. It started with simple hands on your shoulders to guide you somewhere, or a hip bump if he took a turn too sharply while walking somewhere with you. One time, he pulled you by the hand across the street and you immediately wrenched it from him as soon as you were safely across, citing a smashed bug on your palm. You were too busy trying to calm yourself to notice the look of hurt that flashed across his face.

The culmination of it all is his hand on the small of your back as he grabs something you're reaching for in your kitchen cabinets. "Let me," he says, flashing you a smile. You just nod dumbly and stand down. He pats you again as he retrieves the microwave popcorn bags for you.

*

You mentally gather the evidence in your mind, trying to look at it from all possible angles. I'm putting too much stock into it, he can't mean anything romantically. I mean, look at me, you reason. Maybe he's this affectionate with all of his friends. He mentioned that he has a big family, right? Maybe they're just like that? Besides, he probably has people throwing themselves at him all the time. It's fine. I can do this. I can be his friend. You start to cry, trying to wipe away your tears before they can fall, failing when they come too quickly. This is fucking stupid. I caught feelings and I know he'll never want me. God.

You suddenly remember that you're supposed to have plans with him that night and dive for your phone, texting him a flimsy excuse for why you need to cancel. He just sends you back a thumbs-up emoji, and you start to cry harder. You have a lot to sort out before you can see him again.

Roughly two hours later you hear a knock at your door. You look out of the peephole to see Jason standing there, scrolling through his phone with one hand and holding a huge takeout bag in the other.

"Jason, I'm sick," you yell through the door.

"Yea, I know," he retorts, sliding his phone into his jacket pocket. "And I brought you some of your favorite ramen, so let me in."

You try to wipe away the salt trails on your cheeks as best as you can, take a deep breath, and undo the locks on your door. You walk away as he swings open the door and immediately toes his shoes off, settling back down on your couch, legs crossed as you hold a pillow. He sets down the bag in your kitchen and starts taking out spoons and bowls. "So what is it today? Your stomach again?"

"No," you squeak. "Why did you still come?"

"Because you feel bad, and it's my job to help you feel better." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and it wrenches your heart in two.

"You're too good to me. Way past your job description as friend," you try to joke. Jason drops the container full of vegetables he had been spooning into the broth and looks at you as if he's been struck.

"What?"

"It's too much, Jason. It's above and beyond the call of duty for a friend. Even a best friend, I would say." You squeeze the pillow tighter, preparing yourself for you next words. "You don't have to do all of this just for me. I understand my position."

Jason comes and sits down across from you, concern evident in his eyes. "What are you talking about? What position? Since when are we friends?"

"What do you mean?" You ask brokenly. "I thought that's what you wanted from me. Friendship."

Jason says your name incredulously. "What are you talking about? We've been dating for 7 months. Ever since I first asked you to the coffee shop three days after we met.""

"What?" Fat tears starts to roll down your cheeks again. "I thought...all this time...we were just becoming close friends."

Jason clutches at his hair. "I met you mother!"

You wave dismissively. "All my friends meet my mom. She's the most important person in my life."

Jason stares at you, dumbfounded, before he starts to laugh. He laughs for a full two minutes before he wipes a tear away, and finally looks at you. He inches closer to you on the couch and pulls your pillow away, leaning in. "Can I kiss you?"

You tentatively nod. You take one look at his lips before they're on yours, and then you're looking at his face, eyes latching onto the small scar on his right cheek as you turn your head for him. He pulls back for just a second to breathe in before he comes back, and you've exploded mentally. He starts feathering your face in kisses, and you can't believe that this is happening to you. This never happens to fat people like you. You don't realize that you've said that last part out loud before he pulls back and looks at you strangely.

"Babe?" You heart clenches to hear him call you that. "Is that really what you think of yourself? You can't be loved because you're fat?"

Your face feels hot as you nod.

Jason shakes his head slowly, taking both of your hands in his. "Then it makes sense why you flinched every time I touched you." As if on reflex, you flinch hearing him say that. "I've found you attractive ever since I saw you at the library that day, I swear. That's why I gave you my number. I wasn't trying to initiate a friendship. Sweetheart, I was trying to initiate a relationship."

You throw your arms around him, essentially trying to make him melt into you. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you sob. You feel like you're going through the whole human spectrum of emotion at once. Elation, grief, mortification.

Jason gently peels you from him. "It's okay, really. Now that we've got that sorted out, can I finally finish making your ramen? The noodles are still good, I haven't put them in the broth yet."

part one

He finds himself on the roof. Leaning over the edge, contemplating how much dexterity it would take him to get across the street sans gadgets.

"Hey." He immediately starts trying to climb over the edge. His own arms wrap around him. "C'mon man, don't be like that. I just want to talk," Dick says, bringing his double back down.

"And I really think I would prefer hitchhiking back to the Tower than have this conversation," Red responds, leaning against back against the very brick he was about to vault over.

"I'm not mad, first of all." Dick clarifies. "And based on that display back there, I have a proposition for you."

Red's ear twitches. "Oh?"

Dick takes a deep breath. "We've been talking, and," He rubs the back of his neck. "God, there is no good way to ask this, but. Would you want to join us? One night before you leave?"

Red looks at him as if he's grown another head. Dick starts to backtrack, hands up in a placating gesture. "I mean, you don't have to. I certainly wouldn't like, pressure you or anything. We just thought- and with what we all witnessed downstairs- I didn't think-"

"They really thought you were the best one to proposition me, huh?" Red interrupts.

Dick laughs, but it sounds pained. "Remember that time Steph asked you if you would fuck your own clone? And you said yes? Kinda thought you would think of it like that. But with another person thrown in."

"And if I say yes?" Cautious as ever, in case the rug is pulled out from under him.

Dick grins. "One night is all you'll need. Promise."

part two

"Well, we defeated the big bad, but unfortunately, you guys are stuck here until we figure out how to get you home again," Dick says, scratching the back of his neck. He'd gone on a small mission with the Titans where a rift in space time had opened up, same old, same old, and lo behold, versions of themselves from an alternate reality had popped out. They'd worked together to bring down their shared enemy, but now their doubles were stuck here. "I'll talk with Batman and the Justice League tomorrow to figure out how to get you guys home. For now, let's get back to the Tower, and we'll have you guys lay low there."

"Sounds good to me, but then again, I would've said the same thing," Dick's double says, causing the whole group to groan.

Back at the tower, Dick realizes he hasn't done his laundry there in about three weeks, meaning there's nothing for himself or his double to wear. "Hm. I guess you'll just have to come back to my apartment in Bludhaven. Sorry about that."

"Totally fine. If anything this is just a cautionary tale for me to do mine when I get back, lest this happen to me," Red, Dick had taken to calling him (due to the color of his Nightwing outfit), responded.

*

You come whirling into your apartment, dropping your keys into the bowl by the door and kicking off your shoes, taking note of Dick's there as well. The same identical pair sitting next to them go unnoticed by you. You immediately head in to the kitchen off to the left of the door. "Today was absolute shit. If my car doesn't fucking pass inspection tomorrow, I'm gonna lose my whole mind. I don't even know why it isn't passing. It's too damn old to still be emissions inspected, but it's under miles, so apparently it has to be! And if that bitch receptionist at work doesn't get off of her high horse and just do her fucking job, I swear to Christ-" You cut yourself off with a small scream, head firmly in the freezer, looking for something. "Richard fucking Grayson! Did you eat my last fucking fudge bar? Today's not the fucking day!" You whip around to find him, no two of him? sitting on the couch.

"Sorry, that was me. I didn't know they were yours," The Dick in the red shirt says, a nervous smile on his face.

"Babe, I can explain," the Dick in the blue shirt says, hands already out in a placating gesture as he gets up.

You come around the counter and lean against it, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut. "I'm gonna go take a shower, get changed, and come back. And when I do, you better have your shit straight. I'm talking alibis and reasons why this is happening."

You take off down the hallway to your left, muttering to yourself. Both Dicks let out a deep breath they didn't even know they were holding, then look at each other.

"So," Red says. He says your name strangely, as if it doesn't fit quite right in his mouth. "How'd you two get together?" And will the same technique work for me back home? He doesn't ask. It was true; back in his own universe, he's been pining after you for years, while you remain painfully oblivious.

Dick lets out a small laugh. "Well, do you remember that shitty teacher from that charter school they dated for like six months? The one we couldn't stand because she was so pretentious?" Red nods. "Well, when they finally broke up, I got a text that night detailing the breakup. I could tell how much it was messing with them, so I decided to go over there and comfort them. Two years later, here we are."

Red screams at himself internally. He does remember that night. He had also toyed with the idea of going over there and comforting you, but had ultimately decided against it, knowing how you valued privacy and time to process things. Knowing now that a relationship with you had only been one choice away, is maddening. He puts on what he hopes isn't a strained smile. "Oh. Good for you guys!"

The two men hear you get out of the bathroom, and pad into the bedroom right across from it. Dick turns to his double and runs a hand through his hair. "I think they'll be cool with it, we just have to play our cards right."

Twenty minutes later you're sitting in front of the two of them, sitting backwards on a fold-out chair, gripping the backrest with tight knuckles. "Fifty words or less. Go."

The Dick in the the shirt pipes up first. "So there was this guy, right? Doing some stuff to end the world, as per usual, but he was more powerful than last time, and we couldn't figure out why, we found ourselves from an alternate dimension-"

"Thirteen words left," You interrupt.

"Together we beat him, the world was saved, but I'm stuck here. Happy?" The Dick in the red shirt leans back against the couch, a self satisfied smile on his face, arms crossed.

You give him a small sneer and roll your eyes. "You must feel so satisfied."

"I do, actually, thanks for asking," He snarks back.

Your Dick claps his hands together. "So, can he stay? It's only for a little while, while I talk to the Justice League and see how soon we can get him home. Please?"

He turns on the puppy dog eyes, and his double does the same, sucking in their lips and everything. You look between them for a minute before caving in on yourself and just as quickly straightening yourself out. "Fine. I guess I'll be on the couch while you two take the bed. It would only be proper, I suppose. Now, what's for dinner? I'm starving."

*

You get used to having a copy of your boyfriend around pretty easily. Just to make sure you don't mess the two of them up, you draw a small heart on Red's left thumb every day with a red marker. You send him on errands while Dick is at work, and he apparently helps with the vigilante stuff at night. All in all, you're not as mad as Dick though you would be.

His double, on the other hand, is in hell. Sleeping on the couch in your living room must be his own divine punishment. If he ever gets to go home, this alternate version of Dick Grayson swears he'll change how he acts. He'll eat better, recycle more, hell, even take more shitty cases from Bruce if he needs to. Being in the same proximity as you for this long, watching you with his other self, is torture. It's not like the two of you are overly affectionate with each other; quite the opposite (he's sure that that's for his own sake as well, to be polite). But he can see how in tune the two of you are to each other. He sees the way you put your hand on the small of Dick's back when you watch him cook. It's in the way you always make sure to fold and put away the laundry that Dick washes, or how Dick always reminds you to take your water bottle to work, or how Dick will feed your cats when he comes in during the wee hours of the morning (lest they yell at you to wake up before you need to). It makes Red sick to his stomach with jealousy. He aches, and he doesn't know what to do about it.

To know that you're right there, and could just as easily have been his? It makes him want to punch a wall, but simultaneously hold you tenderly, just for a moment.

*

"C'mon babe."

Red's ears twitch as he lays on your couch. You had called it a night an hour ago, and the both copies of you boyfriend had the night off from Batman. All in all, it was a nice Saturday night in. Until now.

"Dick, no, he's right there in the living room," You insist in a hushed tone.

"But it's been so long! I was on that mission for like a month, and now it's been a whole week since I got home. I'll be quiet, I promise!" He hears his other self pleading.

You snort. "As if. You remember that time at your dad's house? He still won't look me in the eye."

Red shifts on the couch, hoping the squeaking of the springs under the cushion will deter his double any further from trying to get laid. It doesn't apparently, as just a few seconds later, it begins again.

"Pleeeease? I've got worse blue balls than that time Mr. Freeze zapped my zone with his freeze ray."

"Dick Grayson, you're such a baby." Despite that, he can hear you shuffle a bit, then the sound of your knees hitting the rug right beside your bed. Red's breath hitches. He can believe what he's about to hear. The almost whisper quiet sounds of clothes being moved around is almost imperceptible; almost. But for him? He's hypervigilant to every sound coming from your room.

"Fuck babe, you look so good down there."

Red is startled by the feeling of his own hand down his shorts. He traces the outline of his own dick, imagining he was in his double's place. He can only imagine what you look like on your knees, hand wrapped around his own cock. Would you take your time? Tease him a little? Knowing you, you would probably get straight to the blowjob itself, wrapping your tongue around him right away.

He hears his double groan the next room over. Red grips himself a little tighter, starting to pump himself. He relishes in the dryness of it. In his own mind, you're right there speaking words of encouragement into his ear, your own hands wandering his body, playing his sensitive nipples like an instrument you've practiced for years. Then, after watching him get himself off and praising him accordingly, you would take over yourself, spreading his pre with your expert fingers.

Red hisses, holding himself tightly by the head of his cock, the fantasy driving him much closer to the edge faster than he'd anticipated. In the next room over, he can hear a small schlick as you continue to jerk off your boyfriend.

"You're doing such a good job babe. Such a hot mouth for me to fuck. C'mon, swallow me down. I know you can, I've seen you do it before."

The image of you with his cock down your throat, the muscles there bulging as they try to accommodate him, sends Red reeling. He gives up on trying to pace himself and starting jerking his cock more quickly. He can picture you on your knees in front of him, mouth open as he strokes himself right onto your awaiting tongue. You would tease him a bit, he knows, by pressing the tip of your tongue to the underside of his head, pressing it up into your hard palate. The image of you there, eyes wide, as he cums on your tongue, is what does it. With a strangled moan, Red cums in his shorts, savoring your small sounds just a room over. He almost rubs himself raw trying to draw out the orgasm, but winces once he starts to overstimulate himself. He hears a yelp, and knows his double has cum as well.

"Another masterful performance, sweetheart."

*

It's been another tiring day for you, and Red can tell when you come through the door. Dick had gone out to get something from the store, dinner bubbling away on the stove, so it's just him as you dump all of your stuff on the counter space unoccupied by cooking supplies.

"Oh hell yea, are you making that artichoke dish again, babe?"

"I-" Red cuts himself off. "Yea, I am."

He's screaming at himself internally. What am I doing?!

You head to the bedroom and change out of your work clothes quickly, coming back to settle across his thighs. You take his face in your hands and press a kiss to his forehead. "Truly what did I do to deserve such an attentive boyfriend."

"The feeling of you squished up against me helps a lot, honestly," Red says, settling his hands on your thighs. The alarms in his head won't shut up, be he ignores them for being in the moment instead. It might be the only time he gets you like this, ever. You snort, then start pressing kisses around his gorgeous tanned face. Red can feel himself sweating underneath you, and almost jolts right out of his own skin when you kiss him on the lips.

His vision swims as you deepen the kiss, turning your head to the side. His hands go on autopilot, going from your hips to your chest, both of them settled right underneath your breasts. He would be hyperventilating were it not for your tongue swiping through his mouth. Finally he reciprocates, engaging you. He slides his tongue against yours and you let out a small moan, making his dick twitch through his pajama pants.

The two of your are too engrossed in each other to notice the door open.

It isn't until a bag hits the ground that the two of you part.

There stands Dick, grocery bags on the ground, a can rolling away from him, and a strained smile on his face.

"Babe? What are you doing?"

Your eyes pop out of your skull, and you grab Red's left hand. Sure enough, there's an incredibly faded red heart there. You take a gasp of air in, ready to start explaining, when you're unceremoniously dumped to the ground, and Red is blazing past the two of you.