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murmeloni · 2 months

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I need more fanboy Clark Kent in my life.

Like, he's seen Bruce Wayne interact with a child once and immediately fell in love with the guy. Now his bedroom walls are plastered with posters and he follows several social media accounts focused on capturing pictures of Bruce with kids and/or animals etc. He defends Bruce to anyone, no matter the antics he gets up to and it has become a bit of a running gag around the office.

Then, one day, Cat is out sick and someone jokingly suggests Clark should cover the gala in her stead, seeing as Bruce Wayne will be there and maybe this'll be Clark's shot to finally get his man? To everyone's surprise, Perry really does assign the gala coverage to Clark, who spends the days leading up to the event in a state somewhere between absolute panic and ultimate bliss.

But when the day finally arrives, Bruce doesn't show.

Of course Clark does his job and interviews everyone there (yes, even Lex Luthor) but a part of him spends all night waiting for Bruce to crash the party late, like he so often does.

Eventually, Clark gives up hope and it's shortly after that, that he stumbles upon one of the children dragged along to the event by their parents. Because apparently someone thought a charity gala was a good environment for an eight year old. The parents are nowhere in sight and the child is close to tears, so Clark makes it his mission to cheer the little girl up, regaling her with stories from his upbringing on a Kansas farm while he searches the crowd for her family.

With Clark thus occupied, he doesn't notice Bruce Wayne finally making his appearance for the night. But Bruce definitely notices him. The gentle giant who's all kind smiles and corny jokes... Until he finds the girl's parents. Uncaring of the fact that he's here on a job and that these people are richer than any one person should be and could easily sue him into oblivion, he takes them aside, fire in his eyes, and tears them a new one for losing track of their kid like this. Anything could have happened to her and maybe the readers of the Daily Planet would like to know about that? After all, how reliable and trustworthy could a company whose CEOs won't even look after their own daughter really be?

Bruce is immediately smitten. The passive-aggressive lecture and subtle threats - not to mention the broad shoulders and handsome face - are incredibly attractive to him and he wastes no time cornering the man afterwards.

Clark, who is so starstruck by the mere sight of Bruce coming towards him that he loses the ability to speak, nearly faints when Bruce just straight up shoves his tongue into his mouth. They end up in one of the coat rooms and Clark thinks that's it, just a one night stand. It sucks that he won't see Bruce again, but the night was amazing and at least he has the memory to treasure, right?

He thinks that right up until he gets to work the next day and two dozen red roses are waiting for him on his desk. There's a handwritten card nestled inbetween the petals and on it is the name of a restaurant along with a date and time. It's signed by Bruce.

And that is how Clark gets together with his celebrity crush.

#bruce wayne #superbat #clark kent #headcanon #superman #dc #batman #writing promt #fanboy Clark Kent

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platitudinalteen · 16 days

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More memes based on my wip, because it's fun, lol.

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bruciemilf · 1 month

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Headcanon that, every year on their birthday, Kryptonians get new superpowers.

Clark doesn’t really keep track; That’s Bruce’s job, for the most part. This year? Mediumship.

me·di·um·ship

/the capacity, function, or profession of a spiritualistic medium/

“Communication with spirits,” Bruce has this habit of nicking his thumb with his teeth, pretty, hazel eyes glossy with thought. Clark doesn’t need supervision to see how beautiful he is when his mind’s at work. “Fascinating.”

“Yep,”

Clark watches Thomas Wayne’s ghost give him the glare of the century behind his son’s back.

The skin of his jawline is entirely ripped off, peeled by Joe Chill’s gun, like the news article said. Sincerely, the Wayne glare scares Clark more.

“Fascinating.”

#thomas being a protective father and fucking with every suitor from #beyond the grave my beloved. he bothers Clark in small — but infuriating — ways. breaking all the chargers in his home.#so Clark can’t work from home or get work done on time. shut off the electricity in the middle of his interviews or meetings.#or talking to Bruce. writing articles about Perry white and blaming it on Clark. calling Lex Luthor hot.#PROTECTIVE DADDY THOMAS THATS ALL #bruce wayne #superbat #battinson #clark kent #thomas wayne #dc comics #dc #batman #text #text post

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jesterjazz-creates · 10 months

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I keep seeing fanart of Brucie interacting with My Adventures of Superman Clark and I need them to interact and if I can't see them interact I'm making them interact

#my adventures with superman #maws #superbat #clark kent #bruce wayne #my writing #my wip fic

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zylev-blog · 5 months

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Danny is Diana’s daughter. Well, not anymore. Danny decided he was a boy, and Diana didn’t want to burden him with the sexism of the island, so she took her son out into the world as Wonder Boy. The Justice League, who didn’t even know she had a son, was shook. Meanwhile, Danny is living his best life, getting to know the other teen heroes. That is, until some evil fruitloop named Lex Luthor kidnaps him and uses his DNA and Superman’s to make two clones. Mama Diana is pissed.

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kryptonian-bat-thing · 3 months

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hear me out:

bruce and clark are having a casual relationship for a while until clark says "ily" during the act

bruce just being confused because he didn't actually think clark would want to be with him other than brucie wayne being attractive and generally good in bed

clark goes fluff mode and confesses how he feels and in the end is like "wait... i thought we were dating????"

#bruce wayne is bad at communicating #clark kent is a dork #fic prompt #writing prompt #superbat prompt #superbat #dc comics #superman #dc #batman #clark kent #bruce wayne #bruce x clark #clark x bruce

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jesncin · 7 months

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Hope.

#superman #lois lane #clark kent #clois #dc comics #jl remix #my art #fanart #writing the asian lois I want to see in the world

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drewsephrry · 1 month

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everybody moved on, help im still at the restaurant

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glow-worms-are-believers · 7 months

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Always room for seconds (dp x dc)

"There they go again," says Aunt Alicia as she looks at the hazmat-clad backs of her sister and her husband jumping into their mish-mash-of-a-van. "And on Thanksgiving too," she finishes to herself as she turns toward her niece and nephew. Neither of them look surprised, though Jazz is clearly more affected if the tick in her jaw is any indication.

"They promised," she practically spits but Danny just sighs and puts a hand on her shoulder. It seems to draw the fight out of Jazz a bit and she sags onto herself.

Alicia loves her sister but she can be so irresponsible sometimes.

"Come on kids, let's go back inside. It's about time to put the turk-" she stops short, then groans. Maddie had insisted on bringing the turkey on account of not wanting Alicia to go to all the trouble, and Alicia had agreed on the condition that her sister wouldn't try to make it. "...And the turkey is still in the van isn't it?"

Danny makes a face. "It's probably for the best. I'm pretty sure I saw it move on the way here."

Alicia doesn't let her head fall into her hands, but only just. Instead, she takes a deep breath to calm herself down to rally her thoughts. "Alright. It'll be too late by the time we drive to town and buy a new raw one, so we can just get some already made from the store. That good for you guys?"

Jazz and Danny make sounds of assent before all three of them pile up in the car. Town isn't too far away, and the trip is mostly silent. Alicia is hesitating over what to say to cheer up her niece and nephew. In the end, they pull up to the grocery store before she manages to come up with anything.

"Dad was also supposed to bring desert," Jazz mentions as she grabs a caddie and wheels it back to them.

"I made apple pie just in case," Alicia answers. Despite her dislike for him, she can admit that Jack Fenton is a generous man. However, as she has learned over the years, that generosity doesn't extend to fudge. Which is why she's got her famous apple pie ready to pop into the oven.

Danny nods relieved, as he files in behind his sister. The three of them are rolling past the frozen section when a familiar voice cuts through the store music.

"Alicia?"

At that, Alicia looks up to see the face of one and only Martha Kent. Her lips stretch into a smile unconsciously at the sight.

"Martha, hi," she answers as the other woman starts walking closer. "How are you?"

"I'm good," the other woman says as she stops in front of them. "Just doing some last-minute shopping." Then Martha looks to Danny and Jazz and gives them a smile. "And who might these two be?"

"This is Jazz and Danny," Alicia introduces them, "my niece and nephew. They're spending Thanksgiving up at the cabin with me."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Martha says sincerely. "You left your sister and her husband in charge of the turkey, then?" She winks.

Alicia winces. "Ah, not exactly."

"They had a work emergency," Jazz says, unhappy.

Martha lets out a sympathetic oh.

"That's why we're here," Alicia explains. "They left with the turkey without realizing, so we'll have to settle for store-bought this year."

Martha makes a noise of sympathy before her face shifts into something more pensive. "You know," she starts. "I've got a big turkey at home and there's only going to be my son and me to eat it. If you guys would like, we'd love to have you over to help us with it."

"Oh we couldn't possibly-" Alicia starts to protest but Martha takes a step forward and takes her hands.

"You'd be doing us a favour," Martha says, her hands still into Alicia's as she looks up earnestly at the redhead. And damn it all because Alicia can feel a blush spreading on her cheeks at that.

"Alright," Alicia says, too flustered to argue.

Martha squeezes her hands once before letting go and Alicia can't help but miss the warmth of them. "Then it's settled."

"Alright," repeats Alicia. "We'll have to swing back home, though. I made pie."

"That's wonderful!" Martha's smile is radiant and it makes something in Alicia's chest warm.

She disguises it with a cough before speaking up. "Is six thirty too early for you?"

"It's perfect. We'll be waiting for you then," Martha says. "And for your sister and her husband too, if they manage to tear themselves away from work."

"That's not likely," mumbles Danny under his breath. Uncharacteristically, Jazz doesn't say anything about her brother's manners, only putting her own hand on his shoulder. Martha catches Alicia's eye and they exchange a look.

"Well, we'll be glad to have you three, anywho," Martha states firmly which gets her a hesitant smile from Jazz.

Alicia clears her throat. "We'd better get going if we want to be ready in time."

"Oh yes," Martha agrees. "I have to make sure the turkey's not burning." Then she winks, and for some reason, Alicia can feel that pesky blush coming back. It's made worse by the shrewd look Jazz gives her.

"See you soon!" says Martha as she leaves.

"Bye," Alicia answers back a little weakly. Then she looks down to the ground and sighs. When she straightens her head, she's immediately on guard as she catches her niece's smug look.

"What?" Alicia asks warily.

"Is Martha single?" Jazz asks, with a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth face.

"Yeah," the older redhead answers slowly. "Why?"

"Just wanted to know," Jazz says innocently. And even Danny is looking at his sister suspiciously now. "since you've got a crush on her and all."

"I do no-I don't know what you're talking about!" Alicia protests though she feels her cheeks warming for the third time today.

And now Danny is starting to smirk too as he exchanges a look with his sister. "Oh," he starts as he looks towards Martha's disappearing figure. "This is going to be fun."

#I know Alicia is supposed to live in Arkansas and not Kansas but let's pretend I can't read #Johnatan Kent is dead in this one (sorry Mr. Kent)#Jazz and Danny playing matchmaker for their aunt #Clark jumping in once he catches on to what they're doing #Alicia (dp) x Martha Kent #That is one ship I'd never thought I'd write #anyone has an idea for a name for this ship?#Alicia (dp)#martha kent #dc x dp #dp x dc #roxpox #roxpoxwrote

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ghostbsuter · 5 months

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He's hiding, the half collapsed pillar in an abandoned office building, halfway ruined and completely left to collapse in metropolis.

His core is pulsing, air freezing and eyes not focused.

Metropolis is big and bright.

There is no way they could get him here, not with kryptonian heroes at its beck and call. Danny saw Supergirl save the day, the big blue at her tail, saving civilians.

Danny followed the official daily planet channel and reads along every line Lois Lane and her husband, Clark Kent, write each time, making people aware of problems, and most importantly exposing people.

The rich and corrupted.

So yes, is it frightening? Anxiety filling? Putting trust into complete strangers in hopes they'd uncover the Guys in White if they appear in the city?

Yes, yes it is.

He hopes Jon, the boy he has been helping with homework in a cafe, won't miss him too much in case it does happen.

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caitlinbueckers · 15 days

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fuck it.

caitlin clark x reader type beat

deadass this is just a mindless blurb but i CANNOT get shy yet cocky caitlin clark meeting a rivaling fan in an elevator outttt of my mind soooo enjoy (thanks @sellawrites for being my beta fr)

SLIGHT NSFW , DIALOGUE HEAVY , BULLSHIT RAMBLINGS

18+ regardless

it would come to you as a surprise. a shock, really.

it would feel almost too crazy to be true.

you don’t think you’re losing your mind or anything, which could be a super viable option if it wasn’t for the fact that you had just left the court, game fresh in mind, still wearing an oversized UCONN t-shirt, typing quickly at your phone to express your distaste with the win that IOWA just pulled over your favorite team.

the elevator doors open and close standardly— you hadn’t realized until you’d booked the hotel just how fucking busy it is, not taking into account that it was one of the nicer hotels in the city, elite only in the sense that it took a lot of fucking flight points to even book here, exclusivity aside.

it doesn’t register to you until you’re finished with an almost exaggeratedly dramatic description of the game to your friend, corner of your lips raising slightly only in jest of your words, that you manage to glance upwards, eyes flickering quickly from the back of the hooded figure, back down to your phone. well, that is, until your eyes flicker upwards again, remaining there with a studying gaze as you try to place just where the fuck you’ve seen that hoodie before, embarrassingly candid in your incessant stare—

until the figure turns, and your suspicion is confirmed, and it kinda fucking feels like karma, or maybe some sick joke from the universe that of course the hooded figure just somehow happens to be the very player that disrespected your team the most— caitlin clark.

you’re sort of gobsmacked, so it’s silent for a beat before caitlin, almost apologetically, rushes to speak.

“sorry, i just— i saw you looking, so—“

“no, no— that’s my bad, like- i just didn’t, um, realize that i like, recognize your hoodie…?” it sounds as painful as it is to say, and somehow caitlin, despite the looks of aggression, fierceness and fervor that she displays on the court, somehow melts into this weird, sort of embarrassed looking smile that makes something foreign tingle within you. it’s endearment, surely, but interest nonetheless.

“no, that’s okay— i wasn’t, like, complaining, or anything.” it’s only then that caitlin’s eyes flicker down to your tee, and suddenly, it feels a little fucking ironic. “did you make it to the game tonight?”

self consciously, your arms cross over your chest, attempting to cover the logo, but you find an awkward, sort of quiet chuckle bubble out of you, “i did,” and, because despite the fact her team sort of fucked over your favorite team, it doesn’t take away the respect you have for her because she is tough, so you even go on to say, “you played really fucking well, by the way.”

then, it’s your turn to be surprised again, because america’s hardest basketball player is fucking blushing in front of you, ducking her head like she isn’t six feet, practically demanding to be seen, and it makes you grin despite it, admiring that even now, in her claim to fame, she’s humble.

“dude, that’s- that means a lot to me, really. it was… super fucking close, but—“ she stops herself, right as the elevator dings for your floor, right as she remembers she’s talking to a person, not a conference room, and clears her throat a little. “it was… hard.” she says, and it feels so achingly honest that it makes you pause for a second, biting the inside of your cheek. “looked hard.” you remark, watching as the smile on her face returns, timid, but there nonetheless.

then, the elevator gives another warning ding, and you feel like a fucking idiot because the doors are open and you won’t just go, and leave it at that. because, when else do people just get chances to meet people like this?

the time on your phone reads 1:24 AM.

not like you had anything else to do, anyway.

“sorry, am i like— in the way…?” caitlin is almost overly apologetic as she stands aside, and you’re quick to shake your head, mostly because yeah, she sort of was in the way, but also, because you didn’t really wanna get off yet.

“no! you’re fine, um, i was just gonna suggest maybe we could, like, i dunno— grab a drink or something, y’know?”

jesus, you felt like an idiot as soon as the words are out, and you wince, eliciting a chuckle from both you and her.

you rush to explain, “sorry, that’s like— super fucking weird, i just like, fly out tomorrow morning so i just— wanted to offer, i guess?”

but for some reason, it’s mingled with the sound of caitlin’s quick reassurance, eyes wide almost as if to make sure she’s being understood, as she says, “no, no— that’s not weird, i don’t… have anything else to do, anyway.”

the answer, though only slightly backhanded, makes your lips twitch into a real smile, and you snort, shrugging a bit. “is it gonna ruin your reputation to drink at a hotel bar?”

she’s ruthless. a fighter. a winner.

she smiles again, and it’s soft, before she shakes her head, “what reputation?”

you both end up too fucking drunk— the bartender only a little starstruck as you both pretend under some unspoken agreement that caitlin’s name was totally debbie and she’d never heard of women’s basketball in her life. it’s stupid, and ridiculous, and somehow you want to think it’s too good to be true that one person can be so insanely talented, and somehow not be a piece of shit— caitlin seems to prove you wrong at every point.

“dude, fuckin’— god, kate’s gonna be pissed.” the words leave caitlin’s lips in a breath of laughter, the elevator shutting behind you as your hand presses to the wall for register, shoulder bumping against her arm due to the height discrepancy that isn’t totally still making something within you stir in awe.

kate martin. you’re aware of her team enough to identify who that must be, and for only half a second do you remember that this isn’t some chick you’d met at a hotel, this was caitlin fucking clark, and it fills you with a sense of astonishment, and then, weirdly, a surge of pride.

not for any posterity reasons, but because this absolute beast was fucking giggling and smiling and feverbright from the alcohol and you’re staring for way longer than you need to because, holy shit, why didn’t you realize how fucking pretty she was earlier?

“fuck it—“ you proclaimed, loopy and still a little too unsteady on your feet as you stumble, before her hand, long and firm, calloused and warm, flies out to grasp your shoulder, “my rooms like, fuckin’ empty, dude,”

she seems surprised, almost as much as you are that you’d even offered. “is that like—? are you like, sure?” and as if to make sure she has your attention, she pulls you to her, and your eyes flutter upwards, lips parted without a sound escaping because she’s looking down at you, her hair falling from its weakly tied ponytail, and she doesn’t realize that she’s holding you tight, but you can’t pull away because you don’t want to.

your response is immediate. “duh.”

she grins. your stomach flips, for the second time that night.

and really, truly, after that it should’ve been a lot more innocent. caitlin stumbles in and collapses on your bed, looking not even the slightest tired, but with a look on her face that makes you snicker out, “what?”

it escapes her in a breath of laughter, eyes lolling from the ceiling to you, standing almost idly beside the bed as your fingers caress the bedsheets, warm only from the presence of her body a few inches away.

“wish i could do this all the time.”

it makes you frown, but your lips are still upturned, giving her a look of amusement. “get drunk?”

her own hands are twiddling with each other, before she reaches up, caresses your arm with the subtlety of an elephant, tracing over the red lines she’d left on your bicep from the elevator. it makes you fucking shiver. “no, like— meet new people and stuff. just, talking to you is like— awesome, y’know…”

you don’t know, because you’re not a college athlete, but you nod anyway, leaning over her only slightly because the last vodka cranberry is settling nicely within you, and caitlin’s starting to grin, eyes hazy and cheeks pink, as you respond, soft and just for her, “consider this a prize then? winners trophy?”

she doesn’t answer, she just laughs and then she kisses you, uncoordinated and sloppy, nothing like how she is on the court, calculated and unwavering. like this, she’s loose, strong, but wobbly as she pulls you down over her, and it’s like a fucking sixth sense that you scramble atop of her, swinging a leg over her hips like you’ve done it a million times.

though, it’s more recognizable that she’s quick, her hands racing up your oversized shirt, thumbs hard as they press against your stomach, your ribcage, the lining of your bra.

she scoffs, soft and husky against your mouth, “take this shit off.” and it’s only then, that you remember cognizantly the UCONN shirt you’re wearing, and for some fucking reason, this sudden show of confidence, the liquor somehow fueling her, makes you blush.

“fuck off— “ you’re panting, but the shirt is tugged over your head regardless, a smirk on your face, “two point wonder.”

caitlin all but fucking growls, but she’s grinning, wolfish and proud, as she thumbs over your nipples, hard and pert through the lace as she presses her hips up against you, “two fuckin’— i’ll show you two fucking points.”

and she does.

maybe her post victory adrenaline had been surging, or maybe it was just all the beers she’d housed, but you’re surprised at her energy— which was stupid considering you were looking at a girl known for her endurance, her unlimited stamina.

but holy hell, she’d just rocked the fieldhouse for all it was worth— seemed like you were next on her agenda.

it’d be hard to recount all the details. you guys were drunk, and she was like a driving, pushing force— hands snuck down the front of your shorts, fingers impossibly dexterous as they curled into you, inducing every embarrassing and pitiful sound to rip from your throat, to breathe it into hers.

you probably wouldn’t remember her voice either, husky and low, gravelly with overuse, as she asks you, “hm? how’d i do tonight? tell me.” and in a sense, it’s fucking filthy. in another, it’s almost sort of sweet. the way she says it in your neck, the way she kisses you when you trip up to say, “good— so fucking good.” because neither of you are really talking about the game, and you both know it.

you pretend like you won’t remember the way she’s gone in the morning before you wake up, nothing but a warm reminder of her body on the haphazardly arranged bed, fixtures of the night surrounding you, like your littered clothes trailing off the bed, or your body under the sheets, like the pillow she’d used as leverage when she pressed open mouth kisses against the inside of your thigh, the way she’d taken you apart with her tongue and that’s all.

you do, however, remember the number she scrawls on a napkin, with an almost laughable signature that looks worlds away from her usual, coveted autograph.

instead of her looping cursive, a simple ‘cait’ sits scratched beside it, like she isn’t the award winning, competitively, aggressively ambitious beast that you used to know her as.

for now, it’s just caitlin.

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark smut #writing asf

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