the thing about shoresy is they're scrounging up some ringers for this senior aaa hockey team they're trying to save. they introduce a character who is a black quebecois guy who used to play in the nhl who is now a rapper and who got suspended for attempting to climb over the barriers and out of the penalty box to beat the ass of someone in the stands who called him a slur. and you're like, that's neat. and then you look up the actor and realize that he's played by a guy with the same government name who was drafted to the nhl who is also a rapper with the same rapper name and was also suspended for attempting to climb over the barriers and out of the penalty box to beat the ass of someone in the stands who called him a slur. and you're like well damn. i feel like he should have been allowed a few minutes alone with slur guy without anyone saying anything.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Title: a stolen moment
Fandom: DCU, Superman - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationship/Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne
Rating: T
Status: completed
Word count: 4,574
Tags: Time Travel, Red Kryptonite (DCU), Grief/Mourning, Angst, Jealousy, clark thirdwheels superbat and experiences shrimp emotions about it, here's a fun tag that will come in useful down the line!, Emotional Infidelity, Unresolved Emotional Tension, sorry not sorry but the ending isn't super happy, Kissing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, immortality & the unfortunate reality of outliving everyone you love, Dimension Travel
written for @kryptonite-week for day 2 (red kryptonite) and the prompt “time travel” on card #2. i'm def not going to make the bingo lol. also written for hurt & comfort bingo for "grief"
Summary:
Then, Clark’s eyes met his, and he pulled away so quickly that the sound of his retreat whipped through the air. His face, for a moment, was startlingly open, and naked grief cracked harshly through his expression like a fist shattering the surface of a frozen lake. Then, it was gone, and the slate was wiped clean as though there had been nothing but a mild smile there since the very beginning.
But Bruce knew what he’d seen.
“How long?” he asked.
Clark’s mouth twisted. “I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to keep it from you,” he said softly. “You know me too well. Was that even five minutes?”
“Clark.”
Clark’s lips turned up into a smile, fracturing his face, his eyes glittering shards of lapis lazuli. “How long for what?” he asked. “For how long we were married? Or for how long it’s been since you died?”
Viggo would squish Grimmel under his pinkie finger. He would Look in Grimmel's general direction and bro would crumble. That sob story failure of a villain wouldn't stand a chance
Actually, headcannon- the reason Grimmel didn't dare show his face sooner in the franchise was because the other vaillains/antagonists kept scaring him off, like spraying a cat with water every time he tried to come close
clark is often handsy — urgent for touch throughout almost all hours of the day. there are times where he is seemingly most needy, times in the morning specifically where he can't quite untangle his grasp from you. before work is most common, those twenty some minutes where he battles with himself to leave the bed that consumes either of you.
he'd been telling himself, 'two more minutes,' 'just another minute,' for the last near thirty; it wasn't getting out of bed that was hard, it was leaving you.
there are mornings where simply a cuddle with you on his chest was enough or even snuggles from behind that could do, though there are some where he finds it almost impossible to disregard that thick plank of morning wood under his bed shorts.
this morning was one of those times. despite the several snooze alarms that had been repeating, clark still found himself in a state of leisure. he found no such need for haste as he winds into you from behind. the motion in his hips is irregular, the grinds into you coming from a place of deep need. there's no rush, it's like he wants to simply feel you — as if that was his main aim all along.
right now, work can wait. in this moment you were all he wanted.
laying behind you on his side, he slips his outer arm under that of yours, bicep sitting just below your armpit so he can grab a handful of your tit. his grip holds firm, copping a feel for your breast that seems to sit so perfectly within that large palm of his. he paws at it, fingers pulsing indentations in time to the pumps of his cock into you from behind.
he leans in close, lips skimming the skin at the back of your shoulder.
"you're so beautiful in the morning," he whispers into you, words soft and honest. "the prettiest," he presses a string of faint and equally lengthy kisses into where he just spoke — each one earning him airy gasps from you in front.
your head tilts back into his behind, and with all that neck of your now exposed, he retracts his hand out from around your tit and instead places it at the base of your throat. he tests his hold around it with a small series of pulses, each one raising higher and higher until the connection between thumb and index sits just under your chin.
clark holds at your jaw, carefully keeping you in place against him.
"my sweet, pretty girl," he adds, tone a dulcet coo.
his fingers itch up from their placement along your jaw and graze over your bottom lip, the tips of his fingers hovering above your parted mouth. he slips his middle one between your lips, and then his ring finger; resting each on the flat of your tongue so as to give you something to gnaw on.
he doesn't shove them down your throat, nor does he make the act feel any way invasive — he simply lets the weight of fingers sit on your tongue. if you so choose to suck and lick on them, that would be your decision to make, and not one that he would oppose.
Day 5 (shhh we’re pretending it’s on time again) Kinktober 2025: Finger Sucking
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
He curled his tongue up again, trying to shape Logan’s fingers how he wanted.
His senses were in a sort of cottony place, the sounds of the apartment fading to a soft buzz, something distant from himself. He registered a rough exhale of breath from the man beside him, but he couldn’t sort out what kind of exhale it was.
While he was still trying to hold onto that thread his attention was pulled back to the fingers in his mouth, now no longer passive playthings, now stroking long and slow from the back of his tongue, just shy of triggering his gag reflex, all the way to the tip, over and over.
His body sunk heavier into the couch.
Something dripped onto his arm.
Drool? Was he drooling?
He swallowed around the fingers, succeeding at nothing but making a bigger mess, pooled saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth where he couldn’t get a good seal.
He tried again, and unsurprisingly, it didn’t work, again.
Logan’s hand tensed, fingers curling slightly, pressing against the back of his tongue, thumb digging into the underside of his chin, just inside his mandible.
Wade’s lips spread in a satisfied grin — as much as they could with his mouth so full. He didn’t know why he was getting what he wanted, just that he was, and he was happy about it.
The thumb moved to the outside of his jaw and his head was shaken gently. He peeled his eyes open with herculean effort.
Logan was looking at him like he was waiting for something.
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stormborns
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