A true bear in human form. He has to duck down every time he enters a room, his shoulders are too wide to walk in straight through a door.
He tries to find oversized suits but it's next to impossible to find something that is an oversized fit. He towers over everyone. The only reason he's not been exposed as Superman is because of his hypno glasses.
He's 6'5+ and his voice alone is enough for Bruce's knees to get as weak as boiled noodles. He looks like a twink next to Clark and he's never found anything as hot as this.
Finally!! I saw your comment about Clark being 300+ pounds and I am still so confused about why the hell all of the heroes are only 200 pounds?? Clark would definitely be near or over 300 pounds.
Ikr!! He's a massive man. It takes a lot of practice and restraint both consciously and unconsciously to not break everything he comes in contact with.
Going out on a limb here, but what if he is that large, but people done perceive him to be.
Now stay with me here, what if the glasses he wears that change how people perceive his face, also change how people perceive his fisyque too.
We all know that one of Clark's best ways to blend in with humans is to hide himself in a suit that's one or two sizes too big. Yes he's a farmers boy and yes he grew up likely with enough food in his system to allow his body to reach that level of big.
But I have yet to see or meet a farmer that's thicker than a bridge and sturdier than a brick wall. Not saying they don't exist, but there would have to be more behind his diet and work out routine to get that large.
In that panel he has closer to a body builder physique that, statistically speaking, are muscles for show and that are useless outside of the gym.
A farmers muscles are ones that are earned by doing farmer things say like helping cattle, lifting huge amounts of hay a day, likely doing things with other animals such as carrying sheep sometimes for a distance (I know little about what farmers do). But even muscles earned by that are not that big.
What I'm saying is it's basically impossible for a human to have that physique naturally. And yes I know he's not human, and Kryptonian biology and physiology is very different to a humans, but that's the point. Wouldn't it be odd for a farmers boy who works as a reporter to have a physique like that?
So getting back to my original point, what if he does have that physique naturally, but to hide and blend in better with humans, his glasses alter how people perceive his body to be one that looks natural?
I was reading around your darling pup fic and I saw Clark mentioning how he would destroy the world for his mate and it being my favourite trope, I'd like to request a fic like that from you.
You have full creative freedom around the plot with some key points that are important to me (ā ē¬ā Āŗā āæā Āŗā ē¬ā )ā ā”
Bruce being a very soft/big hearted person for this world (like forgives too easily), Bruce getting hurt very badly like near death experience (NO major character death please) Clark's alpha instincts going completely feral the moment he senses his bond with his omega becoming fragile (because Bruce is about to die), Clark tearing apart the whole Earth to find Bruce, and IF you are comfortable with it, Clark killing those people who are responsible for Bruce's condition, happy ending please.
Oooh oh I absolutely LOVE this! This is a great prompt! Iām working on a couple prompts that Iāve been given but I will start this one as soon as those are done! Thank youš¤
Clark gets hit by magic and when he wakes up he is atrocious to Bruce. He's saying the most vile, disgusting things in the world to Bruce's face. It's heartbreaking to witness. They finally get zatanna to come look at him and they find out that he's been hit by something that is making him hate the people he loves the most. That's why he's rude to the majority of the league and neutral with people he doesn't know. But with Bruce it's a whole different thing, he's just going on and about the worst things regarding Bruce and Bruce cannot take it.
That's his husband of 10 years, the person who loves him the most. And Bruce knows inside of him that he reason Clark is being so hateful towards him is because his heart carries that much love for him. He's spewing hurtful hate because his heart carries all the love in the universe for Bruce. But it's not easy to listen your husband telling you how useless,unloveable despicable creature you are and how you should die. The magic is set to last a week and Bruce picks up the blade on day 3. He just can't cope with it, he knows none of the things that are coming out of Clark's mouth is true but his self hate refuses to believe it. It has been years since he last cut himself, he hadn't done it since he and Clark got together, Clark kept him together with so much love that hatred had no place in his love.
But now Clark himself said it to Bruce's face that it would be better if he died, and Bruce believes him. The next time Bruce wakes up is at the hospital, Clark is beside him and he is crushed. He has been crying nonstop, apologising repeatedly without taking a breath for his behaviour. His cries were loud enough to shake the hospital. Bruce finds out that it was clark who found him almost dead and took him here.
I know i described it all in Bruce's POV but I really want to see Clark discovering Bruce's almost dead body from Clark's POV please. The reason Clark flew to the manor is despite him being under the curse his body was subconsciously listening to Bruce's vitals in the background and he noticed when it began to plummet down fast. Clark under the curse didn't want to do anything with it or even think about it but the love for Bruce that was bound under the spell was too strong. So he went to the manor fighting with himself the whole flight there. When he was finally face to face with Bruce's bloody body everything stopped. Bruce had cuts over his thighs, his arms and the biggest cut on his wrist. His eyes were snuffed out of life and looking straight at Clark. It was more than enough to break any fucking spell Clark was under. The scream that came out of Clark's mouth was enough to break every window in the manor before he took Bruce to get help.
Make it as hurtful, and heartbreaking as you can and Clark almost going insane because of the hatred he feels for himself for causing unbearable pain for Bruce, he hates himself for it and he never stops apologising he rarely ever leaves Bruce's side, constantly whispering words of reassurance and how lucky he is that Bruce is his lover,his world,his everything and that Clark would die without him and a soft happy ending
Ohohoho *rubs hands together* this is DELICIOUS, ooh Iām going to have fun with this one.
Iām adding it to the list of to be written, and Iāll get to start on this once everything else is written š
O!Bruce has been heavily abused in the past by his lovers and significant others. Domestic abuse and sexual abuse combined and he's scarred to his soul from all the experiences but never makes a move to stand for himself because he's made to believe that he deserves it. But then he meets A!Clark, who's everything good. Clark never raises his voice, never uses his weakness against him or mocks him at all. He always takes Bruce's permission before getting intimate and always touches him like Bruce is his world, he doesn't even use his alpha command on Bruce when Bruce gets stubborn and Bruce feels so out of depth with him. He's always synced relationships with him getting beaten and belittled but Clark is so sweet and so respectful to him and it makes him spiral more. It all comes to light when one day Clark is angry at Bruce for almost getting himself killed in the field and he ends up yelling at Bruce, purely out of concern and love and he forgets how loud he's being, and Bruce is terrified, he's shaking as he tries to breathe because Clark looks so so scary and as usual Bruce fucked it up and he's about to get beaten again,and he deserves it obviously, he ruins everything, so on and so forth as Bruce spirals out of control. Clark takes one step towards Bruce while still yelling and Bruce falls on the ground gasping for air completely pulled under an intense panic attack. Clark cuts his yelling immediately and drops on his knees calling Bruce's name again and again before pulling Bruce close to his chest. Bruce is just about to pass out from the lack of oxygen before Clark releases soothing Alpha pheromones and commands his omega to breathe before he kills himself. It immediately helps Bruce but he cannot stop himself from crying and begging Clark to not him, that he will be good and would never anger Clark again. Clark is so confused and heartbroken seeing him like that but he focuses on calming Bruce down putting out soothing pheromones and calling Bruce all sorts of petnames. When Bruce finally calms down Clark asks him gently what this is about and Bruce stutters and gasps out about his previous relationships and Clark has to physically hold himself lest he goes insane and kills all the people who ever dared to raise their hands on Bruce. But he takes a deep breath and focuses on Bruce and gently but firmly tells him that Clark would never, never put his hands on Bruce, doesn't matter if he's angry or not. That Bruce is too precious to him and he loves him more than life itself to ever even think about hurting him. And Bruce believes him as he snuggles close to Clark and spends the rest of the day perched on Clark's lap getting loved by his mate.
I am so sorry this was so drastically delayed Anon! This also got wildly out of control, and I apologise for it being over 500 words and for not sticking exactly to what you asked for. If you would like this rewritten or anything lmk!
Might continue this? Not entirely sure what to do with this now that it's been written, but readers' choice, I guess.
CONTENT WARNING(S)
domestic violence
somewhat graphic depictions of past abuse
hint of past possible sa
breif mentions of alcohol (it's like two sentences but I'm putting it in anyway)
threats of physical violence
derogatory slurs
panic attacks
If you find any more lmk!
Words: 5576
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Language: English
Chapters: 1/2
"B, hey. B, it's okay." Clark lifted his arms from where they hung by his sides, bringing his hand up in front of him. He watched, feeling a piece of his heart fracture within his chest when the Omega crouched on the ground, curled as far back into the wall as physically possible, recoiled away, flinching.
He felt his lips move, his mouth opening and closing around words he didn't speak, his voice refusing to come out from his chest. His throat felt closed off, as if barbed wire were wrapped around him, choking him, keeping him quiet. He blinked and tried again. "Baby?"
Bruce flinched again, the other man's arms wrapped over the back of his head, hands fisting through strands of hair. Clark watched him pull on those strands; he saw his scalp go white under the pressure. It had to hurt.
Slowly, Clark took a step closer, inching his way over to the other man.
Bruce sobbed, the first real sound he'd heard from the other man since the whole fiasco had started. What had they been fighting about? It felt tedious now, details that got lost en route to a destination he didn't want, a destination he didn't even know existed.
"B?" Clark set his foot on the ground, his heel meeting the cold wooden planks under his socked feet first, before the ball of his foot, and then his toes. The sound was quiet, a gentle thump of fabric-clad skin, but it was enough to make Bruce flinch harder; it was enough to draw another sound from the terrified man before him.
Clark couldn't play coy and say he hadn't seen the faded scars that dotted the corners of Bruce's lips. Clark couldn't pretend he hadn't spotted the bruises that had been wrapped around the Omega's wrists when he'd interviewed the Billionaire Playboy Brucie Wayne when his suit sleeves had pulled up.
He had ignored them at the time, always putting excuses behind the reasons as to why they were there. A fisticuff during a Gala where Bruce had gotten drunk and gone on another one of his spiels that ended with punches. A night of fun that had ended with Bruce being tied up by whomever the Omega had gone to bed with the night before.
There had always been an excuse Clark was willing to find, one he had been willing to hide behind so he didn't have to look the problem in the face. It was easier that way. But it had never been right. It had never been true. It had never been fair.
He swallowed, throat feeling dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.
He lifted his hand, preparing to run it through his hair, hoping to pull the loose strands up and away from his face, feeling the ends falling into his eyes. But Bruce chose that moment to glance up at him, then, looking up through teary lashes that were sticking together.
Clark jumped at how violently Bruce flinched, hearing the crack as the back of the Omega's skull collided with the wall he was leaning against. He heard the sharp inhale through clenched teeth and the resounding growl; fear, anger, and helplessness all coiled into one sound. And the remaining part of his whole heart splintered into tiny shards.
His hand shot back down to his side, his gut tightening with a coiling guilt at how it had looked.
Bruce had thought he was preparing to hit him.
His own eyes bubbled up with tears, his vision blurring as he locked eyes with the Omega still curled on the ground, one hand pressed to the back of his head, the other held out in front of him as a shield. Clark swallowed, his mouth feeling even drier than before.
"B-"
Bruce growled, lips pulling back into a deep snarl even as the Omega pulled his knees as close to his chest as physically possible, nearly folding himself in half to achieve the protective position. He was protecting his stomach. He'd been hurt there, badly.
His lips trembled, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he thought about it all, processing what he'd refused to see for months in a few seconds. Every narrative he'd conjured, every scar he'd explained away with a story, every bruise he'd found an exit for. He'd seen it, he'd seen it all.
Everything that had happened behind closed doors, everything he'd done to keep those doors closed. Ignoring the looks that Bruce would give him during interviews whenever he'd spotted the ring of bruises circling the Omega's wrists. Ignoring the way Bruce's lips would thin whenever he got too close to asking that question.
He'd hidden himself away from the problem, letting himself become closed off, playing naive and ignorant. He'd never questioned the way his gaze would move away from the subtle tremble in Bruce's fist that he would keep pressed to his thigh. He'd never let himself think too hard about why Bruce's cheeks would often look dusted with a little too much makeup for a simple interview on a Wednesday afternoon.
It had been easier. It had been simple.
What it had been was simply easy to tell himself that he couldn't do anything. He was just a reporter; what was he supposed to do?
Clark wanted to slap himself, wanted to beat himself over the head with an iron fist.
It had been easy.
It had been too easy.
He was a reporter; what couldn't he do?
He could have written an excerpt anonymously about the way Bruce Wayne was suddenly becoming unapproachable when out at a Gala. He could have put in an anonymous tip that something was happening between the Gotham Prince and his secret lover.
There were plenty of things he could have done, and even more that he should have done.
Clark took a breath, inhaling through his nose, and everything he'd initially thought of moments ago popped like a balloon in his mind.
If Bruce's secret lover had done all this damage over something small, what would they have done if Clark had put in a tip? How far would the damage go? Until Bruce was on the floor bleeding from more than small cuts around his lips and tiny splits along his cheekbones? Until it escalated further than beatings?
Clark exhaled, his head dropping to his chest. He felt his shoulders drop, his body deflating as he slowly stepped back.
Bruce watched his every move with a calculated look, feeling the Omega's eyes burning into his head as he brought his hands up to his face. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, teeth clenched together so tightly his jaw popped.
There was no easy way to go around this, no simple route to an exit, no explained path to leave. There was just to be beaten or killed. There were no winners, no losers, only those who got too close to the fire and suffered the burns.
It wasn't fair. "I'm so sorry." It was never fair. "Oh, Bruce. I'm so sorry."
Clark swallowed, his tongue sliding along the back of his teeth as he did, feeling his fangs with the tip of his tongue.
He didn't know who to blame. He didn't know how to go about this.
He'd written as many domestic violence excerpts as he'd read, and that number was far too many. They all ended the same; the victim either dies while trying to escape, or they get killed before they're given the chance to try.
He didn't know where Bruce sat on that line. Had the omega gone to the police? Had he managed to escape? Had charges been pressed? Was the person behind this arrested?
He pulled his hands away from his face, palms wet where his tears had leaked out. Was Bruce safe?
Clark met the other man's eye, and Bruce must have read his expression.
The Omega had called him an open book once during one of their interviews, and while he had pretended to be offended, holding his heart to his chest even as his face had been split by a smile and a laugh, Bruce had been right.
The Omega's gaze dropped, landing on the floor before him. Clark watched as Bruce took a breath, chest rising and falling as he mulled his answer over.
He didn't think he wanted that answer.
"I-"
Bruce's phone rang, shrill and loud, piercing the quiet with a blade as unforgiving as it was sharp. Clark felt his shoulders drop further. Somehow, the delay felt worse than the answer.
He watched as Bruce's gaze jumped back up to meet his own again, watching him with a terse regard. It hurt, feeling like a blade to his chest, even if he understood.
The hesitation, the fear, the abrupt anger that often followed. He'd seen it before in previous domestic violence victims he'd interviewed. They'd all come from the same shared experience- never let your guard down, regardless of who you're with.
Bruce pulled his hand away from his head, and Clark's stomach dropped at the bright flash of blood smeared against the Omega's palm. He pretended not to notice.
Subtly, Bruce wiped his hand against the black pant leg of his trousers, pretending to wipe away sweat even when they both knew what it really was.
Those who got into the habit of hiding, Clark's noticed, never really stop that habit.
He can speak of how pretending not to notice from an outside perspective is easy, but for those who have lived it, those who breathe denial as though it were the sustenance to their very lives, find it even easier.
Three things happened in a few seconds that Clark could neither have prepared for nor could he have expected.
Firstly, Bruce's hand dipped into his back pocket, eyes never leaving his as he did.
Secondly, Bruce pulled the black phone out, fingers wrapped around the curved edges as the weight of the cellphone settled into his palm.
And thirdly, Bruce's face paled when the other man's eyes left his to read the lit screen of his phone.
Bruce nearly dropped the phone when his whole body suddenly went rigid, knuckles turning white as he gripped the sleek device.
Clark's stomach dropped further.
He had his answer.
Bruce's lower lip trembled as his arm shook, his body beginning to shake and tremble as the human nervous system weighed the threat before it and deemed the thing standing before it a life-or-death situation.
Clark lifted his head, trying to angle himself to read the name on the screen, turned away from him, but he couldn't see past the privacy screen protector, the top half of the screen black.
Bruce's gaze shot up to his, panicked blue eyes meeting his before the mask came down, shutting away everything before anything else could sneak out.
Clark watched, feeling helpless as Bruce looked back down at the screen, and he watched further as Bruce made a decision.
Slowly, Bruce lifted the phone up to him, holding it by the bottom corner, extending it out like a rope, a lifeline.
Bruce Wayne was not a man who would ask for help. Bruce Wayne was not a man who would flag you down and say he needed a hand changing a tyre. Bruce Wayne was not a man who would willingly drag someone into a mess that they had no business being in.
But here, behind their own set of closed doors, tucked away neatly in this little corner of Metropolis, where anyone who was anyone didn't know anyone who wasn't.
Here, in this little room of Clark's apartment, he could barely afford with his meagre paycheck from his reporter job at the Daily Planet, Bruce was quietly asking him for his help.
Clark swallowed, setting his face as he reached down, pinching the top of the phone Bruce was holding with barely a hint of strength.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he took the phone, watching as Bruce's arm dropped, pulling both arms by his sides, curling around himself. Bruce had done what most victims couldn't, what most were too scared to do.
And there were no words in the English language he could pull together to express how proud he was of the man before him.
He looked down at the phone screen sitting in his hand, feeling the weight of the device. It was heavy for the average smartphone, heavier than his at the very least. He knew he didn't have to turn it over to check if it was the latest model; Clark already knew it would be. His own was barely functioning, bought secondhand as cheaply as he could, and he'd still had to skip a few days' worth of meals to afford it.
Clark swallowed again, quickly lifting his eyes from the screen to look down at Bruce, but the Omega didn't meet his gaze, the other man's eyes trained to the floor.
He didn't think.
He answered the phone.
He felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach as he brought the device up to his ear, steeling himself before he could chicken out and hang up on the caller.
He didn't know what to expect from whoever was on the other end of the phone, anger or maybe frustration at being made to wait so long before someone decided to pick up the line.
He'd half expected to hear threats hurled down the phone, voice raised as the person screamed at him, at Bruce.
But what he didn't expect was a smooth voice to answer, tone calm and collected. "Bruce. Baby, why did you take so long to answer? You had me worried, love." He pulled the phone away from his ear, frowning as he looked at the screen.
'Unknown Caller'
Bruce had blocked this number.
Clark looked at him again, waiting to see regret, hoping beyond anything that this had all been a cruel prank the two had pulled on him, dragging the wool over his eyes.
Fear greeted him instead, bright blue eyes clouded with pure terror, filling quickly with tears that had already begun sliding down Bruce's cheeks. The Omega had gone deathly pale, all remaining colour that had been in the other's face drained the instant that voice came down the line.
He held the phone back up to his ear.
"Bruce~" The man sang his name so sweetly, dragging out the vowel as long as he could. He saw Bruce flinch violently out of the corner of his eye. "I know you're there, baby. You can't keep hiding from me."
Clark felt sick, inhaling shakily through his mouth in hopes of not making a noise.
He wanted to hang up. Wanted to drag this out as long as he could in hopes of not having to do anything.
But Bruce looked up at him then, eyes pinched with uncontrolled terror, a furrow between his brows, lower lip sucked between his teeth, worrying the skin between his fangs. Clark saw blood bubble to the top, as bright and as red as the blood still clotting at the back of the other man's head.
His jaw clenched.
The man before him, the one who had been hit and beaten more times than Bruce could likely remember. The one had been too afraid to ask for help in case the man on the other side of the line found out. This man who saw the good in everyone, even if it cost him so much, who gave and gave and gave so much to the people of his city.
The growl that was ripped from his throat was unabashed and loud, silencing everything in that apartment, even the old ticking clock that had hung on his wall since he had moved in. He followed it through with a snarl, saliva pooling under his tongue as he frothed at the mouth, fangs descending from the top of his jaw, pushing down until there was no more space for them to fill.
"Stay away from Bruce. You hear me? You have no power here, not while I'm around."
Bruce trembled on the floor, pulling his arms closer to his sides as he tried to curl even further in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Anger burned within him, bright and hot, his inner Alpha begging to be let free for a few minutes.
The man on the other end of the phone breathed heavily for a moment; Clark could hear his panting breaths.
An Alpha growl responded to his, as deeply and loudly as his own. He felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound, but he refused to let himself crumple.
"You think you can protect him? That bitch of a whore spreads his fucking legs to anyone more often than you call your own mother."
He paid no mind to the threat. "You think I can't find him again? I know where he lives; hell, everyone in Gotham knows where he lives. No one can protect me from him, not you, not anyone. So stay out of my fucking business, before you get yourself hurt."
Clark scoffed, rolling his eyes, feeling a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "If everyone in Gotham knows where he lives, then any unexplained injuries that happen outside of a Gala would be very interesting to the people of this city."
He heard the other man take a breath, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.
Clark had only heard of Alpha fights, seeing them often on the news. They were never pretty, with throats torn out and chunks of flesh ripped from arms and legs. He had never seen the point behind such fights, always making sure to keep his head down when other Alphas growled at him.
He had never been one to make a scene; everything his ma and pa had taught him about meaningless fights ending bloody ringing in his head whenever his skin would prickle.
Being Betas themselves, they had never understood the science behind the fighting, just as he hadn't. He had never been taught how to bite, how to dig his nails into others' necks or scratch at their eyes. He had never learned how to make himself look bigger or how to puff out his chest.
But here, with Bruce pressing his body as far back against the wall as he could, moving to wrap his arms over the back of his head in preparation for a punch, Clark found it all came to him as naturally as breathing.
"I know he's there with you. I can almost smell him through the line. You hear me, Bruce? I'll find you! You can't get some punkass Alpha to get between you and me! You belong to me! You whore fucking slut!"
The next snarl that came from him came with a warning, Clark having felt it build within his chest as a growl. It rumbled out from his throat before his teeth separated, his lips being pulled back as far from his teeth as he could manage, feeling spittle fly from his mouth as more built under his tongue.
He swallowed it down, teeth itching to clamp down on the Alpha's throat, wanting to rip as much skin and flesh from the other man as his mouth would allow. He understood now how easy it was to get lost within the rage of an Alpha, how quickly it came on, without mercy or warning.
"Is that all you have for me, Brucie?! Your next knot you ride yourself on standing up for now?! You fucking bitch, you slut-"
Clark pulled the phone away from his ear with another snarl, and with strength he didn't know he possessed, crumpled the phone up in his palm.
The screen cracked, electronics buzzing and whirring as they caved in on themselves, the phone call stuttering in and out around the Alpha's slurs before the line went dead, the screen of the phone following soon after. He crunched the phone a little tighter within his palm just to be sure.
Bruce jumped at the sound of the phone breaking, arms coming further down his head.
Clark's chest was heaving as he took deep breaths, each ending with a growl that only made Bruce curl further and further in on himself, the shattered phone slipping from his hands to slip to the floor. It clunked as it landed on the old wood, the sound hollow and empty.
After another moment, he took a breath, slower, controlled, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck go back down, his chest deflating, his fangs ascending back into his jaw. He swallowed the saliva building under his tongue, cringing at the taste.
He sighed, bringing his hand up to his face, wiping away the sweat he hadn't noticed running down his brow. His knees shook, the adrenaline leaving his body quickly, leaving him vaguely lightheaded, faint spots pulsating in his peripheral vision.
He let his hand drop back to his side, gaze landing on Bruce.
"Oh, B."
He looked down at the phone on the floor, guilt already beginning to bind its way through his chest like sticky syrup. There was glass shattered on the floor, fragments tiny, only spotting them because of the lights around the room, shining and reflecting off the pieces. The screen protector lay broken a few inches away. It had popped off the moment the phone had begun to bend, the mix of plastic, glass and adhesive having lifted at the edges where the hard titanium of the phone had crumpled.
Another sigh left him.
His gaze lifted, landing on Bruce.
The Omega had fallen over at some point, curled on his side now instead, feet tucked desperately under his bum, protecting himself, while his arms were wrapped tight around himself.
Clark's knees popped as he knelt down on the ground, jean-clad knees coming to thump on the floor, the broken glass crunching under his weight. He'd need to clean it soon; one of them could step in it.
He reached out with a slow hand, fingers brushing lightly against the side of Bruce's cheek, intending to wipe the strands of hair that had fallen from their usually slicked-back position.
Bruce flinched hard at the touch, body jolting, a soft squeak leaving the Omega. Then the smell of tears, heavy and thick in his nose, followed by the sour smell of Scared/Frightened Omega.
He'd done this.
None of this would have happened, none of this should have happened if he'd simply taken two seconds to take a breath.
He hadn't meant to snap at Bruce, had never meant to raise his voice. He didn't even remember what it had been about anymore, the sofa, he thinks of all things.
It didn't matter.
He trilled softly, quietly, the small sound leaving his open lips before he had a say in the matter. "B?"
Bruce shook his head, sniffling.
A beat, a second one, then another. And then a sob.
His chest split open, carving him straight down the middle like a hot knife through butter.
Bruce shuddered on the ground, mouth opening around a word even when nothing but a cry left his lips.
Clark watched Bruce struggle around getting the words out, getting any words out while he shifted around on the ground, hearing more and more of the glass under his knees. He was grateful now for that little habit he kept of changing out of whatever one of the three suits he owned he wore to work, and into the closest pair of jeans he owned.
Gently, he worked his way closer to the still terrified Omega before him, stomach turning at the smell of slick that was leaving Bruce. His eyes closed.
He'd learnt that in that same biology class, too. Omegas, when stressed, would often send their bodies into an early Heat; an escape mechanism, a horrible one at that. If the coos and cries of the stressed Omega couldn't calm whatever volatile Alpha was in their vicinity, they'd start producing slick. A last-ditch effort, one that left Clark nauseous.
How many times had the unnamed Alpha taken advantage of that?
He didn't want to know.
Clark swallowed, taking a breath through his mouth, lest his own body begin reacting to the sweet-smelling Omegan pheromones. The last thing Bruce needed was to see him pop a boner. Would Bruce think he would take advantage? Would Bruce go limp? Let himself be used?
He swallowed again, feeling saliva building under his tongue for a whole different reason.
He moved closer, making sure to keep each of his movements as slow as he could make them. His stomach twisted as he shifted, bending forward at the waist, but he overbalanced, and his palm slapped against the ground in hopes of not toppling over and landing on top of Bruce.
What little good that did him. Bruce jumped so hard he had to lean backwards so the Omega's head wouldn't slam into his chin. He laughed, quick, panicked, airy. Hysterical, his ma would say. She'd chide him gently, running a hand through his hair as she did before, leaning down to plant a kiss against his forehead.
"Oh, B." He laughed again, more of a quick exhale through his nose, really. "I'm really making a mess of things."
Clark sat back up on his haunches, lifting his hand from the floor to run through his hair, mimicking the motion of his mother. She'd know what to do.
His gaze shot back to where his own phone sat, still on the little old coffee table in the middle of the small lounge room. He'd tossed it there when he'd sat down, hearing it slam against the glass. No wonder the thing barely worked.
Bruce had smiled at him where he'd sat on the corner cushion, curled up under the blanket his ma had knitted for him last Christmas, a cup of cocoa still steaming in his palms.
Bruce had smiled at him, easily, without a care, without a concern.
He'd never seen so many things fall apart as quickly as he had tonight.
Not when he'd have to help his pa with the cows on his parents' farm, when the calves would breach, and his ma would call the vet, but she'd be hours out.
Not when he'd lost his first real job and nearly lost everything in a matter of days due to his lease expiring, and his parents had had to send him a sizeable chunk of their savings to keep him afloat to get a new apartment so he didn't end up on the streets.
Not when his girlfriend, Laney, had broken up with him due to them both wanting different things in life, and his studies had taken him to Metropolis.
And not when Bruce had had that pregnancy scare last month.
Clark's chest tightened, his jaw set.
And it was all over that blasted couch.
His gaze moved to it next. He looked at the saggy cushions, the discoloured fabric that had once been green but years of love, drunken nights and hangover mornings, coffee spills and the dog his cousin had asked him to foster for a few weeks while she had been out of town and couldn't take him with her.
He'd never get the fur out.
He turned back to Bruce, still trembling before him, his stomach sinking to the floor, while his heart took the place where his stomach was supposed to be.
Bruce had offered to replace it. That's all it had been.
The springs had creaked when he'd sat down beside the Omega. Bruce had laughed quietly, that easy laugh that he rarely got to hear from the other man, the one where his cheeks would dimple and he'd get those beautiful lines around his eyes.
Clark had wanted to kiss those lines, and then his cheeks. He'd wanted to take Bruce's face within his too-big palms and kiss his nose, then his forehead, and then his lips.
But Bruce had opened his mouth, turning away from him and nestling further into his side of the couch, bringing the mug of cocoa up to his lips as he spoke around the rim. "I could always get you a new one, you know. I love to spoil you despite how much you say you hate it when I do."
Clark's chest had tightened, the bad day he'd had at work that had already been brewing at the back of his mind, boiling over.
He had an emotional attachment to that couch, an unhealthy one, it seemed.
It had seen him through moving out of his parents' house and into his first apartment.
It had seen him through Laney and their short but sweet long-distance relationship they hadn't managed to work, and the resounding break-up text he'd received at three in the morning. It had seen him through the following drunk night due to that.
It had seen him through the casual hookups he'd had, meeting women at the bars and spending the night together on that couch.
It had seen him through the countless times he'd spilled half his mug of coffee when he'd been in a rush.
It had seen him through moving out of his first apartment and into this one.
It had seen him through Krypto.
And it had seen him through the beginning, middle, and now to the very likely end of his relationship with Bruce.
He looked back at the piece of furniture, a cringe on his face.
Bruce had been right; he desperately needed a new couch.
His chest rose with a sigh, gaze dropping to the shattered mug beside the couch, the one Bruce had dropped when he had growled at the suggestion.
The cocoa was cold now.
How long had it been?
He looked to the old clock still sitting on the wall. There were lots of things in his apartment that could do with a facelift. Heck, the whole apartment could use one.
The pipes were old and rickety, and the bathtub always leaked despite no water ever coming through when he turned the taps on. The rooms were always cold, a perpetual draft coming through the windows, the sealant worn thin. The heating didn't work, so the only way to escape the cold was to wear thick socks around the apartment, and sleep with so many layers on, you were more likely to get a fever than you were a cold.
Clark read the time, then he read it again, seeing the numbers, but the answer wouldn't click.
He should call Alfred, ask the Beta to pick Bruce up and beg for forgiveness on his knees.
Maybe the older man would be kind to him, give him those same tired eyes he gave Bruce all the time, the look that read 'over it' but still full of love.
He swallowed.
His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
And then the tears began, his own that time. His vision blurred, crossing in the middle before evening out again, everything becoming woky as he looked through his tears. He blinked, and they spilled over, one by one, they trudged down his face, moving slow and yet too quick.
His chest tightened with something other than anger, maybe for the first time that night. Clark reached out, hand shaky as he swept his fingers through Bruce's hair, only managing to pull another shiver and cry from the other man.
"Oh, Bruce."
His voice was strained, garbled, words coming out as wonky as he felt.
He should be angry that Bruce never told him about the psycho ex, should feel hurt that Bruce never felt enough trust in him to come forward and tell him.
And yet, looking around the room, to the shattered mug and broken phone, to the torn pieces of whatever they were, whatever they might have been, Bruce had every right to not have much faith in him.
Wasn't he just like every other Alpha?
He'd proven, however many times that night, that he was just like every other Alpha. But instead of broken cheekbones and split lips, it was broken phones and split trust.
Same story, different font.
"Oh, B. Oh I'm so, so sorry."
He bent forward with a cry, pressing his palm to the side of Bruce's face, ignoring every wail and cry and scream from the other man as he pulled Bruce into his arms, shifting where he was to bring Bruce as close to his chest as he could.
Clark curled around the other man, taking advantage of their difference in size to wrap his arms around Bruce, arms tightening around Bruce's middle as his legs tangled with his.
He laid them down on their sides, pulling Bruce tighter against him when the Omega pressed his palms to his chest and pushed against him, trying to pull himself out of his grasp.
His chest was riddled with guilt as he refused to let Bruce go, lifting one hand to tangle it within Bruce's hair, forcing the Omega's nose against his throat.
He pushed his own scent out, trying to overpower the Scared/Frightened Omega with Calm Alpha.
On Saturday I said to my partner, as I have said for months, "A ten thousand dollar a year raise would solve so many of my problems."
As of this morning I was reluctantly looking for jobs because I love my job and don't want to leave it, but see: $10k raise problem solver.
As of noon today this was no longer an issue, because my boss called me with the news that I was getting a $10K merit raise.
I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. This is roughly $200 extra per paycheck. Enough to pay off debt faster, rebuild my savings, and spend a weekend a month in Milwaukee getting obscenely laid. The sex I'm going to have on $200 extra per paycheck. You can't even.
May all of you get the $10K raise your soul has yearned for. And whatever level of sex you can be satisfied with for $200.
This isnāt one of my usual posts but I feel I have to make it.
Australia is trying to force more data centres down our throats, taking clean water that we donāt have, threatening our wildlife, and destroying our environments.
Too many have already been built, and theyāre trying to build more, their sizes ranging anywhere between 10,000 square meters to over 100,000 square meters.
The ones in Sydney are taking a quarter of Sydneyās clean water supply to cool. We donāt have that water. Australia is a notoriously drought stricken country and our government is taking water we donāt have to cool their data centres that we donāt need.
$13 billion dollars has been put into these data centres, with another $130 billion going to sunk into them. You know what that money could buy? It could give the homeless housing, it could pay for so many groceries that struggling mothers and fathers are trying to put on their childrenās plates. It could end the hunger in Australia. It could end the hunger in up to 60 countries!
That money can be used elsewhere and our governments are trying to bring in more data centres to fill their own pockets instead of giving food, housing, safety, shelters, and save our wildlife.
If you live in Australia and if you can, sign the petition to get our government to wake up from this stupidity. If you live other countries then please, I ask you take a few minutes out of your day.
Another game Iāve been pulled into. Damn I went from being a spirit that haunted Tumblr to now having an active account that people actually tag me on. How did I get here????? (Iām right where I want to be)
His unwavering need to do something to make his city better, putting his physical health on the line every night and not caring if he looses himself further mentally, so long as his loved ones are saved since he couldnāt save his parents WHO SAID THAT
Funnily enough it was my older sister who got me roped into this fandom by her asking me if Iād seen Superman 2025, which at the time I hadnāt. She praised it and mentioned SuperBat which seems to have activated some long lost sleeper agent within me and I just had to involve myself within their relationship because I am nosy as FUCK and now here we are š¤·āāļø
Bisexual. Fight me.
*rubs hands together* I have a list and Iām making it everyoneās problem
The familial love he holds for each of his children even if that love isn't reciprocated:
Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Timothy Drake, Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown (yes I know he didn't legally adopt her but that girl is his spirit child), Duke Thomas (same goes for Duke, Bruce is doing his best), Barbra Gordon (eh close enough to another daughter imo)
The platonic love he shares/holds for the members of the Justice League, especially Hal because even those two but heads sometimes and drive each other batty 63, I believe they still love each other even if it is somewhat a sibling like love
And finally the romantic love he shares for Clark and Clark holds for Bruce
And yk what I'm feeling nice l'll throw in all the different people Bruce has been shipped with, either canonically or not. Harvey, Selina, Thalia, GhostMaker
SuperBat
Emotional turmoil, whump, hurt/comfort
Make that man pregnant!
Agony with minimal comfort. I love being mean to him š¤·āāļø
10
Be pregnant with Clarkās babies of course. How else is he supposed to have his Robinās?
Have we ever considered the sun and moon Bruce and Clark? And no I donāt mean one is sunny and happy, the other is gloomy and moony? but actually theyāre the literal sun and moon
amandla
pixelskylines
2087
stormborns
