Oooh what about a Dark!Daddy!Clark? Maybe he likes a cute little intern at the Daily Planet and he obsesses and manipulates her into ddlg-esk relationship and sheâs none the wiser??
If Iâm not making sense, ignore me, pookie. Iâm glad youâre back!!!!
synopsis: You're a nervous intern at the Daily Planet, struggling to keep it together. Clark Kent watches quietly until his protection becomes possession.
warnings: +18, daddy/caretaker dynamic, obsession, infantilization, emotional manipulation, dubcon, shy reader with low self-esteem, age gap, possession, disturbing dynamics, minimal editing, proceed with caution.
word count: 2.3k (one-shot)
It starts small. So subtle that Clark hardly knows heâs doing it in the first place. Youâre just so scattered. Overwhelmed.
Heâs there at the elevator whenever you scramble out of it, carrying all your belongings and two drink carriers full of hot coffee. You rush out a few nervous thank-yous, and your lips part in shock when he grabs the drinks and your heavy workbag too.
Despite your job description, he doesnât like to see you lifting a finger.
When heâs not working, he watches you from across the bullpen while you sit at your cluttered desk. Youâre always in some shade of pastel, a knit cardigan, curly hair adorned with colorful hairpins or bows. Your socks always reach up to your shins, and on the days when youâre the most tired, you donât notice that they arenât matching.
He dislikes that Perry expects you to fetch coffee for the entire staff, and he hates it even more when you bring some sad excuse for a lunch in your strawberry-patterned lunchbox. Almost everyone leaves for lunch. You, a struggling student, always turn Jimmy down when he invites you. You donât have the money, Clark assumes, so he joins you in the breakroom a few times a week.
When you whip out the same peanut butter sandwich and apple that you always bring, Clark sees the way your face falls.
âYou okay, sweetheart?â he asks, and your heart quickens.
âJust tired.â You nod, then nervously tap at the table.
âHere,â he offers you half of his favorite sub sandwich he orders at the deli on the next block. âIâm not going to eat all of it.â
Your lips part to protest as he lays it out in front of you. âClark, you donâtââ
âYou look hungry,â he adds. âDid you eat breakfast?â
âYes,â you answer quietly. His blue eyes are focused on you. Hard. Expecting. ââŚNo.â
You find that the truth slips through your lips before he has a chance to question you further. âY/N.â
âI had coffee,â you say next. âI have to get up at 4:30 if I want to catch the earliest train into the city, and sometimes I forget.â
Clark nods, understanding, although his mind is already working toward a solution.
After that, he shares his lunch with you when he can. When you get to work, there is always breakfast waiting for you. A breakfast sandwich from the deli or a Tupperware with homemade pancakes. It doesnât take you long to put the dots together. When you thank him, he never answers directly.
âYou didnât have to.â
âI wanted to.â
âButââ
âYou have to eat breakfast.â
âBut you donâtââ
âAnd lunch. And dinner. I donât want to find out youâre still skipping meals.â
Your lips press into a thin line then. Itâs the first time heâs seen you frustrated. Embarrassed, even. Your brows furrow, and you turn in your pink ballet flats and walk away from his desk.
The thought crosses his mind that he should back off then. Give you your space. And he tries. Really tries. But you are so needy. So much more needy than he even realized.
He follows you home. Your tiny studio apartment that youâve made into a home, but that doesnât make it any safer or less cheaply built. He checks on you most nights, makes sure youâre tucked into bed, although you stay up way too late working on assignments for Perry.
The night he hears you crying behind the bathroom door at work, he nearly loses control. It takes everything in him not to storm into Perryâs office and toss him off the roof of the Planet.
He doesnât, of course.
He waits until everyone clears from the office. You emerge from the bathroom as the sunset illuminates the room in shades of red. You clutch your heart, frightened, when you find him waiting for you. You wipe under your eyes quickly, but thereâs no hiding from Clark.
âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothing. Please, Clark.â
âTell me whatâs wrong, sweetheart. I canât fix it if you donât tell me.â
Clark can feel how fast your heart is beating. He closes the distance between the two of you, one hand finding the small of your back and the other cradling your neck. Your lips tremble and your sweater sleeves pull down over your fists.
âClarkââ you hiccup, and the tears start to fall again. âI just⌠I-Iââ
He thinks of how badly he wants you not to call him Clark in this moment. Heâs been telling himself not to rush this. It will take time. âYouâre okay,â he says, deep and soothing. âYouâre being so brave.â
You blink up at him through the tears. âHe⌠h-he ripped into my article. The final one. For my class. Heâs hated every draft I sent him and itâs due at midnight,â your voice cracks, high and thin. âI think heâs gonna fail me. On my review. I-I worked so hard to get this internship, Clark.â
Clarkâs jaw tightens. âI know you did, sweetheart,â he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb.
âIt doesnât matter,â you shake your head. âIâm not a good writer. I-Iâd be a t-terrible journalist.â
Clarkâs eyes darken as he looks down at you. He sees you crawling inside yourself. Retreating. He doesnât think as he lifts you off your feet, wrapping strong arms around your torso, before he carries you toward his desk.
Your body tenses, though you donât protest. Your eyes only widen, and you go quiet. You have no sense of fight or flight. He understands that your first instinct will always be to freeze. His entire purpose in life is to protect people like you.
âWh-what are you doing?â Clark takes a seat at the desk before he settles you into his lap. You wiggle, but he holds you tightly. It feels like pushing at a steel door. You hadnât realized heâd feel so⌠heavy.
He rolls his chair closer to the desk, effectively trapping you in, and he opens his laptop, your back pressed against his chest. In your ear, you hear him say, âIâll help you rewrite the article.â
âWhatââ
âI know what Perry is looking for. I can help you clean it up.â
âIâll miss my train.â
Clark pauses for a moment. He clicks his teeth. âIâll take you home.â
âOhâŚâ What choice do you have? âOkay.â
His voice lowers, soft but firm. âRelax.â
âIâm trying,â you sniffle.
âGood girl,â he whispers.
Clark is a man of his word. He helps you write the ten thousand words in a way that Perry would approve of. He helps you with the pacing, the tone, the flow. It never crosses his mind that youâre a bad writer. Just inexperienced. He remembers being exactly where you are.
When Clark finally feels your mood lift and sees the tired smile on your lips, he isnât willing to let you go just yet.
You were hesitant when he opened the passenger side door of a dark sedan that doesnât match his reporter salary. You were even more hesitant standing on the threshold of his high-rise apartment. You thought he would take you to the subway station, only for him to insist that you stay in his spare room.
Noticing your hesitation, he grabs your hand and leads you forward. The door closes with a finality you werenât quite prepared for. You turn and feel your feet trying to carry you back toward the door. Clark squeezes your hand, gentle but firm. When he notices your body start to freeze up again, he sighs, low and almost fond, before taking matters into his own hands. Literally. You let out a startled breath as he sweeps you off your feet like a bride.
He isnât frustrated with you. He directs you like a child about to wander into the wrong room, or a pet that doesnât know any better.
âLetâs get you out of these work clothes, okay?â he asks rhetorically, carrying you deeper into the apartment. âAnd then you can have a warm bath and something soft to sleep in.â
âI donât have any other clothes, Clark.â
âDonât worry, baby.â
Your resistance matters little to him. You expect a guest room thatâs impersonal. Bare bones. Instead, youâre met with a room with cream-white walls, a cozy bed with a white, fluffy comforter, and a plush, oversized teddy bear in the corner.
âIââ You clear your throat. âIs this a kidâs room?â
âNo,â he answers as he sets you onto your feet. âI just wanted it to be⌠comforting.â
Clarkâs lips part to explain further, but out of the corner of your eye, you spot a tall bookshelf. âYou have The Secret Garden and A Little Princess,â you say. Clark watches how your eyes light up and how you pad over the soft carpet. âIâve never seen these editions before. They are so pretty. Look at these pink flowers.â
His hulking figure shadows you as he reaches past, taking The Secret Garden off the shelf for you.
âI donât know,â you say instead of taking it, but he grabs your hand, lifts it, and places the book in your palm. âYou like these books?â
âI know you like them,â he answers casually, and your mind skips over the absurdity of the situation because next you notice a line of figurines that look like fairies on the shelf below them.
âLook around and get comfortable, sweetheart,â he says. âIâll start your bath.â
You gasp softly as you lean down, studying a woodland fairy with so many delicate, adorable details.
Every detail in the room is perfect. There are even fairy lights hanging near the windows. Just like the ones you have hanging in your apartment. And on the nightstand?
A Hello Kitty nightlight.
The exact one from your Amazon cart. The one youâd bookmarked and rebookmarked, hovered over for months, but never bought.
âYou ready?â Clark asks, snapping you from your daze. Your lips part to answer, only to realize his question is, once again, rhetorical. With a hand on your lower back, he guides you toward the attached bathroom.
The lights are dimmed to a golden hue, and the tub is filled with bubbles. A soft towel sits on the bathroom counter, and a pair of neatly folded pajamas rests right next to it. You glance at the older, taller man and realize heâs removed his glasses. You almost do a double-take, your eyes focusing on his features, and heâs almost unrecognizable.
Youâre not sure if itâs the lack of sleep or the fact that this all feels like a fever dream, but you canât help but let this happen to you.
âYouâve been working so hard, havenât you?â It doesnât help that his voice is deep and melodic. You look down at his fingers as he gently undoes each button of your cardigan. âLet me do this for you. Let Daddy take care of you.â
Daddy.
The word touches you somewhere deep. An embarrassing place.
âI donât need you to,â you say, although you arenât convincing. And now heâs undoing the buttons of your khaki skirt.
âLet me,â he says again, softer this time, like heâs reassuring you.
Isnât that what youâre doing? Shaking like a leaf and letting him get you naked? Itâs done with such care. His touch doesnât wander in the slightest. Itâs almost clinical. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and the glimpse of his armsâthick and muscledâmakes your eyes widen. How had you missed this before? Youâve never felt intimidated by Clark until now. Never felt how much power radiated from him.
âI-I shouldnât have come,â you stutter out, mostly to yourself. âIâm imposing,â you add next, politely.
He gives you a knowing look. âDonât worry about it, sweetheart. I wouldnât have taken no for an answer.â
Itâs good to know. Itâs reassuring. It isnât completely your fault that this is happening. You cover yourself with your hands when heâs fully undressed you.
He guides you closer to the clawfoot tub and keeps you steady as you step into the warm water. His invasion of your personal space doesnât stop there. Youâre not sure if he understands the concept anymore. His hands are already reaching for the soap. He kneels beside the bath and continues to look at you like youâre the most fragile thing heâs ever seen. You look down then. You donât meet his eyes as he runs a washcloth over every inch of your skin.
He notices.
âI know you donât understand it yet,â Clark says. âBut you will. You donât have to do anything but let me take care of you.â
You focus on the warmth. The comfort in his voice. You realize you have to or else your heart will jump out of your chest.
âRelax.â He says that word again. Your eyes focus on him again as his fingers sink between your legs. A large hand against a small area. His palm presses against your lower belly. He spreads your folds, and everything in your body tenses.
Determined, focused blue eyes stare back at you. âClarkââ you rush out, and your small hands wrap around his arm. His arm doesnât move as you push. It doesnât even tremble beneath your grasp. âClark, please. P-Pleaseâoh myââ
âIâm not trying to scare you,â he says. âBut I will be firm with you. You need that, donât you?â
Your eyes flutter as your body trembles.
His movements are so precise. Large circles, and then small, concentrated ones. Your chest heaves as your head tilts back. Itâs almost as clinical as when he was undressing you. Itâs something he has to do. Heâs treating the act like a mission that needs to be accomplished. A step in a nightly routine.
Now youâre dizzy. The act doesnât take longer than two minutes. He applies the exact right pressure. Itâs almost painful how your orgasm rips through your body. It's embarrassing how quickly it happens. âThatâs it,â you hear him say. You gasp for air in between your moans. Now youâre holding onto him instead of futilely pushing at him. âGood girl, sweetheart. You needed that, didnât you?â
He takes your silence and shaking body as a sufficient answer.
âLetâs get you dressed and tucked in, sweetheart. Big day for us tomorrow.â
I guess I like dad/son because I need you to force me to let you take care of me. I'm too independent to ask for it, too shy to accept it. I need you to sit me down and make me listen, offer me reassurance that I pretend I don't need, and force me to accept being cared for. I need to be scolded for not asking for help and gently held when I finally admit that I'm afraid or lonely or anything else I won't tell my friends. I need my face to be grabbed, to be forced to meet your eyes while you tell me everything is okay. I can't accept love unless you make me, so get mean if you have to. Do everything you can to make me depend on you and make me scared that if I don't, I'll disappoint you.
"Open wide, bud. Here comes the airplane! Whoosh!" I push the fork into his mouth. He blushes. My son is a good boy so he chews and swallows for me.
"Dad-"
"Tsk."
"Daddy," his face goes from pink to red, "I can eat my lunch by myself."
"Mm I don't know! You've been avoiding your veggies, sweetie. Only little little boys are as picky as you are."
"Daddy, if I eat my food, all of it, will you stop?"
"Of course, sugar."
My son eats all of his food. He's such a good boy. Unfortunately for him, I lied. I have no intention of letting him run wild like a big boy. Children need to be lied to every now and then. I wait quietly for my son to speak again.
"I finished."
"Good boy eating all your num nums!!" I coo loudly.
"Cut it out, people are staring!"
Aw. Someone thinks he can tell his Dad what to do. I pick him up and sit him on my hip. Maybe its the hormones I sneak into his bottle, but my boy is so little!!
"So fussy! Lets get you to the car mister!" He clings to me the entire way. I know he's mortified about being little in public, but exposure therapy is good for little things.
My son is glaring at me as I set him down in the back of the car. He hates this part. Too bad he's too little to get a say.
I strip off his sweaty adult costume. He pales as I strip him. A few quiet 'nos' escape his cute lips. I coo at him. I pull a soft onesie on him. I zip it up. I grab my son and hold him on my hip.
"Aw who's my cute little bear! Are you ready to go home, bud? I bet you are." I open the backseat door and settle him in his car seat.
Poor little guy is too shy to speak. I bet he feels real small. I pop a pacifier in his mouth. "Looks like somebody's tired. That was a big lunch, huh? Feel free to doze off on the ride home, sweetheart." I kiss his little baby forehead.
Big fan of body writing. Something about being seen and labelled like an object..
"cum here" above your holes--helpfully labelled with "puppy parts" next to it, so everyone knows what kind of pathetic mutt you are.
Tally marks below that.
"slut". "cocksleeve". "toy". So people know what to refer to you as.
"use me" and "bite me" and the like. It's an open invitation--no need to even ask.
Hearts and stars where I've marked you.
And, right on your chest, "property of owner". Because everyone knows you're mine.
Better be careful puppy, because that's not washing off for a few days. Hope your shirt doesn't ride up too far, or your shorts aren't too short, lest everyone find out what a whore you really are underneath those clothes.
please do not give the puppyboy multiple choices he gets confused and overwhelmed, just pet him and call him a good boy as you decide for him. Please and thank you
Devoted, obsessive little brother who thinks big bro is a god. Little brother does know what a god is. Creator, loving, caring, always there for you, always answers your prayers. And big bro did all that, and more. Little brother was sure his big brother was a god.
Little bro would sit at big bro's feet while they were in the living room, sitting on a socked foot while wrapped around his leg. Big bro looked even more like a god from this angle.
Big bro starts to notice the specific doting, the offerings of sweets and toys sometimes left on his pillow. It seems cute and silly at first, but he then catches his little brother wearing his clothes, stroking his tiny dick while in his room.
"What are you doing?" big bro asks plainly. The sight before him is, truly too good to be true. His own little brother, moaning for him and jerking off in his clothes.
"I-I'm sorry lord I just... w-wanted to be closer to you," he breaths back, mind clearly still so fogged with lust. His big brother god caught him, saw his devpraved act. He expected a punishment, and was happy to accept it.
Big bro grabbed his brother by the wrist, pulling him up before pushing him down on the bed. He climbed up and sat on his little brother's lap, feeling the wet under him and smiling evily. "You want to be close to god yeah?"
Little brother nods as fast as he can. "Yes yes please god! Please I want us to be one!" His pleads and begs made big bro chuckle, get up, and pull his already wet underwear off. He lined up at his baby bro's wet enterance, looking down at the poor kid he was about to defile just for his own amusement.
Big bro smiles and says "make sure to pray," before forcing his cock into his little brother. Hearing the babbling of made-up prayers as he bottoms out inside. The warmth around his cock, how tight his little brother was, well now he felt like a dumb little believer himself.
Big bro began to thrust gently, praising his disciple for taking him oh so well. A mixture of prayers, thanks, moans, and wet slapping sounds fill the room as big bro start to speed up. He holds his little brother's hips down and slams deep inside him. "Do you love when god uses you?"
"Yes yes yes!!" Little brother chants over and over again as his mind goes blank from all the pain and pleasure dancing inside his body. He feels warmth grow, knowing he's getting close.
Big bro feels his little one tighten under him, and quickly finishes before pulling out. Leaving his little bro a needy, twitching mess leaking cum. "Wh-whu!? Wh-why god? I-I'm so close."
"Lust is a sin, little brother. I caught you lusting alone, how deplorable," he says plainly once again, getting dressed. "Next time you want to be close to god, come ask. And maybe next time you'll get to reach divinity with me." He plants a long, soft kiss on his baby brother's lips before leaving him a flustered cum-filled mess on the bed.
Sweet dad bf that letâs me suck on his thumb when I get anxious. Sweet dad bf thatâs never afraid to be silly and join in on my stuffie tea parties. Sweet dad bf that breaks me out my shell & heals my inner child, letting me be carefree nâhappy.
guy who. guy who kidnaps me but treats me like his son. guy who forces me to call him dad. guy who dresses me how i've always wanted. guy who knows me better than i know myself. he just takes care of me, tells himself that it's just like having a pet and he needs something, anything to take care of. until he helps me get dressed one day and can't stop himself from molesting me. he's so guilty but he can't help it, i'm his perfect little boy.
Dad that checks on his teen son often, it worries him how sexually pent up his kid is. Always jerking off, always seeking for a new stash of porn mags or videos. he can't stand it, it's almost too painfull how similar he seems to be to when he was once young. he comes into his room, messy and disorganized, the lack of chores and his extreme laziness drives him mad sometimes but he can forgive it. It still frustrates him, seeing his kiddo sitting down on that damn computer all day long, wasting away his youth. He calls him, tells him to sit down. to have a chat. 'Champ.. I'm growing a bit concerned.. You haven't been going out lately.. haven't been making friends..' his voice replicates the worry he has been feeling lately, but his teenage son is more-so confident, talking about how his videogames are so much better, how his online friends circle understands him much more than his friends at school. His grades have been dropping, too. but that's far from the subject he wants to touch upon. 'I've noticed.. you're growing curious.. y'know, about girls and.. boys..' he can see it on his kid's face, the rapid flushing of his cheeks, the looking down, the shifting. He places a comforting hand on his thigh, massaging it as he warmly smiles. He is just like him, isin't he? 'Oh.. kid.. I see so much of myself in you i- i really thought you'd be more like your mother..' he chuckles, but his hand dosen't leave. The father can tell it's making his teenage son nervous, but he refuses to let go. he keeps insisting, growing closer in proximity to his kid's ear.
'Listen, i know it's a very.. new thing for you, all this- sex stuff. I used to be as eager as you when i was your age! But you know.. people grow.. experiment..' his hand inches closer to his kid's crotch, a gentle question from him, subtle, snaps him back to his senses. He covers it up, a new comforting palm resting on the son's back. 'Oh- no no, don't be like that.. i'm just tryin' to help kid.. You see, you're going to need someone to guide you.. especially when it comes to boys.. You know it'd make me so sad if you just- went with some asshole and..-' He looks at him, so tender, so young. The same hand that danced dangerously close to his kiddo's crotch rests on the boy's cheek. All red and puffy, so soft. The dad finally picks his kid up, surprising him with a tight embrace as he sets him on his lap. Chubby, hairy and aged arms, tanned and damaged by years of summer sun hug his son tightly against his broad chest, his nose picking up on the musky smell of his boy's shampoo. Dad's cock has been aching inside his old, vintage shorts, the plush bum teasing him not bringing in any help. 'Remember when i used to hold you like this? When you were just a kid.. a curious.. cute kid.' His breath is heavy on the back of his son's neck, mature hands unzipping and tearing down at his baggy pants and underwear. He still wore those spiderman boxers. 'You've always been such a cute little kid.. you know that..? Always so curious, so brave.. be brave for me, 'kay? Just for once, kiddo.' His brash squirming and fighting against him is easily muffled down by his own strength. He knows his son can't fight him back, not his own dad.
A sigh of relief washes the older man over as he finally liberates his hard, aching dad cock, the tip glistening with pre-cum from watching his boy get so uncomfortable and unsure. He didin't know why it made him stirr deliciously when his kid cried or bited back at his own, scolding remarks. Watching his tears damp his rosy cheeks alone, could make him cum. 'C'mon- kid..- Let dad help you out.. you're gonna feel real good hun.. just- stop, stop- stop squirming. calm down.. daddy is just helping you find what you like.. see? I'm not putting it in yet- no, no- champ, this is what all dads do.. come on, let's- let's find out if you like- mmmmfggfffuck- b-boys..-' His tip broke him in, holding his hysteric, complaining son down as the father slid his dick in inch by inch. It felt good to finally stretch him out, his little body trying so hard to fight the inevitable. He was born to be broken and stretched like this. 'Theeere you go.. you're such a brave boy! See? You've taken me in fully.. That's my boy- my sweet, fuckin' boy..' He thrusts once, causing his teen son to enter into a shock, still unable to process any of this. But god was he tight, his teen, tight hole embraced his girthy dick like he could never imagine, every pump pushing him closer to breed his own kid with his loads of cum. 'Ooow- that's it, that's it.. Come on- touch yourself like da-fuck! like daddy taught you.. that's a goood boy.. good fucking boy..' he can feel him spasm and milk him, every stroke of his dick causing his little boy cunt to drool all over. He asks him if it feels really good and, inbetween sobs, his son incoherently answers yes with a weak nod. He holds him tigh, very tight again. plunging his full cock to the hilt this time. 'Been tellin' ya.. this would feel so good.. mmmmf-fuck son.. you truly- uughh..- truly were made to be fucked by older guys like your- your dad here..- haah..~ aahhhmmmf..- just- just like i said, alright..? Don't- don't tell your momma about a thing.. 'kay? Good.. that's my brave little boy..' He kisses his forhead, tenderly, filling his son up with his cum. The loud sounds of skin against skin filled the room but now, it was just his poor kid squirming and mewling, tears rolling off from his face.
'Ow.. Baby boy.. Don't be sad.. Dad's gonna make you feel amazing and so, so loved from now on. We'll just have to do this more often, that's it. You've done so great already kid.'
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