Little one who's feeling smaller than usual, their words catching in their throat like honey and resorting to little noises and tugs at their carers sleeve to communicate instead
Feeling fussy and getting teary eyed without knowing why, making grabby hands at your cg, silently asking for them to hold you in their warm and safe arms
Your cg goes down a mental checklist of all of the things that could be upsetting you, finally settling on hunger as they try to set you down for a moment while they make you a bottle only for you to follow them close behind like a little duckling, holding onto their finger instead of their entire hand
Snuggling up against your cgs lap and drinking your bottle, one of their hands holding it in place while the other is rubbing soothing circles along your back
After your bottle your cg sets you down on the floor surrounded by a plethora of soft toys, chuckling to themselves as you begin to nibble on the ear of a stuffed animal before they quickly clip a paci to the collar of your sweater and gently push it into your mouth instead
Feeling overstimulated by the loud and colorful cartoon playing on the TV, making your way back to your cg and clinging to them for comfort as they run their fingers through your hair and begin rocking you at a slow pace
Dozing off as your cg quietly reads a story to you, placing soft kisses on the top of your head and spreading a blanket over the both of you, not daring to move even if the position is uncomfortable in fear of waking you
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 she’s none the wiser??
If I’m not making sense, ignore me, pookie. I’m glad you’re back!!!!
𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 | 𝐜.𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭
pairing: Dark!Clark Kent x Reader
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 he’s doing it in the first place. You’re just so scattered. Overwhelmed.
He’s 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 doesn’t like to see you lifting a finger.
When he’s not working, he watches you from across the bullpen while you sit at your cluttered desk. You’re 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 you’re the most tired, you don’t notice that they aren’t 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 don’t 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.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and your heart quickens.
“Just tired.” You nod, then nervously tap at the table.
“Here,” he offers you half of his favorite sub sandwich he orders at the deli on the next block. “I’m not going to eat all of it.”
Your lips part to protest as he lays it out in front of you. “Clark, you don’t—”
“You look hungry,” he adds. “Did you eat breakfast?”
“Yes,” you answer quietly. His blue eyes are focused on you. Hard. Expecting. “…No.”
You find that the truth slips through your lips before he has a chance to question you further. “Y/N.”
“I had coffee,” you say next. “I have to get up at 4:30 if I want to catch the earliest train into the city, and sometimes I forget.”
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 doesn’t take you long to put the dots together. When you thank him, he never answers directly.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
“But—”
“You have to eat breakfast.”
“But you don’t—”
“And lunch. And dinner. I don’t want to find out you’re still skipping meals.”
Your lips press into a thin line then. It’s the first time he’s 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 you’ve made into a home, but that doesn’t make it any safer or less cheaply built. He checks on you most nights, makes sure you’re 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 Perry’s office and toss him off the roof of the Planet.
He doesn’t, 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 there’s no hiding from Clark.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Please, Clark.”
“Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.”
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.
“Clark—” you hiccup, and the tears start to fall again. “I just… I-I—”
He thinks of how badly he wants you not to call him Clark in this moment. He’s been telling himself not to rush this. It will take time. “You’re okay,” he says, deep and soothing. “You’re being so brave.”
You blink up at him through the tears. “He… h-he ripped into my article. The final one. For my class. He’s hated every draft I sent him and it’s due at midnight,” your voice cracks, high and thin. “I think he’s gonna fail me. On my review. I-I worked so hard to get this internship, Clark.”
Clark’s jaw tightens. “I know you did, sweetheart,” he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb.
“It doesn’t matter,” you shake your head. “I’m not a good writer. I-I’d be a t-terrible journalist.”
Clark’s eyes darken as he looks down at you. He sees you crawling inside yourself. Retreating. He doesn’t 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 don’t 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.
“Wh-what are you doing?” 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 hadn’t realized he’d 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, “I’ll help you rewrite the article.”
“What—”
“I know what Perry is looking for. I can help you clean it up.”
“I’ll miss my train.”
Clark pauses for a moment. He clicks his teeth. “I’ll take you home.”
“Oh…” What choice do you have? “Okay.”
His voice lowers, soft but firm. “Relax.”
“I’m trying,” you sniffle.
“Good girl,” 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 you’re 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 isn’t willing to let you go just yet.
You were hesitant when he opened the passenger side door of a dark sedan that doesn’t 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 weren’t 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 isn’t frustrated with you. He directs you like a child about to wander into the wrong room, or a pet that doesn’t know any better.
“Let’s get you out of these work clothes, okay?” he asks rhetorically, carrying you deeper into the apartment. “And then you can have a warm bath and something soft to sleep in.”
“I don’t have any other clothes, Clark.”
“Don’t worry, baby.”
Your resistance matters little to him. You expect a guest room that’s impersonal. Bare bones. Instead, you’re 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.
“I—” You clear your throat. “Is this a kid’s room?”
“No,” he answers as he sets you onto your feet. “I just wanted it to be… comforting.”
Clark’s lips part to explain further, but out of the corner of your eye, you spot a tall bookshelf. “You have The Secret Garden and A Little Princess,” you say. Clark watches how your eyes light up and how you pad over the soft carpet. “I’ve never seen these editions before. They are so pretty. Look at these pink flowers.”
His hulking figure shadows you as he reaches past, taking The Secret Garden off the shelf for you.
“I don’t know,” you say instead of taking it, but he grabs your hand, lifts it, and places the book in your palm. “You like these books?”
“I know you like them,” 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.
“Look around and get comfortable, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll start your bath.”
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 you’d bookmarked and rebookmarked, hovered over for months, but never bought.
“You ready?” 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 he’s removed his glasses. You almost do a double-take, your eyes focusing on his features, and he’s almost unrecognizable.
You’re not sure if it’s the lack of sleep or the fact that this all feels like a fever dream, but you can’t help but let this happen to you.
“You’ve been working so hard, haven’t you?” It doesn’t help that his voice is deep and melodic. You look down at his fingers as he gently undoes each button of your cardigan. “Let me do this for you. Let Daddy take care of you.”
Daddy.
The word touches you somewhere deep. An embarrassing place.
“I don’t need you to,” you say, although you aren’t convincing. And now he’s undoing the buttons of your khaki skirt.
“Let me,” he says again, softer this time, like he’s reassuring you.
Isn’t that what you’re doing? Shaking like a leaf and letting him get you naked? It’s done with such care. His touch doesn’t wander in the slightest. It’s almost clinical. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and the glimpse of his arms—thick and muscled—makes your eyes widen. How had you missed this before? You’ve never felt intimidated by Clark until now. Never felt how much power radiated from him.
“I-I shouldn’t have come,” you stutter out, mostly to yourself. “I’m imposing,” you add next, politely.
He gives you a knowing look. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”
It’s good to know. It’s reassuring. It isn’t completely your fault that this is happening. You cover yourself with your hands when he’s 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 doesn’t stop there. You’re 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 you’re the most fragile thing he’s ever seen. You look down then. You don’t meet his eyes as he runs a washcloth over every inch of your skin.
He notices.
“I know you don’t understand it yet,” Clark says. “But you will. You don’t have to do anything but let me take care of you.”
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.
“Relax.” 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. “Clark—” you rush out, and your small hands wrap around his arm. His arm doesn’t move as you push. It doesn’t even tremble beneath your grasp. “Clark, please. P-Please—oh my—”
“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says. “But I will be firm with you. You need that, don’t you?”
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. It’s almost as clinical as when he was undressing you. It’s something he has to do. He’s treating the act like a mission that needs to be accomplished. A step in a nightly routine.
Now you’re dizzy. The act doesn’t take longer than two minutes. He applies the exact right pressure. It’s almost painful how your orgasm rips through your body. It's embarrassing how quickly it happens. “That’s it,” you hear him say. You gasp for air in between your moans. Now you’re holding onto him instead of futilely pushing at him. “Good girl, sweetheart. You needed that, didn’t you?”
He takes your silence and shaking body as a sufficient answer.
“Let’s get you dressed and tucked in, sweetheart. Big day for us tomorrow.”
I’m still stuck on dark hockey’s boy babying reader places do some ddlg with the boys I beg
warnings: daddy!garrett, daddy!dean, daddy!logan and daddy!tucker, manipulation, coercion, daddy dom dynamics, caretaker/little dynamics, homeless reader, no editing
a/n: here are my thoughts :)
It starts when the boys see you at Della’s diner, sitting all by yourself in the back booth, nursing a cup of coffee, and your head buried in a tattered book.
Logan notices you at first, of course. You wear the same pink, graphic hoodie no matter the weather. You never order more than a coffee or a water.
The staff is kind to you. No one ever bothers you or asks you to leave because you’ve been taking up the same space for hours.
Tucker notices you next when he sees the way Logan stares at you. He asks one of the waitresses, “Hey, can we send her a milkshake?”
Of course, Tucker knows that their strawberry milkshakes are the best on the menu.
When it arrives at your table, you insist that you didn’t buy it. “It’s from those guys over there.”
The shy, scared smile that you return to the four of them is what gets both Dean and Garrett interested in you.
You assumed it was a prank at first, but you were too hungry to dwell too long on it.
Dean insists that they approach you officially, but the guys argue about the timing. They don’t want to rush things. They don’t even know you or why you camp out at Della’s every day.
They plan to talk to you the next time they see you at Della’s, but you don’t return for the next week.
Logan notices you at the auto shop and your beat-up sedan. He watches how you seem to shrink smaller as the mechanic explains how much it’ll be to fix your car.
“I don’t have that much.”
“You can try the shop across town.”
You’re not sure your car will even make it that far.
Logan approaches you when you’re sitting on the curb. He offers to take a look at your car, free of charge. He insists you follow him home and park it in his driveway.
His eyes are trusting enough, and you don’t have many options. You didn’t want to go back to couch surfing. You needed your car to sleep in.
Tucker notices the two of you when he’s bringing in groceries. “Hey, are you hungry?”
It takes a little convincing and Tucker insisting. He’s so warm, inviting, and talkative. Although you speak in three- or four-word sentences, Tucker has you opening up quickly.
Garrett and Dean come inside the house after their workout and find you sitting at the kitchen island, hands inside your sweatshirt, legs kicking nervously.
You think Dean might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. And Garrett’s dark features and muscular build make your heart race.
Dean is forward; he can’t help it. He’s staring you down, arms closing you in as he leans against the island. Garrett’s watching you carefully.
“Y/N’s gonna stay for dinner. Logan’s gonna take a look at her car.”
“Sweet.” Dean and Garrett seem to say at the same time.
When Logan comes back in, he says something about needing to buy a part from the store in the morning. “How much is it?” He says you shouldn’t worry about it.
Garrett is already changing the subject after that. Your attention is everywhere. Dean is complimenting your eyes. Tucker is asking about your preferences for food. Logan is starting to set the table and, at the same time, plotting with Garrett about how you can stay the night.
For the entire time, you’re convinced that you’ll turn them down. You’ll sleep in your car, but before you know it, they’re making excuses. “It’s really not a big deal.” “You should stay.” “Stay, please.” “You can stay in my room.” — Logan smacks Dean on the shoulder.
Garrett brings up the idea of watching a movie. They don’t give you a chance to argue. They just guide you where they want you. Gripping you around your wrist. Strong hands against the small of your back.
You end up between Logan and Dean. It starts to get late; you feel the anxiety in your stomach, and you’re not sure how you’ll convince them you need to leave. You can’t keep your eyes open after a while.
When you fall asleep against the couch, they reposition you, your head on Dean’s lap and legs extending into Logan’s lap.
“She’s kind of precious.” “Awe, what a sleepy girl.” “Can we keep her?” “Shhh, let her sleep.”
The plot to keep you begins then.
Tucker plans out the meals he’ll make you, how he’ll cut off your crusts, and leave little notes for you to discover when you take lunch to class. He loves the idea of waking up next to you, of going through your morning routine, and helping you pick your outfit for the day.
Speaking of outfits, Dean’s already thinking about all the clothes he’s going to buy you. You could use some things. Even the basics. Baby pink tees, woodland animal printed socks, and sundresses. Lots of sundresses. Sundresses are so convenient.
Logan’s plotting how he’s gonna stall when it comes to fixing your car. Maybe he’d convince you that a girl like you shouldn’t be traveling in that deathtrap. He could take you anywhere you needed in his truck. He loves the idea of playing with you, reading your favorite books with you, and generally anything that would make you smile.
Garrett notices the practical things. Your life needs more order. More routine. A little girl like you needs her rest, so he’d be the one to set your bedtime. He’d love going through your nighttime routine with you to make sure you’re all set for the next day.
And rules. Garrett and Logan would be the strictest. “Look at me, tell me what’s wrong?” “You stayed up all night. That’s not happening again.”
Dean’s punishment would be more pleasurable than painful. “You look like you need a good spanking, babygirl.”
Tucker’s the gentle one. “You don’t have to finish your plate, but I’d like you to eat enough.” “Could you tell me what’s worrying you the most?”
Yeah, it wouldn't be long before you forgot what life was like before. You’d forget the time when you worried about everything. It would be like they solved all your problems overnight.
“You guys are acting like … like … my Dads.”
“Someone’s gotta take care of you.” “I think we have something good going.” “We know what’s best for you.” “I think you mean, Daddies.”
