This blog is primarily for adult dark fantasy. It is not a space for minors. If you do not like this content, please block me so I am not poisoning your feed. If I fail to adequately tag something, I will appreciate you telling me.
On this blog, you will likely encounter:
Yandere, nsfw, noncon/dubcon, faux-incest/pseudo-incest, horror, angst, and questionable grammar
Most content will be of the fanfiction variety, with maybe some original works here and there. Most, if not all, will be x Reader fics. I write primarily from a fem afab perspective, as it's what I know best. That being said I intend to write amab, gender neutral, masc, and other readers. Feedback and reading/reference recommendations are appreciated. Everything will be tagged.
Current Fandoms:
DC Comics & DCU
HBO Gotham
Feel free to reach out if there's something you want to see!
I'm not interested in:
Scat, guro, pregnancy or slut-shaming (odd assortment here 🤣) This list may be subject to additions if my ask box gets freaky (no shame here)
The following will NEVER be featured here, and I will ban people for requesting:
Sexual scenarios involving minors or animals, any scenarios with real people or true crime cases
The endorsement or enacting of any form of bigotry is not tolerated here.
I can't see Selina ever kidnapping a lover, (at least not permanently) but I can definitely see her upping the ante as a stalker. She's got you running in circles, showing up anywhere and everywhere. You spend a night in jail when you report a break-in, and the officer finds stolen jewels on your nightstand. She won't keep you trapped physically, but she'll be on your mind as much as you're on hers.
You and Clark had been going steady for eight months. He was good to you. Sometimes, you felt he was too good for you. He was easily the most thoughtful man you'd ever been with. There was this uncanny way he had, of always knowing what you needed. And he certainly applied himself to fulfilling your needs. Early in your relationship, you had made assumptions. Most of the clean-cut small-towners you met were not particularly giving or adventurous in the bedroom. You were happily proven wrong with Clark. He always ensured you were satisfied, and he never made you feel ashamed of your desires.
You had finally come forward about your love for rope-work. Many of your previous partners had raised a brow at it, but you loved it. The process of turning your partner into a work of art, the trust they placed in you, and the thrill of having them at your mercy: it was all so romantic to you. Clark seemed surprised by your request, but as always, was eager to please you. You were open to being tied up yourself, but he insisted you take the lead, at least for the first time. The two of you had a long discussion about safety, boundaries, and what you both wanted from the experience. It was exciting; so exciting you splurged for expedited shipping on some new rope.
Unfortunately, Clark was pulled away from your bed for the next two weeks. It was a work trip, one where he wouldn't have consistent cell signal. You didn't like how sudden it was, but you understood, and you were supportive. He couldn't talk you out of getting up early to drive him to the airport.
"You be safe, sweetie," he murmured into your parting embrace.
"Stay safe, yourself!" You sent him off with one last kiss.
You were lonelier than you anticipated. You stayed productive, and spent a little more time with friends to get out of your head. You were constantly pining, though. And then the pining got boring. Then, the pining turned to scheming. You were spurred on by his absence, by the element of surprise it would grant you. When he returned, you had a full evening planned to show him just how much he was missed. You hoped he was ready to be wined, dined, and loved just the way he liked.
When you finally got him home from the airport, you ushered him to the shower. He seemed pleasantly surprised by the heated towels. Once he was clean and in some fresh house clothes, he met you in the kitchen. You'd just finished laying the table. You preened under his ready thanks. You two shared a lovely meal, and you even got a rare peek into his next article. While you wanted him to let you take care of the evening, he made you concede on dishes. He would not be dissuaded. Ever the opportunist, you took the free time to freshen up, and change into a favorite set.
"Honey?" he called.
"In the bedroom. Will you bring the carafe?"
You two would want water later. Catching your meaning, Clark obediently brought the carafe and two small glasses. He took you in as he entered.
"For me?"
"I missed you." He was so easy to be honest with.
He carefully set the glassware on your nightstand, before joining you on the bed. You pulled him in for a kiss. Sometimes, you wondered how you got by before Clark. He was your home, truly. You never had to hide any part of yourself from him. With him holding you, you felt love in your entirety.
You reluctantly broke the kiss to help him out of his shirt.
"So where are they?" He glanced to your dresser drawer.
"Huh?"
"The ropes. Did you get them?"
"Oh." Did he think you were just buttering him up to try your thing? You set that sting aside. "We don't have to do that tonight. This one's all for you."
"All for me? You're spoiling me!" He laughed, as if it were incredulous.
"You're one to talk."
"But do you have them?"
"Yeah, but, they're not going anywhere, Clark."
He pulled you in, close. "I've been thinking about it this whole trip. Been thinking about what you might do to me. Don't you want to tie me up?"
Damn him. He had you the second he asked, and he knew it.
"Alright," you relented. "But we're taking it real slow. And we're using the stoplight system, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And what does that mean?"
"Green means keep going, yellow means slow down, and red means stop."
"I have the safety cutter right here," you tapped it on the nightstand for emphasis, "if you need out. Or if you just want out."
"And what do I say when you're taking too long?"
You were going to kill him, if he didn't manage to get you first.
"You say, 'pretty please'."
You pulled the bundles from your drawer, thanking your eagerness that you had washed them as soon as they arrived. You opted for a nice indigo blue; you always liked Clark in blue. It brought out the warmth in his skin and the brightness of his eyes.
You fastened the first hitch over his shoulders, running two fingers between him and the smooth cording. You checked his face. He was staring back at you, face painted with adoration, curiosity and a growing flush.
"Too tight?"
"We could go tighter." You furrowed you brows.
"Is it too loose?" You shifted the center knot around. "It needs give, but it shouldn't feel like it'll saw into you."
"It's perfect."
"Alright, but you tell me if that changes. You're not getting any less than perfect, tonight."
He let you continue, though you were starting to get distracted by your own handiwork. A well-placed cow-hitch accentuated the… abundance of his chest, and you had to keep your mouth from watering. You needed to keep some semblance of control, here. You wound the cords in a dragonfly pattern around his great arms, securing them behind his back.
"Color?"
"Green," he said, lightly flexing against his bindings. There was no fear. You knew he trusted you completely. You pushed his glasses back up his nose for him.
The man bound before you was perfect. His skin was flawless, warm and sensitive. It wasn't particularly sensitive, but it was pleasant to run your fingers over, to pinch. His member steadily came to attention under your ministrations. He sighed without shame.
You had resolved yourself stay cool. He'd asked you, very nicely, to take control. You needed to be steady at the lead, if you were to have Clark at your mercy tonight. He was determined to make that difficult, with the way he leaned into your touch, as you teased every part of him with your fingertips.
You turned your attention back to his face, and his glasses were, yet again, askew. It was worth considering taking them off. They were fogged up, and the nose pads were slicked with sweat. Carefully, you lifted the thick frames away. Spurred on by his little gasp, you made a show of slowly cleaning them, folding them, and putting them away. Turning back around, you stifled your own noise of surprise. He looked so different without his glasses. He hadn't changed, when your back was turned, no. He looked perfect. It wasn't that his glasses didn't suit him; in fact, you quite liked them. It was if you took some grounding quality off him, and all that was left was perfection. Tantalizing, beautifully bound perfection.
You crawled back to him, settling in his lap against his clothed erection. He whined into the kisses you lavished on him. You ran your palms against his torso, against your work, groping and petting the many things that pleased your eye. The way he shuddered only spurred you on. He gasped as you grabbed the central twist of ropes on his sternum. You gave a few light tugs.
"Color?"
"Green," his voice wasn't as steady as before.
Using the rope for stability, you rolled your hips forward, against the shaft pressing through his sweatpants. A cracked, "Ugnh," escaped him, and you kissed him for it.
"Good boy," you sighed, using your other hand to play with your clit. You took up a gentle rhythm on his cock.
"Please" His eyes were teary. "Pretty please, I need it. I need all of you."
You couldn't make him wait in good conscience. He was begging just as you told him to, and this was his special night. Besides, your wetness was starting to soak through his sweatpants. You helped him shimmy out of the last of his clothes. Well, you did most of the work, as he was trembling, and painfully hard.
"Aw, Sweetie," you coo, swiping some precum around his tip. "Let me take care of you."
You pulled your panties to the side, lining him up with your drenched entrance. He was whimpering, frantically nodding, but you still needed to check.
"Color?"
You could almost see the gears turn in his big, confused head.
Sinking down easily, you cut off any further begging. You rode him slowly, gently, just like he liked. He wouldn't last long, you had thought. He was babbling and moaning underneath you. You saw him strain up towards you, and mercifully leaned down to kiss him more.
There was a cacophony of snapping sounds, as if someone broke fifty rubber bands right next to your ears. Clark's hands were on your body. Impossible.
"Clark! Are you-" you gasped, pushing on his chest.
He broke the ropes. Half your handiwork, what had been holding his arms, lay in pieces around you. The harness, being a separate piece, held on under your fingers. He broke the ropes, like they were nothing. You had no idea he could do that.
Seemingly oblivious to your alarm, Clark gripped your hips, angling you to punish the sweet spot deep inside.
"Clark, wait!" Your voice was breaking , now. You pushed harder on his chest, then beat your palms against him. You couldn't seem to break him out of this. Was he on Venom?
"So sorry about your pretty work, baby. I missed you so much. Needed to hold you."
He slid one arm around your back, pulling you flush with him. His pubic bone ground up to your clit with each thrust, but you couldn't melt into it.
"Yellow," you finally remembered.
All he gave back was a soft "shh," followed by a kiss. This tipped you into panic.
"Red! Red! I want to stop! Clark--" tears poured down your face. You clawed, no, gouged at him, but couldn't make a mark.
He whispered something: one of his usual sweet nothings, which only now failed to sooth you. You looked into the face of the man you trusted above all, and could not recognize him.
"So good. You're so good to me."
You gave up. Clark, or whatever you hoped was wearing his skin, was too strong. Slumped against his chest, you let him rut into you without resistance. You hoped he'd finish soon.
By your third climax, you accepted you weren't just dealing with super strength. He showed no signs he was even close. In fact, he only seemed to be getting more excited. He'd begun pistoning up into you with more speed. His fingers found your clit, eager to push you back to your high. You were exhausted. At his mercy, you let your eyes slip shut, resting your forehead to his shoulder. "Good girl," he kept calling you.
And there came a new feeling. The pressure on your shins and knees gradually eased. Then, the feeling of the sheets completely disappeared. You awakened, trying to make sense of the new position and you were flying. You couldn't even find the thoughts; you just felt your feet dangle above the bed. You tensed, inadvertently squeezing him, and it was over. He finished, quite vocally, forcing you in tandem with his fingers. You two hung in the air one moment, before dropping back down to the mattress. For the first time in hours, he let go of you.
You wanted to run. You had to get out of here and call the police, or the Justice League, or even Lex Luthor, but you couldn't even stand. You tried to drag yourself away, but he just scooped you up like a toy. You were back against his chest, listening to the heartbeat you knew so well.
"I love you," he panted. "I love you so much."
You laid still, hoping he'd lose interest.
"Thank you. I'll explain it all in the morning. I just want to hold you now. I missed holding you, so much."
You didn't want to stay with this stranger in your bed, but you weren't in control, tonight.
Clark was back to taking care of you, like before.
He'd kept one promise: he did try to explain things the next morning. Clark told you all about Krypton, his other parents, his powers, his real work in the Justice League, and a thousand other things that made your head spin. You waited, and listened, but all you were hearing were all the lies you had bought. And he still hadn't explained last night.
The conversation got cut short when he got to the hypno-glasses. Apparently, they were what kept you from recognizing him as Superman. He took them off to demonstrate, and it was like a switch flipped in you. Your body erupted in tremors, and no matter how hard you breathed, you couldn't get air. He'd thrown them back on and rushed you to the bathroom. To your mortification, you realized you had soiled yourself in your terror.
"I'm so sorry," Clark tried to get you to meet his eyes. "It's all too much. I'm sorry."
He turned from you to start filling the bath. It was probably to clean you up. Or maybe he would drown you. Your panic strangely eased at the thought. You really didn't know what could come next, but it wasn't like it mattered. You could do nothing.
He took his time bathing you. He had washed your hair in the shower before. It was something he had wanted to try. You hadn't liked it, then. It made you feel helpless. Now, you knew. He kept asking you about the water temperature, if you were sore anywhere, if you could hear him. You couldn't find the will to answer.
You were cleaned, dried, dressed, and deposited on the couch with a blanket. You didn't bother to help, when he could easily move you like a doll. He went back to the kitchen behind you. You knew the recipe by the sound of his movements; he was making a favorite of yours. You grabbed a blanket, and wrapped it around yourself. The free movement apparently told Clark you were ready to talk.
"I think you should take some time off work."
You think that's a terrible idea. You think you should head out for work tomorrow and call the police. You think you should head straight to LexCorp and beg them to lock you away in one of their black sites.
"You've had a shock, and that's my fault. I'll help you make the call. Just a few days, and—"
"I think I'll go back tomorrow. This is… a lot," you didn't dare try to face him as you spoke. "And I need some time to think everything over. It'll be good for me, to be out of the house for a bit."
The kitchen was suddenly void of movement. The only sound was the sizzling in the pan. You almost thought he vanished, till you heard him sigh. He was right behind you.
"That's not how this is gonna work, honey. I'm sorry. You can go back out when I know you can handle it. Until then, I'll take care of you. I always will."
Bruce would be willing to let you see surveillance on your loved ones as a reward for good behavior. It's rare, and his standards raise each time, but it's the only way to be in their lives.
Hmmmm Jason using your care as a way to regulate his own stress. He pins you down for a back rub, and only feels the weight off his own shoulders when yours melt. Or as his day goes on outside, he finds his hands itching to do your hair care. His outlook gets a little better when your skin brightens under the right diet.
That batfam art ask has me thinking about all the things they'd make you do with supervision.
Big bro Dick making you masturbate in front of him with the threat that he'll take care you if you won't. He ends up stepping in anyway when you're too nervous to finish.
Jason NEVER lets you bathe alone. It's under the premise of safety, but his labored breathing always gives him away.
Bruce always watches over you when he has to put you under. He feels a responsibility to protect you, even from the nightmares he might feature in. Since you've dropped the weekly escape attempts, he only needs to do it when you're being uncooperative. He hated to pull out the syringe, but you left him no choice. It wasn't your fault you got exposed to Poison Ivy's pheremones in the garden air, but you were putting up such a fight when he was just trying to help you. As your fight faded, Bruce held you, promising over your protests that he'd take care of everything.
Thinking about Justice Lord Superman, and the constant fear when living as his pet partner. No matter what he says to assure you, the threat of lobotomy is always there. It would be so easy for him.
You don't understand that he would never do that. He has hundreds of better ways of subduing, or disciplining you at his disposal. He would never throw away the mind he fell in love with.
For now, Clark makes do with the sedatives and a gentle hand. He has hopes for the re-education plan Bruce has been working on. It's supposed to be a lot less invasive, and Bruce assures him it'll still be you in there.
Thinking about being a cocktail waitress at Mooney's Nightclub. You fret the boss doesn't like you, that you're next on the chopping block. At your breaking point, you quietly resign and book a train ticket out of the city.
Mooney was never angry with you. But in her position, you have to keep the things you want at arm's length, and then some. She hadn't meant to scare you off, though. Truthfully, she had thought you were stronger stuff, taking up your job. If that wasn't the case, you might need some different arrangements, for your safety.
Call her Fish, now. You two are about to be a lot closer.
Clark asks you to read his drafts aloud to help him check the tone of his articles. And yes, dear, he can hear just fine through your thighs. Keep going. Could you repeat that last bit? He didn't quite understand you.
Imagine artist!reader that always need a reference pose to do their art hence they need to see a naked person (o almost naked) to really get accurate from what their sketching.
Batfam finds out of course— they do support their little hobby but seeing other people bodies? They are really really afraid on what's going on your mind, Afraid that you might find them more interesting. So for the solution to this they offer themselves to pose for you instead. Isn't that a great family bonding?
I started this with literally only the thing about Cass and then the fungus in my brain took over.
I fear the obvious option would be Dick which is why I must insist all readers consider Cassandra as your model of choice. She can hold almost any pose he can, and will not be sporting an erection while demanding you to physically move them into position. She will want to watch you the whole time, so you'll need to give her a mirror if you want to do any studies of her back.
Tim would be willing to be almost clinical about it. The tradeoff is you have to help him flesh out his photography portfolio (pun intended).
Bruce would be tough to convince. If you need clothed references of someone working at a desk, his study's always open. Anatomy references are less likely. I don't see him willing to get naked and just sit there, not getting you off. I think the only way he'd feature nude in your work is if you were doing some sort of mirror-sex self portrait. (I should write this 😳)
You can draw Jason naked, but he is going to sleep the whole time. And you're not allowed to show him or anyone else your finished product. It's for your eyes only.
I can't help but think of the scenario where this would come up. Like, you're trying to get a sense of normalcy back after weeks of failed attempts at escape. You cave and open the fancy art supplies that have been sitting on your desk. After a few still-life studies in your room, you feel the creative flow again. You were working on your figure anatomy before becoming a former member of the Allowed Outside Club. So, you pull up a drawing reference site on your thoroughly bugged tablet, and start adjusting settings. You flip the switch to allow nudity, and the screen locks. It wants a passkey. You don't have one. So you go to Bruce. He's unlocks the screen for you, raising a brow at the site. When you ask him for the code, he refuses. Apparently, you aren't allowed to view certain content without supervision. Everyone has a code to unlock your devices (except you) so you don't have to wait for Bruce to be home to watch what you want. Unless you want to.
You're essentially therapy pet #2. So much of her well-being hinges on yours. She truly loves you, and wants to be happy, but with every intergalactic attack or global pandemic, it seems more realistic to keep you somewhere safe and alone. She's always stepped up to make the tough call.
Omega Jason builds a nest for the first time in years.
He tries not to take it hard when you don't join him in it. When you build your own, he can't help the whines crawling up his throat. You have every right to be mad, but you're his pack. Don't abandon him like everyone else.
He constantly disassembles your nest, enduring how snappy it makes you. At least you see him. He incorporates elements from your nest into his in an attempt to entice you. Your preference of increasingly sparse bedding over him becomes too much. He locks every soft thing in a closet. And don't think he'll let you sleep on the floor. Your thrashing is yet another heartbreak, but he's made it this far. You'll eventually fall asleep, pinned between his warm body and the sanctuary he built. It took a lot out of him, but having you there is worth it. The choppy little purrs you let out in your sleep mend every crack in his heart.
It was possibly your dumbest idea yet. In your defense, you didn't have a clear head. Being trapped under the ministrations of men like these can do that to you. You were desperate for a break. Excuses aside, you cannot fathom how faking an orgasm in front of the world's greatest detective and the man who can hear your heartbeat across the world was supposed to work. You even thought it did, for a second, when they stopped.
Clark's stony expression knocked that delusion right out of you. His whole body was inhumanly still. Unsure how to act, you checked over your shoulder for Bruce's reaction. While not catatonic like his husband, his demeanor was no more comforting. Bruce looked frighteningly bemused. While Pa had half a mind to spank you raw, Dad applauded your audacity. But, if you wanted to pull one over them, you'd need some acting lessons, young lady.
They spent the rest of the night bringing you to your peak, describing how you look, how you sound. Clark even dragged you to a mirror at one point, but by then you could barely keep your eyes open.
It doesn't end that night, either. On a slow evening, Bruce likes have you warm his cock. He plays recordings of your moans back to you, forcing you to parrot them. Your performance will be graded.
Clark is still bitter about it.
"Now, was that a real one?" he'll ask after you cum. "Better give you another, just to be sure."
You won't live this down for a long time.
A few weeks later:
Clark wasn't letting this go.
If you asked him, he'd say he was never mad at you. He'd lament he could simply no longer trust you to be honest about your needs. You had even asked for a way to earn back his trust. His answer?
"I don't know, little girl. I can't tell you how to be honest with me. It'll have to come from you."
Superman was the most spiteful and vindictive bastard on Earth. He'd had you snared in his lap for the past hour, with no end in sight. Almost worse than the unrelenting hands, was his interest in an honest conversation today.
"I just wanted a break!" you could plead, "I'm sorry-y-y"
"I know. I remember." He's using his patient voice. God help you.
"It was too good! It was good and I was scared! Please no mor-"
"-no, but almost there, baby. please, what?"
"Please, let me rest!"
"No, that's not what you need. What do you need from Pa?"
He was going to kill you.
"Please... please tell me! please, i d-"
He rakes a hand through your hair
"Are you still scared?" he whispers, eyes finally softening. You nod.
"Want Pa to help?"
The answer. You gather whats left of you in your mind, and resolve to please him.
"Please Pa, I'm scared. Please help me, Pa."
He picks up his rhythm on your clit, urging you to your last climax for the night. You can't help but cry harder. You wildly claw at his chest while hiding yourself in his shoulder. Even as the fog clears, you can't stop shaking.
Strangely, Clark looks almost as relieved as you. Tears adorn his lash line.
omg i really enjoyed Gift Box, do you plan on writing it further?
I do! I have quite a few irons on the fire, but updates to Gift Box are on the way!
The toughest part is world building tbh. You'd think it'd be easier with it being an au of a vast franchise (I certainly did), but now I'm contending with my love of fantasy and the source material vs my love of historically grounded fiction and consistency. I already may have screwed myself by casually giving Bruce some kind of ariel ability in the first part.
