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.
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WIP's
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DC Comics & DCU
HBO Gotham
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Sexual scenarios involving minors or animals, any scenarios with real people or true crime cases
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Fuck ICE
Trans Rights are Human Rights
No content here is AI generated, or uses AI software features in its creation. All human-made.
TW: noncon, captivity, bondage, forced body modification and cuckholdry
I'm thinking about Selina tying you down to give you a VCH piercing. You're so adorable with your little bells, she can't help but want you to match down there.
You are resistant to the idea, even after learning how good your other piercings could feel. You're still no match for her, and Selina has you stripped, folded up and tied down before you can kick up a real fuss. She has to resist getting distracted playing with you all trussed up, so she settles for cleaning the area very thoroughly. You squirm as the alcohol pad swirls around, and under, your hood. Your body betrays you, clit perking up at her touch as she applies iodine.
"It'll only hurt for a second," she assures as she places the receiving tube.
You stop squirming the second she has the needle in hand. To her credit, she didn't lie. Getting your nipples done was way worse. The pain is gone before you can really register it, and you're left with cool metal snug against your clit.
The recovery process is far more miserable. You were naively excited to have a couple weeks free of "play", at the start. She had made you spend your first recovery in handcuffs, after the first time you tried taking your nipple barbells out. You had expected the cuffs again. You had not expected a chastity belt: a gift from Bruce, apparently. Speaking of, she'd been having him over more often. While you were off-limits for the next month, she still had her appetite. She makes you watch, bound to a chair with your legs spread, "So I don't have to take my eyes off that pretty pussy," as she puts it. By the time they finish, you're mortifyingly wet. The only relief you get is when she cleans the area. She's almost motherly in the way she tuts at you for the way your hips jut as she dabs at your folds. You begin to crave those gentle, sparing touches to your clit throughout the day. At night, you're tied down, limbs spread to the four corners of the mattress. You're bare, to let the wound breathe. You're restless, as the cool night air caresses your most sensitive places. She wakes you with soft, warm kisses, and you try to pretend you aren't aching for more.
Once you're finally healed, Selina wastes no time teaching you all about your new accessory. You definitely see vibrators in a new light, after having one held to the little ring. She had you seeing god in seconds with it. Tight clothing is another new weakness. Your leggings press and tug the ring as you move, driving you mad. When you fail to keep a straight face during yoga, Selina pounces on you. She finds your clit with ease through the thin fabric, and doesn't stop playing with it until your mat is ruined.
You have a growing jewelry collection that she switches out often. If you're particularly uncooperative, she'll let the replacements chill in the fridge before putting them in. She mixes and matches the sets, often coordinating with her own ensembles. She loves you dripping in jewels, but her favorite on you are the bells up top, and below, the captive ring with a tag inscribed: "If found, return to Selina."
TW: yandere, hurt/no comfort, abduction, noncon, drugging, abuse of power, medical malpractice, restraints, gags, prison cell, vomit, hostage/extortion
You might have felt more distress, were you more sober. You didn't like the smell of… wherever you were. It smelled like disinfectant, and damp stone. The sheet pressed against your face smelled clean, at least. The rubbery bar between your teeth tasted clean, too. You felt light, as if your head had been stuffed with cotton. Through the haze, you knew you ought to be panicking. You simply couldn't will yourself to do so.
You couldn't find the strength to even roll over, though your arms were aching underneath you. All you could do was shift in the strange garment that was definitely not your pajamas.
It had been an arduous two months: two months of good behavior, participating in group therapy, and swallowing whatever the nurses handed him. If the doctor hadn't lied, it would be well worth it.
Harvey was admittedly nervous, when the guard turned him towards the solitary confinement block. Maybe it was all a ruse. Maybe they finally concluded he was a wild, incurable animal, that must never be let from its cage. He'd kill them. But not yet.
He waited for the guard to open the cell door. It was a small, sparse, but thankfully clean room. In the center, lay his payment. At least he thought it was. He couldn't be too sure, as this was their first time seeing you from this particular angle. Whoever had placed you here, had dumped you face-down on an air mattress, leaving your bare rear facing the door. After all the passing jokes about his upcoming "conjugal visit", that felt purposeful, and particularly crass. Though, it was hardly an unwelcome sight.
He entered the cell, barely hearing the door lock behind him. You were breathing, thank Christ, but you didn't stir. He knelt down, peering down at the exposed side of your face. It was you, alright, and you were out of it. You could only manage a confused hum at the callused fingers stroking your jaw. The bit gag you were drooling around muffled the sound.
"Couldn't even get a real mattress, huh?" He chuckled humorlessly. "Suppose that's all good behavior can afford."
It could afford one of Arkham's state-of-the-art straight jackets, though. He was half-disgusted that you had been bound up like a lunatic. The other half was thrilled at the implication he might have long enough with you for the drugs to wear off.
He ran a hand down your canvas-clad back in soothing motions. A pit was forming in his stomach. He hadn't been delusional enough to think you'd come willingly, but this wasn't what he pictured for you. Stripped down, bound and sedated, dumped in a dark cell to wait for a monster…
What else had they done to you?
"I'll just have a look. If any of them touched you, I'll twist off their hands."
Your eyes slowly opened, failed to focus, and fell shut again.
He needed to be careful with you. Keeping you on your side would be best. You could breathe easy, and he didn't want to put any pressure on your neck. Slowly, reverently, he shifted you to one side, lifting your thigh towards the ceiling.
It was beautiful.
Before him was the prettiest pussy he'd ever seen. Pretty enough to eat, though that would have to wait a moment. You looked clean, and uninjured. Curious, he ran an index along your folds. They were so soft. He was going to have you soaked, by the end of this.
Harvey leaned down to give your thigh a chaste kiss. The muscle quivered under his lips, but you didn't stir otherwise. Taking it for your blessing, he leaned in closer. He could smell it now, and it had him salivating. Neck craned to the side, Harvey gave a long, gentle lick to your folds. Heaven. He gave you another. Your clit started to peek from its hood, practically reaching for him. He pressed his face in deeper, wrapping it in the softer side of his lips. He could feel your heartbeat there, and he could almost believe it quickened from excitement. As he began to suck, weak, warbly little whimpers spilled past your gag. You began to move, still unaware, but responsive.
He was lost in you. All the cold, and the questions, and the screaming, and the nightmares, and the side affects… all of it melted away into you. You were here. You were here, in the worst place on Earth, but you were here with him. You were a pair that never should have been separated, but now that he had you, now that he was holding you…
Everything would be alright.
He couldn't be sure when he noticed it, but there was a change. Your sleepy little whines became more insistent, distressed. The thighs that had been lazily twitching around him suddenly tensed, and began to shake.
Reluctantly, Harvey pulled himself away from your warm, and looked up at you.
You were looking back at him — at him — with big, teary eyes. You were still in a haze, he could tell. You probably didn't know where you were, but you could see the monster, and what he was doing to you. Once he met your gaze, you gave out some pleading, unintelligible mumble. He pulled back, wiping your wetness on his sleeve. With a hand on your hip, Harvey tipped you onto your back. The air mattress crinkled as he crawled over you, blocking out the the dim cell light. You must be getting a good look at him, now that he was so close. Your tears had finally spilled past your lash line.
He wanted to take the gag off, to kiss you without it. But, he didn't want to hear what you were trying to say. He couldn't listen to you beg him to stop. Your voice was starting to pick up, and the edge of fear was undeniable.
"No, none of that," he whispered. "I'm not gonna hurt 'cha. Gonna make you purr."
His hand found its way back between your legs. Your thighs shakily closed around his wrist, but you couldn't hold any meaningful force. You were fully crying, when he began working at you again. You must not have realized how you were pulling at his heartstrings. How could you, when all you understood was his unrelenting violation? When he could no longer bear your terrified face, Harvey slid an arm underneath you and pulled you to his chest. He could hear your muffled sobs more clearly now. He felt you shake your head against his shoulder. He wanted to tell you it was all going to be okay; that you were safer than you'd ever been.
You wouldn't have to go all the way. This wasn't the right time, the right place. He could wait for you. He would wait until he had you somewhere warm, in a proper bed, where you only knew the touch of silk and loving caresses. You'd be able to forget about the dark cell, the cruel restraints, and the men that brought you there. They'd never touch you again. He'd endure whatever he had to, to make sure of it.
He slipped two fingers into you. A choked sob escaped him at the ease of it. You were letting him in. He hadn't realized he'd started crying, himself. Shame needled through his chest at this display, but it couldn't slow him.
Harvey could feel your walls squeezing his fingers, trying to pull them in deeper. He found a spot that made you rock your hips into his hand. You were getting there. The squelching sound was becoming audible over your muffled sobs. He brought his thumb up to your clit, drawing a shaky moan from deep in your chest. Sweet thing. You were close.
The door abruptly screamed open, and guards and orderlies flooded the room. You were shouting: had that started before, or after the guards burst in? Innumerable hands ripped him off you. He thrashed out of reflex, until he felt a familiar prick in his neck.
"Fun's over, Dent."
"Stop," his speech was starting to slur. "What're you doing?"
A pair of orderlies entered and hauled you to your feet. You were unsteady, legs clamping together rather than supporting you. As you were raised, he slumped down to his knees. He watched helplessly as you vomited through the gag, yellow bile staining the white canvas of your restraints. The men shared disgusted looks, as they sat you in a waiting wheelchair. You sobbed even harder in your filth.
"She'll be fine. They're just going to get her cleaned up. You'll have to talk to the doctor about future visiting privileges."
His next appointment wasn't for thirteen hours, he thought, as your hysteric wails faded down the hall.
He likes to "groom" you, but is so nasty and slobbery about it, especially after "the accident". You end up needing a shower after, which thankfully, he's usually lucid enough to understand.
Sometimes, during your heat, he likes to hold off knotting you, just to see how desperate you can get. Harvey is pretty easily bought; with a simple, "Please, daddy, I need you," you can get about anything. Harv' on the other hand, is going to make you negotiate. And he'll hold you to your promises, even if you don't remember them.
He has to knot you twice. He knows you're tired, sweetie. Just lie down and let Harv have his turn.
He wants two bites, for the same reason. You're getting two, and he's expecting two in return.
He is chronically disrespectful of the nest. Harvey's going to barge in there, no invitation, to either join you or drag you out of it. He also takes things. Most of the time, it's something he can fit in his pocket, to calm him during his work day. It's worth paying attention, should he take bigger things. They're going to his den, and they won't be able to placate him for long.
Any sign of independence sets him on edge. On particularly bad days, you shouldn't presume to pick your own clothes, or move to another room without his say-so. It makes him paranoid, like you're testing the waters to run off on him. If you can't read the room, you'll find yourself locked inside it, and fucked out for good measure.
You're a hot topic among some staff at Arkham. He's a cocktail of issues, but the bizarre relationship he has with you seems so out of left field. They all know not to question it, though. He broke an orderly's arms when he jokingly asked if he should put you down as a family or conjugal visit. Regardless, you're useful, in the right doses. Pictures and scented items can prevent unnecessary bouts of agitation. And the promise of visits with you motivate him to cooperate in treatment. There are inevitable outbursts whenever he thinks you're due for your heat. How accurate that is depends on the meds he's on, and whether Dr. Adams allows him access to a calendar. He gets very upset at the thought of you alone, but violent at the notion you might not be. An intern came up with the idea of setting up a daily video call. They're still working out the kinks (pun intended), as it would require someone lucid enough to set up a camera, and you haven't been too receptive to their requests in the past. You should reconsider. There's growing support for the alternative option, and Dr. Cavendish has a stack of signed Temporary Detention Orders on his desk for difficult cases like yourself.
He would exclusively use the servant's entrance to the house. Not only does it give him privacy in his comings and goings, but it gives him easy access to you. He loves to corner you in the dark, isolated parts of the property. He loves it more if you struggle; he gets an excuse to manhandle you, and you have to rush to your next task all disheveled and flustered.
I keep thinking about the point Jason argues, mentioning taking omega reader off their suppressants. What was Bruce's reason for that? And more importantly: does he take heat suppressants? I don't imagine Gotham would do too well with Batman cyclically out of commission.
Genuinely, I think Bruce is a selfish little rat who wants to see you willingly moan and writhe in his nest. He never admits it, though; I don’t think even he realizes that he feels this way either. He justifies it by claiming that there’s no reason for you to take it anymore; they can deal with your heats just fine in the house. I imagine it probably suppresses your instincts on some level, too, and Bruce selfishly doesn’t want that either. If you're more in tune with your instincts, the easier it is to use the boys' alpha commands against you and make you weak in the pack. He wants you to be in your natural, vulnerable state and dependent on the pack so you can't leave even if you wanted to.
All I can think about is the boys commanding you to stay in the house, stay in Bruce's nest, come scent them, etc. They are absolutely abusing their powers, except maybe Jason...he'll use it on occasion when he thinks your safety is at risk, but he really tries not to be selfish with it.
And no. In typical, hypocritical Bruce style, he does not take suppressants.
gilded age dick who flips your skirt up to eat you out when you bend over…or purposely spills water on you to make your clothes stick to your figure
He would send you out to post an "urgent" telegram right as it's about to rain. He practically shoves you out the door, no coat or umbrella, so you'll be good and soaked by the time you're back. He'll be waiting for you by the servant's entrance, with warm towels and an apologetic look on his face. He won't make eye contact, but that has less to do with remorse, and far more with the way your sopping clothes cling to each contour of your body.
"Take those things off before you catch your death." The order comes out breathless.
You better pray someone sensible is in earshot. He can be rather forceful with the things he wants, and he loves playing hero. If your "rescue" demands stripping you bare to help you warm up, there's little argument from you that will stop him.
Heaven forbid you get sick as a result of his "errand". Dick will demand you spend your recovery upstairs. Come, stay in his room, near the fireplace. You only got sick on his accord. It wouldn't do to let you try to recover in that closet you call a room. Just let him bury you in blankets and hand-feed you soup.
You learn quickly not to get too engrossed in your tasks. You had been wiping down crystal coupe glasses for a dinner party that night, when the young man snuck up behind you, blowing on the back of your neck. You startled, sending half a dozen glasses to their doom. Thankfully, Alfred came to your defense, even tasking the young man with the cleanup, "since you have time to be making mischief downstairs." Unfortunately, that just meant he had more time in the same room, now sanctioned by the butler.
He'd make you taste his coffee every morning, to see if it's too hot. If you take your sip from the opposite side, he'll make a point of turning it to drink from where your lips touched.
He can't quite get you to sit down with him for tea, but he'll strong-arm you into sharing many a treat. It'll start with an orange at Christmas, "in the spirit of giving". Then, he'll start having you help him finish his port after dinner. You won't be able to evade him, when a business partner sends chocolates from Zanzibar. (A month into your employment, you will have sampled every alleged aphrodisiac discovered by man.)
It's only a matter of time before you're inexplicably being tasked with helping him bathe. You can't refuse, so you simply prepare the bath, hoping he'll finally live up to that salt-of-the-earth self-sufficiency the circus allegedly imparted on him. You rush away as soon as he's in the bath, but he calls you right back because it's too cold. He pulls your hand down into the water to feel how "chilly" it is, but all you feel are your fingers being pressed to his abs in the warm water. You pull your hand away before he can bring it any lower, but you still aren't allowed to leave. He needs someone to help him get that spot on his back. And wash his hair! And while you're back there, won't you rub his shoulders? He's been so tense lately. Once you're finally done, he'll crack some nauseating joke about having to return the favor sometime.
He's not likely to try anything serious in the manor. There's too much risk of interruption. He'd much rather take you somewhere where he has you all to himself.
I have a vision of Dick dragging his valet out on the town with him. You rarely get time off, and he wants you to experience how the rich boys play. The night is a blur of drinks, and beautiful women, and boxing matches and more drinks. It all ends with you stumbling behind a significantly more sober Dick. Your final stop is a hotel, to sleep it off. If he brought you back home like this, Alfred might have you sacked. So he'll just get a cheap room to share, and take good care of you till morning.
He'd have a lot more difficulty getting a maid alone. I think he'd wait for a long trip, and then fire his valet right before he's set to leave. He can't travel unattended, but the manor can't spare Alfred, and there's not enough time to find a replacement. So, you're sent along with him. Bruce assures you that every measure would be taken to ensure your good name is not touched by these circumstances. You foolishly believe him, when you are handed a train ticket marked for coach seating. You make it comfortably to Central City, but oh no! Dick forgot to reserve an extra room at the hotel in all the fuss! The place is completely booked, and you don't know anyone in the area to call upon. Besides, it wouldn't do for you to split. You have a job to do. You'll just have to share a room, and pray no talk follows you back to Gotham.
More Gilded Age au! I swear I am working on my WIP's. This just possessed me and I needed to hash it out.
Dick strikes me as the type to fall for one of the house servants. He can woo society folk with his hands tied, (and if we're being honest, that'd only make him more enticing) but he struggles to really connect with his upper-crust peers. While he's not contending with the boundaries of blood that rule the European nobility, there's the inescapable fact that all these people come from some money. Don't get him wrong; he's proud of where he came from. To him, there's no house nobler than Haly's Circus. There's no parentage more deserving of pride than his. It just gets lonely, at those fancy dinners, those galas, those gentleman's clubs. He's surrounded by people who couldn't launder their own shirts if they had to.
You feel so much more grounded, more familiar, in that way. It's funny, seeing as you're quite new in the household. After the havoc last winter wrought on his joints, Alfred finally conceded to getting some extra help. You came at the high recommendation from the housekeeper at the Elliot estate. You lived up to it. You kept the house in good order, and with a refreshingly light spirit. Your transition from new hire to beloved fixture in the home was quick and seamless. Even Bruce took a shine to you, given the weight you took off dear Alfred's shoulders.
It's only natural you wormed your way into Dick's heart as well. While you were familiar with rich patrons and their idiosyncrasies, mister Grayson shocked you with his habits. On your first day, Alfred had been giving you a tour when the young man came downstairs to greet you. He made a point to shake your hand as he welcomed you. The meeting was blessedly short, as the butler quickly shooed him away.
His fondness was quite apparent. You found yourself frequently called upon by him to bring coffee, or revive a dying fire, or organize papers, or remedy some other small issue he'd normally pride himself on taking care of. He liked to make conversation with you while you worked, even following you from room to room when he was able. He spoke more plainly than your previous employers. You had first assumed he was talking down to you, but not so. A couple weeks into your new posting, you'd been called from your bed to fetch some ice. Dick had returned home, sporting some vibrant bruises along the side of his face. Alfred didn't bat an eye at it, simply instructing you to hold a compress while he prepared some medicine. Once properly dosed, the man began to sink into the couch, exhausted. You made to leave, but he caught your hand.
"Stay."
It was a childish request, but you weren't going to say that to your employer's ward. You sat on the stool beside him. He tried to strike up conversation, as if it was normal. He asked for a story from your home. You told a short one. You never asked about where he was from, but that night, he regaled you anyway. He told you about the circus, growing up on the road, and the tragedy that brought him to the manor.
"I guess I missed getting my hands dirty," he chuckled, and your eyes instinctively fell to his bloodied knuckles. There was a rather broad line between campfire cooking and brawling, you thought. You held your tongue, though.
You had had expected, well, hoped, that he would wake up the next morning, mortified, and never mention your conversation. As if you would be so lucky.
He'd gotten much worse. Mistaking your polite deference for interest, Dick threw all remaining propriety to the wind. He regularly interrupted your work now, pulling you away from your tasks to drag you into a conversation or gathering you had no business being in. The family more-or-less encouraged it, happily bringing you into the fold, as if you were a beloved guest rather than staff. He'd gotten more physical, too. Small elements on your person now fascinated him: a stray lock of hair, the shiny buttons on your uniform. He couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch them. He guided you around the house — a house you knew quite well by now — with an arm slung around your person. And there was the most egregious incident.
Master Wayne was hosting a rather large dinner. It was a hot summer night, and you were made hotter with exertion. You had been ferrying chilled bottles of Muscadet to the dining room when he caught you. He pulled you into a broom closet. It was stuffy and dark, and you could feel the heat seeping through his suit. He pulled you flush with him, speaking into your face rather than at it.
"Don't go. Don't leave me all alone in there."
"I'm needed in the kitchen," was all you could manage, before tearing out of the hellish embrace.
You knew your days on the Wayne estate were numbered. Dick's clear affection could only amount in a scandal. You'd never find work again, if you let it go that far. You had a good friend who knew the Stagg's cook quite well. She put in a good word for you, and assured you that they were most understanding of your situation. Young masters were hardly a new issue for house staff and their reputations.
You gave proper notice to Alfred. It felt terrible, letting him down. His hoarse gentlemanly question, "And you're certain there's nothing I can do to change your mind?" made it all the worse. You tried to assure him that it wasn't anything he'd done. But the unspoken question of why was left hanging in the air. You couldn't explain; not without badmouthing a member of the family that, for the next two weeks, you were still serving.
"I hope you understand, I'll have to inform master Bruce." The childish moniker gave you no amusement in that moment. You simply nodded, and got back to work, trying not to dread the inevitable spread of the news.
Tim would hack your advisor and swamp your schedule with all the worst instructors at terrible times. You'll be hauling ass back and forth across campus to non-stop lectures you can't understand, and all their office hours are at times you have other classes. You have late night labs on Fridays, so you never have the time or energy for parties, and rarely can make it home for the weekend. You took a huge cut to your hours to accommodate all the class times and homework. It sucks, passing up the weekend beach trip because of tight funds. It sucks more having to skip groceries. You're lonelier than you've ever been, sacrificing quality time to study, only scraping by despite your efforts.
You're lucky to have Tim. He seems to have a similarly awful time management situation: long workdays at WE, impromptu work trips, late-night research, calls across time zones, ect. ect. You two seem to always have the same odd hours free; a small mercy from whatever malignant force gave you this god-awful course list. It's nice having someone to hang out with consistently, no matter how brief.
Tim has been pushing the idea of a gap year lately. You initially found it ridiculous, but as the semester dragged on, it became more tempting. His mentor is happy to offer you a room, and Tim would put in a good word for an internship, if you wanted to pad out your resume. It may be the best plan. You aren't sure you're cut out for another year of this, not without a break, at least.
Heyy, I'm the anon that requested the pirate Jason and omg you cooked so good, ty!!
Thank you for putting pirate captain Todd in my brain! It's such a fun idea. Yall spoil me 🩷
Those ex-robin skills would translate horrifically well on a ship. Like it's bad enough how big and strong he is, but then he can just leap and climb up into the rafters like a fucking panther 😱 Not to mention throwing blades with pinpoint accuracy. And all the detective work! He can decode maps and shipping manifests, anticipate Navy traps and other pirate's ambushes, and sniff out hidden compartments and stowaways better than an actual animal. If I was a sailor, I'd probably think he was the devil.
Imagine seeing that as his imprisoned rescued castaway. If you managed to get on deck during an attack, you'd witness him tossing grown men off the deck like broken dolls. He'd haul himself skyward up the mast, and rain down lead and steel like an angry god. And you have nowhere to run. He'll let you walk back to his quarters, if you don't put up a fight. You won't be allowed back out for a while, but that's really the worst of it. If you panic, and try to resist? You'll spend the forseeable future in that cot in chains.
Maybe you don't know Bruce's nightly habit. He always cleans you up before you wake. It isn't until he's gone a few nights that you notice something missing. You keep waking up antsy, pent up and irritable. You think it's some kind of withdrawal.
You confront him on his return. He wants to resume your nightly routine, but you're putting up a fight. You know that isn't a normal sleep drug; the effects are all over the place. He demands to know what effects you're talking about. All the worry melts off his face as you describe your "symptoms". He'll fix this. All you have to do is lie back, and let him show you what you're missing.
ooooh my god. yeah I think that's probably how that would go. It's hard for him not to chuckle as he watches your face change from confused as he slides between your legs, to scared as he suckles on your clit, to horrified as you bask in the afterglow and realize all those nasty feelings are all gone. he probably establishes some kind of schedule for orgasms after that, reminding you of how cranky you got last time your needs were neglected every time you complain.
But tbh, i actually don't see him being secretive about it. he wants you to know he's taking the time to care for you even when he's tired and beaten after patrol. he also wants you to know that you don't have a choice in the matter. he thinks the routine submission of opening your mouth and letting him put the pill in it is good for you. it forces you to trust him, and you can't deny that you always wake up feeling a little lighter after his nightly visits.
How would omega dad Bruce contend with you wanting an alpha during your heat? Like he's holding you, trying to comfort you and give you what you need, but you're begging for a knot he can't give you. You want to be bitten and claimed; can he bring himself to sink his teeth into you?
I’d like to think that omegas CAN claim each other, but you have to refresh the bites during every heat because they’re not as potent of a bond…Poor Bruce tries, he really does. He is NOT a fan of the idea of sharing you with an alpha, especially during your heat. Again, with his self-flagellating guilt, Bruce finds it necessary to suffer as a means of earning your love. He charged himself with the duty of your care and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t see it through.
At first, he tries with an inflating knot strap. The fullness gets your wailing down to pitiful whimpers and clutching him closer him than you would normally allow. It’s a small mercy, but it’s not nearly enough to satiate you. Bruce is lacking an alpha’s scent, so he has the boys scent a blanket to wrap you in the next time you’re begging for a knot. Better for sure, but still not good enough.
Your stressed and desperate pheromones are seeping into every corner of the manor, putting your brothers on edge. Jason is the only one willing to stand toe-to-toe with Bruce over you, demanding that he let one of them in to actually help you. It’s a cruel, sick joke to force you off your heat suppressants and deny you any of the four alphas who are more than willing to knot you properly. Bruce hates to admit that Jason is right, but it's not that simple to him. He tries having them sit in on him faux-knotting you, hoping their presence and scents would be enough to soothe you. As he suspected, it was not that simple. Four alpha egos being kept in check was no easy task, and unfortunately, your begging for even a small touch made it even worse. Needless to say, your dad was out of options.
If Bruce recruited one of his sons, he would most certainly have Dick lined up as his first choice. Naturally, you get a say, too, but conversations with you about your heat outside of it were turned down by you at every available opportunity. He can trust Dick to have enough self-control to put your needs first and keep the mood light while sharing you with Bruce. Jason would be the second runner-up, but it's not a close race. It's not that he doesn't trust that Jason would treat you right; it's that he cannot trust Jason to follow his orders. Damian is too inexperienced and too possessive for his own good. And Tim is just too much of a repressed pervert about you that he cannot be trusted to put your needs first when presented with the opportunity. Bruce trusts Dick enough to be somewhat hands-off, content to hold you close and scent you while Dick preps you and knots you in the nest. He even lets Dick take the reins for your pleasure if he can prove himself worthy of seeing you through to completion. Claiming could potentially be on the table for Dick, but Bruce isn't so desperate that he'd be willing to have anyone else force claim you. His bites will do just fine, especially when you mewl and melt so sweetly for him once you finally have the knot you've been craving.
If Bruce recruits someone outside of the family, it absolutely is either Clark or Diana. Clark would treat you like a scared, cornered animal and let you have some time to adjust to him when he introduces himself.
"Hi, honey, I'm Clark. I'm going to help you, okay? Your dad trusts me to take good care of you."
He holds his hand out for you to take, letting you pull him into the nest on your own time. Clark is quick to nuzzle up next to you, nestling you right next to Bruce.
"Such a sweet thing, aren't you, honey? Prettiest omega I've ever seen, that's for sure. Are you nice and wet for me? Of course you are."
Bruce is definitely more hands-on in this situation, making sure it's his hands that are getting you off and not Clark's. He'll tell Clark to button it up if he's too heavy-handed with the praise, making sure your attention stays on him. Bruce would treat Clark almost like a toy, not allowing him to get too close to you and reminding him he's only there to knot you, not claim you. All the sweetness and intimacy of your orgasms would be directed at him, making you cling to him instead of Clark. As soon as his knot is deflated, he sends Clark on his way and warns him to not think about you if he knows what's good for him.
What about taking seasoned journalist Clark Kent as your sugar daddy? He's not the obvious choice, given his simple tastes and limited salary, but he's got enough to keep you satisfied, and you don't exactly mind putting out for him. Plus, there's all sorts of fun perks. He gets invited to all these big, glitzy events, and you love being his plus one. You do sometimes wish he wrote for the travel column. You've been wanting a vacation. You don't want to push your luck and ask him. He's not exactly making "all expenses paid in the Bahamas" money, and he's been trying to rope you into a trip to his Kansas hometown for a while now.
You felt kinda bad playing him like this. Not too bad; you'd always made it clear that this was a transactional relationship. He may like to play the doting boyfriend, but that was simply part of the service he was paying for. So you weren't too out of line when you went searching for a side gig. You had put out a post on one of your old sites, looking for a short-term arrangement to get you your tropical paradise fix. Within a day, you had a man offering to fly you out to meet him on the Caribbean. You'd been skeptical about the offer, but you figured it was worth a shot. Clark had been on his own trip, so you simply told him you were taking a short vacation. It didn't feel real until you were taking off in a private jet.
Bruce was a complete gentlemen. He met you on the tarmac, and lucky you, another handsome one. Your luggage was whisked away, and you were grateful you had the foresight to freshen up before landing, as you were pulled into an immediate tour of the resort you'd be enjoying.
"The staff knows who you are, so if you need something and I'm away, just ask." You were a little star-struck by it all.
"You must be starving. Come on, we're meeting a friend for lunch."
You were led not to a restaurant, but a beachside cabana. Inside waiting for you was a beautiful grazing table, a well-stocked bar cart, and Bruce's friend, and your paramour, Clark Kent. You didn't try to explain yourself. You could almost applaud Clark for playing it this cool, but you were too distracted by how... unsurprised he seemed. And the fact Bruce didn't bat an eye when Clark greeted you with a kiss.
