Pa Clark would def finger u so u can fall asleep 😕
Pa Clark would absolutely finger you to sleep...Once he's tucked you in next to him for the night, he would slip his hands into your panties and shush you when you started to fidget.
"Stop all that fussing," He mutters against your forehead, placing a kiss there. "You just relax and fall asleep."
He'd pet over your clit and hum softly, kneading his thumb against your clit until you moan sweetly for him. He'll shush you again, making quick work to get you over the edge. He used to curl his fingers inside you until you cried, saying it was too much before bed. As much as he loved taking his time taking you apart, this was a simple necessity for him. You needed this.
Once he makes you fall apart on his thumb, he tucks you into his chest and the crook of his neck so the both of you can drift off. When you start shifting in the middle of the night, tossing and turning anxiously when you think he's finally asleep, he'll pet a hand over your head that stops you in your tracks.
"Sorry," you whisper, settling immediately. "Just woke up, that's all."
Clark's hand slipped into your panties again and stroked two fingers over your folds.
"I told you that it wasn't enough, but you didn't want to listen." He sighs, slipping a finger inside of you. "You need to be tuckered out if you want a good night's sleep, honey. Pa's gonna make sure you get it."
This was originally meant to be a 300-400 word drabble but it ended up being, uh, no that lmao. I've been feeling really down recently and so I've been doing a lot of work on this one. The yandere stuff only comes in near the bottom
The author does not condone any of the toxic acts shown, this is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only.
--------------------------------
“Hey…” you said, your voice was quiet, with a bit of a voice crack. You couldn’t believe you were asking Superman of all people for something so embarrassing. While out getting pictures of Superman yesterday you had gotten flung into a dumpster by a giant robot that Lex had made, and given that you lived alone and didn’t exactly have a flock to call your own, you couldn’t quite get your wings entirely cleaned on your own.
“What’s up?” Superman said, turning to look at you. His eyes were so soft and caring it almost made you forget how frankly terrifying it was to ask what you were about to.
“It’s uh–” One of your wings twitched slightly, a nervous habit, “It’s embarrassing,” you blurted out, which yeah certainly helped with making this even more embarrassing than it already was.
Superman chuckled, “Well it can’t be more embarrassing than some of the pictures you’ve taken of me.”
“Well, maybe, but…” You hesitated for a moment, but it was already way too late to say never mind and walk away without Superman getting even more concerned. You really should’ve brought this up with Clark, but too late for that, “Could you… uh, help me preen my wings?”
Superman stared at you for a minute, shit shit shit, you really should’ve asked Clark.
“Sorry, you’re really the only other meta I know around here, and I was having trouble after being flung into that tree, and I’m sure you have more important things to do and–”
Superman put a hand on your shoulder, “I’d be honored to,” He said, smiling.
Oh thank god.
“Thank you so much,” You said after a moment, you hadn’t realized how tense you had been feeling. You rummaged around in your camera bag for a moment, and pulled out a slip of paper, “This is my apartment, I have a balcony, if that’s, um, easier for you, I gotta go do work now, so uh, see you then?”
Superman smiled at you, “Sounds great,” He replied.
----------------------------
That night you had left your balcony door unlocked and were sitting inside your nest, waiting for Superman to show up. You were stressed, worrying about whether or not he’d actually show, or if you had somehow made a fool of yourself in front of the literal actual man of steel. What you had not been expecting was to hear your door bell go off, you hadn’t been expecting anyone else tonight, and really hoped Superman didn’t actually go to your front door, you really didn’t need your neighbors to ask questions.
You got up and walked over to your door and looked through the peephole. Clark? Last you checked you hadn’t given your address to him, so that was a bit concerning. You pulled open the door regardless, Clark was your co-worker, and as overbearing as he could be you still didn’t have a good reason to distrust him.
“Clark? What are you doing here?” You asked, crossing your arms and leaning against the door frame.
“You uh, said you needed help with your wings?” He said, rubbing the back of his neck.
You just stared at him for a minute, “What?”
Clark’s looked around for a moment, before leaning in closer to you, “Well, you didn’t ask me, but– when I was out you went to Superman and–”
“He told you?”
“Well, no, but can we discuss this inside?” Clark asked.
“Uh, sure?” You replied, stepping aside. You were concerned to say the very least, but fuck it, why not, you knew Clark and Superman had some kind of relationship considering the amount of interviews Clark had gotten with him.
“I’m Superman,” Clark said, the minute you closed the door behind him.
“You– WHAT!?” You hadn’t meant to yell, but it was warranted considering what Clark had just said. “You’re shitting me,” you said, crossing your arms. You were in utter disbelief.
Clark floated up a bit, “I’m not, see!”
You just stared at him, “Hold on, wait– I could’ve just gone to you– er– uh, Clark Kent from the start?” You said, “Oh my god.”
“Can we talk about this later?” Clark asked, “You still need help with your wings, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” You replied.
----------------------------
You had led Clark (Superman? Kal-El? You weren’t entirely sure what to call him at this point) to your nest and explained the basics of how to preen your wings to him, and let him go at it. Aside from a few flinches on your end here and there the process was surprisingly smooth, Clark seemed to know what he was doing, it’s entirely possible that he had done this before, you knew of a few winged Justice League members so it wasn’t out of the question.
As the process went on you found yourself getting drowsier and drowsier. This was a typical response, albeit one you don’t experience all too often on account of not exactly having a flock to rely on for this. Clark was talking about something or other and you weren’t exactly paying attention. You caught a few words here and there, “Mine”, “Cute” and “kiddo” being the most common, and you were sure you kept hearing him talk about how pretty your wings were.
“You really don’t have a flock?” He said at one point. Your wings had long since been preened to perfection, but Clark couldn’t help but run his hands over the feathers.
“Not really,” You muttered, trying not to fall asleep.
“I could be your flock,” he said, he pulled his arms under your wings and wrapped them around you, pulling you back towards him, “I’m all you would need.”
“Wha…?” you said, hardly processing his words.
“There’s surprisingly few metas in this city,” He said, “We need to stick together, your friends could never really compare to a real flock.”
“I dunno,” You replied, this was getting uncomfortable. You tried to pull away, but his arms were like rocks around you.
“You need a family, don’t you? I could be that, please?”
“Clark, you’re scaring me, I’m fine, really.” You had begun to wake up a bit more, and the way Clark was speaking was more than a little concerning.
“I’m sorry, but no. you’re not,” He said, squeezing a bit tighter, “I know what’s best for you, you can’t keep risking yourself like you have been, you’re lucky your wings only got dirty, if you hadn’t been so lucky you could’ve seriously hurt yourself.”
“Clark,” you said, trying to squirm out of his grip to no avail, “I’m fine, it won’t happen again, just please–”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want it to come to this, but I can’t risk you hurting yourself again,” Clark said. You felt a prick on the side of your neck and it all went black.
-------------------------------------------
Tw: Yandere themes, talk of dubcon and babytrapping, and kidnapping. MDNI
Yandere!Superman who hides you away on a small, cozy farm in Smallville. Completely safe and tucked away from danger.
You're a pampered princess. Completely spoiled by him, whether or not you want it. Just say the word and he'll get it for you.
Anything except your freedom.
Do you want a dog? Well, he loves dogs! Oh, you actually want goats? You can sell the milk at the Smallville farmers’ market with Ma and Pa. Only after you're fully settled down, though.
And don't worry about his work at the Daily Planet. The flight from Kansas to Metropolis is nothing to him. Not when he can break the sound barrier with how fast he flies.
You woke up on the first day with a big fat ring on your finger, forged marriage documents, and an obsessed husband. Congratulations, you're officially Mrs. Kent!
Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time for a wedding, but if you want one, he'll gladly give you one! Small or large, he doesn't care as long as you're happy. What the Mrs wants, the Mrs gets. Happy wife, happy life. He'd also never deny the chance of watching you walk down the aisle with his pa.
For the first week, he lets you have your ‘space’. It's only a facade to lull you into comfort, though. He's able to watch you through the walls and hear everything you do. He also lets you scream, cry, kick, and do anything (within reason), citing that he'd never stop you from trying to cope with your new life.
That's what sucks about him. He's pushy, clingy, and definitely obsessed, but he's smart about it. He lulls you into a sense of comfort and then worms his way into your heart. There's a reason he spent weeks learning about human behavior and the mind. You will love him. Eventually. Whether you want to or not.
Clark is a being who thrives on love and affection. He needs it as he needs the sun. So while he gives you ‘space’ those first few weeks, once the one-month marker hits, all bets are off. He is only a man, after all. A horrible, selfish man.
He manhandles you. All the time. He also needs at least two hours of uninterrupted cuddle time with you each day. There’s no escape from it either. His strength makes it impossible. You might as well just accept your fate and let him engulf you in his embrace.
Clark, at least this version of Clark, would never force you to have sex with him. Now that doesn't mean he won't gently coerce you into his bed, and boy does he ruin you; he's completely pussywhipped. You're going to regret ever saying yes because the moment you do, his advances won't ever stop. You'll be woken up with his tongue lapping at your cunt while he humps the bed.
He definitely fucks you in the fields and the barn and in the hay, literally everywhere. And don't even think about asking for a condom or birth control. He's determined to knock you up. You barefoot and waddling around the house, your stomach plump with his baby inside you. Just the thought of it alone has him cumming. Inside, of course.
Once you're moderately settled down and he knows you won't try to run, not that you could, he'll let you outside and tend to the farm with him. He'll even let you meet his parents, who have been dying to meet you.
He won't ever let you do the dirty or heavy work. You're his pretty little housewife. Picking and throwing hay bales around is not what you should be doing. What you should be doing is sitting back and relaxing while watching as he does all the work for you while sweaty and shirtless.
If you do ever try to run, though, he doesn’t get mad; he's just amused. He'll hover above you just high enough that you won't notice him, and he'll just watch as you try to escape, and once you use up all your energy, he'll swoop down and take you back home. There's no need to punish you, not when escaping from him is literally impossible.
This might suck. I don't know, hopefully it makes sense and isn't all over the place. I hope you enjoy <3
TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Omegaverse, Alpha!Reader, Rampant Pseudo-Incest, Familial Neglect, Nonconsensual Touching, Bitching, Knotting, Controlling Behavior, Slight Dehumanization, and Choking. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
Wayne family meals were sparsely attended events.
Not for lack of trying. Alfred kept a strict schedule, unyielding to the scattered lives of your eclectic siblings. Breakfast at 7:00 AM, dinner at 8:00 PM, and lunch left out for the scavengers some time in between. Who would actually show up was anyone’s guess. Dick was fairly consistent, Cassandra a close second, Stephanie a distant third. Tim would attend religiously for three or four before disappearing off the face of the planet for six months, and even when Damian was at the table, he had his nose in a book. The only constant was Bruce, of course, stern and statuesque at the head of the table. The dominant alpha, eager to lord over his pack. He’d never missed a meal.
Neither had you, for the record. But who’s really keeping track?
This morning, the table was fuller than you’d come to expect. Dick and Tim bickered on Bruce’s right and left respectively. Cassandra sat a couple seats down from Tim, watching the fight in her unblinking, owlish way. You were on Dick’s side of the table, but like her, you’d left a gap between yourself and the worst of the noise. With so many alphas crammed into one estate, minor spats were common. Tension always seemed to be thick in the air, whether from territoriality or resource anxiety or the bitter, curdling tang of a pre-rut haze. None of it made any sense, obviously. The manor was big enough to wander for hours at a time, Bruce Wayne was closer to owning every square foot of Gotham than he was to ever going broke, and there were plenty of places for your siblings to spend their rut cycles that weren’t the manor. Not that any of them seemed to realize that.
You clenched your teeth, fighting the urge to swear. It was that kind of thinking — petty, avoidant, conflict-adverse — that had led to this, that had kept you as distant from the Waynes now as you had been when Bruce first adopted you. It was awful, really. Even in a family of black sheep, you were still somehow an out—
“(Y/n).”
The sound of your own name barked in Bruce’s low monotone dragged you from your spiraling thoughts. Right. The second part of this daily ritual. At breakfast, Bruce would go around the table, asking for updates on his wards’ lives with all the love and all the care of an army general demanding status reports from his ground troops. You must’ve missed Dick’s turn. That was probably for the best. You didn’t need his latest modeling gig or shiny new girlfriend distracting you during what came next.
“…I got accepted into the program I applied for,” you explained into your lap. “For my post-grad. It starts in fall.”
Dick laughed and patted you hard too-hard on the back. You had to catch yourself on the edge of the table. “Good job, kid. I remember— you mentioned that a couple months ago, right?”
You hadn’t, but you nodded anyway. Bruce hummed.
“Congratulations. Gotham University—”
“It’s not in Gotham,” you said, too hastily. That might’ve been the first time you’d ever interrupted Bruce. “I… I thought it might be nice to try something a little farther from home. You know how it is.”
Bruce, for what it was worth, did not know. He loathed Dick’s apartment in Bludhaven, hated the winters Damian spent with his mother. You’d hoped that staying at home during your undergrad years might endear you to him. In reality, he’d continued to treat you with the same frigid apathy and what embers of a social life you might’ve had in the city proper had been smothered by the distance. It didn’t help that Jason — the only other person who didn’t seem to intrinsically belong in Bruce’s pack, the only person who spared you a second glance at all — had bolted the minute he turned eighteen. For the past four years, you’d been a ghost haunting a house that wasn’t your home. For the past four years, you’d been huddled in the corner of the pack’s den, left to shiver while the rest of your family huddled for warmth.
This time, when Bruce spoke, you were giddy to cut him off.
“Metropolis is a long commute, but I’m sure you’ll—”
“It’s Gateway, actually. In California.” Finally, the glaze over his grey eyes fell away and you knew that you had his full attention. You had to bite your cheek to keep from smiling. “I leave next month.”
You could feel Bruce’s gaze burning into you. Dick’s, too. You’d never been happier. “Oh. Housing might be difficult to arrange on such short notice.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. There’s this grant, and—” And you were the legal ward of the man with the fattest trust funds on the east coast. This felt too obvious to warrant mentioning aloud and so you broke off into a breath of a laugh. “It’s all taken care of. Even the flight.”
First class on a luxury airline. With no return trip in sight, of course.
A wrinkle formed at the corner of Bruce’s lips. Not quite a frown, but not quite his usual icy stoicism, either. “I’m sure you can understand why this would feel rather sudden.”
You made a show of nodding, simpering. “I know, but—” You paused, shrugged. “I figured it was about time for me to spread my wings. That’s what alphas are supposed to do, right? Especially ones without a pack.”
Something flashed across his expression. Your lack of claim was a sore spot. The rest of your siblings had gotten their pack mark — a ring of Bruce’s teeth dug into the underside of their wrists — as soon as they turned eighteen. But here you were, four years into adulthood with no scars to show for it.
But if Bruce was ever going to care, the announcement of your upcoming departure would have been an odd time to start. The phantom of emotion passed — there and gone within the second. Wordlessly, he nodded to Tim, silently signaling that your conversation had come to an end.
You took no small amount of satisfaction in the fact that, even as Tim began to prattle on about his newest business venture, Bruce’s eyes remained on you.
~
In your worst moments, you believed that Bruce gave you such a terrible bedroom on purpose.
You’d been ecstatic the first time you opened the door. Young, hungry, and freshly orphaned, you hadn’t stood a chance against the manor’s silk sheets and wrought-iron terraces and huge crystal-clear windows. You’d spent weeks luxuriating in the extravagance of it all, mistaking Bruce’s wealth for paternal affection. Two months passed before you realized the flaw in the design. You had to walk down four hallways, down three flights of stairs, and past two much more interesting turn-offs to reach your bedroom. No one had a reason to wander so far, not unless they were looking for you. And, of course, no one would ever think to look for you.
You were used to the isolation. You’d come to expect it. Which might’ve been why it was so distressing to wake up smothered in Dick’s heady scent.
Mint and pine and arctic chill — like a bad flavor of gum. You recognized it automatically, but it took you another long moment to process the dead weight crushing you from above, the jagged pressure of his arm wrapped too tightly around your waist. Your eyes flashed open to find his body draped over yours, his head buried in the crook of your neck. Your dormant instincts flared to life, screaming for space, for security, for dominance. You shoved him away and retreated to the far side of the mattress, wrapping the comforter around yourself. Dick groaned, rolling onto his back and shooting you a lazy smile through his curtain of dark hair.
“Morning, little wing,” he chirped, voice deep and raspy with sleep. How long had he spent on top of you? “Gotta say, there are nicer ways to wake a guy up.”
His tone was light, playful. You weren’t so carefree.
“Why are you in my room?”
“A man can’t spend a little quality time with his favorite sister?”
You shook your head. He let out a breath of a laugh.
“Just come a little closer, alright?”
You hesitated, but Dick didn’t waver. More problematically, he’d positioned himself between you and the door so, short of jumping off your balcony, there wasn’t a way to escape without going through him. You shuffled closer, keeping the comforter wrapped around yourself, but if Dick noticed your aversion, he didn’t take the hint. As soon as you were within arm’s reach, he lashed out — catching you by the midriff and hauling you into his lap. He forced your head against his chest, pressing your ear to the muscle over his heart. You recognized the gesture. It was the same way someone might’ve soothed an agitated pup, a distressed omega.
You squirmed on reflex, but Dick was so, so strong. Yet another thing the rest of your family seemed to have in common.
“I really am proud of you,” he muttered. “You’ve always been so passionate about— uh—”
“Art history,” you filled in. There was only so long you could spend alone in Bruce’s mansion, tucked away among so many dust-covered priceless treasures, before you took an interest in other forgotten novelties.
“Right. Art history.” He moved on quickly. “But it got me thinking. It feels like we haven’t been paying enough attention to you.”
Your traitorous heart soared. You did your best to stamp it back down. “It’s a little late—
“Better late than never, right?” You tried to draw back, but his fingers rooted in your hair, keeping you in place. “We never really got a chance to bond. I know you’re leaving in a few weeks but—” He paused, chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you purr.”
Purr? He had to be joking. Alphas didn’t purr. Even betas had trouble doing it on command. You laughed, but Dick only drew you in closer.
“Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”
You tried not to sound as confused as you felt. “I… I can’t do that. Like, physically.”
“Give it a try. It’s not like we don’t have time.”
Whatever. This was embarrassing, but Dick’s attention span was short and he was right — you had nothing but time, here. He’d get bored eventually, slink off and forget this brief break from the status quo. He would leave you alone, and this time, you would remember to be grateful for the cold shoulder.
You let a minute slip by. Dick didn’t move.
Another. He began to hum, leading by example.
By the time you reached five — his heartbeat counting out the seconds like a metronome — you were uncomfortable, sweating, and desperate to get away. Your vision blurred. You missed Jason. Your skull felt too thick. His scent had poured into you, leaving the taste of mint nauseatingly thick on your tongue. Anything would be better than this. Even utter humiliation.
It was a terrible, creaking sound — starting at the base of your throat and leaking out through your pursed lips. You would barely call it a whine, let alone a rumble, let alone a purr. Still, Dick laughed and let go of you, dragging his hand through his disheveled hair. “I don’t know why we never noticed how cute you are,” he said, finally, finally getting up and moving towards the door. “See you at breakfast, little wing.”
Once he was gone, you stewed in your embarrassment for another minute or so before deciding to treat this like what it was: a fluke. An exception. Some form of hazing administered too late to have its desired effect — whatever that effect was supposed to be. Face still warm to the touch, you dragged yourself out of bed, got dressed, and slinked out of your bedroom, determined never to think about Dick’s sudden outpouring of brotherly affection again.
Your self-inflicted amnesia might’ve lasted, too, had the first thing you’d seen upon stepping into the dining room not been Dick’s smile as he whispered into Bruce’s ear.
~
It quickly became very, very difficult to remember why you’d ever hated being ignored.
Dick was the worst by far. Suddenly, he had nothing better to do than trail after you through the mansion, asking constantly what you wanted to do with your big brother that day— like you were ten rather than twenty-two. Tim was just as much of a menace, albeit not half as clingy. He always seemed to be just outside of your peripheral, only as close as he needed to be to steal away your half-finished drinks. Stephanie suddenly wanted to take you shopping, insisting that she pay despite your reminders that both of your credit cards were linked to the same account. More than once, Cassandra sat too close to you at dinner, nearly in your lap.
Even Damian — young, stoic, frigid Damian — once made the trek to your bedroom to ask for one of your blankets in the middle of the night. You were too confused to think to refuse, but as you handed off a spare quilt, you managed to ask him why he’d want yours. Another alpha’s. He only pursed his lips, shaking his head.
“I don’t know,” he said, glaring at the floor. “You’ve smelled different, recently. Sweeter.”
Through it all, Bruce never said a word to you.
To make it worse, all the attention made you sick. Literally, physically sick. Your head felt light, your body hot. You had no appetite but ate like a starving animal. You slept more, left the house less. More than ever, you dreaded the thought of being left alone.
Worst of all, being around your family became excruciating. Their voices were too loud. Their mixed scents were too overpowering. You’d never had a very strong constitution, but you were still an alpha, still meant to be able to withstand the juxtapositional pheromones and verbal disputes that would terrify a beta and reduce an omega to a sobbing mess. Suddenly, though, you were as sensitive as a pup — barely able to tolerate your siblings’ usual bickering. Even the smallest argument left you fleeing the room to hide away in some long forgotten part of the manor.
That might’ve been why it’d been so easy for Jason to catch you alone.
You’d just locked yourself inside of one of Bruce’s seven (count them, seven) auxiliary libraries when the tell-tale tapping on the window, a muffled voice calling your name through the bullet-proof glass. You were at the window in a second, unlocking it in another. You barely had time to step back before Jason hauled himself through and pulled you into a blissfully suffocating bear-hug.
He looked rough. Rougher than usual, though you hadn’t seen him in the better part of a year. You felt the worn leather of his jacket against your skin as he pulled you against him, spotted a few splotches of red hair where his cheap black dye hadn’t stuck. He stunk of metal and gasoline and chemical fire, and you’d never been so happy to see him. You melted into him for as long as you could, only letting go when his hands found your shoulders, gently easing you just far back enough for you to see his grinning face.
“There’s my pretty girl,” he drawled. You swatted him in the arm and he went on, feigning offense. “Hey, that barely hurt. The rest of Bruce’s acolytes must finally be softening you up.”
“Please don’t talk about them,” you whined. “They’ve been— God, it’s terrible. Ever since I told them I was leaving—”
His smile widened, showing teeth. “Finally. You have a place lined up yet? I’ve got a spare bedroom downtown, if you don’t mind—”
You cut him off with a bubbling laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going back to school. Gateway City.” And then, softer, “Like we always talked about.”
His hands twitched. His scent took on a smokier note, not unlike a freshly snuffed cigarette. Still, that lip-splitting grin held strong. “I mean, that’s what you told Bruce, but—” He broke off, clicking his tongue. “California’s pretty far. I won’t be able to look out for you all the way out there.”
“You don’t look out for me here.” You couldn’t help it. Your voice broke on the last word, your joy draining away as his grew colder. Panic flashed across his expression. He started to draw you closer again, but you waved him off — pressing a hand into his chest. “I’m sorry, I just— I thought you’d be happier for me. Considering how quickly you got out.”
“It’s not the same, though, is it?” The question had a cruel lilt to it. “I’m an alpha, kid.”
And just like that, you’d forgotten why you were so happy to see him.
“I know. I am, too.”
“Really? ‘cause you don’t smell like one to me.”
Your shoulders dropped. You started to turn away, but he caught your wrist, jerking you back against him. His arm locked around your neck, cutting off your airflow. You gagged, clawing at his sleeve, but Jason only held his ground.
“It’s not that complicated.” His grip tightened. Black spots dotted your vision. You would’ve coughed if your throat hadn’t been clenched so tightly shut. “If you want to be an alpha, you’re gonna have to act like one.”
But you couldn’t. You were Bruce’s least favorite for a reason. The muscle hadn’t taken. The strength training hadn’t stuck. You hadn’t inherited his discipline. And, worst of all, there was that little, traitorous voice in the back of your head urging you to submit, submit, submit. It was yours, but you didn’t recognize the inflection, the cloying lilt. Wherever this instinct had come from, it wasn’t from you.
You tried to kick, to thrash, but your body was sluggish, resistant. The idea of hitting Jason left you light-headed in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the oxygen deprivation. Behind you, he sighed. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he sounded disappointed. “C’mon, kid,” he said, barely loud enough to be heard over the blood rushing past your ears. “Don’t make me do this to you.”
But you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t do anything. You couldn’t even make the only person who cared about you, the only person who might’ve even come close to loving you, stop hurting you.
Your body gave out a moment before your mind did. You were vaguely aware of your legs giving out, of your form going limp against Jason’s chest. His arm fell away from your throat, catching you by your waist instead. The last thing you felt was his shoulder biting into your stomach before your brain caught up with your lungs and the world went dark.
~
The first thing you felt upon waking up was warmth.
Awful, needling, searing warmth. The kind of uncomfortable heat that came from falling asleep in the sun and waking up hours later, dying of thirst and too disoriented to remember how to open your eyes. It took you long, aching seconds to grasp any other sensation, only to wish that you hadn’t bothered trying when you finally did. Something hard and cold bit into your back — laminated wood, the surface of a desk. There was something lodged between your legs. You could feel hands cupping the outside of your thighs, a tongue moving over your—
Reality came flooding back in too quickly, too roughly. New instincts be damned, you were going to be sick.
You wanted to bolt, but your body still felt heavier than it should’ve been. It was all you could do to force your eyes open, to take in the moulded ceiling and dim yellow lights of Bruce’s office. You tried to sit up, but a pair of hands caught your shoulder, easing you back down onto the desk. Bruce’s desk. You were on Bruce’s desk.
And you weren’t wearing any clothes.
The sight of your own skin was more startling than it should’ve been. You watched in horror as your exposed chest heaved weakly, as your bare knees shook and twitched where they were propped on someone’s shoulders. Dark hair formed a black hole in the center of your vision, and for a terrible moment, you thought it might’ve belonged to Dick. But then the rough edge of a scar pressed into the inside of your thigh and even an even worse possibility dawned on you.
Jason.
The horror was immediate and all-consuming. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t think. You felt his lips seal around your clit and suck, and it was all you could do to let a miserable whine slip through your gritted teeth. There was a groan — deep and satisfied and brought on solely by your sounds of distress. His attention dipped lower, touch slipping into your cunt, and involuntarily, you strained against the hands pinning you down. There was an airy chuckle, a hushing-like noise, then Dick’s face dipped into view, peering at you from above. “There she is,” he cooed, in the same cloying, saccharine lilt he’d used the morning he’d trapped you in your own bed. The morning he’d tried to make you purr. “We were wondering when you’d wake up. Jason always gets a little rough, doesn’t he?” And then, his eyes skirting to the side, “Too rough to handle something so delicate. In my opinion, at least.”
Jason pulled back just far enough to speak. “Shove it, Richard.”
“And such a temper.” Dick sighed, leaning towards you. “I just thought, if we had to find our little sister a mate, it should be someone more like—”
“That’s enough, Dick.”
A new voice. Cold, steady, commanding. All the warmth left your body at once.
Knowing Jason was willing to do this to you hurt. Knowing that Bruce was in on it, too…
You didn’t even know what to call that type of pain.
Maybe it would’ve been better, had he at least been an active participant. But he wasn’t even trying to touch you. He sat on the lounge against the far wall, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped professionally between his legs. His expression was set in the same unfaltering neutrality he always wore, the neutrality you’d once mistaken for disinterest. His eyes — half-lidded and impassive — were fixed on you. He didn’t look away as you stared past Dick to meet his gaze.
There was a thin sigh, a readjustment to his posture. Jason’s tongue curled inside of you. “Jason has a more dominating presence. There’ll be less resistance if he initiates the bond.”
“But that doesn’t mean he’ll be a good mate.” Immediately, Dick was on the defensive. You’d always wondered how someone so quick to argue had managed to stay Bruce’s favorite for so long. “And he’s so far. We might as well have just let her move to the other side of the country.”
“The necessary arrangements have been made. Jason’s agreed to stay with us — for a time, at least. Until the worst of the bond sickness passes.” Bruce paused, pinched the bridge of his nose. You would’ve sworn his eyes were closed, and yet when Jason smirked into the inside of your thigh and began to speak, Bruce cut in before he could get a word out. “I’m already giving you my daughter, boy. Don’t make me change my mind.”
Dick frowned. “I mean, by that logic, aren’t you technically giving her your—”
“That’s enough, Dick.”
He frowned, but didn’t spend long licking his wounds. His attention fell back to you, his eyes widening as he bent down to your height. “I tried to volunteer,” he whispered, close enough for his lips to ghost over the shell of your ear. “But Jason beat me to it. I think he’s had this on his mind for a while.”
It was an awful thing to say. It was a vile thing to say. It was a cruel thing to say. You wanted to tell him to shut up, to leave you alone, but when you opened your mouth, all you managed to do was cry out. The knife-sharp bridge of Jason’s nose ground into your clit. He’d fallen into a steady pattern of lapping, twisting, shoving the most invasive part of his body that much deeper into the most vulnerable part of yours. It shouldn’t have felt so terrible. It shouldn’t have felt like anything at all. Alphas were insensitive, lumbering things. Alphas were strong enough to withstand something like this.
So why weren’t you?
His tongue slipped out of you, two thick fingers immediately taking its place. He spread you open as his tongue lapped the slick off your thighs, your skin. A few strokes later, his tongue found your clit and circled it, and your body cracked apart underneath him. The pleasure — if you could even call it that — was too hot, too smothering, too much. You waited for the backlash, the pressure of an internal knot clamping down around nothing, but it never came. There was only the burning heat, and beneath it, a voice that didn’t belong to you begging for more.
Jason nursed you through the aftershocks before pulling away. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth and pushed to his feet, placing his body between your dysfunctional legs. Again, you sought out Bruce. “You did something to me.”
Immediately, Dick was there. “We just gave you a nudge in the right direction, that’s all. You said it yourself. We were running out of room for another alpha.”
You’d never said that, but it wasn’t worth the breath it would’ve taken to correct him. You met Bruce’s eyes. “Please, Dad.”
To his credit, he didn’t so much as hesitate. “You’re not a good fit for our pack. I must have known that, but—” He broke off, shook his head. “It’s better, this way. You deserve a mark. I’m sorry we denied you one for so long.”
But he wasn’t getting up. He wasn’t bearing his fangs, wasn’t asking for your wrist. He was just watching — staring on as Jason traced the head of his cock over your entrance, as he began to ease into you. You acted on reflex— hands flying to his shoulders in a vain attempt to push him away. That was a mistake, too. Before you could so much as make contact, you were on your stomach, both wrists pinned to the base of his spine while he thrust into you unopposed. You braced yourself for blinding pain, for a bone-deep sense of wrongness, but it never came. Instead, a pleasant buzzing filled the empty corners of your mind. Your body relaxed, welcoming him in. Liquid heat pooled in your veins, weighing you down and turning you into something heavy. Something wrong. Something else.
It felt right.
Understanding dawned on you in a single, horrifying flash. The gifts. The forced proximity. The shows of superiority. The way they’d observed you so unfalteringly over the past few weeks. An old term glanced over in textbooks and on the category listings of sketchier porn sites resurfaced from the forgotten depths of your mind — bitching. But that wasn’t supposed to be real. That wasn’t supposed to be something your family could do to you, no matter how little they loved you.
It was impossible and it was happening. You could feel Jason’s chest against your back, his tongue on your neck as he rocked against your ass. In front of you, Dick cooed and shrugged his jeans low on his hips, freeing his own painfully stiff cock. He tapped the leaking head against your lips and you locked your jaw in place, determined to safeguard what little dignity you had left. Dick only clicked his tongue, forcing his thumb past your lips and wrenching your teeth apart. He shoved himself into your mouth before you had a chance to bite down, his tip ramming into the back of your throat and making you gag.
There was an airy moan, a pleased sigh. Dick let his eyes fall shut, resting a hand on the crown of your head and petting. “Good girl,” he murmured, blunt nails raking over your scalp. “Let’s not talk about leaving anymore, alright? Just lay back and let your pack take care of you, from now on.”
His tone was light, soothing. It might’ve been more comforting if he hadn’t followed it up by tangling his fingers in your hair and jerking you forward, forcing your nose against his pelvic bone and fucking his cock into your throat.
The fullness was the worst part. Tearing you open, weighing you down. Your jaw throbbed where it was stretched around Dick’s cock, your cunt aching under the bruising force of Jason’s abuse. His hands were too tight around his hips, his pace too brutal to make you feel anything but scared. There was a rumbling growl, then you felt his mouth on the curve of your throat, nuzzling into you. A terrible, alien pressure beat against your entrance once, twice before he managed to force that much more of himself inside of you. Immediately, every nerve in your body flared to life. It took you a moment to understand the source of your agony, but not much longer. Honestly, the only surprise was that you hadn’t thought to dread this part sooner.
He’d knotted you.
But that couldn’t be right. Alphas only knotted their—
His mouth, moving over the tender flesh above your jugular. You tried to scream, to thrash, but Jason was so heavy on top of you and Dick only groaned as his cock smothered your voice. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t tell him to stop. You couldn’t do anything as Jason’s teeth sunk into your throat, breaking skin and drawing blood. Marking you — albeit, not in the way you’d spent so, so long waiting for.
In a daze, you looked toward Bruce. He hadn’t moved, of course, only leaned forward — propping his cheek on his fist. His dark eyes were cold as steel, but that wasn’t the worst part.
For the first time you could remember since he’d taken you in, Bruce Wayne was smiling.
Ghost who's infatuated with you meanwhile you genuinely think he's trying to kill you.
Ghost who corners you against a wall, the width of him caging you in, arm above your head. He looks a bit crazed, a bit too animal and a bit too blood hungry when he grunts "i saw a deer on the side of the road, once."
"Legs twisted up in a bloody mess, gravel red underneath. It kept on twitchin', starin' at me." He leans in close, breath hot on your ear. You can feel the body heat radiating off of him when ghosts hand hovers over your bicep, "i killed it. Didn't have a gun, had to use my knife. Quick. Merciful."
Ghost leans back far enough to stare you in the eyes.
"You remind me of that deer," ghosts hand retreats, but he stays caging you in. "Staring at me all the time. Beggin' for that knife."
Now, whenever ghost talks about you, he calls you "sweet doe" and people snicker about his sweet little crush. It makes your stomach churn.
two can play that game. (yan! sugar daddy! lex luthor x sugar baby! gn reader x yan! superman)
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
— masterlist !
a/n: all i ask for is comments/inputs, alongside reblogs, and that's it. this is a very fun concept to write for honestly. the thought of being sandwiched between two buff guys, one rich, one a hero. both powerful... yummy.
the potential of yandere! sugar daddy lex luthor x sugar baby reader x a yandere superman with a savior complex insistent on "getting you out" of the "terrible" situation you've (willingly) put yourself in...
just imagine the bloody game of tug of war between these two.
lex doesn't understand why, superman, of all aliens, wants to save — the word angers him so much to the point you have to hold his body back with all your weight to cease him from throwing another desktop item across the already jagged floors — his sugar baby when the contract and your consent has been all set before superman even came into the picture.
you're aware of the risks of being in a relationship with lex, you've slept in his bed for nearly a year or two, you've been by his side every time he enacts another one of his evil deeds, dolled in the clothes he chose for you— you're really just in it for the bag and the easy life. and yet this monster keeps insisting you're not truly happy, that he must've done something, threatened you perhaps, to keep you obedient by lex's side.
superman claims that nobody sane should be able to stand beside lex without the fear of messing up and turning into a lab experiment. so you must not be sane, you must be under a spell or heavily drugged.
a claim which enrages him so much. not just because superman paints him out to be under such insufferable light but also because he had the audacity to believe you're incapable and crazy for choosing him?
no, lex luthor is a better choice than all the other contenders asking for your hand in marriage. superman doesn't stand a chance when you've already decided. he's just a bitter man for being too late to claim you for himself.
and even if he wasn't, you'll still choose lex because he's infinitely better.
seriously, what part of his brain can't comprehend that irrevocable fact?
out of irritation, he'd almost have built an anti-superman chamber meant to lock you inside just so he could have a day of peace with you without the annoying hero always clambering and knocking on the glass windows of his highrise penthouse, taunting the billionaire to let you out or he'll be "forced" to let himself in to "save" — once again!? — his so-called hostage.
if he thought the level of delusion was already bad enough before, then the longer you and lex have been spotted out on fancy restaurant dates, which somehow find its way conveniently plastered on the very front page of the city's newspaper every time— the more lex is inclined to actually build that chamber because superman's already been spotted the next day flying over your oblivious figure, ready to go about another session of "talking" you out of your beneficial relationship with lex.
and of course, lex knew about this for certain, because the second you find yourself alone with superman somehow, away from the security guards hired to scout the area, the advanced recorders and superman recognition devices plastered in every inch of your belongings have already picked up on the sound and presence of superman's irritating, grating voice greeting you in that condescendingly nice crescendo.
you, already used to superman's own tactics, and also bound by contract to never entertain any of the hero's questions, let alone even be near a four foot radius within him, would only shrug at his concerned questions — about your wellbeing and domestic life. if lex is treating you right. if you're not satisfied blink twice. if he's keeping you hostage, blink thrice.
to which you don't.
to which superman is dumbfounded at your calm reactions.
you keep your cool demeanor when you hear the heavy thud of his boots landing on the ground as he approaches you.
if you're being honest, you never really cared about the hero. despite your questionable standing with lex, you're quite grateful that he remains the palpable symbol of hope for your city. it's a hypocritical take, really, since you're well aware how even if you're almost always by lex's side, and he has had his fair share of secret misdeeds he's skillfully hidden from you— it wouldn't truly discredit any service superman has done for the city, for the entire world. he's kept it safe and sound from extraterrestrial force and from another one of lex's plans.
but as it stands, you're still tempted to pull out the kryptonite ring in your bag. not because you hate heroes, but because he's yet again stuck in a trance worriedly asking you if you're really safe, and willing, and content with lex's treatment while his hands have found its way on your shoulders. his gestures akin to an old friend displaying concern over a friend with a problematic relationship, akin to a 911 dispatcher asking questions to assess violence against a victim.
which you're not, you really are not.
before you can even peep another word in, a bunch of your guards (finally) have already pointed their weapons against superman. you can see some of them visibility shaking whilst they announce, with quivering voices, for superman to halt. you're aware their hesitance is not from the fear of facing the metahuman but from messing up and leaving you with superman instead.
ah, you'll have to talk lex out of punishing these poor workers once again.
(it was no wonder why every supervisor from a division would always confront lex about problems on his upcoming projects in front of you. you're the only person allowed to speak your mind and promise lex he could take his anger in a completely different way with you instead. it's corny, but it's what works. it's what makes them survive from his petty retributions).
realistically, superman could take out these people without incapacitating them— yet there you go again, pretty eyes batting towards him (you're glaring at him), begging (asking, exasperated) to let the topic go for now because you already feel bad enough for the people forced to babysit you.
your request was enough to hold him off. of course it does, every worker surrounding you two could see it's not just lex infatuated with you but the superhero too. they don't complain, though, because it at least made the job easier when superman had instead given you a small, sheepish smile and a nod, finally flying off to god knows where.
at least today was easier. the previous attempts to tell him off were... something else.
you don't have to remember that, though, because a phone is already shoved in your face with lex's name as the contact person before you could even take a step.
you can feel exhaustion settle into your bones. you could already hear his frustrated voice chatting your ear off about the dangers of kroptonian exposure.
but you're too tired for a massive sermon right now...
... guess it's time to use your pathetic card against lex again tonight.
it always works somehow.
still, you remind yourself that lex's sermons are better than whatever complex the superman feels for you. at least it doesn't feel superficial in your eyes, at least you're aware that lex is constantly tracking you while superman is a wild car. always finding himself to you even if lex locks you up in the most isolated part of the world.
but don't think that just because he relented on bothering you for today guarantees no visit within the next hours.
apparently, even a supposedly intimate night with lex — complete with hot, expensive, and scented candles already blazing through the dark, the low hum of the music from the premium speakers, and silky bedsheets topped with petals from your favorite flowers — is all ruined by superman bypassing all the locks the moment the sound of your body hitting the bed is registered through his super-hearing.
it doesn't matter wherever he is in the world, he always blitzes back to metropolis at the sign of any danger towards you.
... but is it imperative that lex fucking you silly is one of it?
if your almost naked body didn't already feel incredibly warm from the jacuzzi you'd just gotten out of, then by now it's already overheating when even in the darkness can you pinpoint the tip of superman's ears reddening from the sight of your own chest exposed to the hero.
fuck.
if you're going to be honest once more, it'd be kind of hot if superman joined in on the fun. being sandwiched between superman's big, burly chest and lex luthor's clean-shaven ones sounds like great news. include their desperation to be devour every part of you is basically double the people wanting to touch you, please you—
pleasure you.
two powerful men trying to one up each other to win the favor of your heart felt all too reminiscent of pompous peacocks flaunting their colored feathers to their future mate.
it's hilarious, but also endearing to your already far too gone imaginations.
but telling your ideas to lex would be a damage to his ego. telling that to superman, too, would make him believe you're not actually satisfied with your arrangements.
it should be losing game.
but.
if these two were always in an intellectual fight on who gets to actually claim your mind, body, and soul. if you don't want lex to throw another fit and possibly destroy the earth uprooting every piece of land just to find kryptonite to murder superman. if you want superman to stop acting all hot and bothered every time you kiss lex too deeply in front of the paparazzi cameras, just by giving him a small taste of your body, then...
it's only fair if you make them prove they deserve it.
Reader who only views sex as somthing transactional?
She gets no real pleasure from it but shes not disgusted by it shes used to using her body to get exactly what she wants.
She'll lay there like a doll during it and then after demand somthing it could be somthing as simple as a book or expensive like a necklace.
If they confront her about it she gets annoyed
“what do you mean you want me to participate more!?“
“If you give me somthing i like maybe ill pretend to enjoy it“
“you want my body so why do you keep complaining“
If Johnny asks her a question she deems stupid then she glares
“Why are you asking if i love you?“
“do my chores for me and i may tell you a few pretty lies“
Shes never the first to initiate affection and she never will be the only time she really gets emotional is if her childhood is brought up or theh ask her about her past shes hissing a stern “stop asking me stupid questions that dont matter“
Mmmm this would drive them nuts
She figures out quickly that they’re easy to extort. All she has to do is let them have their fun, and then she can have pretty much whatever she wants.
She’s laying in bed next to John after he pulled her away for some ‘fun’. She waits for him to reach for his phone before she makes her demand.
“I want a new book. Order it for me?”
It’s not really a question. She knows she’s getting what she wants, she just knows John’s more receptive if she asks, or at least pretends it’s a request and not a demand.
Whenever she wants something, she waits for one of them to inevitably come to her to get off. If she really wants something and doesn’t feel like waiting, she entices them. She’ll dress in their clothes, walking around in nothing but one of their hoodies and a pair of underwear. she’ll brush up against them whenever she can, making it seem like a little accident. She’ll grind her ass against whoever pulled her into their lap, using the excuse that she’s just trying to get comfortable. It’s all strategic, she’s only doing it to get what she wants.
Ironically, the four of them start to feel like they’re the ones being used. She’s flirty and touchy and provocative, but as soon as they get her in bed, she’s completely uninterested.
Johnny’s the first to complain. “Why do ya look so bored right now? Am I not doin’ a good enough job?”
He’s met with an incredulous glare. What a stupid question. “Stop talking” is the only answer he gets. He tries harder, though, moving faster and rubbing her clit to try and make it better for her, but all she does is slap his hand away. “Don’t do that. Just hurry up.”
Johnny doesn’t hurry up. “C’mon, hen. Touch me. Scratch my back, pull my hair… I don’t mind. Just do something.”
She snaps at him now. “I said hurry up.”
Now, him and the others are trying to figure out why she won’t participate.
Kyle sits down with her, prying and asking more stupid questions.
“Isn’t it good for you?”
“Tell us what to do, and we’ll make it better.”
“We want you to join in, love. Not lay there like a doll.”
That makes her snap. “What do you mean you want me to join in?! Why would I do that?”
Kyle’s taken aback by her response. “…because you’ll feel good if you participate. We want you to feel good, too.”
She scoffs at that. “Get me something nice and maybe I’ll pretend to like it.”
The show she puts on for them (only after she gets what she wants) isn’t enough, though, and they still complain, which only makes her more irate.
“You want my body, and I’m giving it to you. You want to fuck me and I’m letting you. So why are you still complaining?”
Even after she makes it clear she doesn’t like having sex with them, that she’s only doing it because she knows it’ll get her what she wants, they still try to make it good for her.
Simon tries to go down on her, but she pushes his head away until he promises to buy her a new necklace. She lays limp and bored while he licks her, trying to get her off. It doesn’t work, though, and eventually she starts pushing him off again.
Kyle tries his hardest to get her off, but he’s met with the same reaction that Simon and Johnny are met with. Every attempt to touch her, to make her feel good, is shut down until she’s promised a gift.
Johnny stupidly tries guilting her one night. “Why won’t you participate? Don’t ye love me?”
That earns him a look of contempt and disgust. “Why are you asking me such a stupid question? You already know the answer.”
The hurt look on his face doesn’t make her feel bad. Instead, she sees it as an opportunity. “Take care of my chores for me and I might tell you some pretty lies.”
John is by far the easiest to handle. He doesn’t bother trying to make you play along, doesn’t act like a try hard, and he doesn’t ask stupid questions. He knows what he has to do if he wants you.
“A real pretty necklace caught my eye at the shops today. Ride me, and it’s yours.”
“I’ll get you your favorite dessert if you moan for me.”
“Tell me I make you feel good and I’ll do the dishes for you.”
The other three try one last effort to make her open up. They sit her down at the table like it’s some kind of intervention, and they’re about to tell her she has a serious problem.
“Why are you so against intimacy? Did something happen to you before?”
“How was your childhood?”
Immediately she shuts them down. “Don’t ever ask me something so ridiculous and irrelevant ever again.”
For the next week, she won’t sleep with any of them. It’s their punishment for being nosy and annoying.
bumping into your really nice alpha neighbour in the hallway (who you’ve been on again off again flirting with for weeks now), but squeaking out a little “sorry!” while having to rudely push past him so that you can get into your apartment before your heat gets out of control
vs
him being unable to resist following after you the second you scurry upstairs, every step he takes now getting a little more urgent, his blood hotter, until he’s pacing in front of your door, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; trying everything in his power to keep himself from knocking because the way he is moving now reminds him of a predator and he doesn’t like it - he’s nice, goddammit, he’s nice
And you really thought Simon would be a little mean during sex. He had to be a sadist after everything he’s been through.
So, when he’s between your parted thighs, you’re shocked when he speaks to you so softly. Quietly begging in your ear, cock pressed to the hilt, for you to be good for him.
And everytime you let out a whine, fingers tightening at his shoulders because he’s massive and you feel like you’re splitting in two with every thrust; he shushes you. ‘You can take it. Yes—yes you can.’
And when you clench tighter around him because the cadence of his voice licks warmth in your core, he smiles. ‘There you go, baby. Just like that.’
it was risky, you knew, but something about him just enthralled you. sitting at the other end of the bar on a saturday night, you spotted a big brute of a man dwarfing a glass of amber liquid. with a mask pulled up onto his crooked nose, it exposed the scarred skin of his chin and jaw, and chapped, rough lips. something about the way his dark eyes scanned the room made your thighs quiver and your belly ache.
simon didn't look your way to know your eyes were on him, burning into the skin of his lower face and thick neck that bobbed with every sip of alcohol. you were a curious little bunny that couldn't help but be captivated by his wolfish appearance, and it was going to get you bitten.
you were sad when the man didn't look your way. he appeared alone and refused to pay mind to anyone except the bartender. you wondered how long he'd linger as the bar started emptying old customers and flooding with new ones. the population never staggered, and in fact, only increased with happy hour. how long was the man going to sit in that very seat?
it was hard for him not to look your way, the knowledge that your attention kept returning to him gnawing at his brain until he couldn't help a glance when he was sure your gaze was fixed elsewhere. god, you were so pretty and completely oblivious to the fact he'd been shadowing you for months, but he'd caught your attention now. how long was it going to take for you to bite?
you weren't sure how much time had passed, but the man downed his drink, left a large bill on the bar, got up and left without a word. this was your charge. mirroring his actions with your own, smaller bill, you left with a fleeting glance to the patrons around you. you didn't dare risk losing sight of your newfound interest, but he wasn't hard to lose.
simon heard you stumble out the door behind him. you were clumsy, didn't bother hiding the loud clacks of your heels against the pavement, but he didn't give away that he knew. he played along, had to make sure his prey felt in control when in reality, he was the one twisting you like the puppet you were. he tugged on his helmet, flung a leg over his sports bike and turned it on. the question was, did he want to lose you, or give you what you wanted?
seeing him wrap his thick thighs around the gas tank only caused the throb in your pussy to intensify, his sharp, dark eyes that lured you in hidden behind the visor. you went to your own car, turning it on in time just as he pulled out of the parking lot. naturally, you followed, keeping what you thought was a non suspicious amount of distance between him and you.
but simon noticed. he had a keen eye when it came to you, and he laughed underneath his helmet that his little rabbit was the one chasing him, not the other way around. regardless, he led you through winding streets and back roads until he can to a stop in front of an isolated cabin. if his bunny had any brain, you'd have realized he led you to the middle of nowhere.
but when you were tunnel visioned on the object of your desire, you lost sight of everything else. you wanted him, or at least to watch him to see what he got up to. an interesting looking man had to have a life that reflected that, right? you parked your car just down the street when you noticed he took a turn into a driveway far between others.
he swiftly turned off the bike, leaving his helmet on for protection—thats what he told himself, but little old you couldn't harm him if you tried. you were a little bunny compared to him. he hid around the side of his house, near one of the big windows that would tempt you to look inside. he was grateful he had remote control lights.
you crept with what felt like light feet, noticing the lights had been switched on. now where was he? you snuck up to that same window he knew you would peer into, standing on your tiptoes and hands curling around the windowsill for one peek.
but a scream fell silent on your lips when a hand tugged your waist into a hard, warm chest with another on your mouth. heavy breaths moved against your back with a shocking hardness pressed to your ass.
Ughhhh...... that Wayne and Lex story killed me then brought me back to life with the thought of some good superman vs lex ideas. How about yandere superman x reader who is married to lex luthor. You see the thing is reader is this kind, sweethearted person who in all honestly, is just an a pure little angel. So superman is like how, or more likely why?, did she end up with lex? She was raised like Clark was, in a small town and on a farm with those same morals and values that he was. A woman kind of out of place in lex's life, not really meant for the big city, and all those big city rich elites.
The first time Superman saw you, you were standing barefoot in the Luthor penthouse garden — hands dirtied with soil, tucking lavender into a terracotta pot. Not a gardener, not a socialite — you were humming a hymn under your breath while the Metropolis skyline burned gold behind you.
And you smiled at him.
At him. Like he was just a man in the sky. Not a god. Not Lex Luthor’s personal hell.
That smile did something strange to him.
He watched you from a distance for weeks.
You waved at doormen. You asked janitors about their families. You baked lemon bars and left them anonymously at the hospital near Suicide Slums. You pressed kisses to Lex’s cheek like you didn’t know who he was.
But you did. You knew exactly who Lex was.
And you loved him anyway.
“Why him?”
It slipped out before Clark could stop it.
You blinked. The Metropolis General fundraiser was winding down and you’d escaped to the rooftop, away from the noise. You hadn’t flinched when Superman landed beside you.
You smiled. Soft. Sweet.
“I could ask the same about you and Lois.”
His jaw twitched. “Lois isn’t a sociopathic narcissist with a body count.”
You shrugged, gently. “Lex is complicated. But he’s not heartless.”
“He’s killed people.”
“So have you,” you said, voice still like silk and sunlight. “You just wear a brighter color when you do it.”
His silence was deafening.
Then—
“I could take you away.”
You turned sharply. “What?”
Superman took a step closer. His eyes — blue, bottomless, burning — stayed locked on you.
“You weren’t made for this city. You weren’t made for him. I know where you came from — those dusty roads and Sunday morning pies. That world still exists. You could be happy. Safe. You could have a home that doesn’t smell like war and expensive wine.”
Your throat felt tight. “You don’t know me.”
“I know you better than he does.” He stepped closer. “I know what you hum when you water your plants. I know how you cry during old Westerns and pretend not to. I know you forgive too easily. That you try to fix broken things even when they cut your hands.”
“Clark—”
“You don’t belong to him.”
“I married him.”
“I don’t care.” His voice dropped, trembling with something between desperation and devotion. “I’ll be better. I’ll be gentler. I won’t let you shatter the way he will.”
“I love him.”
He twitched. Actually twitched.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Your voice wavered. “You just can’t accept that someone like me could love someone like him.”
Superman looked like he was unraveling.
“He doesn’t deserve you.”
You backed up. “Maybe not. But I chose him.”
That’s when he snapped.
It happened in the time it took a leaf to fall.
The rooftop blurred — and suddenly you were gone, swept off your feet in a rush of air and heat. The city lights vanished below. Cold wind bit your cheeks.
“Clark, put me down!”
“Not until you see.” His voice was hollow. “Not until you understand.”
“Lex will come after you!”
He didn’t even flinch. “Let him try.”
You stared at the man holding you like glass.
Superman — protector of Earth, idol of children, symbol of hope — looked down at you with something twisted and holy in his eyes.
“I’ll give you the world,” he whispered. “He gave you a prison. I’ll give you peace.”
thinking about omegas involuntary purring when they’re pleased/turned on…trying to convince pa clark you dont want him after he basement wifes but you start purring the second he places a warm hand on the back of you neck over your mating gland (your poor body is betraying you for basic instincts)
i keep thinking completely fawn! crybaby! reader in her flight or fight responses. like she js gets terrified of clark and bruce’s strengths and ends up listening to everything and never wanting to break a rule (on purpose). the only thing she can’t stop? her crying.
she’ll take a bite from their fork and sit on their lap but her eyes start sparking up in tears because she’s thinking about how much freedom she doesn’t have anymore. she’ll watch movies with them before crying halfway because of a sad plot line or character backstory. tears for everything, and of course she’s a messy crier so now every room has a tissue box and clark and bruce and experts in calming you down or comforting you while wiping your red nose (sick bastards they live for it).
she doesn’t mess up rules often, terrified that they’ll actually hurt her severely, so she’s jittery and nervous 24/7 around them (until they make her come enough times to see stars around their fingers and she as limp and pliant as a ragdoll). the only rules she might mess up is calling them clark or bruce instead of pa or dad, mostly because if she panics about anything (spilling a cup of water during dinner by accident, tripping and scrapping her knee on something, anything that makes her panic that they’ll get mad at her), she isn’t thinking clearly, forgets about rules, and defaults to clark and brucie.
how do we feel about crybaby! reader
oh they loveeeeeee a crybaby, for sure! you're so easy to manipulate, especially when you fawn and freeze over just about anything that could potentially upset them. you know what would really upset them? talking about, denying them affection, trying to escape...all the other things are just so inconsequential, but they really love how easy it is to bring you to tears. so much easier to condition you that you should really be afraid of the outside world instead of them. it's safe in here with them. do you really think anyone else would put up with all this crying? they love you so much, so of course it doesn't bother them. no one else would love you as much as they do, comfort and calm you as much as they do, be as good to you as they are...
yandere! bruce wayne x reader x yandere! clark kent
word count: 10k
synopsis: you've been cooped up in wayne manor for the past few months, courtesy of your new lovers. they've decided it's finally time to take your relationship to the next level whether you're ready or not.
You thought the silent treatment could save you. The childish shame and embarrassment that was aroused in you every time they twisted your words was crushing you. Two brilliant minds working in tandem to make you feel as small as they saw you. The good cop, bad cop dynamic rehearsed by Bruce and Clark left no room for your opinion. Arguing was pointless when all roads led to the same point, the feeling of heat rushing to your cheeks as you accepted defeat. You felt they were hammering a point home to you — you were to be seen and not heard.
Your silence only made them more eager to correct you.
Your defeat in your circumstances was palpable, but you were determined to keep your sorrow to yourself. You thought they would be satisfied with your depressive acceptance, but they were determined to drag you out of that hole every time you tried to make peace with it. They wouldn’t even let you slowly rot away without their input, telling you it was this exact reason that they took it upon themselves to care for you. Escape was impossible; they made certain of it. You really tried to believe that you were just sparing yourself some pain by not fighting back.
Monday nights were the nights they promised to make time for you. A day where they would come home from their day jobs and play pretend with domesticity and normalcy. You were expected to play house, too, dressing up beyond your pajamas and sweatpants. They still have yet to give you a real pair of shoes, though.
You were sitting on the couch in between them, back nestled into Clark’s right side and feet outstretched into Bruce’s lap. They had positioned you the moment they sat down, hardly leaving enough space to breathe. The three of you were in Bruce’s study, listening to his old jazz vinyls as you nursed your drink.
Bruce swirled a neat Whiskey in a glass, unsipped, as he rubbed the heel and ball of your socked foot with his free hand. Clark had a hot chocolate, same as you, that was sitting on the coffee table, untouched. His right arm was slung over your shoulder while his left hand held yours, kneading his thumb into your palm. You held your mug close to you, keeping your mouth busy in hopes of not cracking under the pressure of Clark’s stare.
“How was your day, honey?” Clark asked with a soft smile, resting his head next to yours on the back couch cushion.
You shrugged, continuing to stare at the roaring fireplace in front of you. What was there to say to them? That you had lain around the manor all day, dreading the minutes until they came home? That you were steeling yourself to refuse to speak to them for another day? Bruce cleared his throat, looking up from your foot, and rested your toes in his palm. They tolerated non-answers less than wrong answers.
You looked over at Bruce, unable to hold your gaze with his before settling to look down at his lap. He had taken off his sports coat when he came home and was sitting with his dress shirt undone, three buttons and sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Clark had foregone his jacket and dress shirt entirely, wearing nothing but his slacks and his white undershirt. They both took their belts off in front of you. You were wearing a mockneck bodysuit and a long skirt with a pair of white socks.
You had started the day with more clothes, too, that they slowly began to peel off you. There was no need for a sweater, Bruce had said. The fireplace was waiting for you. Did you really need stockings on? Clark had asked. Layers in the house weren’t necessary. Piece by piece, they dressed you and themselves down until you assumed nothing would be left.
“Clark asked you a question,” Bruce said, sliding his hand up your leg to rest just under the hem of your skirt.
You looked back at the fireplace and just sighed, setting your drink down next to Clark’s still steaming mug. Shrugging again and sighing, you rested your head against the cushion next to Clark and looked at him. You hoped your moping act would help them drop the subject – puppy eyes always worked on Clark. To him, you had no bark or bite.
Clark’s gaze didn’t linger on you. The look they shared had you feeling queasy. They were so hard to read, but you could always tell when they were thinking – especially when they were thinking the same thing. Your quietness had run its course with them. You’re sure you’ve only made it this far because Clark told Bruce to let you work it out yourself. But you’ve learned that Clark’s patience runs much thinner when Bruce is in his ear. They were planning on making you talk; you just didn’t know how.
Bruce’s hand rubbed circles into your calf, slowly inching towards your thigh. He set his drink down next to yours, settling his free hand back on your foot. You closed your eyes and inhaled slowly, trying not to let panic seep into your bones. It was Clark who was touchy like this, yet he seemed content to keep his hands to himself for once and just watch. Bruce gently slid his hand under your sock, making it down to the ball of your foot before wiggling your sock off. You fought off a shiver of ticklishness and swallowed harshly.
Clark pressed his forehead to yours, humming softly as he brought the hand he was massaging up to his mouth. He pressed a tender kiss on the tip of your pinky, still rubbing his thumb into the flesh of your palm. An easy smile reached his eyes as he kissed his way down your fingers. After he reached your thumb, he closed his eyes and placed your hand over his mouth, chastely kissing your palm.
Bruce brought your ankle to his lips, placing a wet kiss there. His hand was warm and weathered, heating your skin up through the fabric. Your skirt slid down to your upper thigh as Bruce put your heel on his left shoulder. His hand caressed the backside of your calf, slowly inching closer towards your inner thigh. You shuddered as a chill ran all up your spine. You stretched your back uncomfortably, settling away from him. You were desperate not to let yourself melt into the false sense of security their arms offered.
“Bruce’s hands always run cold, don’t they?” Clark mused, kissing your wrist.
Bruce let out a throaty chuckle and nodded, pressing a kiss to your knee cap. He leaned closer, spreading your left leg over his right thigh and hooking his left arm under your right knee. You understood the game they were playing now. If you were going to play by their rules and win, you’d have to choose your words very carefully.
“What are you doing?” You questioned quietly, looking at Bruce warily.
“Nothing you won’t like.”
Clark maneuvered you to fully sit in his lap, facing Bruce, kissing up your arm until his chin rested on your shoulder. His arms held your waist in place as Bruce kissed down to your inner thigh. It was a test. You knew that they knew you understood that now. The only question was how far you were going to let it go. Bruce unclipped the body suit snaps over your panties, letting his fingers graze under the hem on your right hip.
“Don’t…” You whispered, placing your hand over his wrist.
Bruce looked up at you through lidded eyes, letting his lips brush against your hip. “Don’t what?”
“Let him make you feel good?” Clark chimed in, taking your hand in his and away from Bruce.
“Don’t touch me there.” You said with a little more confidence.
“Here?” Bruce chuckled, placing a kiss over your navel.
You inhaled softly, arching your back towards Clark’s chest. These were dangerous waters you were treading in. You’re certain that with all the surveillance Bruce did on you before they took you, he, at least, knew you were a virgin. Hell, you hadn’t even had your first kiss yet, and here Bruce was in between your legs, waiting to devour you.
“What about here?” Bruce’s hand slid back to your ass, squeezing a handful of it in his hand.
His callouses were rough against you as he kneaded your flesh in his hand. You shook your head, trying to dig your nails into Clark’s hand with no avail.
“I…I don’t want you to touch me at all.” You finally confessed. You could only hope you told him what he wanted to hear.
“Oh, honey,” Clark sighed sweetly. “If you wanted me to touch you instead, all you had to do was ask.”
Clark took both of your wrists into his right hand as he kissed along your throat and wrapped his arm around your waist to press you flush against him. Bruce retreated and relaxed against the couch, content to abide by your interpreted wishes. Clark kissed up to your cheek, letting his pecks slowly inch towards your lips.
“Wait!” You cried, turning to look at Clark with desperate eyes. “Wait, please.”
“Have you decided you want Bruce after all?” Clark whispered, lips ghosting just barely above yours.
“I…” What could you possibly say in your defense? “I don’t think either of you will want me.”
“If that were true, we have a funny way of showing it.” Clark chuckled, chasing your lips slowly as you leaned your head back.
“Don’t make assumptions.” Bruce said coolly. “If you want to know how we feel, just ask us.”
“I’m not trying to, I’m just…being realistic.” You sighed. You’d never ask them, not wanting an even further look into their deranged delusions.
“Realistic?” Clark chuckled. “I’m just itching to jump your bones, and you think we don’t want you.”
“You said ‘will want me’.” Bruce noticed. “Is there something you think we don’t already know?”
You look at Bruce, swallowing nervously. Clark settled to press kisses along your temple and hairline, rubbing his hands up and down your waist.
“No!” You defended. Secrets were a cardinal sin with them. “I’m just not sure you’ll want someone as…inexperienced as me.”
“Think our boyscout is as innocent as he seems?” Bruce smirked. Your apparent gap in experience only made your stomach churn further.
“That’s just the way we like it, we’ll be your first and onlys.” Clark mused, letting his kisses move back down towards your lips. “You think our playboy can’t handle a virgin?”
“We adore you, you know you can’t deny that,” Bruce replied earnestly.
“I mean,” You laughed nervously, placing your hands on Clark’s chest to hold him back. “I haven’t even had my–” Clark’s eyes light up at the prospect.”My, uh, first kiss.” Your confidence died in your throat, barely finishing the sentence with a whisper.
“That’s okay,” Clark smiled, all teeth. He looked like a predator waiting to strike at his innocent prey. “We can teach you.”
Bruce’s hand softly stroked the underside of your calf. “Why?”
Clark maneuvered you off his lap, scooching you both over closer to Bruce. You sat shoulder to shoulder with them both, Bruce keeping your feet in his lap and Clark beginning to stroke your hand again. They let you take your time to answer, watching the gears turn in your mind, trying to find any excuse you thought they would find acceptable.
“Well, you both know I’ve never had a boyfriend before…you two.” You stared at the fireplace in front of you. What were they to you now? Boyfriends? Husbands? Captors? Owners?
“We’re your partners now, sweetheart. Nothing is ever going to change that.” Clark reassured.
“You don’t need a boyfriend to have sex.” Bruce challenged, quirking a brow. Of course he knew all about that. You’d jab it at him if you thought it would make a difference.
“I’m not the hookup type.” You shrugged, feeling the discomfort of the topic rise in you.
You weren’t less than just because you didn’t have the notches in your bedpost the way they did. You were doing your very best to refuse becoming one of theirs.
“Waiting for someone special?” Clark whispered in your ear. Naturally, Clark was more sentimental about these things than Bruce was.
“The opportunity just never came up.” You replied. A lie of omission technically wasn’t a lie, but you knew it wouldn’t slide with them.
“You’ll have plenty of opportunities with us.” Bruce smirked.
“Isn’t ‘I don’t know’ an answer?” You huffed exasperatedly.
“Not if you don’t have a good enough reason,” Bruce said matter-of-factly. “You’re afraid.”
“Now you’re making assumptions.” You spat back.
“It’s not an assumption if it’s a fact, my love.” Bruce quirked a brow. “You’ve been afraid since you first came here.”
Of course, you were afraid. But of what exactly? Afraid they would expect more than you could give? Afraid that you’ll be nothing more than a sex slave to them? Afraid that you were becoming complicit in your own captivity? Afraid it would hurt? Afraid it wouldn’t?
You’d be damned if you showed them your fear.
“It’s okay to admit that you’re afraid, sweetheart. You’re safe with us.” Clark soothed.
“Have we done anything to show you otherwise?” Bruce asked.
It was true. You knew it, and they knew it, and you hated that they knew you knew it. They’ve never been physical with you, never raised their voice, never neglected you. In any other circumstance, people would gush over what doting gentlemen you had.
“Maybe she needs to see how gentle we can be with her.” Clark offered, picking you up bridal style with one arm and tucking you close to him.
You yelped at the sudden upheaval, wrapping your arms around his neck for stability. Bruce was quick to follow both of you as Clark led the way back to the manor’s master bedroom. Clark hummed a gentle tune as Bruce opened the door and beckoned you both inside with an outstretched arm.
Clark sat you down at the edge of the bed. You folded your arms across your chest as you watched the two of them strip. Clark took off his shirt with one hand and stretched his arms towards the ceiling, fingers intertwined. He let out a pleased hum, sending you a smile. He made quick work to help Bruce out of his dress shirt and left him to remove his undershirt. Clark dropped to his knees and placed his hands on Bruce’s thighs, unzipping Bruce’s pants with his teeth.
The burn from your cheeks spread all the way down to your chest. Your fingertips tingled with anticipation. You squeezed yourself tighter, swallowing harshly. Clark looked right at you as Bruce’s pants pooled around his ankles. He licked a long stripe against Bruce’s erection, smiling sharply when you looked up at Bruce nervously.
Bruce ran a hand through Clark’s curly locks, tugging them to bring his head back. Clark looked up at Bruce expectantly and stood when Bruce cupped his chin to kiss him. The kiss was heated and passionate, teeth and tongues already knocking against each other. Bruce stepped out of his pants and kicked them away, leaving him shirtless in his black boxers. He held his hand against the back of Clark’s neck and reached his other hand to shimmy the man out of his slacks.
Bruce slipped a hand into Clark’s white boxers, palming him and giving him a gentle squeeze. He groaned loudly into Bruce’s mouth and tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth. Clark looked at you while Bruce started to kiss down his neck, biting and sucking harshly on his skin. He motioned for you to come over with a gentle wave of his hand, holding it out for you to take.
You stood up from the bed and waited for a moment, burrowing your arms further against yourself. If you showed that you would come freely when called, if you were willing to try, then maybe, you hoped, they would have mercy on you.
You took Clark’s hand, keeping your other arm tight around your chest. He rubbed his thumb over your knuckles in a soothing motion and gave you a gentle smile. You were sure he could feel just how much you were shaking. You could no longer tell if it was from fear or anticipation; maybe it was a mix of both. Bruce’s free hand wrapped around your waist and herded you in between them.
“You’re making her nervous,” Clark said, cocking his head at Bruce. “Her heart is racing.”
He gently grasped the hand covering your chest and pulled it away, placing it over his to steady you with his calm heartbeat. His palm draped the back of your hand, holding it in place. Bruce’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. His chin rested on your shoulder as he ghosted his lips up your neck and behind your ear. Clark brought your other hand up to his lips again, kissing your palm and closing his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Bruce whispered in your ear. “He doesn’t bite.”
“Not unless you say please,” Clark murmured into your palm, looking back down at you as he kissed your wrist.
Bruce’s hands slipped under the elastic band of your skirt, laying his palms flat against your hips.
“You’re so tense,” Bruce said, rubbing circles with his thumbs into your hips. “Let us help you get comfortable.”
He pushed your skirt down, letting it pool around your ankles. Clark grasped the hem of your body suit and pulled it up over your head, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Bruce’s hands cupped you in between your legs, making you gasp as he ran a finger along your wetness.
“You’re soaked, lovely,” Bruce smirked. “Did you like watching us?”
You gulped, looking away from both of them. The heat in your cheeks burned brighter. Back to square one, you were at a loss for words. The men stepped away from you, taking their places on the large, plush bed. Bruce sat up against the headboard, propping one knee up and resting his left arm against the wood. Clark lay next to him on his side, propping himself up with his right elbow. Their eyes roamed you freely as you stood in the same spot they left you in. Your arms quickly found their place against your chest again.
“Feeling shy?” Clark asked, tracing circles into the sheets with his index finger. “Come here.”
“Maybe she wants us to continue our little show.” Bruce mused, holding his right hand out to you.
You stared at the ground as you padded over. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before, either. It never got easier when they stripped.
You shakily took Bruce’s hand and crawled into the space in between them. Your arms were squished against their chest as you held your hands in your lap, twiddling your thumbs nervously. You stared straight up at the high ceiling, trying to count the folds in the canopy draped over the bed. It was a lovely shade of forest green, dark and inviting. A perfect shadow to hide in.
Clark’s hand started tracing circles on your stomach. Bruce’s left hand came to rest on your tense shoulders, slowly easing them from being hunched up to your ears.
“Beautiful,” Clark murmured, ghosting his lips over your shoulder. “Isn’t she, Bruce?”
“Stunning. It’s a miracle no one got their hands on her before we did.” Bruce agreed, stroking a thumb under your chin. “Pretty girl like you deserves to be kissed, well and often.”
“Our pretty girl,” Clark whispered, kissing up under your chin and nipping softly at your skin. “All ours.”
Clark dipped back down to your collarbone, leaving wetter kisses before licking a stripe up from your clavicle to your chin. All pretense of chaste affection was out the window – they were hungry for you, and Clark was tired of pretending he wasn’t.
“Still feeling afraid?” Bruce asked. “We’ll take it slow, sweetheart.”
Slow. They had no intentions of stopping. It was no longer an if; it was simply a matter of when.
“I told you I’m not afraid.” You shot back, hardly able to believe yourself with the way you sounded.
“Then show us.”
Bruce’s right hand smoothed over Clark’s thigh. His hands were rough and scarred, knuckles hardened from years of fighting. Scars littered his body beyond his hands. His deepest scars were beneath the surface, somewhere deep and dark that not even you or Clark seemed to reach. You assume he’s never let anyone. Sometimes, you think he takes all the hits he does in order to remind himself of the real pain he refuses to let himself feel.
Bruce looked at you intensely as he palmed Clark’s erection. He was studying you. Your nervousness was one thing, he knew it well. But your bashful arousal was a new frontier. You kept staring at the ceiling, knowing you would crumble if you looked over at him. He was handsome in a way that made you nervous if you looked at him for too long, like a long-lost movie star from the Golden Age. His charm was effortless, a well-rehearsed charade that flustered you more than it seduced you. He exuded command that made it hard to say no to him, as if his disappointment would devastate you.
Unlike Bruce, Clark didn’t have a scratch on him. His skin was smooth and flawless, as if he were carved straight from marble in the likeness of an ancient god. He was handsome in a way that was almost insulting. He could hide it well. His patience was almost as impenetrable as he was. It made him hard to read at first, but he’s let cracks of his other emotions seep through the longer you’ve been with him. You assumed he was too worried about frightening you with anything other than his fairweather optimism. Easy eyes and kind smiles with stupid dimples that put you at ease when you should be on alert. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. An extraterrestrial and uncanny Adonis.
Clark moaned against your skin, letting his teeth graze you as he jutted his hips against Bruce’s hand. He was careful, cautious with you despite his desire. You hadn’t said please yet. Bruce slipped his hand into Clark’s briefs and pulled out his leaking erection. Clark’s right arm stopped propping him up as he slid it under your neck and settled on the pillows next to you.
“Look at him,” Bruce instructed, tilting your cheek towards Clark. “Isn’t he so handsome?”
Swallowing nervously, you turn to look at Clark. A small flush left his cheeks tinted pink. His eyes were shut in pleasure as Bruce continued to stroke him. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked at you. You nodded slowly in agreement.
“Hi, gorgeous,” Clark whispered, using the arm under you to turn your body fully onto his side towards him.
He moved his hand from your stomach to cup your cheek. It seemed they were in silent agreement that Clark would take your first kiss. You wonder if they had this planned out. If they did, they weren’t keen on sharing their plans. The element of surprise served them well.
“Hi,” You whispered back, staring at his lips.
Who were you kidding, of course they did. They didn’t leave anything to chance.
They didn’t have to do this for you, you thought. They didn’t have to let you take it slow. They didn’t have to wait until you were comfortable with their innocent affection. They could have taken you the first night they brought you back, and it would have never made a difference to them. They were giving you plenty of chances, and you have given them almost none.
Clark’s hips thrusted into Bruce’s hands as he moaned again. He pressed kisses into your hairline by your temples, whimpering softly when Bruce squeezed him.
“Stop jerking your hips,” Bruce commanded, looking at Clark before resuming at a faster pace. “Hands to yourself.”
Clark gasped and pressed his face into your hair, hips tense with obedience. Clark’s hands retreated behind his back, chest heaving. Bruce’s other hand settled on the back of your neck, stroking up the side gently.
“See? He can behave himself,” Bruce reassured, whispering gently in your ear. “He’ll listen to you if you tell him what you want.”
You placed your hand over Clark’s cheek and pulled back from him slightly to look straight at him. His eyes were heavy with need as he looked at you. His bottom lip was caught in his teeth as he bit back a moan. You could still be in control; you could make this happen on your own terms.
“Clark,” You said shakily. You kept the last shred of courage you had and maintained eye contact with him. “If you want to kiss me, you can.”
Clark hardly let you finish your sentence before he gave you a deep kiss, nuzzling his cheek into your hand. You gasped at his intensity, closing your eyes as you let him kiss you breathless. The second kiss was sweeter, softer. You could feel his restraint as he slowed down, groaning lowly against your lips. He was desperate to ravage you, but he was willing to go at your speed. That had to count for something, right?
Bruce’s hand stopped pumping and grabbed yours, replacing it on Clark’s hardness. Clark whimpered against your lips, letting out a breathy gasp. He moaned out your name lowly, shutting his eyes again.
Your movements were stiff and awkward, clearly unused to the motions. Clark didn’t seem to hold it against you.
“Honey, ah!” Clark breathed out, gritting his teeth when you started moving your hand. “Making me feel so good.”
Bruce’s hand slipped over your underwear, pressing his index finger against your wetness.
“‘Course you’re not afraid,” Bruce mused, sliding his hand under the elastic band. “How are we supposed to trust what you say when your body is willing to tell us the truth?”
Bruce’s middle finger brushed against your clit, causing you to tense your hips and flinch. You whined into Clark’s mouth, gasping when you felt his tongue brush against yours. Bruce’s hand on your neck kept you in place when you tried to move your head back.
“Relax,” Bruce instructed softly. “Just open up.”
You whined again, turning your head to the side. This was happening too fast; you weren’t prepared to deal with both of them for your first time. Clark’s kisses had left you lightheaded and malleable, slowly kissing away your doubts with each pass of his lips. They could twist your words, but you refused to let them twist your judgment.
You pushed your hands against Clark’s chest and broke away for a breath, starting to feel sobs bubbling in your throat. You tried to suck in a few deep breaths and take a beat, but Clark dove back in for a wet kiss to your trembling lips, letting his tongue swipe against you again.
You pulled your hands away from Clark and sat up quickly away from them, frantically breathing and pushing your hair away from your face. Tears were welling in your eyes as you let out hiccuping breaths.
Bruce was quick to sit behind you, locking you in place between his legs. He placed his hands on your shoulder and brushed some hair behind your ear. Clark sat up in front of you, cupping your face with one hand and placing the other over your heart.
Bruce rubbed soothing circles into your shoulders as you breathed with Clark. Some stray tears had fallen, and Clark was quick to kiss them away.
“Deep breaths,” Bruce said softly. “Just like that.”
Your hyperventilation had slowed to slow, hiccuping breaths as they soothed you.
“I-I don’t think I’m ready for this.” You whimpered.
“You were doing so well.” Bruce praised, letting his hand rub over your shoulder blades.
You shook your head, closing your eyes and resting against Clark’s chest.
“Talk to us,” Clark said, pulling you in close to lay your ear over his heart. “Did it not feel good?”
Bruce petted a hand over your head as you hid your face in Clark, still taking shuddering breaths.
“I don't want to do this.” You mumbled. A desperate Hail Mary.
“Oh, honey,” Clark sighed. “We all know that's not true.”
“You were so wet when you watched us,” Bruce whispered in your ear. “You liked it. There’s no use in denying it.”
Your heart fell just as far as it did the first time Bruce told you that you weren’t going to leave the manor. It was something that was not up for discussion. Tears threatened to spill again.
“What’s really going on?” Clark implored, resting his cheek against your hair.
Honesty might save you for once if they believed it was the truth.
“It was just moving too fast,” You let out with shuddering breaths. “Bruce held my head down and-”
Bruce shushed you again, not wanting you to work yourself up a second time.
“Okay,” He whispered against your hair, placing a kiss on the crown of your head.
“Our poor girl,” Clark sighed. “We scared you, didn’t we?”
You shook your head against Bruce’s hand, letting out a sigh of defeat. Something about admitting your fear enticed them, and you refused to play into their hand. Not going through with this was off the table; you were certain about that now. You knew they were patient men; they were willing to take it at your speed. Did you really want to escalate it further? Were you willing to see how long their patience would last?
“You’ve barely given it a chance,” Bruce said, letting his hand rub over your shoulder blades. “Don’t worry about us. Just lie back, we’ll take good care of you.”
“Let’s try again,” Clark hummed in agreement and whispered close to you, “No more tears in those pretty eyes, ‘kay?”
You nodded again and sat up between them, using the heel of your palms to wipe the last of your tears away. You bit back another shuddering breath, holding onto Clark’s hand on your chest. You could do this…right? You could do it unsure, you could do it nervously, you could do it scared. You could do this if it meant they didn’t have to hold you down to get it done.
Clark’s hand on your cheek caressed your face and settled on your chin, resting it between his thumb and index finger. He smiled at you with an unmistakably sharp look in his eyes. He’s pleased you’re willing, but you know that if you weren’t, it wouldn’t have made much difference to him. His thumb stroked over your chin as he tilted it up to look at him. He shared a brief look with Bruce before leaning down to kiss your still-wet eye.
Bruce’s hand slid down from your back and settled on your hip as he kissed the back of your neck. Clark closed his eyes and leaned in for another kiss. You held your breath as he kissed you chastely, sweeter and slower than the other kisses. He kissed you as if it were the tender love and care you so desperately needed. He peeked at you through his eyelashes, seeing that you had closed your eyes too and were letting out slow, deep breaths.
“Good girl,” Bruce murmured against your neck, kissing the skin softly there. “Keep breathing just like that. It’ll help you.”
Bruce’s hand slid over your hip fully and dipped between your legs. You gasped softly in Clark’s mouth and curled your fingers slightly against his chest. Clark’s lips twitched slightly in restraint, continuing to lay kisses on the bottom lip of your parted mouth. Bruce’s hand cupped you entirely, pressing the heel of his palm against your clit. Your hips jerked away from his hand, but Bruce’s straddling you from behind kept you in place. Even the pressure from his palm was too much for you; every touch against your skin left electricity in its wake. No matter how shameful it felt to admit, you knew you wouldn’t last long against them.
“Shh,” He soothed, kissing under your ear. “You’re okay. Just let us make you feel good.”
“He’ll make all your worries melt away, you’ll see.” Clark hummed in agreement against your lips. “Don’t be difficult, now.”
Bruce’s hand continued to grind into you as you let out a soft whine. Toys had never even felt as good as Bruce’s teasing. You were ashamed to feel as good as you did. Your hand flew up to your mouth, making him press his hand down even harder. Clark took it away and held both your wrists against him.
“None of that,” Clark scolded and pressed your hands back on his chest. “You let us hear that pretty voice loud and proud.”
“Trust me, lovely.” Bruce chuckled, putting his hand into your wet panties. “Clark would be too happy to make you really scream for us. He’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to you.”
“Woof.” Clark teased in a low voice.
Bruce’s finger slowly circled your clit as you bit back a moan. Clark took your swollen lip from under your teeth and put it between his own, sucking gently when you moaned again. Bruce’s movements were slow and teasing, giving you just enough to feel the tingle in your spine but not enough to get you anywhere.
Clark swiped his tongue over your lip before sealing your lips in a hot kiss. You whined into his mouth, grateful for the way his tongue muffled your pathetic sounds. You relaxed your hips against Bruce and flattened your palms shakily against Clark’s chest. They were trying to keep the mood light, ease the tension from your hunched shoulders and arched hips. The least you could do for yourself was return the favor.
Bruce’s kisses became wetter as he sucked and nibbled on your collarbone, leaving tender marks in his wake. His fingers slipped down to tease the wetness between your folds, stroking gently. You sighed into Clark’s mouth and forced yourself to rest in the palm on your cheek. Clark was right, if you really got yourself to relax, you could forget yourself for just a moment. Forget your circumstances, forget that you don’t have a say in your own life anymore.
You could forget all that for now, but you knew better. Tomorrow is a different story. You’ll try to forget how good Bruce’s fingers were at making you feel pleasure you didn’t even know was possible. You’ll try to forget how dizzying Clark’s kisses were. You’ll try to forget how addicting their devotion and desire were in your isolation.
Clark’s free hand slipped in your panties over Bruce’s, toying his middle finger through your folds before dipping into you. You cried out softly as he did, earning pleased groans from both men. The two of them shared a look over your shoulder before kissing each other next to your ear. It was heated and messy, causing heat to pool in your stomach at their pleased sounds.
Your back arched away from Bruce as Clark curled his finger inside of you, making a slow inching motion. Your legs began to tremble as they squeezed shut around Clark’s thigh. You bit back another moan as you pressed your back to Bruce’s chest. Clark was reaching places you never even dreamed of, dragging out pleasure you didn’t even know was possible with each curl. You were close already. Clark let out a low sound when you clenched around him, and Bruce hummed in kind.
“Eager little thing,” He cooed, pressing his forehead against yours and staring at your wide eyes. “Feeling good so good, aren’t you?”
You yelped in pleasure when Bruce gently pinched your clit and rolled it between his fingers. Clark’s finger pumped in and out of you at a steady pace, keeping a curling motion as he dragged them against your walls. You couldn’t even think to hold back your moans anymore as you writhed between them.
“I think she’s close.” Bruce teased with a smirk, looking at Clark. Your hips just against their fingers as you whined. “And she said she didn’t want this.”
Bruce tilted your head back by your chin and kissed you deeply, drinking in the soft sighs and whines you let out. Your hips rut in between them, caught in a dance between Bruce’s caresses and Clark’s pumping. He broke the kiss off and looked down at you through heavy eyelids, cooing when you let out a soft whimper. Your eyes screwed shut as the pleasure began to override you, making you moan shamelessly.
“That’s it,” Clark urged. “Good girl, let it out.”
You wailed and let out a loud cry as your body tensed, shaking as your orgasm ripped through you. Bruce let out a pleased groan as you collapsed against him, riding out the waves of pleasure as they whispered sweet nothings to you. Clark’s lips quirked as he felt you squeeze tightly around his fingers. They guided you through it, only stopping their motions when you whimpered and shook in overstimulation.
A stray tear had fallen down your cheek as you opened your eyes to look up at Bruce. He was still looking right back at you, pressing a sweet kiss to your trembling lips. You kissed back, whining when he pulled away. The haze of your satisfaction had your wires crossed. Your afterglow had you feeling a sense of peace you didn’t even know you could get back.
“Well done, love.” He praised, pulling his hand out of your panties.
Bruce raised his fingers to Clark’s lips, moving them slowly in and out of his mouth as he sucked greedily. Clark pulled his finger out of you and raised it up to Bruce’s lips, pumping it slowly out of his mouth. You watched as you tried to catch your breath, letting out little whimpers as you adjusted your posture.
The reality of your situation was starting to trickle back in as the two of them parted above you. It was a fool’s errand to believe you had any power over the situation. You handed yourself over as soon as they asked you. You let your inhibitions get lost in their twisted sense of affection and care. Worst of all, you liked it. You liked forgetting the circumstances that led to the current entanglement. You liked forgetting that they weren’t your lovers by choice. You liked forgetting that you were all but held down to get here.
Bruce smoothed his hands over your tensing shoulders and moved you to lie with him. He propped himself up against the headboard again and shimmied you up to lie on his chest with your back to him. Clark crawled in between your legs, staring up at you with an easy smile.
“Absolutely soaked for us,” He murmured, placing a wet kiss over your belly button. “Tasted so good on Bruce’s fingers.”
Clark worked you out of your panties and tossed them off the side of the bed. You shifted anxiously against Bruce, who held you in place with a warm hand on your chest. Clark kicked his own boxers off, leaving both you and him fully naked.
“You’re doing so well, beautiful,” Bruce whispered in encouragement, kissing your ear gently. “Don’t stop now.”
Clark hiked your knees over his shoulders as he settled between yours and Bruce’s legs. You shifted nervously again, gasping when he blew cold air over your wetness. You were hardly ready to go all the way; you only hoped they felt the same way. He chuckled as he placed wet kisses trailing down your right thigh, caressing your thighs as they rested on his shoulders.
“Don’t tease her, Clark,” Bruce chuckled. “She’s been so good for us. Doesn’t she deserve her reward?”
Bruce hooked his arms under your knees and pressed your legs up to your chest. He tucked you close to him, folding you up as much as he could. You gasped, feeling your flush and shame come back twice fold at your absolute exposure. They were more than eager to prepare you for them, which you could feel immensely grateful for. You just hated that it cost you more of your dignity that you thought was all but gone.
Clark’s warm hands gripped your ass and squeezed gently before he spread you open. He looked up at you as he placed a small kiss over your clit, making you whimper and gasp from the sensitivity. You squirmed as you looked down at Clark, who looked you straight in the eye as he laid a wet kiss with his tongue against the nub. You gasped softly again as his tongue took a long, slow swipe up your wet folds.
Clark hummed against you as he took your clit in his mouth and began to suck gently, shaking his head. You whined as his entire mouth enveloped you, becoming more feverish in his movements the louder you became. He was moving against you like a man who had been starved of you his entire life.
Your hands flew down to the curly locks tussling between your legs and threaded your fingers through them. Clark moaned in response, pushing his tongue in deeper into you and letting his canines scrape against you gently. You cried out and pulled at his hair, trying to pull him off of you. Your thighs started to shake in overstimulation as you felt Clark growl against you.
“Clark!” You yelped, trying to buck your hips away from him.
Bruce held you firmly in place as you struggled in their hold.
“He’s good with his mouth, isn’t he?” Bruce murmured against your temple. “Like I said, a dog with his favorite bone.”
Clark nodded, suckling on your clit as he slowly inched a finger back into you. You gasped breathlessly and went limp against Bruce’s chest, feeling the pleasure start to become borderline painful as Clark added a second finger and curled them both. You clenched tightly around them as he began to pump them in and out of you.
“No,” You whined pathetically, feeling the noise rise again in your throat as you shook your head. “I’m gonna come again.”
“That’s okay,” Bruce said. “You can come as many times as you want.”
Clark was spurred by your begging and continued in his ministrations, letting out a low moan as he rocked his hips against the bed. You tugged at his hair again, but he paid you no mind as he steadfastly brought you closer to your second orgasm. You could do nothing but whine and cry out against Bruce’s chest, feeling tears prick your eyes. You let out a loud, warbling cry as you came against Clark’s face, feeling your body practically white out with the pleasure ripping through you. You shook violently in Bruce’s arms as you let out a heaving, whining sob, letting a few stray tears fall.
You continued to clench around nothing when Clark pulled his fingers out, and your thighs twitched through the aftershocks of your pleasure. Clark placed one final kiss on your wetness before sitting up between your legs. Bruce set your legs back down over his and straddled Clark’s thighs. You shut your eyes and let out heaving breaths as you whispered a curse to yourself.
“You’re lucky,” Bruce chuckled deeply. “He let you off easy today.”
Clark kissed your trembling lips deeply, slipping his tongue between your lips as you gasped softly. You tasted yourself on his tongue as you let out a low whimper. Clark moaned in kind, nipping at your lips softly when he pulled away.
“All right, that’s enough,” Bruce teased, pushing against Clark’s chest. “You’ve been greedy enough for one evening.”
Clark kissed you sweetly one last time before switching positions with Bruce, handling you gently as they passed you off. You were placed in Clark’s lap, back pressed flush to his chest. Your legs were spread again, far less so than before. Your feet sat on the outside of Clark’s knees as you settled against his chest. You watched as Bruce took off his boxers and sat between your legs, completely bare.
Your eyes trailed his body as you looked over his scars, some familiar and some new to you. Seeing them up close and uncovered made you realize just how many of them there were. You reached a shaky hand out to his chest as he moved closer between your legs. The scar just below his heart was cut deep; the healed tissue was raised and uneven. It’s unimaginable to consider what the two of them have survived.
You stood absolutely no chance against them unless they wanted you to. It would only take seconds for Bruce to pin you down in an inescapable hold. Clark wouldn’t have to try to catch any sudden movements you threw at him. They didn’t even need each other to ensure your complete physical submission. Your pleasure overtook you because they wanted you to have it. Your consent was manufactured because they wanted you to believe it. They gain nothing from your approval, yet demand it anyway.
When Bruce finally kissed you, you kissed him back. You felt the chap of his lips, the scars from all the times they got busted by a lucky shot. You placed a small kiss over the scar on his cupid’s bow, taking in his pleased hum as he kissed you deeply in response. Maybe they would let you off easy tonight. Maybe they’ve had their fill of you for one evening.
Bruce’s finger ghosted over your folds, and you jolted in oversensitivity, clenching down around nothing. He parted from you, licking his lips.
“You ready?” He asked sincerely, caressing your inner thighs with his rough hands.
You would never be ready. Ready wasn’t a feeling; ready was an action. You trembled slightly with anticipation and nerves, only growing more riled up as Clark gently rubbed your waist. Tears threatened to prick your eyes again as you blinked them away and looked back up at the canopy. There was a slight gold reflex to the green that you hadn’t noticed earlier. The sooner this was over, the sooner you could stop pretending to want this. You swallowed and looked at Bruce, willing yourself to relax.
You needed to choose to be ready before they decided for you.
Bruce shifted his hips closer to yours, thumbing your clit gently as he pressed his thighs against the back of yours. Clark reached over and stroked Bruce slowly, grinning as he groaned lowly. His other hand caressed your midriff, letting his palm spread warmth over you. You felt him rub his tip against your wetness, and your hips tensed up again. Bruce’s hands held your waist as Clark helped line him up. Your right hand shakily gripped Bruce’s wrist, making him look up at you.
“Bruce,” You pleaded softly through trembling lips. “I’m scared.”
“I’ll be gentle,” Bruce promised, placing his hand on yours and rubbing his thumb soothingly over your knuckles. “Do you want to hold my hand?”
A tear falls down your cheek as you nod and shut your eyes. Bruce’s fingers lace with yours as you squeeze tightly, still shaking. He pecked a kiss to the back of your hand and pressed it into the bed.
“Don’t you worry, honey,” Clark whispered sweetly in your ear, holding your other hand. “Bruce is going to take good care of you.”
Bruce used his free hand to give himself one more pump before pressing his tip into you, catching it on your hole as he slowly inched in. You clenched harshly around him as he slid in, adjusting to his size. Ragged breaths made your chest heave sharply as your whole body tensed in anticipation.
“Shit,” Bruce hissed through his teeth, stopping about halfway. “Squeezing me like this is only going to make it harder.”
Clark pet over your stomach, gently pushing your arching back down onto the bed and forcing you to relax the tension in your hips and waist.
“Just relax,” Clark coaxed. “Be good and let him in.”
You forced yourself to relax your thighs, opting to carry all the tension in your shoulders instead. Bruce sighed in relief and continued despite your whimpering whines. The stretch was unlike anything you’d ever experienced, even with Clark’s fingers earlier. Clark shushed you softly and kissed your temple, murmuring praise.
“That’s it,” Clark praised. “Good girl. Just like that.”
Bruce groaned and clenched his teeth, squeezing your hand slightly as he bottomed out. You let out the breath you held in and squeezed his hand fiercely in return. You involuntarily clenched around him as he stilled in you. He cursed harshly under his breath. His hips trembled in restraint against yours.
The stretch was uncomfortable, almost bordering on painful. The fullness was something else entirely. He was consuming your entire being. He was the sweat on your brow, the nerves in your mind, the pleasure pooling in your gut. He was filling you in places you didn’t even know existed. He was taking the last piece of yourself that wasn’t already declared his.
“Taking me so well,” Bruce muttered, resting his forehead on yours. “Absolutely perfect for me.”
Clark pressed his hand on your stomach, and you whined, gasping at the pressure. He took your left hand and placed it next to his right on your stomach, stroking the back of your palm gently.
“You feel him here?” Clark said softly. “So deep. He feels so good, doesn’t he?”
Clark interlaced his fingers over yours, continuing the pressure. His right hand moved down between your legs and began to slowly circle your clit with his middle finger. Bruce let go of your hand briefly to hook your right leg under his left arm, pressing it up to your chest as he reached back down. He interlaced your fingers with his as he pressed his hips flush to yours, not leaving any gap between the two of you.
Your mouth was agape as you let a breathless cry, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of you. A few more tears fell down your face as Bruce pressed himself into you, groaning into the crook of your shoulder as he did. Your back was flush to Clark’s chest, feeling his hardness rut against you as he moved his hips slowly.
Sweat trailed down your back onto Clark’s stomach as you squeezed Bruce’s hand again. You blinked away more tears and took a big breath, trying to catch your bearings. Being between both of them was beyond overwhelming.
“Good girl,” Bruce praised, laying a needy kiss on your shoulder. “Keep breathing just like that. We’ve got you.”
Bruce’s hips slowly rolled back, dragging himself out of you. He was just shy of his tip coming out before he rolled his hips forward in a single, swift motion to plunge himself all the way back in. You gasped and held your breath again, only exhaling when you could no longer hold in your unabashed moan. You were too overwhelmed to give a second thought to any embarrassment you could think to muster.
“Tell him just how good you’re feeling,” Clark whispered into your ear, moaning with another jerk of his hips.
“It’s too much, I can’t,” you blubbered out. “I can’t take it.”
“You can,” Bruce grunted. “And you will.”
Bruce ground his hips slowly in a circle, pressing you further into Clark. The overstimulation and fullness were bringing your buried emotions to the forefront. A whimpering cry caught itself in your throat as you screwed your eyes shut. Tears fell down your scrunched face when Bruce pulled himself out slowly again. The slow drag of his head against your tensed walls had your toes curling as hard as they could.
Bruce panted and swallowed close to your ear, letting out a grunt as he pushed his hips back in. His thighs flexed against yours as he started to pump in and out of you at a slow, steady rhythm. Your nails dug into Bruce’s hand, hard enough to scratch and draw blood.
Bruce brought your entwined hands up to his mouth for a brief kiss over your knuckles.
“Gonna give me some battle scars of your own?” He teased breathily.
As Bruce’s hips rocked the pair of you, Clark slid his hardness between the small of your back and your tailbone. The sweat of your back slickened him enough to sigh in your ear and kiss behind it wetly. More tears fell as Clark’s finger began to circle you faster and his hips rutted against you in tandem with Bruce’s. The shame and pleasure were bringing you close to sobbing again, making your feelings grow with each rise and fall of your heaving chest. Exhaustion crept in where excitement should be. You could only pray they would take their pleasure quickly. You refused to give yours up for a third time.
You kept your eyes shut as you heard Clark and Bruce exchange a few more kisses with each other before moving onto you. Bruce kissed your wet cheeks tenderly, whispering assuringly to you as he did. Clark pressed his face into your shoulder, speeding his pace up as he shook your entire body with his strokes. He left wet kisses on your damp skin, letting them muffle his moans.
Clark groaned your name loudly as his hips flexed and tensed there, spilling himself all over your back. He bit gently into your shoulder as he rode out his aftershocks, licking over the tender mark. He was quicker to go than Bruce from his previous teasing, you assumed. You tried not to notice him rutting into the bed when he was between your legs, letting his obsession with you alone do him in.
“Usually have better manners than this,” He exhaled in your ear, nuzzling his cheek into yours. “But I just had to get back to you.”
He had two fingers circling your clit now, pressing down harder as Bruce increased his speed. You shivered in mild disgust and arousal as you felt his spend start to drip down your back. Bruce was not far behind him as you opened your watery eyes to see him staring back down at you. His face was uncharacteristically flushed, and sweat was beading around his temples. He leaned down to give you a deep kiss on your mouth, moaning into your mouth in return.
Your cunt clenched down on him again as you felt the pleasure building in your core again.
“Close again?” He smirked through his heavy pants. “We’ll have to build your stamina up.”
You whined and shook your head, letting the sobs bubble up again. You didn’t want your pleasure to be wrought from their insatiability again. Their obsession with your complete ownership had delved all the way down to enacting their will over even your most basic bodily functions. They shared a displeased look over your shoulder, in silent agreement once again. It was never about you.
“You will come again,” Bruce commanded, squeezing your hand. “You deserve it, my love.”
Of course you did, that’s what this was all about in the end – what they think you deserve. Not what you wanted, not even what you needed, but what you deserved. You deserved their protection, you deserved their devotion, you deserved their delusions of grandeur. You deserved it so much that it never mattered what you thought about it.
Clark whispered encouragingly in your ear as Bruce slowed his pace, focusing on more powerful and targeted thrusts. He was going in as deep as he could, rolling his hips up into you. Your sobs were loud and unfettered as Clark shushed you softly. You shook your head again and again, whimpering out protests when the pleasure began to make you shake. There was practically no buildup this time. It hit you just like their love did, an impossible force that refused to be denied. It struck you all at once like they did, overtaking your entire being and holding you in the throes of its ecstasy.
You were fairly certain you lost consciousness for a moment as you rode out your orgasm, spasming violently around Bruce. Absolution filled your senses as you basked in the ignorance once again, letting go of your circumstances for just a second more. The well-earned relief was short-lived as you felt Bruce pull out of you and finish himself off on your stomach. You barely registered he had done it as you finally let yourself go, giving into the fear you’ve felt the entire time. Your body shook as you sobbed harshly. You didn’t even care if they were a witness to it anymore; you couldn’t refuse yourself any longer.
They maneuvered you slowly, allowing your body to rest naturally on the bed between them. Bruce kissed you and pulled you close to him, laying you face down on his chest. He rested against the sheets on his back, petting your hair as you wailed into his chest. The situation had fully crashed down on you, filling you with horrible shame and anger. You let them talk you into willingly betraying yourself, into believing this sham of an intimate evening. You tried to forget them in the apex of your pleasure, but they were waiting there for you, too. There was nowhere to hide from them, not even in yourself anymore.
Your cries had fizzled out in sniffles quickly as exhaustion moved into you once more. The edges of reality blurred as you opened your eyes wearily. The sight of the room was a haze, some far-off place that felt more like a dungeon than a castle with each passing minute. Their voices were a blur as you settled against Bruce, still shaking from the shock of it all. You hadn’t noticed Clark had left the bed, but he returned with a warm washcloth. His movements were gentle and tender as he physically cleaned you of themselves. You weren’t sure you’d ever be able to wash yourself of your own sins, not with all the tears you knew had left to be shed.
Clark settled beside you and kissed your cheek, prompting you to close your eyes again. Their conversation was muffled, like you were listening to them speak through a wall. Bruce said something about Alfred bringing dinner up to the bedroom instead of taking it formally like date night would demand. Their voices faded the more you relaxed into their comforting touches.
You could tell they were speaking to you, but it wasn’t real. None of this was real. The feeling of their lips on your skin, the softness of the sheets, the pit of despair deep in your heart. It would all melt away if you weren’t keen to their reality. You let yourself drift off on Bruce’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as you hoped to free yourself from them in your dreams.
Clark forcing Reader to touch herself in front of him. Mhm. Yeah. He'd have you splayed out on his bed, telling you what to do and threatening to take over if you try to refuse.
He wants to watch you rub your pussy while he jerks himself off. Gosh, and the whole time he’s praising you, telling you how beautiful your pussy looks and how lucky you are that he doesn't come over there and eat you up himself like he desperately wants to, but he has self-control, of course. His ma and pa taught him well!
He would definitely drool over the way your fingers glisten with your juices. After he's satisfied, you bet your sweet ass he's coming over and licking them clean <3
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