dceu_kinkmeme | DCEU Prompt Post #1

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DCEU Prompt Post #1

Welcome to Round One of the DCEU Kink Meme!

Please have a look at the extended rules here.

The important rules in short:

Post anonymously.
Negative comments on other people's prompts (kink-shaming, pairing-bashing etc.) and personal attacks of any kind will not be tolerated.
One prompt per comment. Warnings for common triggers and squicks are encouraged, but not required.
Prompts should follow the format: Character/character, prompt.
Keep prompts to a reasonable length; prompts should not be detailed story outlines.
No prompt spamming.

Please direct any questions to the Ask a mod post. For inspiration: list of kinks .

Prompt, write, draw, comment, and most importantly have fun! Please link to your fills on the fill post.

Here's the discussion post for all your non-prompt/fill needs.

We now have a non-DCEU prompt post for any prompts in other 'verses (comics, animated series, other movies or TV shows etc.).

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Great prompt. Hope it gets filled!

+10000

Bruce is getting on a bit and he's aching more and more. Turns out Clark, with careful application of his strength, is really great at massages.

Since it's fairly early days and also idiots, they're hesitant to acknowledge their attraction even to themselves. But Bruce finds he's contriving reasons for Clark to touch him at every opportunity, and for the massages to progress from a clothed shoulder-rub to expanses of bare, oiled skin.

Eventually sex and feelings happen. :D

Five times (or whatever format preferred) Clark surprised Bruce by being extremely competent. He's an investigative journalist, an alien with a high IQ, etc. Competency is like 'How to Seduce Bruce 101'.

I figured it was about time SOMEONE did something sexy. Poor Clark, he's so gone and he doesn't even know it. :D

<3<3

Bruce doesn't know, but I'm sure he probably suspects. He has probably partaken in a little executive stress relief himself, since we don't get his PoV. ;D

Clark's powers are sporadic and weak while they return, no fear, it'll be a while til he's moving out <3

Oh, he didn't jerk off THERE. ;D

I love small reactions that maybe aren't all that telling by themselves but when you add them all up... whoa there. I probably haven't pulled that off but I TRY OK.

Mood whiplash alert D:

Clark's phone vibrates loudly on the nightstand and jolts him awake. He spares a few seconds to let last night sweep over him and settle in a nauseous ball in his stomach, then flails out an arm to catch it up and blearily swipe at the screen until a message pops up.

[5:12] Bruce:
Cave. Ten minutes.

"Jeez," Clark says, and rolls himself out of bed. "Morning to you too, Bruce."

The nausea settles into vague anxiety as he washes, and he finds himself over-analysing the text. It's abrupt--but Bruce is often abrupt. The full-points seem accusatory. Is this going to be a dressing-down? Clark is amazed at how much he can read into those three words. He's agonized less over his front-page ledes.

He's being ridiculous. Even if Bruce had seen him somehow, so what? He wouldn't know Clark was--that Clark was thinking of him.

He lets out a sharp breath then spares a brief glance at himself in the bathroom mirror, half-expecting the guilt to be stamped plainly across his features, but there's only the familiarity of his face reflected back in the steamed-up glass. His worried frown, his wet and tousled hair. His cheeks are maybe a little pink, but that could easily be from the heat of the shower. It's not evidence.

But then, he thinks, I'm not a detective.

*

Bruce evidently hasn't been back long--he's stripped off the Batsuit, but his hair is still flattened from the cowl and there's a smudge of greasepaint on one cheekbone. An angry fresh bruise crawls from under his sweat-damp undershirt, over the swell of his biceps.

"Morning," he says, and throws a pair of sparring gloves at Clark. He catches them against his chest. "Get warmed up."

Clark runs through a series of stretches. He's still sore all over most days, but his body is generally used to the feeling now, and there's some satisfaction in it. It's a good kind of pain, even if it makes him acutely conscious of his vulnerability.

He sometimes wonders how Bruce handles it, whether there is ever a moment of doubt before he launches himself from a dozen stories up or into a room full of armed men or against a being orders of magnitude stronger than he could ever be, or if he is simply that undaunted by his own mortality.

(Sometimes when Clark thinks about the hard curl of Bruce's fingers in his hair and the pressure of his glove against his throat it feels like he's on the edge of understanding something, but--)

He raises his arms above his head, arches his back, feels his joints pop and crackle. He shakes them out. Bruce watches him, arms folded.

"You're quiet." Bruce says. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Incredible. Clark unfastens the gloves and tries not to look discomfited. The tear of the velcro straps echoes along the cavern walls. "I thought you liked quiet. How was tonight?"

If Bruce looks deeply unconvinced, at least he lets it go. "Some progress. I tracked a sequencer down in the Diamond District. Got a little ugly for a moment, but I can probably salvage it for parts." He flashes Clark a sly smile, clasps his fist in the palm of his hand, bows.

Clark decides not to dwell too closely on the fate of the sequencer, leans and narrowly dodges Bruce's first lazy strike. He's adopted a boxing stance, something Clark hasn't dealt with before and the rhythm of it is keeping him slightly off-balance. He hops back, hoping to observe for a moment, and Bruce obliges him with a slow one-two caught easily on Clark's forearms.

"Keep your guard up," he says, nudges at Clark's elbow with the edge of his fist. "Higher."

He circles, light on the balls of his feet, and Clark turns to keep him squared. Bruce's eyes flash in the low light and he darts in, swift and clever. A firm hit against Clark's ribs, another deft on the side of his head that leaves him shaking off sparks; the rest he evades or deflects. Clark backs off, gets some breathing room.

Bruce settles back on his heels, gestures for Clark to come at him.

Clark grins in response, wide and easy, and the puts himself on the offensive. He feels the sweat break over his shoulders as he pushes against Bruce's guard, but as much as he tries he can't land anything, each strike twisted away or swept to the side like it's nothing. Bruce goes easy on him, Clark knows that, but the gulf of experience between them still feels staggering.

He ducks suddenly, goes to kick out Bruce's knee but Bruce is on him immediately, one hand on Clark's shoulder as he turns a somersault over him, feet thudding against the mat the same instant his arm goes around Clark's neck, dragging him back against his chest.

"Show off," Clark pants. Bruce laughs in his ear, a low rumble that makes the back of Clark's neck prickle. He swallows, hooks his hand into the crook of Bruce's elbow, tries to pull his arm away, says, "Alright, alright. I yield." He can hear the smile in his own voice.

Bruce resists his tugging, instead pushes him down so he's on his knees, braces his other hand on the back of Clark's head. "Let's discuss chokeholds," he says, casual, as though he's talking about the weather. "I'm going to let you go now. Stay where you are."

His arm relaxes, slides back over Clark's shoulder until only his hand is at Clark's throat, cupping over his larynx. His palm is hot and slightly clammy. Clark swallows, throat jumping under his touch. When he inhales, he can smell Bruce's sweat and the sharp leather tang of the Batsuit. Faint notes of the body wash.

"There are two kinds of chokes: air, and blood. Air chokes are more dangerous, more painful, and less effective at rendering your opponent unconscious. There's no reason to use an air choke over a blood choke." Bruce shifts his hand, fingers and thumb pressing gently against the arteries either side of Clark's throat, under his jaw and god, there's no way he can't feel Clark's pulse hammering.

Clark tries to let out a breath but finds that he can't. His chest feels constricted and he's pretty sure it's the only thing that's stopping his heart from bursting through his ribs. He's not sure he can trust himself to do anything but listen.

"Blood chokes don't need much raw strength, and done right, can put your guy down in a matter of seconds. I'm going to apply a little pressure, so you know what it feels like. Tap out if it gets too much, Clark."

His fingertips dig into Clark's neck, pressing into the thunder of his blood. He feels lightheaded almost immediately, bright patterns sparking over his vision. Clark closes his eyes in an attempt to stop his head swimming, and finally that breath bursts out of him, shaky and loud; the pressure in his chest drops like a hot stone into his stomach.

He reaches back to pat Bruce's thigh twice. Bruce eases up right away, cups his throat again and Clark fervently hopes he reads the responsive shiver as relief and nothing else. There's not much he can do about being half-hard other than hunch over a bit, though. His sweatpants aren't particularly forgiving where that's concerned.

Bruce take a slow, deep breath, then abruptly takes his hand away. "Of course, it's better to use your forearm instead of fingers. Better leverage, quicker takedown, less trouble. Clark, don't worry about that. It happens. Adrenaline."

That jolts an embarrassed laugh out of him. "Yeah," he says. "Sorry."

Bruce shifts slightly. "I want you to try," he says, and moves so he's kneeling in front. Clark peels off his gloves, brings his arm around and sandwiches Bruce's neck in the crook of his elbow. He rests his other hand on the back of Bruce's head, fingers rucking his dark hair. "That's right. Good. Now, lean back and squeeze."

Clark tries. A cold horror breaks over him, cascades down his back. Bruce is warm and vital against his chest. The fragile bones of his neck roll against his arm.

And there is screaming and the collapse of rubble--he feels the blistering heat of laser vision that is not his, smells burning concrete. "No," he gasps. He can't. He cannot. He is trembling violently, can't seem to stop, can't ground himself. Bruce doesn't move under his grip. "No--"

"Clark?"

He feels the vibrations of Bruce's voice against his skin and drops his arm, tries to pull away but Bruce has his hand, has caught it between his.

"Clark!"

*

Chokeholds. I think Bruce is being entirely self-indulgent on this topic; I mean, Clark is staying where Bruce puts him, so why wouldn't he?

PTSD? Or just the weight of guilt on his own conscious inducing a panic attack? It's generally a fine line, if there ever is one. I might be reading into it wrong, so if I am, I apologize. Believe it or not, I'm not usually a staunch subscriber to the 'death of the author.' :-D

Either way I suspect there will be a discussion about emotions coming (between these two it will either be hilarious or heartbreaking and given the content, it'll likely be the latter) with Bruce's usual brand of gruff care.

I am so glad that you have taken on this prompt and have done it so well. I've been stalking this thread like an addict and am always thrilled when you update! I often boggle at the idea that you only intended it to be 4-ish parts--I'm certain it would have been wonderful, but I am so glad you extended it and therefore are spoiling me with more!

Thanks for sharing!

Yes! Yes, yes, yes!

I love all of Bruce's competencies, but yes, Clark is competent, too.

I think that's why I love the DCEU iteration of Clark so much. I believe someone else had pointed out that Clark isn't a persona, he and therefore Superman, are mild-mannered and are introspectively quiet. Clark doesn't bumble around like older versions, he just avoids drawing attention altogether.

Also, this Clark has traveled the world and picked up odd jobs--fishing boats? He's more than just Superman and more than a Kansas farm boy who's biggest life decision was to move to the big city.

So a thousand times yes!

Agreed! I really hope someone fills this!

I was reading some dom/sub fanfic and I saw that in many of them there isn't the aftercare...

now I need to read a fanfic where there is a very long description of Bruce that look after Clark!!

Oh my god, anon, it's not mood whiplash so much as it is an embarrassment of riches! I love the humor and Clark's nerves at the beginning, and then the middle of this is one big long HNG, from Sometimes when Clark thinks about the hard curl of Bruce's fingers in his hair and the pressure of his glove against his throat it feels like he's on the edge of understanding something on down, gah. All the touching, touching touching and then THROAT TOUCHING, EXCUSE ME WHILE I SWOON PLS, and every single physical detail of the actual choke is just YES GOOD MORE *dies*

AND THEN. THEN. PUNCHED IN THE HEART WITH A FIST FULL OF FEELINGS. OH GOD CLARK IT'S OKAY D:

Shortly after Clark returns from the dead, he and Bruce start working together. It's a bit awkward with Bruce feeling very guilty about how he misjudged Clark, and Clark being a bit wary of Bruce because he experience first hand how brutal the other man can be. A mission comes up that involves a trip overseas. The fact that two of them are deeply attracted to each other only makes things more awkward.

Not wanting to cause an international incident, the pair decide to fly to the place on Bruce's private jet. Bruce is bemused by how excited Clark gets seeing the world down below from a plane. Once they get to their destination, Clark marvels at the place, but also how well Bruce handles situations and knows so many languages. As they stay together and investigate things, they each start to notice things about the other. Like how much Bruce likes a certain dish in the country, or how Clark is on the look out for souvenirs for his Ma. Bruce notices that Clark doesn't sleep well at night.

One night, after a particularly bad nightmare Bruce confronts Clark, and finally gets him to open up about waking up in his coffin and making his way out of his grave. In turn Clark gets Bruce to talk about how bad he's been feeling about what happened during the Doomsday event.

In that moment of shared vulnerability, they let go of apprehension and spend the rest of the night together. In the morning Bruce tries to shut things down, but now that Clark has Bruce, he's not letting go. In the midsts of solving the case, he starts to shower Bruce with affection that Bruce secretly can't get enough of.

They have stuff to work out, especially when they get back home, but the possibility of working is there, even with all their differences and issues.

The Daily Planet decides to do one of those charity calendars where each month is a different employee posing, looking all hot and saucy for the camera (like those ones the Rugby teams or firefighters do). Lois is January, Jimmy is March and Clark....

Clark can see it all happening in slow-motion, like a car wreck. His carefully cultivated stodgy persona will be stripped (perhaps literally) and there'll be no way for him to hide his physique.

idc where it really goes from there, whether Superman asks Batman for help in concealing his true identity, or Bruce sees the calendar and recognizes those pecs or what but somehow the calendar leads to Bruce learning Clark's secret but instead of being angry or mistrustful he finds the whole thing kinda funny and it leads to sexy times and a stronger, happier SuperBat relationship

Sorry about the gap! Real life, how annoying :( All I want to do it sit inside and write BvS kissings :(

-------

Clark’s hand is warm against his. Bruce briefly closes his eyes, and turns away slightly. He’d really prefer not to look into Clark’s eyes right now – he doesn’t think he can stand to see the rising hope he knows he’ll see in them. He knows he’ll see the beginnings of a hopeful smile. Because of course he’ll be smiling – even with the cut on his cheek and the gash on his forehead and that wound by his throat, Clark will still be trying – still sending out small feelers to Bruce to test what he can do, and how far he can move before Bruce will push him away.

Bruce isn’t even sure he knows he’s doing it. In fact, he’s quite sure he doesn’t. Of all the things Clark is, manipulative isn’t one of them.

So much of Bruce is tempted to give in to what he knows Clark is so readily offering him. For a moment, he almost wants to laugh – even without his powers, Clark is still Superman, and it seems bizarre to him to know that in this second, he, Bruce Wayne, Batman, holds so much power over him. There’s a thousand things he could say or do next; some of them kind, others kinder still, even though Clark may not appreciate it right at this very moment.

This is the problem with Clark, though: it’s the same problem that’s seen him hauled every which way over the past few weeks, and threatened more times than Bruce can count.

He’s not frightened of the things he should be.

“Bruce?” Clark says again, and this time his fingers squeeze a little harder on his hand.

Bruce closes his eyes again. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Clark says again.

Yes, because that’s what this situation warrants – more apologies, Bruce thinks viciously, and almost tugs his hand away.

In the end, however, he simply shakes his head. “Christ, I need a drink.”

He – gently – slides his hand from Clark’s and makes his way across the room, to where there’s a decanter of scotch and two glasses sitting on a desk nearby, and Bruce pours himself a drink, tossing it back before turning to Clark.

“Do you want one?” A thought occurs to him. “Can you even get drunk?”

Clark looks a little bewildered, his eyes going to the decanter before returning to Bruce. He licks his lips. “I can,” he says. “Even with my powers. I just thought it wouldn’t be… very wise.”

He has a point there, Bruce has to admit. A drunk Superman stumbling around Metropolis, trying to ride the subway because he knows he shouldn’t be either driving or flying right now is… all right, it’s possibly one of the more amusing mental images he’s had of Clark.

“Fair enough,” Bruce says, pouring himself another glass and then knocking that one back too. It’s nowhere near enough to get him drunk – he has a lot of years of drinking under his belt – but the warmth that coils through his veins is a welcome break from the weeks of cold tension he’s been living with. And then the awkwardness this morning. And, hell, any of the things that Clark has been subtly intimating.

It’s not that he thinks Clark is trying to seduce him; it’s that Clark hasn’t even pulled all the strings together in his mind yet about what he thinks or what he wants.

He is, for the first time, vulnerable physically as well as emotionally, and this is, perhaps, forcing him to face up to some of the things that have lain dormant within him for some time now. Ever since he woke up in his grave, crawled his way out of it, and found that the life he had built for himself as Clark Kent had been pretty much blasted to hell.

Bruce had been keeping a watchful eye on him. And he’d thought, when the time came, he’d have some way of dealing with it.

However, as per usual whenever Clark gets involved in anything, his best-laid plans go completely to hell.

It doesn’t help that Clark’s bouts of introspection more usually focus not on what he wants, but how he can be what other people want him to be – how he can live up to the expectations placed on him. Bruce knows that sooner or later, he’ll figure it out, and he’s been dreading the day he looks up and sees the apology in Clark’s eyes; the one that says I’m sorry, but that’s – I mean, you’re my friend, but I….

Now that he realises that perhaps he’ll look up and not see an apology after all, but instead warmth and willingness, Bruce isn’t sure which one terrifies him more.

Bruce runs a hand over his face, picks up the decanter and sits down heavily on an armchair, some distance away from Clark. The Batsuit isn’t the most comfortable thing to lounge around in, but he’s too bone-tired to get up and strip off now.

Clark, on the other chair, is waiting, quiet and patient, and Bruce can see the question in his eyes.

“It’s fine, Clark,” he says eventually, his voice hoarse. “Forget about it. You’re right – nothing happened.”

Clark frowns. “No, I was careless. And I won’t do it again – it was my fault. I’ll stay in until my powers return. I –”

He stops talking when Bruce starts laughing, low and throaty. His throat feels a little warm from the scotch, a little burned.

“What?” Clark asks, looking disgruntled.

“Just stop arguing with me,” Bruce says. “I say you were careless, you say you weren’t. I tell you to forget about it, and you immediately start arguing that you’re the one to blame. I swear, Clark, you can be the most contrary person.”

Clark opens his mouth – he’s just itching to argue, Bruce can tell, but that would just prove his point – before snapping it shut again, looking away.

“Why do you do this, Bruce?” Clark’s voice when he does eventually speak again is soft.

“Do what?” Bruce knows what he’s talking about. And this is Clark all over – always rushing headlong into things. He never stops to think.

Clark looks at him, his eyes pale in the meager white light of the cave. “You know what.”

Typically direct, Bruce thinks. But he doesn’t say anything.

“I… asked you to stay. I didn’t want to argue with you,” Clark says.

Bruce watches as Clark’s gaze dips from his eyes to his lips and hover there for just the briefest second, before he raises it again.

He’s suddenly very, very tired. Running around after Clark is a full-time job, and he doesn’t need even more work.

“What did you want, then?”

Clark doesn't say anything. “I –” he begins, before cutting himself off.

Bruce closes his eyes, the silence thickening the air between them. He hears Clark stand and take a few steps, and when he opens his eyes again, he almost expects to see him heading towards the steps leading to the entrance of the house. But instead, Clark is standing in front of him, slightly unsteadily, hair disheveled, blood staining his shirt and covered in scratches and bandages, but with a look in his eyes that tells Bruce he’s finally figured it out.

When he sits down on the low coffee table in front of him and leans forward, Bruce doesn’t look away. All the little strings that have been tugging at Clark’s mind have finally been pulled together.

Bruce knows he should laugh at him, tell him cruelly to pull himself together and go get himself a girlfriend if he’s really that lonely. That of all the other things Clark demands of him, he wants this too – and that’s really all it would take, even implying that this is an imposition, and Clark would fold himself back up again, stand, and never mention it ever again.

As he’s always said – there’s kindness and then there’s kindness.

“Bruce,” Clark says, his voice desperate and soft, as he raises his hand to Bruce’s face, running his thumb over his cheekbone.

Clark’s breath is warm on his face, and they hang there, as if in suspension, for just a moment, before Clark’s lips are on his, hungrily, inelegantly, pushing his mouth open with his tongue.

Bruce knows he should stop it – and could, if he wanted to – but there’s only so much a man can take. And Clark, with all the warmth and willingness that Bruce has feared he’ll look up and see in his eyes, is kissing him, his hand on his face while Bruce’s own come up to grip his shoulders, as if trying to anchor him where he is.

Clark may not be an elegant or especially skilled kisser, but for all that, he makes up for it with the kind of aching sincerity that Bruce hasn’t felt in a long time – is not sure, now that he thinks about it, he has ever truly felt. Clark’s mouth his hot and deep around his tongue, his teeth grazing gently over his lower lip.

When Bruce’s hand slides lower and finds the bare skin of his flank beneath the hem of his shirt, Clark sucks in a breath a pulls back slightly.

“Um, I – my ribs –”

It takes a moment for Bruce to remember – Clark’s bruised fucking ribs – and then he laughs, humourlessly and coldly.

He sees a confused expression cross Clark’s face. “What?”

Bruce shakes his head. “Nothing.”

He kisses him again, because he doesn’t want to hear the question that’ll inevitably come out of Clark’s mouth next. It’s done now – and if he’s in for a penny, he may as well be in for a pound.

For the moment, at least.

Once again, it’s deep and slow, Clark unguardedly opening his mouth and letting Bruce guide him, falling into him fully and completely.

Bruce only pulls back when he feels that Clark is shivering – long, strange shudders that seem to pass along the whole length of his body.

“What’s happening?” Bruce asks.

Clark’s eyes are still shut, squeezed together, his lips still slightly parted, swollen and wet.

“I – I only kissed L… I mean, I’ve only kissed before when I was… when I had my powers. This is… this is different.”

Bruce takes a moment to study him, the breathless way he’s sucking in air, the slight shake in his hands – Of course it would be, he thinks vaguely, with the part of his brain that isn’t crowded with other things. Why wouldn’t it be?

“Do it again,” Clark murmurs, before his hand has wrapped around the back of Bruce’s head, and he pulls him forward once more.

Aaah! Anon this is so lovely. Oh Bruce, so reluctant to let it happen even though he wants to so badly, and then dives in to the delicious slow kisses anyway. <3 <3

That of all the other things Clark demands of him, he wants this too – and that’s really all it would take, even implying that this is an imposition, and Clark would fold himself back up again, stand, and never mention it ever again.

OUCH. Thank you for being the better sort of kind, Bruce. And is that some hyper-sensitive Clark at the end there? :D :D

It is massively self-indulgent and fluffy, but I couldn't help a bit of miscommunication even if it doesn't end in disaster for a change, haha. These two!

Thank you, anon <3<3

Aw, thanks anon! I do like that line even if I say so myself, and I keep having a moment where I think I should have saved it for a fic with bigger scope, haha. *hands*

<3

BvS Bruce always seems so weary. I wanna give him all the opportunities for low-effort cuddles, haha.

Thanks, anon <3

I'm glad it was okay, OP! There was probably more I could have done with the prompt, but... *dumps a load of romantic fluff onto your lap and runs*

I feel like Bruce doesn't always believe he is allowed nice things. So I make Clark give him all the nice things anyway. I am a sap. :D

<333

During the battle with Zod, he and Clark end up in front of Wayne Financial, with Bruce comforting the little girl and the man who's legs got crushed. Zod uses his heat vision, seeking to obliterate Bruce, the child, and the injured man. Bruce watches on as Clark desperately tries to get Zod to stop, culminating in him snapping Zod's neck.

Clark lets out that primal scream, and Bruce feels his anger melting away at the anguish he sees on Clark's face. The little girl leaves Bruce and makes her way over to where Clark is kneeling and hugs him. Bruce watches as the same man who fought in a battle that causes so much distraction gently hug a child back and start to bawl his eyes out in despair.

When Bruce comes closer himself, Clark looks up at him and begs for his forgiveness for everything that went down. Bruce comes to realize early on that Clark is not the one to blame for all of this, that he chose humanity over his own kind. Clark goes a step further and flies the injured man to the hospital. The crisis of Batman v. Superman is averted by Bruce seeing Clark's humanity for himself.

Now comes the complicated journey of becoming friends, rebuilding what was broken, and maybe becoming something more.

Real life, how annoying :( All I want to do it sit inside and write BvS kissings

But you got there in the end, anon - and may I just say, CONGRATULATIONS :D

I read this like four hours ago and just could not come up with any words, so I went and did other things and then came back and read it again, and I'm trying to do better this time but ANON. I just have SO MANY FEELINGS about Bruce overthinking everything in such a perfect Bruce way, gagging himself silent with all this foreboding and restraint and doubt, and then Clark reaching straight through it because he's just patient enough to last until the right moment to be stubborn. /o\ GOD. THE FEELINGS.

And then KISSING and Clark may not be an elegant or especially skilled kisser, but for all that, he makes up for it with the kind of aching sincerity that Bruce hasn’t felt in a long time and Clark SHIVERING with it, hng, and just. STICK A FORK IN ME BECAUSE I AM SO DONE

that's a lie, I'm not done at all because there's going to be more parts, right? right? right?

I WANT THIS SO MUCH!!

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Page 33 of 99

DCEU Prompt Post #1

Re: Bruce/Clark: Self-Harming Clark, Horrified, Guilty Bruce

Re: Bruce/Clark: Self-Harming Clark, Horrified, Guilty Bruce

Bruce/Clark: Massage (& touch starvation?)

Bruce/Clark, competence

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (8/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (8/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (8/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (9/?)

Re: Bruce/Clark, competence

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Bruce/Clark - Aftercare

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Clark/Bruce: A mission involves a trip, they get to know each other

Clark/Bruce- pin ups, identity porn, muscle worship?

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Ten

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Ten

Re: [FIll] Pilgrim Soul; Bruce/Clark, age difference, sweet sex

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Re: [FIll] Pilgrim Soul; Bruce/Clark, age difference, sweet sex

Re: [FIll] Pilgrim Soul; Bruce/Clark, age difference, sweet sex

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clark/Bruce: AU Clark Kills Zod to Save Bruce and the Little girl.

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Ten

Re: clark/Bruce: AU Clark Kills Zod to Save Bruce and the Little girl.