dceu_kinkmeme | DCEU Prompt Post #1

Entry tags:

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.).

Newest page | Flat view | Flat view newest page

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

I feel terrible for wanting this, but I want ALL THE ANGST about Clark cheating on Lois with Bruce. Author's choice however you want it to end.

Hey everyone, I've noticed a distinct uptick in very long prompts and I'd just like to remind all of you that prompts are supposed to be just that, prompts. They're a starting point, an idea that a writer or artist can develop and explore. They are not supposed to be detailed story outlines in which you explain everything you want to happen in the fill.

I don't want to have an official rule for maximum length if it's not absolutely necessary, I don't know if all of these prompts are from the same person or different people, but in the future please keep prompts to a sensible length, i.e. a paragraph or two. Please use your common sense so I don't have to come up with an arbitrary word limit, because I'd really rather not.

Und, I want this so much.

/anon with the world's biggest infidelity kink

During the knock down, drag out brawl, Bruce and Clark feel this intense pull suddenly overwhelm them. It cuts through the rage and they can't bring themselves to fight each other any more. Turns out Clark is the most powerful Sentinel on the planet and Bruce is his Guide.

Everything with Doomsday still happens and Bruce is devastated and guilty over the part he played in the whole mess. He thinks he's lost his Sentinel forever, until Clark resurrects. Now comes the complicated journey of making their relationship work.

Hello kinkmod, would it be better to move such prompts to the discussion thread?

IDK how, maybe they switch power, magic, Bruce is also a Kryptonian, etc.

+ bottom!Clark please.

Has this not been done before? Seriously?

Then it must be written! I haven't realized how much I needed it until now. Yes! Please!

Yes! The world needs more bottom!Clark!

Ohhhhhh nooooooo this part got too long and has to be split into two!!!!! And it's all pure porn as well. Oops.

I made this part a bit long as I am sorry nonnies but I have a hard deadline creeping up for an RL thing and so have to turn my focus to that, which leaves me not so much time for fun things :( I think this only has one part left in it, and hopefully I can get it done quite quickly, but it may take a few days :((((( (I'll probably end up ignoring my responsibilities and doing it first thing tomorrow morning, ha ha ha ha... ha).

-------------------------

Clark can feel the shivers passing over his body, and he lets it happen, sinking into the kiss. He has been slotting things into place in his head: the dream, the waking up hard, the way Bruce pulled him out of the bathtub and put him into bed – his bed.

He knows what Bruce is like – that any hold Clark imagines he has on him from time to time, that anything he imagines he might know about him, is cut away the next time he tries to grasp it, and instead he finds himself scrabbling against Bruce’s granite-hard surface.

He gives himself away, though, in ways he probably doesn’t even imagine. The kindnesses he seems to dismiss as unimportant, the way he moves and shifts and reappears again, but always remaining fundamentally the same. All the chimera-like qualities he displays have, of course, always been for show – layers upon layers upon layers, from Bruce Wayne to Batman to somewhere in between. But at his core he is unchangeable.

It’s these layers, Clark realises, that he’s been groping through all this time – that’s why they’re never there again when he reaches for them, because Bruce has always twisted away and discarded them by the time Clark has started to push through.

And now….

Now Bruce’s lips are warm on his, his slight stubble grazing Clark’s chin, teeth sliding gently over his lower lip. He’s kissing Clark, not simply allowing himself to be kissed, his fist knotted in the hair at the nape of his neck, so that Clark, in his current state, couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.

Not that he does. It’s exactly the opposite, in fact.

He doesn’t know exactly when this started, or if, until this moment he had truly figured out what was happening within him, but now that it has…

Clark shudders again, long and slow, as he feels the dry skin on the tips of Bruce’s fingers slide gently along his side. Everything feels different from how it used to. He’s kissed people before: Lois, of course. A high school girlfriend. A waitress who pecked him on the cheek once. A woman who crossed her legs to hike her skirt a little, and then told him to buy her a drink. Exactly one other man, a friend, who’d surged up to him on the fishing trawler before backing away again just as quickly, before asking Clark in a terrified voice not to tell anyone. And although all of those things have meant more or less to him – the only reason they’ve left him breathless before is because of the emotion he has attached to them. The first time he kissed Lois will always be burned into his brain because of when it happened and what it meant and the fact he was in love with her, but the fact had remained with his powers, there were so many things that it was physically impossible for him to feel as deeply or as greatly as he wished he could.

But now…

Clark has to pull back, the still-unfamiliar sensation of actually needing to breathe tightening his chest.

He swallows before he can bring himself to look up into Bruce’s eyes, and face whatever reckoning he might see there.

Bruce’s fingers are still curled lightly in his hair, and his eyes, when Clark can bring himself to face them, are half-closed, almost drowsy-looking. His lower lip looks damp, and his chest, still encased in the suit, is rising and falling more rapidly than the usual slow, deep breaths he usually takes.

“Bruce –” he starts to say, not sure exactly what he’s going to follow that up with, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because then Bruce is kissing him again – harder this time, more demanding, his tongue in Clark’s mouth driving out any thoughts except yes, more.

Pain slides through his ribs, but Clark finds he doesn’t even care – it’s so new, all of it, everything, that the pain doesn’t even register as such; it’s all part of the sensation of Bruce kissing him; of everything that has been building between them finally finding its end.

Bruce stands, pulling Clark up with him, lips still pressed to his; when he lifts Clark’s shirt up over his head, Clark has to raise his arms to get it off, and again, the pain is nothing he can take notice of in between the deft touches Bruce is placing on him: his fingers trailing down his spine, his hand on his hip, just above the waistband of his sweats, thumb stroking over the jut of his hipbone.

Clark gasps, head falling back as Bruce’s mouth leaves his, making its way down his throat. He pauses when he reaches the patch of gauze over the place where Clark so every nearly had his throat cut. Bruce’s hand winds its up his body, his fingertips tracing the edge of the white square.

“Clark.”

Clark licks his lips, trying to get his head together – it feels like he has to scrape it back from all the edges of the earth. He can’t even think straight, not with so much happening, so many hard and bright sensations.

“What?” Even Clark can hear how strained his voice is.

“This is… not advisable.”

Clark blinks, managing with some effort to raise his head from where it’s hanging slack on his neck.

“Do you mean… not in my condition, or not in general?”

Bruce looks down at him, regarding him steadily. “Pick one.”

Clark licks his lips, trying to stop his heart from hammering in his ears, and trying to find his vocal chords.

“Bruce, I – what do you think I am? Some damsel who needs to be protected, whose virtue might be compromised?”

For a moment, he sees the ghost of a smirk tug at Bruce’s mouth, before it’s replaced with the granite-hard line that Clark knows well – but which, nonetheless, doesn’t quite reach his half-lidded eyes.

“Be serious.”

“I am. I can make this choice for myself, Bruce. You aren’t going to scare me away. Not this time.”

Bruce’s eyes widen a little, and Clark can see his words have found their mark, just as he intended them too – Bruce isn’t the only one who can make subtle little digs and intimations, and have them stick.

He says nothing; Clark can hear his breathing slow, and he realises that he’s losing him – that Bruce is already sliding away, changing beneath Clark’s hands, wheeling away like smoke.

He can’t have it, Clark thinks to himself, with suddenly clarity – in amongst all the desperate sensations and things he only half-understands, this is stark and clear. He’s not letting it happen. Not after everything; not after spitting out his own grave dirt. Not after everything he has had to rebuild.

He doesn’t care if he’s being selfish. He died, for goodness’ sake. He can have this. He can know this. He can find out what this feels like for everyone else.

So he doesn’t say anything, then, in the end – he just reaches forward again, having to stand slightly on balls of his feet to reach Bruce’s mouth (if he could still fly this wouldn’t be a problem, he thinks, somewhat abstractly).

And Bruce gives into it – slowly, like melting ice – but then he opens his mouth, groaning, surrendering.

Clark doesn’t even have that much time to savour his victory before Bruce’s hands are on him again, pressing into his skin, arms winding around his back. The Batsuit is harsh and cold, but this, too, is welcome, and besides, Clark doesn't have the first clue about how to go about taking it off.

But the rough edges of the suit send bright darts of sensation through his body, catching gently on his skin, and… he likes it.

He likes all of it – Bruce’s hand on the small of his back, tugging his hips forward and forcing his hardening cock against his stomach through his sweatpants; Bruce’s lips on his, hard enough to make his lips feel swollen and bruised, his stubble grazing gently over his cheek. Bruce’s fingers drifting almost lazily through his hair, fingernails sliding against his scalp.

It’s… a lot.

Clark can already feel that dark gathering at the base of his spine, and he knows that if things don’t slow down, this is going to be very short-lived indeed. When he has his powers, he has full control over these things, but now, when everything seems to be hitting him all at once, forcing shudders from his body and long, low moans from his mouth… it’s a lot.

“Bruce, wait…” he begins, but Bruce, it seems, knows full well what he’s doing – and again, why wouldn’t he – and pulls back, leaving Clark gasping cold air, bewildered, hands filled with nothing.

For a second, cold panic hits him, and he wonders if Bruce has decided that this is enough – this far, no further. But as he blinks and looks around in a mild daze, he hears Bruce snapping at buckles and half-turns to find him shucking off the suit, his fingers working quickly over whatever hidden catches run down his side.

Clark licks his lips. He’s seem Bruce a good deal more than shirtless before – he’s had to cauterise a wound in his thigh, for one thing, and then there was the time Clark needed shrapnel pulled out of what Booster had termed his ‘lower butt’, but that had always been a matter of necessity – the last thing on his mind then had been checking Bruce out. Nonetheless, he knows what Bruce looks like beneath the cowl, the cape, the impeccably tailored suits that cost the same as a small townhouse. He knows the dips and grooves of his muscles, the valley where his hips deepen. He knows the plain of his chest, the raised white scars and the small dark marks that trace a lifetime of injuries.

Clark has, in the past, and does now, feel almost abashed at his total lack of them – it’s just one other thing that separates them, one more thing that he can see Bruce measuring himself against, in the moments when Clark has looked up and found his eyes on him.

Like they are now. Now, though, he is marked – he has cuts and bruises and scrapes and sore ribs and he knows now what it’s like for Bruce. What it’s like for every single other human – to get up sore and beaten but to do it anyway, and keep doing it, every day, for the rest of your terrifyingly short life.

Clark finds he can’t speak – he wants to, even if he doesn’t know what to say. So he settles on walking back to where Bruce is standing, sliding out of the lower half of his suit, and kissing him again – deep and hard and with all the meaning he doesn’t think he can put into words.

And Bruce kisses him back.

Clark feels him tugging at him, pulling him across the floor, towards the stairs. He hesitates and begins to say, “I want to stay here,” but Bruce looks back over his shoulder at him, eyebrow raised, before replying, “No. I don’t have the right… things… here.”

Clark furrows his brow, confused, but then sees Bruce smirk a little as he’s sure his sudden comprehension dawns on his face, along with a bright red blush that starts on his neck before burning up to the tips of his ears.

He lets Bruce lead him, hands on his hands, seeming somehow to touch him everywhere on their way up the stairs, into the study, down the hall and into the bedroom.

The bed is soft under his back, Bruce’s body hard above him, and Clark gasps as he feels, for the first time, the thick length of Bruce’s cock, brushing against his. He hasn’t… he’s kissed a man, that one time on the trawler. But that never went anywhere, was never even mentioned again. He has no idea what Bruce’s experience is, but he is, after all, Bruce Wayne, and Clark can easily imagine his adventures have included men.

“Um, Bruce?” he says, breaking away, and trying not to let the shiver that runs though him affect his voice. “I’ve never… I mean, of course I…”

Bruce looks down at him. “I know.”

Clark tries to figure out what exactly that is supposed to convey, but in the end never does – before he can think, Bruce’s hand has slipped below the waistband of his sweats and curled around his cock, his thumb sliding lightly over the head. Clark feels his back arch, his ribs protesting mightily, as a strangled moan forces its way past his lips. This is… this nothing like anything he has felt before. Hot fire burns its way through the network of his veins, spots appears in front of his eyes, and he bites down on his lip to stop himself from making another embarrassing and embarrassingly loud noise.

“Tell me.” Bruce’s voice is soft in his ear. “Tell me how you want this.”

Clark can’t even think straight enough to give him an answer – not with Bruce’s hand keeping up with its slow, steady strokes up and down his cock, hand winding slightly around him. Everything in the movement speaks to Bruce’s expertise in this area – really, it just not fair. How can he be expected to carry on a conversation like this?

“I – I don’t –”

Bruce’s hand makes a sudden twist, and Clark arches up again, crying out.

“Y-you’re doing that on purp-purpose,” he eventually manages to get out, feeling sweat prickle over him.

“Possibly.”

It’s okay, though, Clark decides – if Bruce is being playful then he’s not being cold, and if he were being cold, Clark isn’t sure he could stand it.

“I don’t know,” Clark says helplessly as another shudder wracks through him. “I just –”

Bruce leans down and kisses him, cutting off his words. Clark can hear him groping in a drawer, urgent and a little desperate.

Clark runs his hands over Bruce’s body, looking down at it when Bruce breaks the kiss. He’s not even sure where he should put them, at the moment – he settles for sliding the tips of his fingers over the raised hatches that run down Bruce’s side, before turning into a long, cruel slice of white scar tissue on his abdomen. Bruce shivers lightly under his touch, and Clark, encouraged, runs his hand up to the pale circle of his nipple, catching it between two fingers.

Bruce jerks a little, sucking in a quick breath, and Clark looks up to see him watching him, his eyes unreadable.

“Do you trust me?” Bruce asks, voice low.

Clark frowns. “What? Of course I do.”

He doesn’t have to hesitate over the answer. But Bruce says nothing in return; instead, his hand is back on Clark’s dick, and Clark suddenly finds he doesn’t have room in his head to wonder what he meant anymore. There’s nothing he can do but let his head fall back on the pillow, curling his fingers in the sheets, mouth dropping open as his eyes squeeze shut.

He can feel his muscles cording against his skin, bright spots of pain where it pulls against the wound in his neck, the scrapes on his chest. Clark bites down on his lip, feeling the tang of blood on his tongue – something else new, something else he knows he’ll have to hang onto, because he doesn’t know if he’ll feel it again.

Somewhere above him he can feel Bruce moving himself above Clark, easing his sweats over his hips and down his legs. Bruce’s skin is warm against his, sliding against his, his hand never stopping. He seems to read Clark like a book, knowing when to slow before he slips over the edge and drawing him back.

He can’t hold back when he feels Bruce’s fingers – slick with lube, he realises, and finally figures out what Bruce was scrabbling around in the drawer for – press against him. Clark tries to breathe through it but finds his breath hitching, spine arcing every time Bruce sinks them in deeper.

“Oh, God, Bruce,” Clark hears himself say. He doesn’t even know what’s happening to him anymore, and when Bruce’s fingers are replaced by the blunt, straining head of his cock, Clark can’t do anything but cry out, digging his fingers into the hard muscle of Bruce’s back. Fire coils its way up his spine, licking at the base of his skull as Bruce moves within him, his movements small and, Clark thinks, almost gentle.

“I’m not going to break, Bruce,” he manages to gasp out, opening his eyes to find Bruce’s face above his, eyes heavy-lidded, his lips drawn back slightly over his teeth. “You can… I mean, you can –”

“Fuck you?” Bruce asks, punctuating the question with a sharp push of his hips that has Clark seeing stars, both from pleasure that spirals through him and the spike of pain in his ribs.

“Y-Yes,” he says, the word slipping out from between his lips.

He feels Bruce pulse inside him, once, heavily, before he moves his hips again, sheathing himself fully. Clark feels his eyes rolling back in his head, trembling a little, breath hitching, his fingertips digging into Bruce’s shoulder blades.

His lips are parted, and Bruce catches them with his own, tongue darting into his mouth as he draws back slightly before pushing forward again, his movement between Clark’s thighs controlled and steady. Clark can feel the muscles of his thighs against his calf, the way they strain against his skin every time he moves forward. He’s trying desperately to pull all these details together, to keep them in his mind, but he finds it increasingly difficult as things spin away from him, as his mind becomes increasingly clouded.

He needs this – he needs to remember. Every small detail, every catch of his skin, every gasp of breath, every slight spike of pain and thrill of pleasure. Ordinarily he can fly from Metropolis to pretty much anywhere else in the world without needing to break a sweat or pause for breath, but now, with Bruce buried inside him, forcing Clark’s body open around him, he can do nothing but pant for oxygen and feel sweat slide over his skin, his body desperate and on the edge.

And he has missed this. Even if these sensations are new, this… closeness isn’t. He has missed so badly this connection – sex, for him, had never been just about the physical sensations, but the feeling of closeness, the warmth, the touches. And God, he has missed this.

He clenches himself around Bruce, as if to keep him where he is, or to draw him deeper, or just to tell him don’t stop, and he hears Bruce’s rasping groan in response, the slight stutter of his hips. Clark can hear the rising throb of his heartbeat in his ears, and realises that at this point he can do very little but hold on, his fingers stroking up Bruce’s back, feeling the slight ridges of his spine, the slip of sweat on his skin.

Light begins to blossom behind his eyes, and the insistent heat of orgasm gathers in his groin, making him curl his toes and clench his fists. He has almost given himself over to it, allowed himself to let go and fall over the edge when he feels Bruce’s hand again wrap itself around his cock. Clark arches up with a shout, squirming beneath his body, nerves crackling with both pain and pleasure.

And then, Bruce pulls back slightly, drawing him down again, reading him once again and denying him what he is so clearly desperate for.

“Please,” Clark whispers, opening his eyes a crack and looking into Bruce’s face. “Please, let me – ”

Bruce moves again, and Clark feels his eyes roll back in his head as Bruce’s hand fists over the length of his hard cock. A pulse of white-hot pleasure drives through him, and he hears himself crying out, every muscle in his body as taut as a line, filled with everything and nothing at all.

He knows he is clutching Bruce harder than he should – hard enough that if he had his powers now, Bruce would be in need of some serious reconstructive surgery – but he cannot make himself let go as listens to his heartbeat descending in his ears, his breath gradually slowing, his sweat mingling with Bruce’s where their chests lie against each other.

Clark swallows, feeling the puff of Bruce’s breath against his collarbone, and shifts a little on the mattress. Bruce is heavy, but he cannot bring himself to care. He want to hold onto this as long as he can, before Bruce can find away to change shape again and slide away from him.

Except he won’t, this time, Clark tells himself. As if holding Bruce’s body will somehow hold his mind, even though he, of all people, knows this is nowhere near the truth.

But still, he can’t make himself let go.

Obviously people are welcome to discuss these story ideas in the discussion/writing post, yes. I just don't think they belong on the prompt post.

Clark rimming Bruce, that is. Licking him open, fingering him, biting his ass and thighs, all that.

I'm fine with him fucking Bruce afterwards, too, but the rimming should be the focus, not just brief foreplay.

Antagonistic and angsty as per BvS or not. I just want always a girl Clarke and Superwoman.

Ditto x100

I wonder what could have possibly inspired this prompt. :D

By which I mean YES ALL OF THIS

After Clark comes back, he's either not at full strength or they discover something like Black Kryptonite. Either way Clark gets drunk for the first time, maybe on some of the expensive stuff Bruce can afford. He ends up being the most charming and cute drunk ever. Bruce is highly amused, until Clark comes onto him and starts telling him what he wants Bruce to do to him, like whispering the raunchiest things in Bruce's ear.

It's through sheer will that Bruce resists, but he's there to take care of Clark when he experiences his first hang over, and then they talk feelings.

NONNY THIS IS SO HOT. /RAPTUROUS STANDING APPLAUSE

Hnng, Clark just being out of his mind with lust and not quite knowing what to do with himself so he just lets Bruce take him but still trying to fix every detail in his head, oh my god. Telling Bruce he's not gonna break and then that little flash of dirty talk, yowza. And then and THEN Bruce not letting Clark come right away, SO HOT.

And sweaty cuddles to top it off. A++

I'm so glad they finally figured it all out so you could bestow this smoking scene upon us! <3<3 :D

Ok, no problem. Wasn't aware of it.

Now, I'll post a shorter version of my prompt from June 6, with the same title. Could it be possible to delete my original post, please ?

Thanks.

I just like the following mental image : gorgeous Clark doing chores on the farm, in a Kansas field, sporting torn jeans, an open shirt or no shirt at all, sweaty, hair disheveled, etc. All the clichés that go with it.You decide why Clark is toiling in the fields. In the meantime, Bruce is wearing a very elegant, insanely expensive 3 piece suit.

They get to perv for the kink the other represent.Oh, also, Martha is not at the family farm that time for some Reasons. Boys will need privacy ...

Bruce having shower sex in that big and open shower of his at his lake house

Visual inspiration: http://dicapriyos.tumblr.com/post/145861634472
:DDD

I'd hesitate to pin any term on it, but imo his experience with Zod has got to have left some deep-seated trauma. But yes, "discussion" of "emotions", coming right up :p

And haha, yeeeeah. Initially I thought I'd go: setup > training montage > sweaty adrenaline charged porn > done.

HA. HAHA. Turns out I'm into the awkwardly-living-together conceit. SORRY OP

I know we have a lot of throat kink nonnies around (dat gifset!) so consider it fanservice of sorts, hahaha.

It will be ok! Bruce will take care of him... kind of :D

<3 <3 <3

Bruce is going to get him traaaashed. He has been trying to ply him with alcohol from the start, after all (honestly idek why that keeps happening, I just... it just happens?? I DON'T KNOW WHY /SHRUG)

<3 <3

Anon <3 <3

I'm so glad you're still enjoying this, I feel like it's getting increasingly self-indulgent as I go along. I'm so lucky the kinkmeme has similar buttons :DD

Bruce is probably going to beat himself up about it later. Mmm, emotional h/c...

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 35 of 99

DCEU Prompt Post #1

Bruce/Clark, Clark/Lois, infidelity

Overly long prompts

Re: Bruce/Clark, Clark/Lois, infidelity

Bruce/Clark: Bruce and Clark discover they are Guide and Sentinal

Re: Overly long prompts

Clark/Bruce, superpowered!Batman

Re: Bruce/Clark: Bruce and Clark discover they are Guide and Sentinal

Re: Clark/Bruce, superpowered!Batman

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Eleven p1

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Eleven p2

Re: Overly long prompts

Bruce/Clark, rimming

Bruce/always a girl Clarke

Re: Bruce/Clark: Bruce and Clark discover they are Guide and Sentinal

Re: Bruce/Clark, rimming

Clark/Bruce: Depowered Clark is the Cutest Drunk Ever

Re: Bruce/Clark, depowered!Clark is the biggest damsel in distress - Part Eleven p2

Re: Overly long prompts

Bruce/Clark blue collar kink v. nice suit kink + feelings

Bruce/any, shower sex

Re: Bruce/any, shower sex

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

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

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

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