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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Clark's head is rushing, he can't get his breath to come evenly and the more he tries the worse it gets. The cave feels airless. Every inhale is like aspirating dust.

Bruce has him, one hand on his shoulder, the other clasped over Clark's knuckles. His palm is a firm pressure that might be reassuring if only Clark could feel anything but his jackhammering heart, the crashing in his head. He is unsteady, strangely weightless; he leans to brace his free hand against the cool vinyl of the mat.

He could shred it as easily as clothes or skin, as incidentally as he could break bones, snap them like dry autumn twigs. A thought intrudes, vivid and ugly: he could crush Bruce's hand like it's nothing, crumple it like paper.

He knows how to not do that. His life has been one of measured interactions, care consciously taken until it became second nature to be gentle. He had no model for another of his kind. A long, sick shudder works up his spine. This might have worked. He might have been able to--

"Clark, listen to me," he hears Bruce say. "You're okay."

Clark is not certain that's true, but Bruce seems to have confidence in him. The hand on his shoulder moves to his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. He watches sweat drip from the end of his nose and patter onto the mat, except when Bruce's hand moves from his hair to brush his cheek, he realizes it isn't sweat at all. His chest convulses.

"Oh, Clark," Bruce murmurs, oddly raw. Then, more solidly, "Deep breath. Now let it out. Steady. That's right."

Clark can't figure out if he even needs to breathe, but it feels better once he starts. It gives him something to focus on, the predictable rhythm of Bruce's words. A mantra. He breaks into shivers as his head clears, bristling all over.

His jaw hurts, his teeth are aching. He has to consciously relax his face. The noise he makes when he does embarrasses him. "Sorry," he says. He can't quite get above a whisper.

"Look at me." Bruce ducks his head down, gently encourages Clark to lift his chin with the edge of his hand. His brow is furrowed in concern, and Clark can't think that he's seen this expression before, not unalloyed with annoyance or frustration. "No sorries."

The only thing Clark can think to say is 'sorry' again, so he says nothing at all. He tries to smile.

Bruce makes a mangled noise, a half-word that he obviously thought better of at the last moment. He closes his eyes, squeezes them shut just for a second. Then he says, "I should get you some water."

*

Bruce makes him drink two full glasses, standing in the kitchen. His hand rests conspicuously on Clark's upper arm--on the way up from the cave it had been light against his back, then on his shoulder. He hasn't broken physical contact since Clark's… thing, and while Clark deeply appreciates the grounding, he can feel Bruce's heat through his t-shirt. It's not doing much for his equilibrium.

It's early still, fresh morning light streaming into the room. Disorienting, after the gloom of the cave. Time is strange, and Clark is suddenly, incredibly tired. His eyes hurt, his head hurts. He drags both hands over his face.

"How are you doing?" Bruce asks. He finally lets go of Clark to fetch a pair of rocks glasses out of one cabinet, a lead crystal decanter out of another.

"It's not the best morning I've ever had," Clark says. He glances at the clock on the microwave. "Bruce, it's barely eight a.m."

"I know." Bruce pours them a generous measure of bourbon each, cut with a splash of water. "For today's self-defense class, we're moving on to Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms 101."

"I think you've got that one locked down."

"Careful," Bruce says softly. He presses a glass into Clark's hand, then guides him towards the living room, his hand once again on Clark's back, hot like a brand.

Clark leaves his drink on the coffee table and slumps onto the couch, tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and lets out a long, unhappy sigh in a bid to feel better. It doesn't help much. His head feels light, his limbs leaden.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Bruce asks.

"Not really."

Bruce watches him, elbows resting on his thighs and hands lax between his knees. He seems to be waiting for something.

"I just--I thought I was done dealing with it," Clark hears himself say. "It's been a couple years now. It doesn't--I don't think about it."

Except when it pushes coarsely at the edge of his awareness, but he's learned to anticipate when that's going to happen--certain parts of the city, certain times of day when the light hits just so. A particular pitch of scream, a particular odor of burning dust. It always leaves him a little shook up, a little depressed for a while, but it's manageable.

A lot more manageable than it was today.

(It's much harder than being dead was, but Clark supposes it's because he wasn't around for most of that.)

Damn it. Disquiet keeps dragging its filthy fingers over him, stirring at his insides. He reaches for his drink, hesitates briefly before taking a sip. It's as unpleasant as anticipated, but it unfurls a warmth in his chest that doesn't have its root in either anguish or desire, and the relief of it is almost overwhelming. Clark closes his eyes.

"Things like this, they burrow into your psyche," Bruce says, "They're never gone, they just go dormant. They'll shape your whole life, if you let them."

"I'm so tired of it," Clark says, and takes a long, deep breath. "I feel like I should be--I don't know. Better at it. But I won't be able to shake it for days, now."

"You're as human as anyone else, Clark. It's all part of the condition." Clark hears him slide his glass on the table, then a tiny wet noise as he sips. "You get to suffer with the rest of us."

"Thanks, Bruce. You always know the right thing to say."

"Hey, I'm no psychiatrist."

"I hope not. I couldn't afford you."

Bruce laughs softly, and there's the clink of glass. Clark tilts his head, cracks an eye open to look at him. He's finished his drink and is pouring himself another.

"Don't you have places to go today?" Clark asks. "People to see?"

"Yes. My schedule is obscene."

"Do they mind if you turn up drunk?"

"They'd rather I didn't turn up at all." Bruce raises his eyebrows, flashes Clark the most obnoxious grin, and it almost physically hurts, the way it makes Clark's heart clench.

*

Clark's finished his fourth drink when Bruce cuts him off. The bourbon's become more palatable, but that's probably because he's drunk--alcohol warmth curling through him, making his face hot and his eyes heavy. It's not an unpleasant sensation.

"Okay," Bruce says, standing. "Time for a break, son."

From Clark's admittedly dizzy perspective he doesn't seem affected at all, and here's Clark, rambling at length about his childhood back in Kansas and the minute details of how he once spent a summer on a fishing trawler and a vastly inadequate description of how incredible it was the first time he flew. He wants to go on and tell Bruce how much he's enjoying their training together, but Bruce keeps shushing him.

Bruce holds out a hand so he can haul Clark off the couch. His head swims with the drastic altitude change. Moving is weird; he feels top-heavy, unstable. He leans on Bruce to keep his balance as they stumble through to the bedroom.

"Lightweight." Bruce sounds amused. Clark likes it when he sounds that way. He tells Bruce that. Bruce just tells him to hush again.

Clark finds himself tipped onto the bed, his sweats tugged off and then he's rolled under the crisp, cool sheets. He's tired and fuzzy-headed and that's bliss, because his mind keeps sliding off anything it tries to think about. There's nothing but hazy sensory details and a room that keeps shifting slightly to the left.

The bed dips next to him and Bruce leans over. "Sleep it off," he says, "I'll come get you later."

He closes his eyes, drifts almost immediately but is pulled close to the surface again by a hand in his hair, then knuckles brushing the crest of his cheek.

*

You are being so good to me, nonnie, sooooo good. This was superb.

I give what I get <3

He closes his eyes, drifts almost immediately but is pulled close to the surface again by a hand in his hair, then knuckles brushing the crest of his cheek.
Nonnie, you've made me so very, very happy -- with all of this, but this line, THIS LINE, is just superb.

I am loving this, as ever. Thank you :DD

Secret touching is the best and most ill-advised touching y/y!

<3

I'm tracking this thread, anon, and I was notified as soon as you posted this, and I have been SEEING THAT NOTIFICATION just sitting there taunting me since yesterday: YEAH, YOU WISH YOU HAD TIME TO READ THIS, DON'T YOU. DON'T YOU.

And this morning I said screw it and opened this at work because I couldn't wait another minute, and anon. ANON. /o\ THIS IS JUST. IT'S. MY HEART.

I love every single moment of physical detail, the sense of detachment in Clark's observations of himself—the moment he realizes he's crying, OH GOD. That he so carefully spent his whole life being deliberately gentle—until Zod forced him not to, and how much that's messed with him, ugh, god, it just WRECKS me. And Bruce's concern, how careful he is with Clark in response (people probably mostly think they don't need to be careful with Superman! Bruce knows better! MY HEART JUST EXPLODED).

And as if yanking my heartstrings every which way weren't enough, the perfect soothing AMAZINGNESS of drunk!Clark telling Bruce he likes it when Bruce is amused. *flails with joy* And then Bruce TOUCHES HIS NOT-QUITE-SLEEPING FACE. I just can't. Thank you so much for this part, it was magical from start to finish. orz

Aaaah I'm so glad it worked for you, writing about panic attacks and/or trigger responses is such a personal thing--and can be a minefield, so I erred on the side of detachment and disassociation rather than risk melodrama or parody. Characters crying is always a bit iffy for me?? But phew. I'm ok, Clark's ok, we're all ok <3

Drunk Clark is quite delightful. I understand why Bruce has been trying to get him tanked. ;D

Nonnie this is ridiculous how much I'm loving this, I just found it today after being away from the meme for a while and cruising to see if there was new fic. The slow burn is killing me but it is a good death

Anon! Thank you for reading all of my nonsense. I'm glad it holds up okay without a bunch of days in between.

Don't worry, once things ignite your death with be swift <3

Eeeeeeeeh, this is so good! I love how you write Clark's panic attack, and how gentle and caring Bruce is with him, how he doesn't stop touching him. And drunk Clark rambling about stuff, including about how much he likes their training and how much he likes Bruce! So many feels! This fic is amazing.

Aah, thank you anon! Bruce does know how to handle someone having a hard time--he has had more than a few himself. I figure he remembers what worked for him and does what he can based on that.

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DCEU Prompt Post #1

Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (10/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (10/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (10/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (10/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (10/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (10/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (10/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (10/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (10/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (10/?)

Re: Fill: Whoever Falls First -- Bruce/Clark, sparring (10/?)