Freaky Lurker

Using my weakness against me wisely anon, I see.

There are two answers to this question.

First if we take prime before all the comet stuff happened then their first meeting would be pretty conventional.

Prime sees Bruce and first of all he's in awe of how beautiful the other man is but he doesn't do anything about it, because canonically prime was a very shy person.

I think he would take his time before making his first move and he'd definitely act like a little boy who's got a puppy crush. When he does make the first move, he's very awkward and tripping over his own words but that apparently charms Bruce up a lot.

But if we're talking about Bruce making the first move then it'd be because he noticed prime following him around and can sense hps very obvious feelings from a mile away and luckily for prime, Bruce finds him cute. But when prime doesn't make his move after weeks of this Bruce just gives up on playing coy and makes the first move himself, as in he almost gives the man a heart attack by approaching him and snatching his phone to put his number in prime's phone with a salacious wink. Prime simultaneously combusts on spot and dies

BUT if we're talking about post-comet prime then as far as first meetings go, there first meeting would be...dog shit. Absolutely revolting and ehh.

Prime sees Bruce Wayne and the first thing in his mind is that he'd love to fuck him. It's all lust and wrongly placed cockiness when he approaches Bruce in hopes he'd get in his pants and he gets rejected badly.

And that does its thing of making prime frustrated and in turn interested in Bruce apart from his beauty. It starts with small things like prime memorising Bruce's heartbeat and listening in to him randomly, then memorising his schedule and then slowly becoming obsessed with him wholly as an individual.

His intentions are not pure at all, nor do they stem from a place of care, he's obsessed with him in a sense that Bruce is his possession and suffers from erotomania. This is what eventually leads his subconscious to alter the reality because of his feelings that have grown too intense and unstable.

Tell me if you had a choice to turn into an animal for the rest of your life or burn to death, which animal are you choosing?

Or are you psychotic and would choose burning to death?

I'm probably turning into a cat, because I love them and probably no other smart reason.

HASHTAG FISH PILLED HASTAG FISH PHILE💞🙏

Secret option : the leftover sperm on Bruce wayne's buttplug💞

Tell me if you had a choice to turn into an animal for the rest of your life or burn to death, which animal are you choosing?

Or are you psychotic and would choose burning to death?

I'm probably turning into a cat, because I love them and probably no other smart reason.

On one hand id choose a hyena because theyre my favourite animals ever and I love them to death

On the other i feel like just being a domesticated cat would be nice id never have to do anything

Clark: ...you mean expressing my love for my husband?

He was used by all the Clarks in every position; he’d never cum so much with so many cocks inside him (his vagina, ass, mouth, getting fucked between his thighs, his breasts, etc.) (maybe he’ll do it again in the future)

This is something I dream about every night before going to sleep because I'm nasty like that.

Bruce won't lie but seeing so many copies of Clark in the same room was doing things to him, mostly because all of them were looking at him like he was their prey and they were about to consume him completely. But he kept his reaction under wraps and hoarded them all to the cave so he could analyse the anomaly.

His arousal staved off as soon as he got his hands on his computer and he immersed himself into finding a cure, but he wasn't unaware of the burning gazes drilling holes in his head. And after an uncomfortable hour of this he was just about to say fuck it and act on his plan of playing dumb and telling them that the only way to cure them was to have group sex but before he could open his mouth he was already getting pushed into his bed by Clark, who had enough of Bruce ignoring him.

(it’s perfectly cool if it’s out of your comfort zone ^^)

No superbat is ever too much for me, my love 💕

And I'm so superbat crazy that I can and will ship them as a straight couple too. In my head I genderbent!Bruce is more Brooke Wayne than anyone else. It sounds so classy and elegant.

Brooke hates the winter season the most, Gotham's winter has never been kind to anyone and the cold makes everything more bleak. So being surrounded by Clark's perpetual warmth never fails to calm her soul down.

Brooke has a specific couch which she loves sitting on/cuddling on with Clark.

After going public with her relationship with Clark,most of the online hate towards her dwindled down suddenly, she didn't think much of it and never found out that Clark and his threats were the reason behind it.

Brooke had never experienced an orgasm before meeting Clark because all the men she ever slept with were terrible in bed.

She's obsessed with having sex with Clark because he never fails to make her feel loved.

Brooke suffers from severe body dysphoria and cannot bear to look at herself in the mirror most days. But Clark makes it so much more bearable.

Brooke also suffers from ED but with the combined help from Clark and Alfred, she slowly fixes her eating schedule too.

For Clark's 30th birthday Brooke started a charity in Clark's name. And she made it so Clark can run and overlook the whole thing on his own and over the years it helped millions of people in need.

There's a special red sun chamber that she made for Clark when he's feeling too overstimulated and is in need for some peace and quiet.

They also have sex in that room whenever Clark wants to fuck her without holding back.

She loves drowning in Clark's massive clothes and almost nesting in them, so Clark never refuses her offers to buy him more clothes so he can wear them and leave them for her to cover herself in them.

Every time they visit Ma and Pa Kent, they have sex in the hay/barn.

Clark loves having sex in the air, between the clouds because it makes Brooke look like a goddess.

Clark has a religious rule of sending Brooke flowers every Sunday and it's always the most obscure and gorgeous ones too. Brooke in turn has a habit of buying Clark the most expensive and comfortable work things for Clark to use.

if for sleuthing why put in the open

/gen /nf

Ehh I just made it because I can. And also because one of mutual told me to preserve my original posts in another blog just for safety.

CW: aftermath of suicide

Well, I am weak for vampires, so...

---

“Bruce, I can’t,” Clark choked out, his voice cracking on the last word. He took one more step backward, the heel of his boot scraping against the floor as he stumbled. His back connected with a wall on the next step, and he was utterly trapped. The only exit from here was behind Bruce, who was approaching him with slow, measured steps, each one unhurried. “Please, I just… I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“You’re starving, Clark.” Bruce countered, taking one more step forward. In no time at all, there was no distance left between them, and Bruce was looking up at his lover with nothing but a calm, patient expression. “You haven’t eaten in days, Clark, and I can easily help you with that.” He murmured, his breath warm as it fanned across Clark’s undead skin, making him shudder weakly. With steady fingers, Bruce reached up to undo the top button of his shirt, then another, and another. The fabric fell further apart with each button, until every inch of his smooth, milky throat was on display.

Immediately, Clark’s eyes sank down towards that perfect throat, drawn there by nothing more than blind instinct. His brows pinched in agony, a tremor running through his jaw as his pupils contracted, making his dark red irises stand out further. His eyes traced a slow, involuntary path down the sharp angle of Bruce’s jaw, past the soft skin beneath his ear, and along his bobbing Adam’s apple, before landing on the smooth, pristine column of his throat, where his pulse was hammering away beneath the flesh. The sound was torturous in Clark’s ears, pounding in a hypnotic rhythm that stripped away his self-control with each ba-thump, ba-thump. Incrementally, he leaned forward, drawing towards Bruce like a moth to a flame. His lips parted slightly of their own accord, fangs aching as he pressed against his bottom lip. Before he could get too close, however, he snapped out of his stupor with a violent shudder, and threw his head back against the wall with a loud crack. The brick behind him crumbled from the force, raining dust and fragments of mortar down onto his shoulders. “N-No!” He yelped, snapping his jaw shut. His hands balled into fists at his sides, fingernails sharply digging into his own palms. “Bruce, please, I-I can’t. I won’t stop, you know I won’t stop. I can’t control - I can’t, I can’t control myself.” 

Bruce only let out a soft exhale. “You will, Clark,” He said, unwavering in his confidence, as he always was. “I know you won’t hurt me. You love me too much; you could never hurt me.” He shook his head slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. With one hand, he reached up to stroke the vampire’s ice-cold cheek, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I trust you to stop.”

Clark flinched from his touch as though burned, eyes pinching tightly shut. With every passing second, his control was slipping, unravelling one thread at a time. Simply being in proximity to Bruce was agonizing; everything from the sound of his heartbeat, the scent of his cologne, to the sweet scent of his warm, rich blood was driving him to madness. His fangs pressed sharply into his lip, filling his mouth with the unsatisfying taste of his own, cold, dead blood. 

Bruce’s other hand slowly moved to cup Clark’s other cheek, both palms warm as they guided his head down towards his bared throat with gentle, inexorable pressure. 

Clark couldn’t fight back. He didn’t have the strength to. 

He allowed himself to be pulled forward until his lips were pressed against that hammering pulse point. Through the thin veil of flesh, he could feel the burning warmth of his blood, taste it. His lips parted, trembling against him as his fangs grazed over the taut flesh, not yet piercing. His tongue darted out to taste the salt of his skin, and Bruce’s pulse jumped as he did. In return, a low, broken sound escaped Clark’s throat. 

“It’s alright,” Bruce murmured, his voice soft and steady as he threaded his fingers into Clark’s dark hair. He tilted his head further to the side, exposing more of his pale, perfect throat in offering. “Take what you need.” 

That was all Clark needed to hear before he completely gave in to his desires. One hand wrapped around Bruce’s waist to hold him to his chest in a bruising embrace, as the other curved around to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling in Bruce’s hair. Only then, when he was as close as possible, did his fangs finally sink in. 

Immediately, Bruce gasped sharply, muscles tensing as Clark’s sharp teeth tore through his flesh. His fingers tightened in his hair, tugging on the thick curls instinctively. The pain, thankfully, was a fleeting thing, replaced by a warm, floating sensation that crept outward from the bite, making each limb impossibly heavy. His knees threatened to buckle, but held by Clark as he was, he couldn’t fall even if he wanted to.

For Clark, the moment that Bruce’s blood hit his tongue — hot and rich and utterly irresistible  — Clark was entirely lost to the world. The hollow, gnawing emptiness that had been tearing at him from within for days faded into nothingness, replaced by a warm satisfaction that spread through his empty veins. He drank deeply, swallowing mouthful after mouthful as he pulled Bruce harder against him, desperate for anything and everything the man could give. A rumble grew within the vampire's chest, a feral, primal sound of contentment. 

Bruce could only whimper, the sound barely audible. Each pull from his veins was as strong as the last, and he could feel the blood leaving his body, the warmth leeching from his fingers and toes. “C-Clark,” he breathed, his voice thin and distant. His vision began to blur around the edges as his fingers loosened in Clark’s hair, strength bleeding out of them. “C-Clark, please, s-slow down.” 

But Clark didn’t hear him. The vampire was lost in the frenzy of fresh blood, enraptured by the frantic echoing of Bruce’s heart in his ears. He drank and drank, jaw working against Bruce’s throat in a slow, rhythmic motion, desperate for every drop. When Bruce’s legs gave out entirely, his arms tightened, crushing the smaller man against him and keeping him upright, holding him like a precious doll.  

Bruce’s head lolled to the side, resting against Clark’s shoulder. His breathing grew shallow, the colour in his cheeks fading rapidly. One by one, the hands tangled in Clark’s hair fell to his sides, ghosting over Clark’s arms before dropping limply. “C-Clar…k,” Bruce gasped one last time, a desperate plea for his lover to stop. 

But he didn’t. 

The last thing Bruce registered was the steady, rhythmic pull at his throat, and the iron grip of Clark’s arms around him. 

Dick was called to the principal's office? Oh well, Mr.Wayne, all growing boys get rowdy sometimes. Mr.Wayne is coming to the office? Quick, prepare some food—Not that, you fool! Get those cute ass French pastries from the cafe down the street. It's ridiculous that Mr.Wayne wants a disco light in he—What? Just get it done? Wha—Alright, alright.

Bruce is just used to having people rush to meet his needs. He's not really used to asking, and begging is completely out of the question.

He's definitely not used to the soreness in his jaw and the rough hand in his hair, angling his face just the way Clark wants him in. Sharp tugs that forces his head down to meet every deep thrust of those hips. His throat is forced to swallow around the thick cock spearing him open, tongue desperately working at any part of Clark that he can. His stomach feels so full with how many times Clark had come but the other is still relentless. Clark groans at the tight heat fluttering and pulsing around him, ramming his hips hard one more time and forcing Bruce's head down, coming straight down the bruised throat.

"That's so good, baby. You're perfect," Clark says sweetly, even as his hand clenches to keep Bruce where he is, pressed tight to him, lips stretched obscenely around the base. The gagging and choking sounds are the prettiest things he's ever heard, making the sight of a tear-streaked face simply perfect.

Clark pulls out, giving Bruce a chance to suck in a heaving gasp. Which all the more makes the ache is his jaw present. The ache that proves just how long he's been on his knees, face-fucked like he's just a cumsocket. A mixture of drool and copious loads of cum trickle past his puffy lips, yet Bruce still shuffles forwards, trying to get his mouth back on the cock. He needs that in him, anywhere and everywhere, please.

It gets him a low chuckle, a sound that shoots straight between the throbbing heat between his legs. "What do you want, B?" Clark coos.

"Clark—" Bruce flushes when he realizes his usual gruffness is gone, replaced with a fucked out plea. He sounds like a needy slut that had spent hours sucking Clark's cock— The realization that he did do that, that maybe he just is Clark's slut makes him whine.

"What are you thinking about?" Clark hums, running his fingers through dark hair, scratching lightly to watch Bruce's eyes flutter close. "Thinking about getting this cock in your mouth again? Of me just using you for my own pleasure?"

It's too humiliating to say yes. Not considering how his pussy throbs with a fresh wave of heat and slick, how he's long made a puddle underneath himself, just dripping and dripping and dripping as Clark fucks his face.

"Use your words, sweetheart. Ask nicely." Clark loves when those dark eyes open, revealing pupils that have drowned out the icy blue, pleading with him. "Nope. Use your words and maybe I'll give it to you."

"Kal, please."

"You can do better than that, B. C'mon, tell me how desperately you need this." Clark wraps a hand around himself, feeling so glad that he's basically has a nonexistent refactory period. Dark eyes glaze over at the sight and Clark grins, thumbing his tip and coaxing out a pearly drop of precum. He swipes his cock across those puffy, pink lips, adding to the mess on Bruce's face, watching as his tongue desperately chases his cock. "Words, baby."

He's too desperate, he needs to feel the thick, encompasses heat fill him up. "Cl—Clark. Kal, please. Need you in—fuck, need you in my mouth."

It should be enough, right? It should be. Clark should just see how badly Bruce wants it and give it to him.

"Hmmm, no." Bruce nearly screams at that, pushing forward to mouth at the cock, lips tracing kisses on the flushed, angry skin, trying to show Clark that he needs this. But Clark stops him just before he can wrap his lips around the head. "Not convincing enough. Hump my boot, sweetheart, show me how you'd be a good little cumslut."

Bruce stutters for a second. It's too degrading. Bruce Wayne doesn't do that. But his head is too fuzzy and all he can see is the delicious cock, alternating with Clark's hungry eyes. All he can smell is the musky, heady scent of Kal, surrounded as he is.

Slowly, Bruce lowers his pussy onto Clark's boot, little sobs wrecking his chest when his oversensitive cunt flutters with anticipation. Like all the traitorous thing wants is to ride whatever part of Clark he wants. His cunt meets the firm surface, the contact immediately sending a spark of electric through his core. His thighs clamp around Clark's foot as he fights the rush of heat, trying not to come.

"That's it. So perfect, B. Like you were made just for me," Clark praises him, foot giving a teasing nudge upwards to make Bruce jolt, crying out at the sudden pressure on his hole.

He moans out Clark's name and his hands search for purchase on the other's leg. Bruce gingerly begins to hump, grinding his eagerly twitching clit against Clark before shifting back to rub his hot cunt on the thick material. Again and again, Bruce ruts against the other, picking up speed until he's fully, desperately humping Clark's boot. Wet squelches fil the room, adding to the mix of pleasure spreading from his pussy. It's curling in his toes, throbbing in his belly, making him wetter.

And yet, Clark hasn't fed him his cock. Bruce's lips part, toungue swiping against the bottom lip as he starts to beg. "Clark, please, fuck me. Use my mouth please. Ka—Kal," he whines, grinding harder, words getting muffled when his lips presses desperate, coaxing touches on that thick length. "Please, Kal."

He would be humiliated in any other instance but all Bruce feels is pleased when Clark once again pushes past his lips, his throat parting easily for the cock sheathing itself inside. He's proud and cocky and just desperate, all feelings that are promptly fucked out of him when Clark thrusts sharply, garnering a choked out gasp and Bruce's pussy stuttering and leaking over his boot.