I'm currently having a tough, draining, week as a cook at a restaurant. So, as a coping mechanism, I'm imagining them as fellow blue-collar workers in an alternate universe.

Like so so bad

I need the sequel to be in Clark's POV about what he had noticed of Bruce's behaviour during the whole of the fic or even missing scenes

Vogue le magazine was Bruce in a self destructive mode (as usual) and grappling with his attraction to Clark, the man who gave Bruce his faith in humanity back

Bruce thinks Clark would never do the most depraved thing he wanted done to him JUST YOU WAIT BUDDY

Bruce having self deprecating thoughts about the scars on his body, what must the people in Gotham think huh? The rags all say Bruce Wayne doesn't know his age anymore, still acting as outrageous as ever, half naked or fully naked with a coat barely covering all the scars on his body, Batman's identity known to the world just like that if Bruce gave a fuck anymore

Clark on the other side of this spectacle, he wants to worship Bruce's body if only he would let him.

The things that could have killed Bruce just made him more determined to not surrender in the face of all the bad things in the world. Clark wants Bruce to know that he's so so good, he's not irredeemable, even if he's made mistakes

He would hold Bruce down and give him all he ever wanted, if he would just ask

Cue Bruce finally gets his shit together to apologise to Clark for the way he's been behaving, just because he has feelings for Clark doesn't mean anything. Doesn't mean he can't keep it under wraps and keep everything else professional.

Clark comes to the lakehouse to put his plans into action.

Bruce doesn't even get to say anything before Clark says in a stern commanding voice telling him to stay still and close his eyes, only moving when he is moved.

Clark blindfolds Bruce, lists out the rules of their game, cataloguing the reaction Bruce has to what's happening: the clenched jaw, the barely there hitch of a breath that most people wouldn't hear, the fine tremors running through his body.

Bruce doesn't know what's happening. Is he dreaming? Hallucinating? He can feel the gentle hands unbuttoning his dress shirt, one button at a time, unhurried, seemingly enjoying the act of unwrapping him. He can feel the overly warm hands caressing his body reverently, he doesn't deserve that type of attention, memorizing all the scars on his body as if it's important to know where each mark is

It's torture for Bruce to imagine all the ways Clark is touching him, how would Clark look as he's memorizing and caressing his body? Would he look at Bruce with that heat in his eyes that Bruce occasionally catches and chalked it up to wishful thinking?

And Clark is here, trembling with overwhelming feelings, being able to finally see all of Bruce without needing to use his x-ray vision. Being able to appreciate Bruce's body, a weapon honed to its peak physical condition. He's seen Bruce's naked body before, half changing out of the body armor, when he's injured in the field and needs emergency first aid.

But never like this, not getting ready for a mission, not bleeding out on the battlefield. Just being able to finally hold Bruce Wayne like the fragile thing that he is, but the face he puts out to the world is cool, aloof, unwavering, unstoppable unless he wanted to be stopped, so determined and stubborn for the thankless job of protecting his city.

Clark kisses the scars on Bruce's body, the obvious ones, the shallow ones, the faded ones, the ones that can't be seen by the naked eye. The first kiss made Bruce gasp out loud involuntarily, and then the clench of his teeth as he tries so hard to be unaffected.

Bruce is doing so well for Clark, not moving unless moved. Clark knows Bruce wants to push him away sometimes, but instead clenches his fists and lets Clark lead.

And then Clark fucks Bruce silly, edging him a few times until Bruce is a limp noodle and can only let Clark manhandle him, take care of him. Clark breaking Bruce into pieces and then molding him into something gentler.

Superbat based on the painting

Germanic Warrior with Helmet by Osmar Schindler from 1902

that was spread around in this post:

Idk, I guess I always have Superbat on the mind and I saw the painting and thought "that helmet could be the bat cowl" and it sort of spiraled from there.

I also kinda wanted to go with Injustice Superman, but Henry Cavill has so many more reference pictures (and I also tend to think back to the Knightmare scene from BvS a lot...for some reason) so it's not the new Superman because he is too nice and I could see him there - so no Corrensupes/Battinson sorry

Also,

guess this could be called

Kryptonian Overlord with Cowl

I had a burst of inspiration the other day, after posting that thing about first kisses and revisiting one of my favorite, so far unwritten first kiss scenarios, and wondering if maybe, just perhaps, it would be possible to get there without going through a complicated, twisty plot thing first. 

This, still unfolding, is the result. I’m at that stage of not being sure it’s worth pursuing, however. Keep in mind that it’s really, really rough at this stage...

It highlights profound loss, humiliation, and defilment of the person being dragged.

Superman treated as a trophy by Bruce's own self-appointed, self-justified retribution.

Bruce dragged him across that floor in that abandoned building as if he was solidifying the fact that not only did he bring down a God, he can parade that achievement too. For a man who claims to only want to take down Superman out of necessity and because the 'fate of the world depended on it' dragging him like he's a spoil of war is purely an Egoistic choice. Pure theatrics, this man.

Hello, everyone!

Firstly, sorry for the delay!!!! I got soooo busy.

But this was written for the prompts: 'Scars/First Time' on the fifth day of DCEU SuperBat Week 2026!

This fic is basically a love letter to resting, to forests, to the uncertainty of love, to me writing smut for the first time.

Enjoy!