#superbat x reader

Your defeat in your circumstances was palpable, but you were determined to keep your sorrow to yourself. You thought they would be satisfied with your depressive acceptance, but they were determined to drag you out of that hole every time you tried to make peace with it. They wouldn’t even let you slowly rot away without their input, telling you it was this exact reason that they took it upon themselves to care for you. Escape was impossible; they made certain of it. You really tried to believe that you were just sparing yourself some pain by not fighting back. 

Monday nights were the nights they promised to make time for you. A day where they would come home from their day jobs and play pretend with domesticity and normalcy. You were expected to play house, too, dressing up beyond your pajamas and sweatpants. They still have yet to give you a real pair of shoes, though. 

You were sitting on the couch in between them, back nestled into Clark’s right side and feet outstretched into Bruce’s lap. They had positioned you the moment they sat down, hardly leaving enough space to breathe. The three of you were in Bruce’s study, listening to his old jazz vinyls as you nursed your drink. 

Bruce swirled a neat Whiskey in a glass, unsipped, as he rubbed the heel and ball of your socked foot with his free hand. Clark had a hot chocolate, same as you, that was sitting on the coffee table, untouched. His right arm was slung over your shoulder while his left hand held yours, kneading his thumb into your palm. You held your mug close to you, keeping your mouth busy in hopes of not cracking under the pressure of Clark’s stare. 

“How was your day, honey?” Clark asked with a soft smile, resting his head next to yours on the back couch cushion. 

You shrugged, continuing to stare at the roaring fireplace in front of you. What was there to say to them? That you had lain around the manor all day, dreading the minutes until they came home? That you were steeling yourself to refuse to speak to them for another day? Bruce cleared his throat, looking up from your foot, and rested your toes in his palm. They tolerated non-answers less than wrong answers. 

You looked over at Bruce, unable to hold your gaze with his before settling to look down at his lap. He had taken off his sports coat when he came home and was sitting with his dress shirt undone, three buttons and sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Clark had foregone his jacket and dress shirt entirely, wearing nothing but his slacks and his white undershirt. They both took their belts off in front of you. You were wearing a mockneck bodysuit and a long skirt with a pair of white socks. 

You had started the day with more clothes, too, that they slowly began to peel off you. There was no need for a sweater, Bruce had said. The fireplace was waiting for you. Did you really need stockings on? Clark had asked. Layers in the house weren’t necessary. Piece by piece, they dressed you and themselves down until you assumed nothing would be left. 

“Clark asked you a question,” Bruce said, sliding his hand up your leg to rest just under the hem of your skirt. 

You looked back at the fireplace and just sighed, setting your drink down next to Clark’s still steaming mug. Shrugging again and sighing, you rested your head against the cushion next to Clark and looked at him. You hoped your moping act would help them drop the subject – puppy eyes always worked on Clark.  To him, you had no bark or bite. 

Clark’s gaze didn’t linger on you. The look they shared had you feeling queasy. They were so hard to read, but you could always tell when they were thinking – especially when they were thinking the same thing. Your quietness had run its course with them. You’re sure you’ve only made it this far because Clark told Bruce to let you work it out yourself. But you’ve learned that Clark’s patience runs much thinner when Bruce is in his ear. They were planning on making you talk; you just didn’t know how. 

Bruce’s hand rubbed circles into your calf, slowly inching towards your thigh. He set his drink down next to yours, settling his free hand back on your foot. You closed your eyes and inhaled slowly, trying not to let panic seep into your bones. It was Clark who was touchy like this, yet he seemed content to keep his hands to himself for once and just watch. Bruce gently slid his hand under your sock, making it down to the ball of your foot before wiggling your sock off. You fought off a shiver of ticklishness and swallowed harshly. 

Clark pressed his forehead to yours, humming softly as he brought the hand he was massaging up to his mouth. He pressed a tender kiss on the tip of your pinky, still rubbing his thumb into the flesh of your palm. An easy smile reached his eyes as he kissed his way down your fingers. After he reached your thumb, he closed his eyes and placed your hand over his mouth, chastely kissing your palm. 

Bruce brought your ankle to his lips, placing a wet kiss there. His hand was warm and weathered, heating your skin up through the fabric. Your skirt slid down to your upper thigh as Bruce put your heel on his left shoulder. His hand caressed the backside of your calf, slowly inching closer towards your inner thigh. You shuddered as a chill ran all up your spine. You stretched your back uncomfortably, settling away from him. You were desperate not to let yourself melt into the false sense of security their arms offered. 

“Bruce’s hands always run cold, don’t they?” Clark mused, kissing your wrist. 

Bruce let out a throaty chuckle and nodded, pressing a kiss to your knee cap. He leaned closer, spreading your left leg over his right thigh and hooking his left arm under your right knee. You understood the game they were playing now. If you were going to play by their rules and win, you’d have to choose your words very carefully. 

“What are you doing?” You questioned quietly, looking at Bruce warily.

“Nothing you won’t like.” 

Clark maneuvered you to fully sit in his lap, facing Bruce, kissing up your arm until his chin rested on your shoulder. His arms held your waist in place as Bruce kissed down to your inner thigh. It was a test. You knew that they knew you understood that now. The only question was how far you were going to let it go. Bruce unclipped the body suit snaps over your panties, letting his fingers graze under the hem on your right hip. 

“Don’t…” You whispered, placing your hand over his wrist. 

Bruce looked up at you through lidded eyes, letting his lips brush against your hip. “Don’t what?” 

“Let him make you feel good?” Clark chimed in, taking your hand in his and away from Bruce. 

“Don’t touch me there.” You said with a little more confidence. 

“Here?” Bruce chuckled, placing a kiss over your navel. 

You inhaled softly, arching your back towards Clark’s chest. These were dangerous waters you were treading in. You’re certain that with all the surveillance Bruce did on you before they took you, he, at least, knew you were a virgin. Hell, you hadn’t even had your first kiss yet, and here Bruce was in between your legs, waiting to devour you. 

“What about here?” Bruce’s hand slid back to your ass, squeezing a handful of it in his hand. 

His callouses were rough against you as he kneaded your flesh in his hand. You shook your head, trying to dig your nails into Clark’s hand with no avail. 

“I…I don’t want you to touch me at all.” You finally confessed. You could only hope you told him what he wanted to hear. 

“Oh, honey,” Clark sighed sweetly. “If you wanted me to touch you instead, all you had to do was ask.” 

Clark took both of your wrists into his right hand as he kissed along your throat and wrapped his arm around your waist to press you flush against him. Bruce retreated and relaxed against the couch, content to abide by your interpreted wishes. Clark kissed up to your cheek, letting his pecks slowly inch towards your lips. 

“Wait!” You cried, turning to look at Clark with desperate eyes. “Wait, please.” 

“Have you decided you want Bruce after all?” Clark whispered, lips ghosting just barely above yours. 

“I…” What could you possibly say in your defense? “I don’t think either of you will want me.” 

“If that were true, we have a funny way of showing it.” Clark chuckled, chasing your lips slowly as you leaned your head back. 

“Don’t make assumptions.” Bruce said coolly. “If you want to know how we feel, just ask us.” 

“I’m not trying to, I’m just…being realistic.” You sighed. You’d never ask them, not wanting an even further look into their deranged delusions.

“Realistic?” Clark chuckled. “I’m just itching to jump your bones, and you think we don’t want you.” 

“You said ‘will want me’.” Bruce noticed. “Is there something you think we don’t already know?” 

You look at Bruce, swallowing nervously. Clark settled to press kisses along your temple and hairline, rubbing his hands up and down your waist. 

“No!” You defended. Secrets were a cardinal sin with them. “I’m just not sure you’ll want someone as…inexperienced as me.” 

“Think our boyscout is as innocent as he seems?” Bruce smirked. Your apparent gap in experience only made your stomach churn further.

“That’s just the way we like it, we’ll be your first and onlys.” Clark mused, letting his kisses move back down towards your lips. “You think our playboy can’t handle a virgin?” 

“We adore you, you know you can’t deny that,” Bruce replied earnestly. 

“I mean,” You laughed nervously, placing your hands on Clark’s chest to hold him back. “I haven’t even had my–” Clark’s eyes light up at the prospect.”My, uh, first kiss.” Your confidence died in your throat, barely finishing the sentence with a whisper. 

“That’s okay,” Clark smiled, all teeth. He looked like a predator waiting to strike at his innocent prey. “We can teach you.” 

Bruce’s hand softly stroked the underside of your calf. “Why?”

Clark maneuvered you off his lap, scooching you both over closer to Bruce. You sat shoulder to shoulder with them both, Bruce keeping your feet in his lap and Clark beginning to stroke your hand again. They let you take your time to answer, watching the gears turn in your mind, trying to find any excuse you thought they would find acceptable. 

“Well, you both know I’ve never had a boyfriend before…you two.” You stared at the fireplace in front of you. What were they to you now? Boyfriends? Husbands? Captors? Owners? 

“We’re your partners now, sweetheart. Nothing is ever going to change that.” Clark reassured. 

“You don’t need a boyfriend to have sex.” Bruce challenged, quirking a brow. Of course he knew all about that. You’d jab it at him if you thought it would make a difference.

“I’m not the hookup type.” You shrugged, feeling the discomfort of the topic rise in you. 

You weren’t less than just because you didn’t have the notches in your bedpost the way they did. You were doing your very best to refuse becoming one of theirs.

“Waiting for someone special?” Clark whispered in your ear. Naturally, Clark was more sentimental about these things than Bruce was. 

“The opportunity just never came up.” You replied. A lie of omission technically wasn’t a lie, but you knew it wouldn’t slide with them.

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities with us.” Bruce smirked. 

“Isn’t ‘I don’t know’ an answer?” You huffed exasperatedly. 

“Not if you don’t have a good enough reason,” Bruce said matter-of-factly. “You’re afraid.” 

“Now you’re making assumptions.” You spat back. 

“It’s not an assumption if it’s a fact, my love.” Bruce quirked a brow. “You’ve been afraid since you first came here.” 

Of course, you were afraid. But of what exactly? Afraid they would expect more than you could give? Afraid that you’ll be nothing more than a sex slave to them? Afraid that you were becoming complicit in your own captivity? Afraid it would hurt? Afraid it wouldn’t? 

You’d be damned if you showed them your fear. 

“It’s okay to admit that you’re afraid, sweetheart. You’re safe with us.” Clark soothed. 

“Have we done anything to show you otherwise?” Bruce asked. 

It was true. You knew it, and they knew it, and you hated that they knew you knew it. They’ve never been physical with you, never raised their voice, never neglected you. In any other circumstance, people would gush over what doting gentlemen you had. 

“Maybe she needs to see how gentle we can be with her.” Clark offered, picking you up bridal style with one arm and tucking you close to him.

You yelped at the sudden upheaval, wrapping your arms around his neck for stability. Bruce was quick to follow both of you as Clark led the way back to the manor’s master bedroom. Clark hummed a gentle tune as Bruce opened the door and beckoned you both inside with an outstretched arm. 

Clark sat you down at the edge of the bed. You folded your arms across your chest as you watched the two of them strip. Clark took off his shirt with one hand and stretched his arms towards the ceiling, fingers intertwined. He let out a pleased hum, sending you a smile. He made quick work to help Bruce out of his dress shirt and left him to remove his undershirt. Clark dropped to his knees and placed his hands on Bruce’s thighs, unzipping Bruce’s pants with his teeth. 

The burn from your cheeks spread all the way down to your chest. Your fingertips tingled with anticipation. You squeezed yourself tighter, swallowing harshly. Clark looked right at you as Bruce’s pants pooled around his ankles. He licked a long stripe against Bruce’s erection, smiling sharply when you looked up at Bruce nervously. 

Bruce ran a hand through Clark’s curly locks, tugging them to bring his head back. Clark looked up at Bruce expectantly and stood when Bruce cupped his chin to kiss him. The kiss was heated and passionate, teeth and tongues already knocking against each other. Bruce stepped out of his pants and kicked them away, leaving him shirtless in his black boxers. He held his hand against the back of Clark’s neck and reached his other hand to shimmy the man out of his slacks. 

Bruce slipped a hand into Clark’s white boxers, palming him and giving him a gentle squeeze. He groaned loudly into Bruce’s mouth and tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth. Clark looked at you while Bruce started to kiss down his neck, biting and sucking harshly on his skin. He motioned for you to come over with a gentle wave of his hand, holding it out for you to take. 

You stood up from the bed and waited for a moment, burrowing your arms further against yourself. If you showed that you would come freely when called, if you were willing to try, then maybe, you hoped, they would have mercy on you. 

You took Clark’s hand, keeping your other arm tight around your chest. He rubbed his thumb over your knuckles in a soothing motion and gave you a gentle smile. You were sure he could feel just how much you were shaking. You could no longer tell if it was from fear or anticipation; maybe it was a mix of both. Bruce’s free hand wrapped around your waist and herded you in between them. 

“You’re making her nervous,” Clark said, cocking his head at Bruce. “Her heart is racing.”

He gently grasped the hand covering your chest and pulled it away, placing it over his to steady you with his calm heartbeat. His palm draped the back of your hand, holding it in place. Bruce’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. His chin rested on your shoulder as he ghosted his lips up your neck and behind your ear. Clark brought your other hand up to his lips again, kissing your palm and closing his eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” Bruce whispered in your ear. “He doesn’t bite.” 

“Not unless you say please,” Clark murmured into your palm, looking back down at you as he kissed your wrist. 

Bruce’s hands slipped under the elastic band of your skirt, laying his palms flat against your hips. 

“You’re so tense,” Bruce said, rubbing circles with his thumbs into your hips. “Let us help you get comfortable.” 

He pushed your skirt down, letting it pool around your ankles. Clark grasped the hem of your body suit and pulled it up over your head, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Bruce’s hands cupped you in between your legs, making you gasp as he ran a finger along your wetness. 

“You’re soaked, lovely,” Bruce smirked. “Did you like watching us?” 

You gulped, looking away from both of them. The heat in your cheeks burned brighter. Back to square one, you were at a loss for words. The men stepped away from you, taking their places on the large, plush bed. Bruce sat up against the headboard, propping one knee up and resting his left arm against the wood. Clark lay next to him on his side, propping himself up with his right elbow. Their eyes roamed you freely as you stood in the same spot they left you in. Your arms quickly found their place against your chest again. 

“Feeling shy?” Clark asked, tracing circles into the sheets with his index finger. “Come here.”

“Maybe she wants us to continue our little show.” Bruce mused, holding his right hand out to you. 

You stared at the ground as you padded over. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before, either. It never got easier when they stripped. 

You shakily took Bruce’s hand and crawled into the space in between them. Your arms were squished against their chest as you held your hands in your lap, twiddling your thumbs nervously. You stared straight up at the high ceiling, trying to count the folds in the canopy draped over the bed. It was a lovely shade of forest green, dark and inviting. A perfect shadow to hide in. 

Clark’s hand started tracing circles on your stomach. Bruce’s left hand came to rest on your tense shoulders, slowly easing them from being hunched up to your ears. 

“Beautiful,” Clark murmured, ghosting his lips over your shoulder. “Isn’t she, Bruce?” 

“Stunning. It’s a miracle no one got their hands on her before we did.” Bruce agreed, stroking a thumb under your chin. “Pretty girl like you deserves to be kissed, well and often.” 

“Our pretty girl,” Clark whispered, kissing up under your chin and nipping softly at your skin. “All ours.”

Clark dipped back down to your collarbone, leaving wetter kisses before licking a stripe up from your clavicle to your chin. All pretense of chaste affection was out the window – they were hungry for you, and Clark was tired of pretending he wasn’t. 

“Still feeling afraid?” Bruce asked. “We’ll take it slow, sweetheart.” 

Slow. They had no intentions of stopping. It was no longer an if; it was simply a matter of when. 

“I told you I’m not afraid.” You shot back, hardly able to believe yourself with the way you sounded. 

“Then show us.” 

Bruce’s right hand smoothed over Clark’s thigh. His hands were rough and scarred, knuckles hardened from years of fighting. Scars littered his body beyond his hands. His deepest scars were beneath the surface, somewhere deep and dark that not even you or Clark seemed to reach. You assume he’s never let anyone. Sometimes, you think he takes all the hits he does in order to remind himself of the real pain he refuses to let himself feel.

Bruce looked at you intensely as he palmed Clark’s erection. He was studying you. Your nervousness was one thing, he knew it well. But your bashful arousal was a new frontier. You kept staring at the ceiling, knowing you would crumble if you looked over at him. He was handsome in a way that made you nervous if you looked at him for too long, like a long-lost movie star from the Golden Age. His charm was effortless, a well-rehearsed charade that flustered you more than it seduced you. He exuded command that made it hard to say no to him, as if his disappointment would devastate you. 

Unlike Bruce, Clark didn’t have a scratch on him. His skin was smooth and flawless, as if he were carved straight from marble in the likeness of an ancient god. He was handsome in a way that was almost insulting. He could hide it well. His patience was almost as impenetrable as he was. It made him hard to read at first, but he’s let cracks of his other emotions seep through the longer you’ve been with him. You assumed he was too worried about frightening you with anything other than his fairweather optimism. Easy eyes and kind smiles with stupid dimples that put you at ease when you should be on alert. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. An extraterrestrial and uncanny Adonis.  

Clark moaned against your skin, letting his teeth graze you as he jutted his hips against Bruce’s hand. He was careful, cautious with you despite his desire. You hadn’t said please yet. Bruce slipped his hand into Clark’s briefs and pulled out his leaking erection. Clark’s right arm stopped propping him up as he slid it under your neck and settled on the pillows next to you. 

“Look at him,” Bruce instructed, tilting your cheek towards Clark. “Isn’t he so handsome?” 

Swallowing nervously, you turn to look at Clark. A small flush left his cheeks tinted pink. His eyes were shut in pleasure as Bruce continued to stroke him. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked at you. You nodded slowly in agreement.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Clark whispered, using the arm under you to turn your body fully onto his side towards him. 

He moved his hand from your stomach to cup your cheek. It seemed they were in silent agreement that Clark would take your first kiss. You wonder if they had this planned out. If they did, they weren’t keen on sharing their plans. The element of surprise served them well. 

“Hi,” You whispered back, staring at his lips. 

Who were you kidding, of course they did. They didn’t leave anything to chance. 

They didn’t have to do this for you, you thought. They didn’t have to let you take it slow. They didn’t have to wait until you were comfortable with their innocent affection. They could have taken you the first night they brought you back, and it would have never made a difference to them. They were giving you plenty of chances, and you have given them almost none. 

Clark’s hips thrusted into Bruce’s hands as he moaned again. He pressed kisses into your hairline by your temples, whimpering softly when Bruce squeezed him.

“Stop jerking your hips,” Bruce commanded, looking at Clark before resuming at a faster pace. “Hands to yourself.” 

Clark gasped and pressed his face into your hair, hips tense with obedience. Clark’s hands retreated behind his back, chest heaving. Bruce’s other hand settled on the back of your neck, stroking up the side gently. 

“See? He can behave himself,” Bruce reassured, whispering gently in your ear. “He’ll listen to you if you tell him what you want.” 

You placed your hand over Clark’s cheek and pulled back from him slightly to look straight at him. His eyes were heavy with need as he looked at you. His bottom lip was caught in his teeth as he bit back a moan. You could still be in control; you could make this happen on your own terms. 

“Clark,” You said shakily. You kept the last shred of courage you had and maintained eye contact with him. “If you want to kiss me, you can.” 

Clark hardly let you finish your sentence before he gave you a deep kiss, nuzzling his cheek into your hand. You gasped at his intensity, closing your eyes as you let him kiss you breathless. The second kiss was sweeter, softer. You could feel his restraint as he slowed down, groaning lowly against your lips. He was desperate to ravage you, but he was willing to go at your speed. That had to count for something, right? 

Bruce’s hand stopped pumping and grabbed yours, replacing it on Clark’s hardness. Clark whimpered against your lips, letting out a breathy gasp. He moaned out your name lowly, shutting his eyes again. 

Your movements were stiff and awkward, clearly unused to the motions. Clark didn’t seem to hold it against you. 

“Honey, ah!” Clark breathed out, gritting his teeth when you started moving your hand. “Making me feel so good.” 

Bruce’s hand slipped over your underwear, pressing his index finger against your wetness. 

“‘Course you’re not afraid,” Bruce mused, sliding his hand under the elastic band. “How are we supposed to trust what you say when your body is willing to tell us the truth?” 

Bruce’s middle finger brushed against your clit, causing you to tense your hips and flinch. You whined into Clark’s mouth, gasping when you felt his tongue brush against yours. Bruce’s hand on your neck kept you in place when you tried to move your head back. 

“Relax,” Bruce instructed softly. “Just open up.” 

You whined again, turning your head to the side. This was happening too fast; you weren’t prepared to deal with both of them for your first time. Clark’s kisses had left you lightheaded and malleable, slowly kissing away your doubts with each pass of his lips. They could twist your words, but you refused to let them twist your judgment. 

You pushed your hands against Clark’s chest and broke away for a breath, starting to feel sobs bubbling in your throat. You tried to suck in a few deep breaths and take a beat, but Clark dove back in for a wet kiss to your trembling lips, letting his tongue swipe against you again. 

You pulled your hands away from Clark and sat up quickly away from them, frantically breathing and pushing your hair away from your face. Tears were welling in your eyes as you let out hiccuping breaths. 

Bruce was quick to sit behind you, locking you in place between his legs. He placed his hands on your shoulder and brushed some hair behind your ear. Clark sat up in front of you, cupping your face with one hand and placing the other over your heart.

“Oh, baby. You’re okay.” Clark soothed softly. “Shh, you’re okay, honey.” 

Bruce rubbed soothing circles into your shoulders as you breathed with Clark. Some stray tears had fallen, and Clark was quick to kiss them away. 

“Deep breaths,” Bruce said softly. “Just like that.” 

Your hyperventilation had slowed to slow, hiccuping breaths as they soothed you. 

“I-I don’t think I’m ready for this.” You whimpered. 

“You were doing so well.” Bruce praised, letting his hand rub over your shoulder blades. 

You shook your head, closing your eyes and resting against Clark’s chest.

“Talk to us,” Clark said, pulling you in close to lay your ear over his heart. “Did it not feel good?” 

Bruce petted a hand over your head as you hid your face in Clark, still taking shuddering breaths. 

“I don't want to do this.” You mumbled. A desperate Hail Mary. 

“Oh, honey,” Clark sighed. “We all know that's not true.”

“You were so wet when you watched us,” Bruce whispered in your ear. “You liked it. There’s no use in denying it.” 

Your heart fell just as far as it did the first time Bruce told you that you weren’t going to leave the manor. It was something that was not up for discussion. Tears threatened to spill again. 

“What’s really going on?” Clark implored, resting his cheek against your hair.

Honesty might save you for once if they believed it was the truth. 

“It was just moving too fast,” You let out with shuddering breaths. “Bruce held my head down and-” 

Bruce shushed you again, not wanting you to work yourself up a second time. 

“Okay,” He whispered against your hair, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. 

“Our poor girl,” Clark sighed. “We scared you, didn’t we?” 

You shook your head against Bruce’s hand, letting out a sigh of defeat. Something about admitting your fear enticed them, and you refused to play into their hand. Not going through with this was off the table; you were certain about that now. You knew they were patient men; they were willing to take it at your speed. Did you really want to escalate it further? Were you willing to see how long their patience would last? 

“You’ve barely given it a chance,” Bruce said, letting his hand rub over your shoulder blades. “Don’t worry about us. Just lie back, we’ll take good care of you.” 

“Let’s try again,” Clark hummed in agreement and whispered close to you, “No more tears in those pretty eyes, ‘kay?”

You nodded again and sat up between them, using the heel of your palms to wipe the last of your tears away. You bit back another shuddering breath, holding onto Clark’s hand on your chest. You could do this…right? You could do it unsure, you could do it nervously, you could do it scared. You could do this if it meant they didn’t have to hold you down to get it done. 

Clark’s hand on your cheek caressed your face and settled on your chin, resting it between his thumb and index finger. He smiled at you with an unmistakably sharp look in his eyes. He’s pleased you’re willing, but you know that if you weren’t, it wouldn’t have made much difference to him. His thumb stroked over your chin as he tilted it up to look at him. He shared a brief look with Bruce before leaning down to kiss your still-wet eye. 

Bruce’s hand slid down from your back and settled on your hip as he kissed the back of your neck. Clark closed his eyes and leaned in for another kiss. You held your breath as he kissed you chastely, sweeter and slower than the other kisses. He kissed you as if it were the tender love and care you so desperately needed. He peeked at you through his eyelashes, seeing that you had closed your eyes too and were letting out slow, deep breaths. 

“Good girl,” Bruce murmured against your neck, kissing the skin softly there. “Keep breathing just like that. It’ll help you.” 

Bruce’s hand slid over your hip fully and dipped between your legs. You gasped softly in Clark’s mouth and curled your fingers slightly against his chest. Clark’s lips twitched slightly in restraint, continuing to lay kisses on the bottom lip of your parted mouth. Bruce’s hand cupped you entirely, pressing the heel of his palm against your clit. Your hips jerked away from his hand, but Bruce’s straddling you from behind kept you in place. Even the pressure from his palm was too much for you; every touch against your skin left electricity in its wake. No matter how shameful it felt to admit, you knew you wouldn’t last long against them.

“Shh,” He soothed, kissing under your ear. “You’re okay. Just let us make you feel good.” 

“He’ll make all your worries melt away, you’ll see.” Clark hummed in agreement against your lips. “Don’t be difficult, now.”

Bruce’s hand continued to grind into you as you let out a soft whine. Toys had never even felt as good as Bruce’s teasing. You were ashamed to feel as good as you did. Your hand flew up to your mouth, making him press his hand down even harder. Clark took it away and held both your wrists against him. 

“None of that,” Clark scolded and pressed your hands back on his chest. “You let us hear that pretty voice loud and proud.” 

“Trust me, lovely.” Bruce chuckled, putting his hand into your wet panties. “Clark would be too happy to make you really scream for us. He’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to you.” 

“Woof.” Clark teased in a low voice. 

Bruce’s finger slowly circled your clit as you bit back a moan. Clark took your swollen lip from under your teeth and put it between his own, sucking gently when you moaned again. Bruce’s movements were slow and teasing, giving you just enough to feel the tingle in your spine but not enough to get you anywhere. 

Clark swiped his tongue over your lip before sealing your lips in a hot kiss. You whined into his mouth, grateful for the way his tongue muffled your pathetic sounds. You relaxed your hips against Bruce and flattened your palms shakily against Clark’s chest. They were trying to keep the mood light, ease the tension from your hunched shoulders and arched hips. The least you could do for yourself was return the favor. 

Bruce’s kisses became wetter as he sucked and nibbled on your collarbone, leaving tender marks in his wake. His fingers slipped down to tease the wetness between your folds, stroking gently. You sighed into Clark’s mouth and forced yourself to rest in the palm on your cheek. Clark was right, if you really got yourself to relax, you could forget yourself for just a moment. Forget your circumstances, forget that you don’t have a say in your own life anymore. 

You could forget all that for now, but you knew better. Tomorrow is a different story. You’ll try to forget how good Bruce’s fingers were at making you feel pleasure you didn’t even know was possible. You’ll try to forget how dizzying Clark’s kisses were. You’ll try to forget how addicting their devotion and desire were in your isolation. 

Clark’s free hand slipped in your panties over Bruce’s, toying his middle finger through your folds before dipping into you. You cried out softly as he did, earning pleased groans from both men. The two of them shared a look over your shoulder before kissing each other next to your ear. It was heated and messy, causing heat to pool in your stomach at their pleased sounds. 

Your back arched away from Bruce as Clark curled his finger inside of you, making a slow inching motion. Your legs began to tremble as they squeezed shut around Clark’s thigh. You bit back another moan as you pressed your back to Bruce’s chest. Clark was reaching places you never even dreamed of, dragging out pleasure you didn’t even know was possible with each curl. You were close already. Clark let out a low sound when you clenched around him, and Bruce hummed in kind. 

“Eager little thing,” He cooed, pressing his forehead against yours and staring at your wide eyes. “Feeling good so good, aren’t you?” 

You yelped in pleasure when Bruce gently pinched your clit and rolled it between his fingers. Clark’s finger pumped in and out of you at a steady pace, keeping a curling motion as he dragged them against your walls. You couldn’t even think to hold back your moans anymore as you writhed between them. 

“I think she’s close.” Bruce teased with a smirk, looking at Clark. Your hips just against their fingers as you whined. “And she said she didn’t want this.” 

Bruce tilted your head back by your chin and kissed you deeply, drinking in the soft sighs and whines you let out. Your hips rut in between them, caught in a dance between Bruce’s caresses and Clark’s pumping. He broke the kiss off and looked down at you through heavy eyelids, cooing when you let out a soft whimper. Your eyes screwed shut as the pleasure began to override you, making you moan shamelessly. 

“That’s it,” Clark urged. “Good girl, let it out.” 

You wailed and let out a loud cry as your body tensed, shaking as your orgasm ripped through you. Bruce let out a pleased groan as you collapsed against him, riding out the waves of pleasure as they whispered sweet nothings to you. Clark’s lips quirked as he felt you squeeze tightly around his fingers. They guided you through it, only stopping their motions when you whimpered and shook in overstimulation. 

A stray tear had fallen down your cheek as you opened your eyes to look up at Bruce. He was still looking right back at you, pressing a sweet kiss to your trembling lips. You kissed back, whining when he pulled away. The haze of your satisfaction had your wires crossed. Your afterglow had you feeling a sense of peace you didn’t even know you could get back.

“Well done, love.” He praised, pulling his hand out of your panties. 

Bruce raised his fingers to Clark’s lips, moving them slowly in and out of his mouth as he sucked greedily. Clark pulled his finger out of you and raised it up to Bruce’s lips, pumping it slowly out of his mouth. You watched as you tried to catch your breath, letting out little whimpers as you adjusted your posture. 

The reality of your situation was starting to trickle back in as the two of them parted above you. It was a fool’s errand to believe you had any power over the situation. You handed yourself over as soon as they asked you. You let your inhibitions get lost in their twisted sense of affection and care. Worst of all, you liked it. You liked forgetting the circumstances that led to the current entanglement. You liked forgetting that they weren’t your lovers by choice. You liked forgetting that you were all but held down to get here. 

Bruce smoothed his hands over your tensing shoulders and moved you to lie with him. He propped himself up against the headboard again and shimmied you up to lie on his chest with your back to him. Clark crawled in between your legs, staring up at you with an easy smile. 

“Absolutely soaked for us,” He murmured, placing a wet kiss over your belly button. “Tasted so good on Bruce’s fingers.” 

Clark worked you out of your panties and tossed them off the side of the bed. You shifted anxiously against Bruce, who held you in place with a warm hand on your chest. Clark kicked his own boxers off, leaving both you and him fully naked. 

“You’re doing so well, beautiful,” Bruce whispered in encouragement, kissing your ear gently. “Don’t stop now.” 

Clark hiked your knees over his shoulders as he settled between yours and Bruce’s legs. You shifted nervously again, gasping when he blew cold air over your wetness. You were hardly ready to go all the way; you only hoped they felt the same way. He chuckled as he placed wet kisses trailing down your right thigh, caressing your thighs as they rested on his shoulders. 

“Don’t tease her, Clark,” Bruce chuckled. “She’s been so good for us. Doesn’t she deserve her reward?”

Bruce hooked his arms under your knees and pressed your legs up to your chest. He tucked you close to him, folding you up as much as he could. You gasped, feeling your flush and shame come back twice fold at your absolute exposure. They were more than eager to prepare you for them, which you could feel immensely grateful for. You just hated that it cost you more of your dignity that you thought was all but gone. 

Clark’s warm hands gripped your ass and squeezed gently before he spread you open. He looked up at you as he placed a small kiss over your clit, making you whimper and gasp from the sensitivity. You squirmed as you looked down at Clark, who looked you straight in the eye as he laid a wet kiss with his tongue against the nub. You gasped softly again as his tongue took a long, slow swipe up your wet folds.

Clark hummed against you as he took your clit in his mouth and began to suck gently, shaking his head. You whined as his entire mouth enveloped you, becoming more feverish in his movements the louder you became. He was moving against you like a man who had been starved of you his entire life. 

Your hands flew down to the curly locks tussling between your legs and threaded your fingers through them. Clark moaned in response, pushing his tongue in deeper into you and letting his canines scrape against you gently. You cried out and pulled at his hair, trying to pull him off of you. Your thighs started to shake in overstimulation as you felt Clark growl against you. 

“Clark!” You yelped, trying to buck your hips away from him.

Bruce held you firmly in place as you struggled in their hold. “He’s good with his mouth, isn’t he?” Bruce murmured against your temple. “Like I said, a dog with his favorite bone.” 

Clark nodded, suckling on your clit as he slowly inched a finger back into you. You gasped breathlessly and went limp against Bruce’s chest, feeling the pleasure start to become borderline painful as Clark added a second finger and curled them both. You clenched tightly around them as he began to pump them in and out of you. 

“No,” You whined pathetically, feeling the noise rise again in your throat as you shook your head. “I’m gonna come again.” 

“That’s okay,” Bruce said. “You can come as many times as you want.” 

Clark was spurred by your begging and continued in his ministrations, letting out a low moan as he rocked his hips against the bed. You tugged at his hair again, but he paid you no mind as he steadfastly brought you closer to your second orgasm. You could do nothing but whine and cry out against Bruce’s chest, feeling tears prick your eyes. You let out a loud, warbling cry as you came against Clark’s face, feeling your body practically white out with the pleasure ripping through you. You shook violently in Bruce’s arms as you let out a heaving, whining sob, letting a few stray tears fall. 

You continued to clench around nothing when Clark pulled his fingers out, and your thighs twitched through the aftershocks of your pleasure. Clark placed one final kiss on your wetness before sitting up between your legs. Bruce set your legs back down over his and straddled Clark’s thighs. You shut your eyes and let out heaving breaths as you whispered a curse to yourself. 

“You’re lucky,” Bruce chuckled deeply. “He let you off easy today.” 

Clark kissed your trembling lips deeply, slipping his tongue between your lips as you gasped softly. You tasted yourself on his tongue as you let out a low whimper. Clark moaned in kind, nipping at your lips softly when he pulled away. 

“All right, that’s enough,” Bruce teased, pushing against Clark’s chest. “You’ve been greedy enough for one evening.” 

Clark kissed you sweetly one last time before switching positions with Bruce, handling you gently as they passed you off. You were placed in Clark’s lap, back pressed flush to his chest. Your legs were spread again, far less so than before. Your feet sat on the outside of Clark’s knees as you settled against his chest. You watched as Bruce took off his boxers and sat between your legs, completely bare. 

Your eyes trailed his body as you looked over his scars, some familiar and some new to you. Seeing them up close and uncovered made you realize just how many of them there were. You reached a shaky hand out to his chest as he moved closer between your legs. The scar just below his heart was cut deep; the healed tissue was raised and uneven. It’s unimaginable to consider what the two of them have survived. 

You stood absolutely no chance against them unless they wanted you to. It would only take seconds for Bruce to pin you down in an inescapable hold. Clark wouldn’t have to try to catch any sudden movements you threw at him. They didn’t even need each other to ensure your complete physical submission. Your pleasure overtook you because they wanted you to have it. Your consent was manufactured because they wanted you to believe it. They gain nothing from your approval, yet demand it anyway. 

When Bruce finally kissed you, you kissed him back. You felt the chap of his lips, the scars from all the times they got busted by a lucky shot. You placed a small kiss over the scar on his cupid’s bow, taking in his pleased hum as he kissed you deeply in response. Maybe they would let you off easy tonight. Maybe they’ve had their fill of you for one evening.  

Bruce’s finger ghosted over your folds, and you jolted in oversensitivity, clenching down around nothing. He parted from you, licking his lips. 

“You ready?” He asked sincerely, caressing your inner thighs with his rough hands. 

You would never be ready. Ready wasn’t a feeling; ready was an action. You trembled slightly with anticipation and nerves, only growing more riled up as Clark gently rubbed your waist. Tears threatened to prick your eyes again as you blinked them away and looked back up at the canopy. There was a slight gold reflex to the green that you hadn’t noticed earlier. The sooner this was over, the sooner you could stop pretending to want this. You swallowed and looked at Bruce, willing yourself to relax. 

You needed to choose to be ready before they decided for you. 

Bruce shifted his hips closer to yours, thumbing your clit gently as he pressed his thighs against the back of yours. Clark reached over and stroked Bruce slowly, grinning as he groaned lowly. His other hand caressed your midriff, letting his palm spread warmth over you. You felt him rub his tip against your wetness, and your hips tensed up again. Bruce’s hands held your waist as Clark helped line him up. Your right hand shakily gripped Bruce’s wrist, making him look up at you. 

“Bruce,” You pleaded softly through trembling lips. “I’m scared.” 

“I’ll be gentle,” Bruce promised, placing his hand on yours and rubbing his thumb soothingly over your knuckles. “Do you want to hold my hand?”

A tear falls down your cheek as you nod and shut your eyes. Bruce’s fingers lace with yours as you squeeze tightly, still shaking. He pecked a kiss to the back of your hand and pressed it into the bed. 

“Don’t you worry, honey,” Clark whispered sweetly in your ear, holding your other hand. “Bruce is going to take good care of you.”

Bruce used his free hand to give himself one more pump before pressing his tip into you, catching it on your hole as he slowly inched in. You clenched harshly around him as he slid in, adjusting to his size. Ragged breaths made your chest heave sharply as your whole body tensed in anticipation. 

“Shit,” Bruce hissed through his teeth, stopping about halfway. “Squeezing me like this is only going to make it harder.” 

Clark pet over your stomach, gently pushing your arching back down onto the bed and forcing you to relax the tension in your hips and waist. 

“Just relax,” Clark coaxed. “Be good and let him in.” 

You forced yourself to relax your thighs, opting to carry all the tension in your shoulders instead. Bruce sighed in relief and continued despite your whimpering whines. The stretch was unlike anything you’d ever experienced, even with Clark’s fingers earlier. Clark shushed you softly and kissed your temple, murmuring praise. 

“That’s it,” Clark praised. “Good girl. Just like that.” 

Bruce groaned and clenched his teeth, squeezing your hand slightly as he bottomed out. You let out the breath you held in and squeezed his hand fiercely in return. You involuntarily clenched around him as he stilled in you. He cursed harshly under his breath. His hips trembled in restraint against yours. 

The stretch was uncomfortable, almost bordering on painful. The fullness was something else entirely. He was consuming your entire being. He was the sweat on your brow, the nerves in your mind, the pleasure pooling in your gut. He was filling you in places you didn’t even know existed. He was taking the last piece of yourself that wasn’t already declared his. 

“Taking me so well,” Bruce muttered, resting his forehead on yours. “Absolutely perfect for me.” 

Clark pressed his hand on your stomach, and you whined, gasping at the pressure. He took your left hand and placed it next to his right on your stomach, stroking the back of your palm gently. 

“You feel him here?” Clark said softly. “So deep. He feels so good, doesn’t he?” 

Clark interlaced his fingers over yours, continuing the pressure. His right hand moved down between your legs and began to slowly circle your clit with his middle finger. Bruce let go of your hand briefly to hook your right leg under his left arm, pressing it up to your chest as he reached back down. He interlaced your fingers with his as he pressed his hips flush to yours, not leaving any gap between the two of you. 

Your mouth was agape as you let a breathless cry, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of you. A few more tears fell down your face as Bruce pressed himself into you, groaning into the crook of your shoulder as he did. Your back was flush to Clark’s chest, feeling his hardness rut against you as he moved his hips slowly. 

Sweat trailed down your back onto Clark’s stomach as you squeezed Bruce’s hand again. You blinked away more tears and took a big breath, trying to catch your bearings. Being between both of them was beyond overwhelming. 

“Good girl,” Bruce praised, laying a needy kiss on your shoulder. “Keep breathing just like that. We’ve got you.” 

Bruce’s hips slowly rolled back, dragging himself out of you. He was just shy of his tip coming out before he rolled his hips forward in a single, swift motion to plunge himself all the way back in. You gasped and held your breath again, only exhaling when you could no longer hold in your unabashed moan. You were too overwhelmed to give a second thought to any embarrassment you could think to muster. 

“Tell him just how good you’re feeling,” Clark whispered into your ear, moaning with another jerk of his hips. 

“It’s too much, I can’t,” you blubbered out. “I can’t take it.” 

“You can,” Bruce grunted. “And you will.”

Bruce ground his hips slowly in a circle, pressing you further into Clark. The overstimulation and fullness were bringing your buried emotions to the forefront. A whimpering cry caught itself in your throat as you screwed your eyes shut. Tears fell down your scrunched face when Bruce pulled himself out slowly again. The slow drag of his head against your tensed walls had your toes curling as hard as they could. 

Bruce panted and swallowed close to your ear, letting out a grunt as he pushed his hips back in. His thighs flexed against yours as he started to pump in and out of you at a slow, steady rhythm. Your nails dug into Bruce’s hand, hard enough to scratch and draw blood.

Bruce brought your entwined hands up to his mouth for a brief kiss over your knuckles. 

“Gonna give me some battle scars of your own?” He teased breathily. 

As Bruce’s hips rocked the pair of you, Clark slid his hardness between the small of your back and your tailbone. The sweat of your back slickened him enough to sigh in your ear and kiss behind it wetly. More tears fell as Clark’s finger began to circle you faster and his hips rutted against you in tandem with Bruce’s. The shame and pleasure were bringing you close to sobbing again, making your feelings grow with each rise and fall of your heaving chest. Exhaustion crept in where excitement should be. You could only pray they would take their pleasure quickly. You refused to give yours up for a third time. 

You kept your eyes shut as you heard Clark and Bruce exchange a few more kisses with each other before moving onto you. Bruce kissed your wet cheeks tenderly, whispering assuringly to you as he did. Clark pressed his face into your shoulder, speeding his pace up as he shook your entire body with his strokes. He left wet kisses on your damp skin, letting them muffle his moans. 

Clark groaned your name loudly as his hips flexed and tensed there, spilling himself all over your back. He bit gently into your shoulder as he rode out his aftershocks, licking over the tender mark. He was quicker to go than Bruce from his previous teasing, you assumed. You tried not to notice him rutting into the bed when he was between your legs, letting his obsession with you alone do him in. 

“Usually have better manners than this,” He exhaled in your ear, nuzzling his cheek into yours. “But I just had to get back to you.” 

He had two fingers circling your clit now, pressing down harder as Bruce increased his speed. You shivered in mild disgust and arousal as you felt his spend start to drip down your back. Bruce was not far behind him as you opened your watery eyes to see him staring back down at you. His face was uncharacteristically flushed, and sweat was beading around his temples. He leaned down to give you a deep kiss on your mouth, moaning into your mouth in return. 

Your cunt clenched down on him again as you felt the pleasure building in your core again.

“Close again?” He smirked through his heavy pants. “We’ll have to build your stamina up.” 

You whined and shook your head, letting the sobs bubble up again. You didn’t want your pleasure to be wrought from their insatiability again. Their obsession with your complete ownership had delved all the way down to enacting their will over even your most basic bodily functions. They shared a displeased look over your shoulder, in silent agreement once again. It was never about you. 

“You will come again,” Bruce commanded, squeezing your hand. “You deserve it, my love.” 

Of course you did, that’s what this was all about in the end – what they think you deserve. Not what you wanted, not even what you needed, but what you deserved. You deserved their protection, you deserved their devotion, you deserved their delusions of grandeur. You deserved it so much that it never mattered what you thought about it.

Clark whispered encouragingly in your ear as Bruce slowed his pace, focusing on more powerful and targeted thrusts. He was going in as deep as he could, rolling his hips up into you. Your sobs were loud and unfettered as Clark shushed you softly. You shook your head again and again, whimpering out protests when the pleasure began to make you shake. There was practically no buildup this time. It hit you just like their love did, an impossible force that refused to be denied. It struck you all at once like they did, overtaking your entire being and holding you in the throes of its ecstasy. 

You were fairly certain you lost consciousness for a moment as you rode out your orgasm, spasming violently around Bruce. Absolution filled your senses as you basked in the ignorance once again, letting go of your circumstances for just a second more. The well-earned relief was short-lived as you felt Bruce pull out of you and finish himself off on your stomach. You barely registered he had done it as you finally let yourself go, giving into the fear you’ve felt the entire time. Your body shook as you sobbed harshly. You didn’t even care if they were a witness to it anymore; you couldn’t refuse yourself any longer.

They maneuvered you slowly, allowing your body to rest naturally on the bed between them. Bruce kissed you and pulled you close to him, laying you face down on his chest. He rested against the sheets on his back, petting your hair as you wailed into his chest. The situation had fully crashed down on you, filling you with horrible shame and anger. You let them talk you into willingly betraying yourself, into believing this sham of an intimate evening. You tried to forget them in the apex of your pleasure, but they were waiting there for you, too. There was nowhere to hide from them, not even in yourself anymore. 

Your cries had fizzled out in sniffles quickly as exhaustion moved into you once more. The edges of reality blurred as you opened your eyes wearily. The sight of the room was a haze, some far-off place that felt more like a dungeon than a castle with each passing minute. Their voices were a blur as you settled against Bruce, still shaking from the shock of it all. You hadn’t noticed Clark had left the bed, but he returned with a warm washcloth. His movements were gentle and tender as he physically cleaned you of themselves. You weren’t sure you’d ever be able to wash yourself of your own sins, not with all the tears you knew had left to be shed. 

Clark settled beside you and kissed your cheek, prompting you to close your eyes again. Their conversation was muffled, like you were listening to them speak through a wall. Bruce said something about Alfred bringing dinner up to the bedroom instead of taking it formally like date night would demand. Their voices faded the more you relaxed into their comforting touches.

The Tag Teaming

Clark’s superhuman stamina means he can keep you coming until you’re trembling, while Bruce times your orgasms like he’s strategizing a mission.

One holds you down while the other ruins you. Sometimes it’s Clark pinning your wrists above your head with no effort at all, sometimes it’s Bruce tying you up with silk and growling orders.

Bruce loves whispering filthy things in your ear while Clark makes you moan loud enough to shake the walls.

Positions & Play

They love you on your knees, Bruce fucking your throat while Clark fucks you from behind, each one making you choke and whimper for different reasons.

Bruce gets off on watching Clark stretch you open, muttering “look at you taking him so well” while he strokes himself, waiting his turn.

Clark adores missionary because he can look into your eyes, but Bruce? He prefers you bent over, ass red from his handprints. With both? You’re getting flipped around until you don’t know which way is up.

DP is absolutely on the table. Clark gentle and overwhelming, Bruce rough and relentless, you’re not lasting long.

Their Favorite “Games”

Bruce makes rules (“don’t cum until I say”), and Clark loves “accidentally” breaking them by making you lose control under his mouth or cock.

Clark has a thing for holding you in his lap, bouncing you on his cock while Bruce kneels between your legs and licks you both clean.

Bruce loves toys; vibrators, plugs, restraints. While Clark prefers to use his body, tongue, and strength. Together? Overstimulation city.

Their Roles with You

Bruce is your Daddy Dom, telling you exactly what to do and punishing you if you disobey.

Clark is your sweet Dom, showering you in praise and affection while still fucking you into the mattress.

They both love hearing you call them by different names… Daddy for Bruce, Sir or Good boy Clark when you’re feeling bratty (and yes, Bruce smirks every time you top Clark just a little).

Aftercare

Clark’s the one who scoops you up, bathes you, brushes your hair, makes sure you drink water.

Bruce runs damage control, checking every mark he left, applying ointment if they broke skin, giving you medicine for soreness, quietly stroking your back while Clark cuddles you close.

You end the night sandwiched between them, completely wrecked but utterly safe.

BirdFlash

The Dynamic

Dick and Wally are best friends first, which makes the whole relationship extra natural. You’re not caught between them, they love the idea of sharing, hyping each other up, and making you the center of attention.

It’s playful competitiveness 24/7. They’ll literally argue over who makes you moan louder, who can make you laugh harder, or who you cuddled longer last night.

They’re a perfect contrast in bed, Dick is sensual, deliberate, all control and teasing, while Wally is fast, messy, and overwhelming. Together? They keep you on the edge between soft worship and overstimulation.

It’s playful competitiveness 24/7. Their competitiveness absolutely bleeds into sex. Who makes you cum harder, who gets more moans out of you, who you cling to tighter

The Tag Teaming

One of them eats you out while the other makes out with you, keeping eye contact with each other over your body. Very smug, so shameless.

They love having you in the middle. One behind, one in front, and you don’t stand a chance, every nerve ending is getting attention.

Wally is addicted to speed. Fingering you so fast you can’t breathe, or eating you out until you’re crying. Meanwhile, Dick is the one who holds you down, murmuring “take it, sweetheart.”

They love edging you together. Dick holding you in place, whispering praise while Wally pulls away at the last second with a cheeky “oops, not yet.”

Positions & Play

Double penetration? Yeah, they’re curious enough and competitive enough to make it happen. Dick’s the one careful and steady while Wally is greedy and rough. You don’t walk for days.

Dick loves having you ride him while Wally mouths at your chest, thighs, neck… anywhere he can reach.

Wally’s favorite thing? Eating you out while Dick’s fucking you, he gets off on seeing you lose control twice over.

Their Favorite “Games”

Wally’s speed means he’ll vibrate his fingers or tongue just right, and Dick smirks because “that’s cheating, man.” You don’t care, you’re screaming.

They love overstimulation, switching places without warning so you don’t know who’s inside you, who’s touching you, just that you’re theirs.

Aftercare (because they’re good boys at heart)

Wally is out of bed in seconds, bringing water, snacks, a damp cloth. Dick keeps you tucked in his arms, kissing your face while you come down.

They both spoil the hell out of you afterward. Praise, cuddles, food, a bath - whatever you need.

JayRoy

The Dynamic

Jason is rough, possessive, mine mine mine.

Roy is playful, teasing, and loves making you laugh even when you’re falling apart.

Together? They’re absolute menaces, dirty talk, bruises, bite marks, and a whole lot of reckless passion.

The Tag Teaming

Roy loves watching Jason fuck you, smirking as he says “She’s not gonna last, Jay.” Jason growls back, “She’s gonna take it, aren’t you, baby?”

One of them is always using their mouth while the other’s inside you. Jason eating you out while Roy fucks you deep, or Roy sucking bruises into your chest while Jason pounds you into the mattress.

They switch roles constantly, you’ll never know if you’re gonna be split open, pinned down, or worshipped until it happens.

Positions & Play

They love you in the middle. Jason behind, Roy in front, and you’re overwhelmed in the best way.

Roy’s favorite? Eating you out while Jason sits back and watches, giving lazy orders like “make her scream, Harper.”

Jason’s favorite? Spreading you out across his lap while Roy kneels in front of you, so he can spank you raw and still watch Roy finger you until you cry.

DP is absolutely on the table, especially when Jason’s possessive streak flares. He wants to fill you completely so no one else ever can.

Their Favorite “Games”

Roy teases, light touches, slow kisses, “oops, not yet.” Jason punishes, rough thrusts, spanking, filthy growls in your ear.

They’re so vocal. Jason groans and growls, all filthy dirty talk. Roy’s a shameless moaner and loves narrating what’s happening, “God, she’s dripping, Jay. You feel that?”

They love overstimulation. Jason holding you down by the throat while Roy eats you out until you’re crying, or Roy fingering you open fast while Jason fucks your mouth.

Their Roles with You

Jason’s the protector/dominant,he likes knowing you’re completely his.

Roy’s the wild card, sometimes sweet, sometimes bratty, sometimes making you cum just to see Jason scowl and say “I wasn’t done with her yet.”

They both mark you- hickeys, bites, scratches. You’re not going anywhere without proof you’re theirs.

Aftercare

Jason runs hot and cold, he’ll growl through the sex, but afterward he’s the one carefully cleaning you up, pressing quiet kisses to every bruise he left.

Roy is pure softness, snacks, cuddles, jokes until you’re giggling in his arms.

You always end up tangled between them, Jason’s arm heavy over your waist while Roy strokes your hair.

TimKon

The Dynamic

Tim is calculating, obsessive, strategic. He loves control and knowing exactly how to unravel you.

Conner is enthusiastic, affectionate, big puppy energy, he just wants to please you, all strength and desperation.

Together? You’re the rope in a tug of war between “I’ll ruin you carefully” and “I’ll ruin you right now.”

The Tag Teaming

Tim is the one edging you until you’re sobbing, then nodding for Conner to finally let you cum, he’s a tease, but Conner never says no to giving you what you need.

Conner loves holding you up with that Kryptonian strength while Tim does filthy things to you, tying you up, playing with toys, whispering the dirtiest shit in your ear.

They’ll both watch each other with you. Tim gets off on directing Conner, and Conner gets off on seeing how wrecked you are between the two of them.

Positions & Play

Conner’s favorite: you riding him, bouncing in his lap while he grips your hips tight, and Tim kneeling behind you, kissing your neck, whispering, slipping his fingers between your legs.

Tim’s favorite: you on your stomach, Conner holding your wrists to the mattress, while he fucks you slow and deep until you’re begging for more.

DP is definitely happening here. Tim precise and slow, Conner greedy and desperate. You’re stretched, filled, and completely undone.

Their Favorite “Games”

Tim sets rules (“Don’t cum until I say”) and Conner loves watching you squirm to follow them, whispering encouragement while Tim smirks like the bastard he is.

They’ll absolutely roleplay “good cop/bad cop” in bed, Tim threatening you with punishment if you disobey, Conner softly begging you to be good for them.

Tim LOVES toys. Vibes, plugs, cuffs. Conner LOVES using his strength, pinning you with one hand, holding you in the air while he fucks you.

Mutual obsession: they both love marking you. Hickeys, scratches, bruises. Tim neat and hidden, Conner messy and obvious.

Their Roles with You

Tim is the cold, calculating dom, the type to make you cry just from denial, then kiss your tears away.

Conner is the pleaser dom, he wants you to feel good, to cum as much as possible, to know how much he worships you.

Together, they’re devastating. Tim pushes you to the edge, Conner makes sure you fall apart in the sweetest way.

Aftercare

Tim insists on checking every mark, soothing lotion over red skin, muttering soft apologies against your hair.

Conner tucks you against his chest, feeds you snacks, kisses you all over until you’re giggling.

Sandwich cuddles are mandatory, you between Tim’s quiet heartbeat and Conner’s warm chest, their arms tangled around you.

DamiJon

The Dynamic

Damian is intense, possessive, commanding. He has that control freak streak, and in bed it shows. He wants everything just so, and he thrives on making you beg.

Jon is sweet, eager, devoted. He’s the pleaser, always wanting to touch, taste, and worship you until you can’t take it anymore.

Together? They balance each other frighteningly well, Damian pushes, Jon soothes, and you’re their battlefield.

The Tag Teaming

Damian takes his time, slow, deliberate thrusts, cruel edging. While Jon overwhelms you with his strength and eagerness, eating you out until you’re sobbing or fucking you until you see stars.

They love having you in the middle, Jon holding you up like you weigh nothing, Damian using you however he pleases, his mouth against your throat whispering filth in your ear.

Damian loves ordering Jon around in bed- “faster,” “hold her still,” “don’t let her cum until I say.” Jon lives for it, grinning like he’d follow every command.

Positions & Play

Jon’s favorite: you straddling him, bouncing on his cock while he grips your waist, his big hands guiding you, his mouth sucking marks into your chest. Damian kneels behind you, smirking, stroking you or slipping a toy in just to watch you fall apart.

Damian’s favorite: you tied down, blindfolded, Jon between your thighs worshipping you with his tongue until you’re shaking, and Damian calmly stroking your hair, making you say his name before you cum.

DP? Definitely, Damian taking control, Jon filling you up with his strength. You don’t survive it without your legs giving out.

Their Favorite “Games”

Damian thrives on denial, holding a vibrator against you until you’re crying for release, only to pull it away. Jon swoops in with praise, begging for you to cum because he can’t stand to see you in tears.

They love overstimulation. Jon’s super-speed tongue/fingers + Damian’s cock = you’re crying, screaming, trembling while they smirk at each other over your ruined body.

Damian dirty talks like it’s a weapon, sharp, filthy, degrading. Jon praises you to death, telling you how good you are, how beautiful you look falling apart. Together? You’re torn between heaven and hell.

Their Roles with You

Damian = strict dom. Expect commands, punishment, and possessiveness.

Jon = pleaser dom. He worships you, dotes on you, and makes sure you know you’re adored.

Together = Good cop/Bad cop in bed. Damian makes you cry, Jon kisses the tears off your cheeks. Damian spanks you, Jon rubs your back while you sob against him.

Aftercare

Damian pretends he’s aloof but is meticulous in checking every mark, every bruise, massaging ointment into your skin with soft mutters in Arabic.

Jon is cuddles, snacks, kisses everywhere. He’ll wrap himself around you like a big blanket, warm and unshakable.

You always fall asleep tangled between Damian’s steady heartbeat and Jon’s giant body heat.

RoyWally

The Dynamic

Roy is filthy, reckless, and playful. He loves getting you messy, marked up, and begging.

Wally is teasing, fast, and greedy. He wants you as many times as possible, as loud as possible.

Together? They egg each other on, laughing at how ruined you are and competing to see who can get you off more.

The Tag Teaming

They thrive on taking turns, Roy bending you over, spanking you raw while Wally fingers you with that impossible speed until you collapse.

One goes down on you while the other’s in your mouth, trading cocky comments like “she moaned louder for me, dude” while you can barely breathe.

They love spit-roasting you. Wally fucking your throat while Roy pounds you from behind, both groaning about how perfect you feel.

Positions & Play

Roy’s favorite: you sprawled on his lap, crying from overstimulation, while Wally kneels between your legs and makes you cum again with his tongue in seconds.

Wally’s favorite: you riding him while Roy kneels behind you, kissing your neck, tweaking your nipples, whispering filthy encouragement until you’re crying out for both of them.

DP is absolutely on the menu. They’re competitive enough to insist you can handle both, and smug enough to prove it right.

Their Favorite “Games”

Roy loves dirty talk and degradation—“Look at you, baby, fucked dumb on us”, while Wally piles on the teasing praise, “You’re so good for us, sweetheart, c’mon, give us another one.”

Wally uses his speed to absolutely wreck you, fast thrusts, vibrating fingers, quick kisses all over your body. While Roy slows it down just to edge you cruelly.

They LOVE pushing you into overstimulation. One won’t stop even after you’ve cum, because the other eggs him on: “C’mon, she can take another. Right, baby?”

Their Roles with You

Roy = filthy dom/brat tamer. He thrives on making you blush, beg, or roll your eyes before he ruins you.

Wally = playful dom/pleaser. He’s cheeky, greedy, and obsessed with making you cum as much as possible.

Together = chaos doms. They’ll laugh at how wrecked you are, but it’s all love and worship underneath.

Aftercare

Wally zips away to grab you snacks, water, maybe even a smoothie because “you need energy, babe.”

Roy is lazy but thorough, cleaning you up, pulling you into his chest, muttering soft reassurances against your hair.

They both tangle you in bed, leaving hickeys everywhere you can’t hide them, because they love when everyone knows you’re theirs.

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by the grace of whoever controlled the universe, gotham was going through a heatwave. which was weird. the usual gloomy, wet and dark gotham was sticky with heat and had left the manor unremarkably tepid.

tepid enough for you to have spent the week planting fresh flowers, baking plenty batches of banana bred and sunbathing in the garden. it had been the most peaceful week you had in a long time, allowing relaxation to seep into your bones after months of hard work.

but tonight, conveniently, your lovers were not here.

it had still vexed you that the justice league whisked them away from you for a top secret mission off world.

the memory of hal jordan and barry allen wolf-whistling outside of your shared bedroom when the team had arrived was fresh, you could envision the sharp eyebrows clark and bruce raised in tandem as your sacred time had been made privy and discussed by the super heroes.

you were certain barry and hal would be stuck in the back seat of the space ship, if bruce had his way. he always did.

not many had known, but you and clark were able to bring a playful side to bruce that none had seen before. where he was stoic and cold with others, he always gave the two of you a small smile when you both made witty comments. he was soft and caring, always the one to check up carefully on clark after a brutal fight or even making sure you had your favourite herbal tea in stock. bruce was considerate, a great way to balance clark's brightness; the smallville boy who demanded his 9 kisses from the two of you at night and picked fresh roses straight from the plant as a gift.

the three of you acted as a trinity, always supporting each other and always loving one another.

they had both left lingering kisses on your lips after their mission debrief, leaving a zest of unspoken feelings in the air. you knew something was different about this mission but thought little of it upon their departure.

and so at times like these, when you were left alone to your thoughts, you missed them terribly, the silence driving you mad.

even alfred's absence was felt, you had given the butler the weekend off amidst the chaos of the looming heatwave; he left your favourite dinner in the refrigerator and muttered something about 'gotham weather being subpar to the english countryside.' typical.

with a sharp exhale you made the move back to your room, growing tired of your own wandering when a load crash was heard within the building. it echoed eerily and left a trail of goosebumps in your wake - it seemed to be coming from the cave.

the noise was enough to make you shiver in the heat whilst you slowly crept towards the noise. the hairs on your back rose with bubbling fear at the thought of an intruder.

you grabbed a sabre from the decorated wall and walked slowly towards the cave entrance, you knew if worse came to worse you could hold your own - clark and bruce had trained you for moments like these in the most extreme cases.

creeping further down into the catacombs, the commotion grew in volume, you heard muffled noises and...whimpering?

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, thinking some bats had become injured in a rabid manner.

the batcave was in full view, a crater lay depressed in the floor and concrete was scattered far and wide.

you took in a deeper breath and stalked closer to the centre, raising the sword above your head and preparing for a sharp, clean swing.

with a sharp scream, you made the sabre oscillate down into the direction of the assailant, until all of a sudden a large hand gripped yours tightly, holding you in place.

"-hey! hey, stop, what are you doing? it's me!" clark whizzed into your view, gesturing you to put down the sword.

you froze in shock , not expecting one of your lovers to be making such a mess in the cave - plus, didn't alfred say they wouldn't be home for a few more days?

shaking your head you ran into his chest and squeezed him tightly, "you're here? i've missed you, i thought you were never going to come home!" he picked you up with one hand and tugged you deeper in an embrace. his hands felt dangerously possessive as they wandered to your lower back.

"we'd never leave you, sugar" with that your body stilled, clark never called you sugar - it was always baby, darling, honey, or something incredulously old fashioned and midwestern. that was clark after all.

pulling back in apprehension, you took a real look at clark. he was still in his suit and covered in the remnants of debris, but it was his physical appearance that really floored you.

clark was slightly panting, his skin was flushed to a pretty pink and a light sheen covered his brow with moisture. his lips looked an angry red, like as if he had been angrily kissi-

he placed you firm onto your feet when immediately your back clashed into something hard and thick, clark spun you round and you into contact with the dark knight.

he hovered over you like a corrupt figure, whispering noises that sounded like a corrupt prayer, his hands journeyed over to your face, his thumb finding your lip and tracing it. he was shaken. something was wrong. his cowl was gone and his face was bare in front of you, his pupils were dilated and blown out of proportion. he looked like he had been enchanted by a spell which he didn't know if he could wake up from.

bruce was quiet, there were light bruises on his face down to his neck, his suit hanging off of him as if he tried to rip it of; it felt like his presence was scattered across the hollow in mania, his atoms colliding and tearing apart at each millisecond. he mirrored clark in such a way that you almost missed it. their bodies swayed in the same fervid chorus, bruce's snarl matching clark's pout - but something was wrong.

his eyes carried the same look he held just before he'd take you and clark to bed and rock your world. wetness began to seep into you panties but you grit your teeth and pushed it aside.

"is he okay? clark, what happened? bruce is everything alright," you voice began to raise in worry until clark shushed your increasing worries, pressing his head into your neck - wait was he sniffing you?

"just some minor mishaps that a little water can't fix, right brucie," you noticed clark's words were slurring slightly, yet he was agile on his feet and not weary. you narrowed you eyes at him, ticking a box of your mental checklist: not kryptonite, but what else?

bruce whimpered again, tucking his head into your shoulder for comfort and his knees began to buckle. "we missed you." he had said it so quietly that you would have missed it, had it not been for clark wrapping his hands back on your waist.

bruce looked at you as if you were one of his cases that he needed to strip down piece by piece and penetrate with his mind and touch.

"clark," you puffed out to the kryptonian, "help me carry him to our room,"

misreading your demand, he rather enthusiastically picked the both of you up and flew up to the room.

in a flash, bruce's bedroom came into view, you noticed that the billionaire's whines were growing loader by the minute, so you placed him on the plush sofa, hoping it would offer some solace to the hero.

his breaths became even more choked out as you neared to peel his suit off, "shhhh, i'm here bruce, it's okay." both you and clark fought to strip away the armour, he mirrored clark's look: hair all tussled, cheeks flushed, and his lips? bursting in anger as it looked like he had been biting down on the skin in pain.

but his body. holy fuck.

you had always thought yourself lucky that you had been gifted, not one adonis, but two. where clark was soft, clean-shaven and polished to perfection, pecs beating to the rhythm of a drum, bruce was rugged in his masculinity, slightly hairy and covered in scars, which you spent countless nights kissing one by one.

bruce's erection poked out from his boxers, angry and unattended for, as it pulsed with rage in front of your eyes. bruce was begging to be claimed. and it was killing you

he mumbled words, moaning again in pain - you couldn't quite make it out - but what was clearly identifiable to was the large tent in bruce's pants that pulsed with heat.

with a gasp, you looked back up at him and immediately clark pressed his front into your back, his hard on pressing firmly into you, "the pollen's done a wonder on you, hasn't it brucie?," clark giggled as if he was on a substance and your head whipped to question him.

"pollen? what pollen?"

"the sex pollen!" he said so matter-of-factly, smirking as if you were on the outside of the world's greatest inside joke.

bruce shifted next to you, placing a heavy hand to the side of your cheek, managing to string out a sentence, "i-it was some sort of..." he took a deep breath, unbeknownst to you that he was inhaling your scent, attempting to make the fragrance bind to his bloodstream and overtake his senses, "...aphrodisiac. from a world cra-crawling with biohazardous plants."

clark cut in, placing his strong hands to your hips as if you were an anchor, "brucie and i volunteered to go down, then we were exposed, diana and j'onn were not happy, then brucie started to get feverish as we planned an emergency return back to earth-"

bruce's moans interrupted clark's ramblings, it was clear he was significantly more affected than the kryptonian, "is there any cure, i mean, is there anything we can do to help hi-"

clark rutted his hard-on into your core, making you let out an unanticipated moan which reverberated within the room, what stunned you was that clark moved one of his hands under your chin to look at bruce state. you noticed he had made work to remove his suit from his body and stood naked.

with the other, he picked your right hand up and used it to palm bruce's cock under the dense material of the boxers. nice and slow, tantalising, just the way he liked it.

it brought him a little relief, he collapsed further into your touch.

despite being so concerned for his health, you were a little turned on. heat began growing between your legs, you tried closing them but clark's large thighs prevented you from doing so, he parted them back open.

"isn't it clear?" clark kissed down your neck in such a sedated way, it felt like time itself was decelerating to clark's command, "the antidote is you, sugar." he began to nibble down on your earlobe as bruce's attention now perused your neck, all the way down your robe covered breasts.

he mumbled a pained "please," wanting a release that only his lovers could give him, "please."

"tell us if it's okay, please baby," you could feel his precum through his suit, the moisture making the room's temperature sizzle at an insane high.

you continued palming bruce and spun round to gaze at clark, "i want to help, let me help?" you offered above his lips and with that, clark's resolve had left and his lips grasped onto yours, tugging you forward and caressing your lower lip. you couldn't help but slide your tongue across his as lust had taken over your mind, it was if you welcomed the pollen into your circulation - placing all three of you at such a state of inebriation that you would need days to recover. clark bit your lip, making you gasp as his tongue slid further in your mouth to explore all the possibilities that this night could lead you. you began to notice the hint of mint and a woody tang that lingered on his lips, realising bruce and clark had spent their time travelling back to earth trying to alleviate the other's pain.

you pulled away from clark in surprise and turned back to give your attention to bruce; he was fully writhing on the couch and you cooed at him, "you're doing so good for us, aren't you brucie?" you pulled out his hard cock and began to nuzzle at the base. you knew bruce. the pollen was steadily tearing at his rationality. ye he was strong but you wanted him to lose all restraint.

clark began to kiss bruce silly, quieting his cries as you began to lick up the base of his cock, making sure hum over the underside vein that always made him short circuit; he shuddered and clark palmed your tit beside you as a gesture of consideration, when suddenly, you had an idea.

you pulled clark off of bruce and pushed them both into the cushions, despite their protests,

"baby what are you doing-"

"is everything okay-"

their breathless concerns fell on deaf ears when you began to stroke both of their cocks, at a pace that would have two respective gods fall at your knees.

your left hand caressed clark, in gentle strokes as you bowed to take bruce into your mouth, slobbering all over his cock and bobbing up and down at a steady pace. you traced your thumb over clark's sticky slit, whilst your throat touched bruce's base, small hairs brushing against your nose.

the pornographic moans that could be heard at the moment from the world's finest could be enough to send the world into paralysis: they were entirely at your mercy.

"you spent hours fucking each other on that ship huh? you removed yourself from bruce as your hands worked the two of them up, your tone teasing them to the edge, "clark fucked you silly, didn't he brucie?"

bruce tipped his head back onto the sofa, chasing what seemed like the fiftieth high today as clark nodded beside him, "went down on him three times; fucked him twice - still wasn't enough,' his voice faltered as you began to suckle him now, he was girthier than bruce (where he was long), yet you still refused to back down from the challenge.

"wanted-," bruce's voice was high-pitched, he was begging, "wanted you."

"hmm that's right," you could feel both of their build up with each passing minute as you stroked them harder, mouth alternating between the two.

they were so close to release, you could feel it, when-

they ripped themselves away from you, their cocks slapped their stomachs, still standing proud and irritated as they stood and moved towards you.

you feel the power balance in the bedroom tilt on it axis when bruce growled at you, snatching you up in his arms and throwing your ass over his shoulder, he gave you a hard spank on your rear, making you squeal in shock. clark flew closely behind, giving you a light kiss and taste of what was to come.

bruce flung you onto his bespoke desk, the one he worked on during the late hours of the night, shoving all his files, papers and collectibles to the floor in an indecent manner.

he dragged you down the edge by your ankles as you gazed up at the two of them and in a hurry they were both on you.

two pairs of hands cascaded all the way from your breasts, pinching and pulling your nipples at a pace that made you sigh hedonistically, squeezing your tits tightly in between your necklace, letting the symbol decorate your body sinfully. your expensive robe was now ripped to pieces - thanks to clark, "brucie'll buy you five more, baby."

clark gripped bruce's chin aggressively and turned the gothamite to make eye contact with him, "you're gonna take everything you need, okay brucie?" he shoved the gothamite to his knees, in front of your clothed pussy, bruce used his teeth to drag them down the apex of your thigh.

he pulled your legs apart as clark moved to place his cock between your mouth, beckoning for you to open your lips and take him in full, which you gladly did. he was so heavy and salty on your tongue it had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. bruce began attacking your clit, "let me drink," he murmured as his tongue flattened and licked long stripes on your pussy, making juices flow down into his mouth like an elixir. he pressed your thighs deep into the wood, cracks began to seep into the desk, etching the experience into time that no doubt bruce would have them permanently commissioned into his daily work life.

"good boy, brucie," clark began to grab your hair and pushed his cock deeper into your throat, careful not to hurt you, but enough to make his pleasure take control, "take everything you need."

bruce shoved two of his thick fingers into your opening, scissoring them in a motion that had a white heat building up in your lower pit; you sucked clark harder now, your hands fondling his balls in an effort to make him cum.

"just like that, don't sto- ohhh" clark's cum began to fill your mouth, you swallowed it all, refusing to break eye contact with the kryptonian, you coaxed his balls to give you everything he had. despite everything he was still painfully hard, however bruce's actions took over your interest as his tongue continued to bully your clit and fingers massaging that special spot. tears began to feel your eyes as the heat only grew larger, "fuck brucie feel so good!"

you cried out in ecstasy as fluids gushed out from you and all over the desk, bruce was desperately lapping up everything you had to give, his hair stuck to his forehead, his mouth covered in your sex, his eyes begging for more.

"such a good boy for us, brucie," you whispered out in encouragement as clark snatched your body up from bruce's grip flying you over to the window, your tits pressed to the screen; it left a cooling sensation to your body, your arched your back into clark as he grabbed his cock, rubbing it over your clit in such a delicious way.

he pressed his cock in to you and both of your cries only spurred bruce on from the corner, he was sat in his chair, studying the two of you, jerking off to the sounds of the wetness that decorated the domain.

"look at him, baby," clark positioned him deeper into you, enough to make you squeeze on his cock tightly, "he's so gone for you, your sight makes him feel so good," your head lolled to the side as bruce image was striking enough to make your eyes close and mewls grow in capacity, you could all but feel every single thick ridge, pulsing vein, and prodding mushroom tip from clark and it was already bringing you to another orgasm.

"you're so good for us, sweetheart, thank you, thank you thank you-" clark was losing his sanity at how your wetness was dripping down to the floor.

your second of the orgasm of the night came in a blaze, illuminating the both of you as clark pressed you harder into the window, grabbing at your ass, fucking you harder as his wanton moans matched the frequency of bruce's.

his come filled you just as fiercely, filling every crevice inside of you, "we're not done with you," he growled.

he grabbed you by the legs and carried you bridal style to the bed, placing you on all fours. bruce was no beneath you, his eyes now black, his mushroom tip swollen and his abs contracting in pain.

you glanced down and climbed on top of him, placing your hands flat on his chest, "gonna take care of you both, don't worry," bruce pulled you down by your necklace in a feverish kiss, marking you with his tongue, his hands squeezed your tits, making you all slick.

clark pulled you back on to him, hand brushing your neck as he kissed gently across your shoulder, bruce groaned from beneath you, grabbing his cock and filling you in an instant, "you're gonna me the both of us feel good, understand?" this was the most possessive, the most hungry he had seemed all night - the pollen's control over his senses was its zenith.

you sank down on his cock, welcoming the stretch, glad clark had already accommodated you earlier, it had been so long since they had fucked you.

you tried to close your eyes to bask in the moment but clark immediately pushed into you, you could feel them both all the way in your throat, "open your eyes," bruce demanded coldly, he and clark fucked you at such a wicked tempo that they were able to slide themselves off each other, taking turns to bully you into submission.

you normally didn't shrink under his gaze but now it made you feel on display, your whole soul being exhibited under the watch of your lovers, who fucked you deeper into the mattress, "you doing so good for us baby," clark kissed you, his tongue sliding messily across your lips, teeth crashing messily as bruce's fingers slipped down to your clit, setting off another edge you weren't sure you'd come back from.

"make me come, ah, you want to feel pleasure?" you questioned, demanded, as their hands controlled your hips, thrusting deeper into your cervix, "make me fucking come!"

you whined at a high pitch as clark faltered first, his seed spilling into you in hot spurts; that set off bruce's orgasm as he followed soon after, filling your pussy with his sex.

you collapsed onto the dark knight as they both slipped out of you, their cum coating your clit and dripping down your thighs, you were spent.

your body shifted as bruce stood to join clark at your back, instantaneously you felt a set of mouths stroking your clit, tears fell from your eyes, "this isn't finished" bruce voice was hoarse but still challenging.

it was going to be a long night.

***

it had been hours, the dawn beginning to break through the gotham skyline, bruce's bedroom lay wrecked.

sheets were ripped, the frames on his bed lay splintered, the smell of sex lingered in the air.

but he didn't care, the pollen was out of his system, he had spent the most euphoric moments with his lovers - he had everything he wanted.

you were now taking a bath in his en suite, you had done so much for them and would need all the energy you could get. clark sat behind you, using his laser eyes to light a choir of candles across the room, telling you humorous stories about their time away in space. you gently giggled as your hands were wrapped in his.

bruce, now cleaned up and clad in silk boxers, placed two chaste kisses on the both of your lips, always a man of very few words. he silently exited the room to make his way to the kitchen and bring back some supplies.

he moved to open the door and was met with the sight of alfred.

shit.

he opened his mouth and closed it again. it was like as if his father had caught him in the very act of sex.

alfred silently handed him a tray: berries lay in a china bowl, with french toast on a large plate and some herbal tea within a porcelain pot.

"for the master and miss," he stepped back and spun on his heel, though he paused for a fraction of a second, "though may i remind you, master bruce, not to mix business and pleasure. i have had to receive a rather cumbersome telegram from lady diana, during my sabbatical."

alfred gently tutted and moved down the hallway, out of sight.

bruce could do nothing but close his eyes, take a deep breath, and step backward towards the room.

You were there from the beginning. Not as shining, iconic, or universally adored as Superman, Batman, or Wonder Woman, but you never minded. Let them be the faces of the League, the gods walking among mortals. Your place had always been steadier, quieter. And with that came something they rarely had: time.

It started with Robin. The first one. Richard Grayson.

The League needed to fly off-world to face whatever galactic tyrant was threatening Earth that week, and Bruce couldn’t exactly bring a thirteen-year-old into deep space. You volunteered without hesitation. “I’ll take him. He’ll be fine with me.”

That was how you ended up driving Richard Grayson—Robin, in all his excitable glory—to school in your little blue car, the radio cranked up and both of you butchering whatever pop song was popular that month. He sang off-key, you exaggerated the harmony, and by the time you dropped him off, he was grinning ear to ear. The karaoke tradition was born that morning, entirely by accident.

Sleepovers followed. At first, because Bruce needed someone to watch the kid when missions ran long, then simply because Dick liked it that way. Alfred would set up the guest room for you without asking, and by dawn, you were in the kitchen, apron tied, teaching Dick how to flip pancakes without dropping the batter all over the stove.

Unlike Bruce, you let music play. Loudly. You sang into a spatula, spun Dick across the tiles, and even coaxed Alfred into joining the chorus when he thought no one was watching. The manor felt alive in those mornings, full of laughter and dancing instead of the usual sharp silence. And one morning, Bruce walked in on it.

You didn’t hear the faint hum of the Batcave’s boomtube as he returned, nor did you notice him shedding the cowl at the cave’s edge before stepping into the hall. What you did notice was the figure leaning against the doorway, arms folded, exhaustion written into the corners of his mouth as he watched. But in his eyes was a spark of joy that didn’t appear often, yet made Bruce look younger every time it did. 

He hadn’t expected to see his son doubled over with laughter, flour dusting his hair. Or Alfred, straight-backed and dignified as always, holding a mixing bowl like it was a microphone. Or you, spatula in hand, hips swaying with the beat on the radio like the kitchen was a stage. Upon completing your circle, you looked up to see the man of the hour stoic, just enjoying the scene.

You froze for only a second when you saw him, then grinned. “Don’t just stand there, Bruce. Come on.”

And you danced your way toward him, extending a hand. Dick immediately perked up, cheering: “C’mon, Bruce! Just once!”

Bruce started shaking his head, “No, I’m too tired. Just wanted to see what all the noise was when I came in.”

But you didn’t let him get away with it, and started dancing around him, slowly herding him into the kitchen, into the positive energy there. Excited by the turn of events, Dick eagerly starts teasing Bruce and showing him some sample moves he could “borrow if he didn’t have any”. And wasn’t that embarrassing? He’s Bruce Wayne, of course he knew how to dance. 

Even Alfred arched a brow, lips twitching. “Master Wayne. It wouldn’t kill you.”

“Couldn’t possibly deny you, Alfred.” Bruce said smoothly before rolling his sleeves.

“We both know that’s not true at all, Master Wayne.” Alfred calmly replied, pulling Dick to the side with him as Bruce approached you.

You tilted your head with a small smile, and it made him pause slightly to admire you. Even in the morning, with your slight bed head and pajamas that are well-loved, you were a sight to behold. He extended his hand towards you, waiting for you to place your hand in his, before leading you through a waltz. Yes, Bruce Wayne knew how to dance, just not the dancing you or Dick expected this morning. A loud, joyous laugh ripped from you while Bruce led you through a turn, his eyes lighter than you’ve seen from him in a while. 

Dick whooped. Alfred allowed himself the smallest chuckle. For one fleeting second, the walls of Wayne Manor held something softer than duty and shadow.

That was the morning the sleepover breakfast ritual began.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It wasn’t long before the table grew larger.

Conner was one of the first additions. In those early, uncertain days, Lois Lane wasn’t ready to meet the boy who carried half of Clark’s DNA, and Clark himself… he was still learning what it meant to be responsible for someone who looked at him like a father. It was you who stepped forward again, without hesitation.

Conner joined the sleepovers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. A little rough around the edges, unsure of where he fit, but you saw the goodness in him immediately. You paired him with Dick, nudging them into friendship until they found their own rhythm, trading secrets about capes and fathers over late-night snacks in the Manor kitchen.

Sometimes those breakfasts included Bruce, still in the corner pretending he wasn’t watching, and sometimes Clark, who would arrive bleary-eyed from Metropolis with his cape shoved hastily under a jacket. He always looked a little disheveled, tie half-done, hair mussed by wind instead of gel, and once, memorably, with powdered sugar stuck to his sleeve because he’d grabbed donuts in a rush.

You’d laughed so hard you nearly dropped the spatula. “God, you look like a dad who overslept carpool duty.”

Clark froze for a beat, then laughed too, the sound soft and sheepish. “You’re not wrong. I’m still… figuring this whole thing out.” His gaze drifted to Conner at the table, head bent as Dick showed him how to draw a smiley face in pancake batter. Something uncertain flickered in Clark’s expression — guilt, wonder, fear, love, all tangled together.

You nudged him lightly with your elbow as you flipped a pancake. “That’s all anyone’s doing, Clark. Figuring it out as we go.”

His shoulders eased a little at that, the weight lifting if only for a moment. He reached out, ruffling Conner’s hair, and the boy wrinkled his nose but didn’t pull away.

“See?” you teased, sliding another pancake onto the stack. “You’ve already got the embarrassing dad move down. Give it a year, and you’ll be threatening to wear socks with sandals.”

Clark rolled his eyes, chuckling as he pulled up a chair. “Lois would never let me live it down.” Then, quieter, almost to himself: “But… thank you. For doing this. For giving him… something normal.”

You met his gaze across the counter, spatula in hand. “He’s not the only one who needs normal, Clark.”

And for just a second, it wasn’t Clark but Superman who looked at you like you were holding up the sky for him.

For a time, the mornings belonged to all of you: pancakes, off-key singing, two boys finding their place together, Bruce lurking in the corner until you dragged him into the dance, Clark slowly learning what it meant to be more than just a symbol.

And you. Always you, steady at the stove, making sure they were fed and laughing and cared for.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Not every memory was bright.

Jason came next, loud and brash and secretly the one who craved the sleepovers the most. He swaggered into the Manor like he owned the place, quick to mouth off and quicker to fight for his spot at the table. He claimed he was too cool for karaoke but always stole the microphone halfway through and belted the loudest, voice cracking but proud.

Dick and Conner never let the age gap keep them apart from him. If they were heading out for pizza or training in the yard, Jason was right there with them. They slowed their pace when he tried to keep up, pulled him into their circle with a brotherly arm around his neck, and made sure he knew he belonged. Sometimes it was chaotic, three boys bouncing off the walls, but it was good chaos — the kind the Manor had needed for years.

And Jason loved routines. Especially the ones that were just between the two of you. Saturday mornings, when the others were busy, you’d drive him to the library. He’d wander the aisles for hours, losing himself between shelves, asking you a million questions about every cover that caught his eye. Afterward, you’d stop by the used bookstore downtown, and you made it a point — every single time — to buy him whichever book he wanted. No conditions, no questions. His eyes would light up, and he’d hold it like treasure all the way home.

Those were your moments. Jason and you, arms full of paperbacks, laughing as you both tried to juggle too many books and cups of coffee. It was a small tradition, but it was yours. And he always, always, hugged you before racing upstairs to show Alfred his newest find.

You adored him. You adored them all.

And then he was gone.

The night Jason died shattered you in ways you didn’t think possible. You held Dick as he sobbed and raged, you held Conner as he tried to process death in a way no one should have had to. You held yourself together just enough to be strong for them. But when the nights stretched too long, when the bed stayed empty, grief turned sharp and ugly inside you.

You became reckless in the field. Violent. Too violent. You went for the kill more than once, your fury a wildfire you couldn’t always leash. The League benched you after one close call — after Martian Manhunter caught the intent in your mind, caught the image of you driving your weapon into Joker’s chest. He told Bruce. He told Clark. And you never forgave him for it.

You and Bruce clashed constantly during those months. He needed someone steady, someone who could share his silence — but you couldn’t sit still in grief the way he could. You wanted blood. You wanted justice that would never come. Sometimes you thought you hated him for being able to pull back when you couldn’t. Sometimes you thought you hated yourself more.

The only thing that anchored you was your weekly visits to Jason’s grave. You’d bring fresh flowers, sweep away the leaves, and read a new poem each week like he was sitting there listening. It was routine, ritual. A way of keeping him close when the world felt so hollow. That’s where he found you.

The night Jason returned to Gotham, older and angrier and wearing scars you didn’t understand yet, he went to his grave first. And there you were, kneeling in the dirt, brushing soil from the headstone with gentle hands. When you turned and saw him standing there, your knees nearly gave out.

“Jay?” Your voice cracked, fragile as glass.

He didn’t let you touch him, not then. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure if he ever could be. But you knew him well enough to see what was left unspoken: he had come back, and he had come to you first.

It was hard after that. He wanted nothing to do with the Manor, especially when he saw Tim wearing his costume, his mantle. He spat venom and pain in every direction, and you caught most of it without flinching. You didn’t push, but you didn’t let go either.

It took time. Months. But eventually, he came back to one of the sleepovers. He hovered in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, pretending he didn’t care about the smell of pancakes or the sound of music drifting from the radio. Dick raised an eyebrow, Conner waved him in, Tim froze, and you… you simply handed him the microphone.

Jason scowled, muttered a curse under his breath — and sang anyway. Loud. Angry. Alive.

You cried quietly into the spatula you pretended was your mic.

And just like that, the tradition lived again.

Through every change, every new child, every heartbreak and return, the tradition lived on. The tradition kept evolving, the kitchen table growing fuller as the years went by.

Tim arrived while Jason was gone, sharp-eyed and shy, carrying the weight of knowing too much and trusting too little. You caught him lingering in doorways, hovering like he wasn’t sure if he belonged, until one morning you pressed a whisk into his hand and told him to beat the eggs. He did it silently, but you caught the ghost of a smile when the radio kicked on and Dick dragged him into an off-key duet. By the end of the week, Tim had stopped lingering and started sitting at the table.

Then came Cass. She didn’t need words to tell you how much the tradition mattered. She just slipped into the kitchen one morning, silent as shadow, stole the spatula from your hand, and twirled in place. You laughed, joining her, and she smiled — bright, unguarded, rare. From then on, she danced every chance she got, the radio her favorite language.

Jon arrived like a storm that broke the world.

Lois had died in childbirth, and Clark unraveled. He was a man who could move mountains, stop aliens, hold the Earth itself in orbit… but he couldn’t save her. For weeks, he drifted, hollow-eyed and guilty, clutching the baby like he was made of glass. He didn’t know how to keep going. It was then that the three of you became something more than teammates.

Bruce opened the Manor without hesitation. You moved into the guest wing, with Clark and Jon in the room next door. Suddenly, the vast, quiet house was alive with the sounds of an infant's cries at 3 a.m., soft lullabies, and little fists pounding against anyone who held him too tightly. 

Alfred adapted instantly, setting bottles beside his tea service. It reminded him of days long past of doing the same for a younger Bruce, and it brought him much joy to see Bruce be able to experience some of the same joy.

The three of you found a rhythm so quickly it felt preordained. You took the late-night feedings, humming along with the radio as Jon curled against your chest, soothed more by your heartbeat than anything else. Clark would stumble in a few hours later, bleary-eyed, sheepish, offering to take over. Half the time, he fell asleep in the rocking chair with Jon sprawled across his chest, cape draped over both of them like a blanket.

Bruce claimed he wasn’t good with babies — “I don’t do small talk, let alone small children” — but Jon had other plans. By six months old, Jon would gurgle and reach for him the moment Bruce entered the room. You’d find them in the study sometimes, Bruce working at his desk with Jon in his lap, little hands tugging at his tie while Bruce signed League reports one-handed.

And when Clark’s grief threatened to consume him, it was you and Bruce who steadied him. Bruce gave Clark structure. “Routine,” he said flatly, and forced Clark into it. Early runs at dawn, sparring sessions in the cave, and scheduled check-ins with Alfred. It anchored Clark when he might have otherwise drifted away entirely.

You gave Clark grace. You told him it was okay when he cried. That grief wasn’t weakness. That Lois would have wanted him to keep going, not drown in guilt. You slipped photos into his hands, reminded him of Jon’s smile when he doubted himself, and pressed warm coffee into his palms when words weren’t enough.

Together, the three of you carried each other. And the kids carried you, too.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Whenever missions took Bruce or Clark away, Dick, Jason, or Tim would step up. You’d walk into the kitchen to find Dick or Conner trying to feed Jon from a bottle while Alfred supervised like a hawk. Jason would read him stories in dramatic voices, turning Goodnight Moon into a Broadway performance. Tim was the calmest of the bunch, cradling Jon against his hoodie while researching League files with one hand. Even Cass — silent, graceful Cass — would sit on the floor, letting Jon tug her hair without complaint.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was seamless. Every revolving door of Wayne Manor only added more hands to hold the baby, more laughter to soften the nights. For a while, you didn’t just survive grief — you lived through it, together.

There were nights Clark would look at you and Bruce, Jon asleep in his arms, and whisper, “I don’t know what I’d do without you both.”

And you believed him. Because back then, you weren’t just teammates. You were family.

Jon was four in the summer Alfred finally bullied you into taking a holiday. “You’ll blink and he’ll be grown,” he’d said, packing enough sandwiches for an army.

So you went. A day at the beach: Bruce chasing Jon down the shoreline, his sleeves rolled up, sand clinging to his calves; you laughing as you splashed after them, scooping Jon into your arms as he shrieked with delight. Clark stood back with a camera, trying to capture everything at once, grinning so wide it softened even the grief that still haunted the corners of his eyes.

By the time the sun dipped low, Jon was worn out, asleep before his head even settled on Bruce’s chest. The three of you stretched out on the blanket, the ocean hissing against the sand, the world held still.

Bruce sat to your right, a steady weight against your shoulder. Clark lay on your left, arm stretched behind you, his fingers brushing yours in the sand. Jon’s tiny fists curled into Bruce’s shirt, anchoring you all together. It was perfect. Too perfect.

You turned your head, found Bruce already watching you, his eyes darker than the dusk around you. He didn’t look away.

Clark’s thumb began tracing soft circles over your knuckles. Slow, deliberate, tender. His gaze shifted from Jon to you, lingering, heat simmering low in his chest.

Your heart raced. The air was heavy, humming with something you’d all been dancing around for years.

Bruce’s hand slid down, brushing against yours from the other side. Two points of contact, two anchors pinning you in place — Clark warm and open, Bruce steady and intense.

No one spoke, but everything was said in the silence. Clark finally broke it, voice low, husky with something that wasn’t grief anymore: “We don’t have to keep pretending… that this isn’t what it feels like.”

Your lips parted. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to tell them both you’d been theirs for years. Bruce’s eyes softened, his hand tightening slightly on yours, a silent agreement that he felt it too.

And then the comms went off.

First Bruce’s, then Clark’s. A League emergency.

The sound shattered the moment like glass. Clark cursed under his breath — rare, raw. Bruce’s jaw clenched, the mask of Batman sliding back over his features. You tried to smile, tried to pretend it didn’t ache, but the weight in your chest was crushing.

They stood, brushing sand from their clothes, already slipping into soldier mode. Clark pressed a kiss to Jon’s forehead, lingering a second too long, and Bruce tucked the boy gently into your arms before straightening to his full height. Neither man looked back as they focused on the mission.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

They came back different. Not obvious. Subtle. They stood closer. Their words overlapped like a practiced duet. When Clark laughed, it was often at something only Bruce had said. When Bruce allowed himself to soften, it was often when Clark was at his side.

It didn’t take long for you to piece it together. Maybe you wouldn’t have been able to if not for all the time spent in each other’s company. You knew them too well and could see the truth hidden within their body language. They had each other.

And if they had each other, why would they ever need you?

The loneliness crept in like a tide. You smiled at them, smiled at Jon, kept the breakfast and sleepovers alive — but you began to pull back. Not because you stopped caring, but because it was the only way to protect your heart. Buried your feelings under duty and routines. They noticed, of course. They misread it, assumed you weren’t interested, and let you slip further from the space you’d once shared. 

The next outer space mission, you volunteered. You needed time. Time to heal. Time to grieve what could have been.

When you returned months later, you didn’t go home to Wayne Manor. You went to a small, modest apartment in Metropolis. Modest on the outside, anyway. Magic had its perks — you expanded the space to fit what you needed. A proper kitchen for the kids’ sleepovers, bookshelves for Jason, extra beds tucked away for whichever Robin or Super wandered through on any given night.

Because the kids still needed you. And you would always be there for them.

The first night back, you slipped into the Manor while Bruce and Clark were out at dinner. Alfred knew — of course, he knew — and didn’t stop you. He only gave you that soft, sympathetic look as you moved through the halls, quietly packing the things you’d left behind.

It didn’t take long. Magic made sure of that. Books floated from shelves into boxes, clothes folded themselves, framed photos wrapped in protective charm paper. By the time the boom tube hummed with the men’s return, you were gone, your room empty save for the lingering warmth of what once was.

The Manor was quiet when Bruce and Clark returned that night, their dinner still lingering as small talk in their heads. Jon was already asleep, tucked in by Alfred, who waited for them at the foot of the stairs with a single sentence that froze the blood in their veins:

“She’s gone.”

Clark was the first to move. He stormed down the hall to your room, Bruce close behind. The door opened to stillness, to shelves stripped bare, drawers empty, walls missing the small touches of you that had made them warmer. The air smelled faintly of your magic — lavender and smoke — the last traces of you fading into nothing.

Clark’s voice cracked as he gripped the doorframe. “She came back… and we missed her. We missed her, Bruce.” His fists clenched at his sides, eyes wild with guilt. “We’ve gotta go get her. Right now. We’ll explain. We’ll fix this—”

Bruce’s hand landed heavy on his shoulder, grounding him. “Clark.”

“She thinks we don’t want her. She thinks—”

“I know.” Bruce’s voice was low, even, but softer than Clark expected. He turned toward the empty room, jaw tight, eyes shadowed. “But if she made this choice… we can’t force her back. If we push too hard, we’ll lose her completely.”

Clark’s breath hitched, the weight of it settling like lead in his chest. “But she belongs with us.”

“She belongs in our lives,” Bruce corrected gently. “One way or another. It’s better to have her in some capacity than not at all.”

Clark’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. He leaned against the doorframe, staring at the space where your books used to be. “That month she was gone… it was hell. I never realized how much I needed her. How much I—” He broke off, voice rough. “She makes everything turn, Bruce. She makes the world make sense.”

Bruce didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on the bare shelves, the hollow quiet of the room. For once, the walls of Wayne Manor felt too large, too empty. “I know,” he said finally. “She makes my earth turn, too.”

They stood there in silence, two men who could fight gods but couldn’t fight the absence you’d left behind.

And in your modest Metropolis apartment — stretched wide by magic, humming with laughter from the kids who refused to let go of you — you told yourself you were healing.  It was better this way, you told yourself. They needed space to grow together. And you needed to remember how to stand on your own feet again.

Even if a part of you still ached for the life you almost had. The loneliness followed you into your new apartment. Into the quiet nights when Jon asked if you’d still sing him to sleep. Into the mornings when you woke, reaching for a hand that wasn’t there.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The sleepovers and breakfasts never stopped. They just moved. The kitchen was slighter, the ceilings lower, but the laughter was the same. Pancakes tasted just as sweet when eaten in a cramped apartment. The kids still sang, still fought over who got to flip the next batch. The tradition lived on.

But the trio? The three of you? That had been left at the beach, half-buried in the sand, drowned out by the sound of a League comm.

But you never left the kids. You never could.

Especially when Damian arrived, he wasn’t a result of violence, no matter what the uglier rumors whispered. He was a weapon born in a lab, Bruce’s worst nightmare made flesh — his DNA spliced with Talia’s, an attempt to craft the perfect heir. Damian entered the Manor fierce, arrogant, and prickly with mistrust. A boy engineered for war but given a family instead.

Damian entered the tradition like a cat into water: claws out, hissing, refusing to admit he wanted in. He sneered at the karaoke, insulted the pancakes, folded his arms at the table, and declared he didn’t need any of it.

And yet, you made him a plate anyway, slid it in front of him without comment. You corrected his posture when he chopped vegetables, guided his hands when he learned how to whisk. You told him stories about Jason and Dick, about how Conner used to sulk through sleepovers until he realized the fun in them. You let Jon drag him into the chaos, refusing to give him the luxury of staying on the sidelines.

It took time. Months. But the first time he sang under his breath, soft and unwilling but audible, you pretended not to notice. Jon noticed. Jon whooped, dragged him to the center of the kitchen, and you caught the tiniest flicker of a smile from Damian before he masked it with another scowl.

From then on, he was yours too.

Your relationship with Bruce and Clark shifted in those years, too. The wound of the beach and the space between you never fully healed — but it scabbed. 

Bruce was patient, quieter with you. Clark was soft, gentle, careful not to push. They never stopped loving you. If anything, their love only deepened, year after year, as they watched you guide their children with a steadiness neither of them could muster. As they watched you throw birthday parties, show up at recitals, and even parent-teacher meetings when you could. 

They never forgot how it had felt on that blanket. How close they’d come to making it real. The warmth of your bodies close together, the heat within each look. The want never left — it lingered in every look, every brush of fingers, every moment you laughed too hard at something one of them said.

At first, you couldn’t bear to stay. After dropping off one of the kids, you’d leave the Manor immediately, unable to linger in halls that echoed with memories of what almost was. Bruce and Clark never stopped you, though the way their eyes followed you to the door was its own kind of ache.

But when Damian arrived, something shifted. He was young, sharp-edged, in desperate need of patience, and you couldn’t just drop him off and walk away. So you stayed. At first, it was only for tea — a cup in Alfred’s study before heading home. Then it was breakfast, Damian stiff-backed in his chair until Jon made him snort orange juice out of his nose.

A year later, you found yourself staying for entire afternoons. Letting Jon drag you out into the garden, while Bruce lingered nearby under the guise of trimming roses. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping Damian with homework, while Clark “happened” to return early from Metropolis, setting his jacket neatly on the couch before joining you both.

And little by little, the walls you’d built began to crack.

You started laughing at their jokes again — Clark’s terrible puns that had Jon in stitches, Bruce’s dry one-liners that made Jason wheeze. You let Clark’s hand brush your shoulder when he leaned over you, and you didn’t flinch when Bruce’s palm steadied you by the elbow. Once, Clark smoothed an errant curl from your cheek, thumb lingering a moment longer than it should have. Once, Bruce’s hand brushed yours over a coffee mug, and you didn’t pull away, but gifted him a smile. 

It wasn’t everything. But it was something. And that something was enough to remind you how dangerous hope could be.

Bruce and Clark noticed. They talked about it — often, quietly, usually on the Watchtower between missions. 

“Now might be the time,” Clark murmured once, watching you from across the hangar as you comforted Cass after a brutal debrief. “She’s letting us in again.”

Bruce only hummed, low, but didn’t disagree. “We go slow. She has to trust this isn’t temporary. We can’t let her down again.”

They began to plan — nothing elaborate, nothing rushed. Just… chances. Dinners, quiet moments, gentle confessions, waiting for the right time.

So, of course, when they thought they had a handle on things, everything gets flipped around. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The knock at your apartment door was insistent, a chorus of voices arguing outside.

You pulled it open to find them all there: Dick at the front with a bright grin, Jason juggling takeout bags, Tim holding a stack of board games, Cass tucked in quietly behind them, Conner hovering like he’d been dragged along, Jon beaming, and Damian scowling like someone owed him money.

“Surprise!” Dick announced, holding up soda bottles like a prize. “Sleepover night!”

You blinked, stunned — then laughed, ushering them in one by one, kissing Jon’s temple, hugging Cass tight, ruffling Tim’s hair, letting Jason nearly knock you over with a bear hug. “All of you? At once? My poor neighbors.”

Jason smirked. “Please, you love it.” The kids were scattered around your apartment, settling in for the night. Some were setting up the living room, while others were organizing the food. Looking around, it made your heart happy and full to have all the kids here with you. It’s been months since you’ve been able to hang out with them outside of League business. 

You understood, they were young, growing into the heroes they want to be, and having fun while being young. But the loneliness crept back again, the same that lingered after Bruce and Clark. You decided it was time to put your big girl panties on and date outside the hero world, just in case you had better luck. And it’s been going great, a little over a month since you started seeing Jackson, and tonight was another hopefully successful date. Now, to break the news to your overprotective kids. 

“I do, and of course you’re always welcome,” you admitted, smiling. “But… kids, I actually have plans tonight.”

That stopped them in their tracks. Like deer in headlights, they all turn their heads to look at you. Jon’s brows furrowed. “Plans? Like… with people?”

“Like… with a date? You’re dressed nicer than usual.” Dick guessed, eyes narrowing.

You hesitated — and that was all the confirmation they needed.

“A date?!” Jon blurted, jaw dropping. “You can date?!”

Jason smacked him upside the head. “Of course she can date, idiot.”

Tim groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How are you surprised by this?”

Conner crossed his arms, suspicious. “Who is he? Do we know him?”

Cass said nothing, just watched you with sharp eyes and a knowing smile.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you slipped into your bedroom to keep getting ready. “I don’t owe you an interrogation, detectives. When it's time, I'll introduce you all.”

That didn’t stop them from trailing after you, peppering you with questions while you pulled on earrings and fixed your lipstick.

Jason leaned against the doorframe. “Is he taller than me?”

“Yes.”

“Does he make more money than Bruce?”

“No one makes more money than Bruce.”

Jon frowned. “Does he have powers?”

“That’s none of your business, sweetheart.”

Tim sighed. “Where did you meet him?”

“Out,” you said vaguely, slipping your feet into heels. “Now — black jacket or red?”

They all paused. “Black,” Dick and Cass said at the same time.

“Red,” Jason argued immediately.

“Black is more mysterious,” Tim muttered.

“Red shows power,” Damian countered.

You laughed, trying on both, twirling for them like it was a runway show. They shouted over one another until finally you picked the black, smoothing it over your dress as you moved toward the door.

That was when Jason spotted the small overnight bag tucked beside it.

His eyes went wide. “Wait a damn minute— is that an overnight bag?”

Chaos.

“You’re staying the night at his?!” Conner shouted, horrified.

“You cannot be serious,” Damian hissed.

Dick threw his hands up. “We’ve lost her!”

Jon looked like you’d just told him Santa wasn’t real, which is slightly alarming since you had the conversation with him last year when Damian told him so. Maybe you’ll have to have the conversation with him again. Maybe have Clark take him to the North Pole to show him how he’s not there.

You raised your hands, firm but gentle. “Enough. I love you all, you know that. But I am an adult, and I am allowed to have my own life.”

“But—” Jon started.

“No buts. I’ll be back in the morning, and we’ll have pancakes together. Just like always.”

They quieted at that, grumbling but placated. Jason muttered something under his breath about “being replaced by some guy,” but you kissed his cheek and handed Cass the spare key.

“Be good,” you warned as you grabbed your bag. “Don’t burn the place down.”

They chorused their goodbyes as you slipped out, waving. But the second the door shut, they bolted to the window, watching you climb into a sleek car none of them recognized.

The silence was heavy until Damian sniffed disdainfully. “Disrespectful. What kind of gentleman doesn’t open his date’s door?”

That earned a round of muttered agreements as they slumped back inside, half-heartedly unpacking food and setting up Mario Kart on the TV.

Normally, sleepover Mario Kart was a blood sport. Tonight, the game sputtered — no one yelling, no one throwing controllers, everyone oddly subdued.

Finally, Tim broke. “So we’re just… not gonna acknowledge that we all thought she’d end up with Dad and Clark anyway?”

The silence cracked like glass.

Jason threw his controller. “Thank you! Exactly!”

Conner groaned. “Oh my god, finally someone said it.”

Jon looked around frantically. “Wait— wait— is that allowed?”

Dick buried his face in his hands. “Unbelievable. We’re having this conversation now?”

Voices rose, overlapping, chaos spiraling again until Cass quietly stood, walked to the bookshelf, and pulled down the glittery, bedazzled tube that you had made years ago. She held up the Sparkle Talking Stick.

It was needed when you had so many... passionate loved ones in your life. So, for a bit more order and maybe 1% less chaos than normal, you created the Sparkle Talking Stick that each kid signed as an agreement to listen when someone held it.

Immediately, everyone shut up.

Cass placed it on the table. Jason reached for it first, glaring at the others. “She’s obviously happier when she’s with them. She should just say it.”

Conner took the stick next. “Then why the hell is she sneaking out on overnight dates with randos?”

Dick grabbed it after. “Because maybe she thinks they don’t want her anymore! And whose fault is that?”

The Sparkle Stick made its way around, each kid venting in turn, until Damian finally snatched it, glowering. “Enough. The conclusion is obvious: Father and Kent are cowards. Their attempts at wooing are laughable. If they had done their jobs properly, she wouldn’t be entertaining other men.”

He pulled out his phone without hesitation. “Father,” Damian said crisply when Bruce answered. “Due to your and Kent’s lukewarm efforts, she is now pursuing other men. Do with this information what you will. Goodbye.”

He hung up before anyone could stop him.

The kids stared at one another for a couple of minutes.

Jason leaned back, smirking. “Well. Guess we’ll see what they do about it.”