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tickle-bugs · 10 months

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But You Were Mine

Summary: Still hung up on the fit of Bruce’s body against his, Clark attempts the oldest possible ritual: getting to know his pseudo-sweetheart. Too bad Bruce Wayne is the most unknowable man on Earth. Sequel to Chase the Memory of it Still.

Yet again, blame @fickle-tiction for this. Doing a midnight post and run so I don’t have to look at this in the morning lol. Also warning for mild barely even lukewarm makeouts. Probably tamer than Part 1 lol.

Also also: the beginning scene with Clark and Lois works best if you imagine that Lois doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman but suspects him, all while thinking Clark doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman. So she’s trying to protect him from being lied to and Clark is like ‘but Lois I love him’

“Clark Joseph Kent, you’re a grade-A idiot.” Lois thwaps the back of his head with a rolled-up newspaper.

“I know,” Clark groans into the surface of Lois’s desk. She thwaps him again.

“So, let me get this straight.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You somehow conned your way into a fake relationship with Bruce Wayne of all people, and now you have feelings for him?”

“I’ve always had feelings for him,” He mumbles, suddenly feeling very small in his seat. When he looks up at her, she’s glaring at him. Ah, he’s in trouble.

“You don’t know him.” She spreads her hands on the surface of her desk, knocking aside a few Daily Planet pens. He picks them up and puts them back.

“Yes I do.” Clark frowns.

“He’s an airhead playboy with zero priorities. You deserve someone who’ll be honest—“

“Oh? Like Selina?”

Lois gets very quiet. Her stare pierces like a fine needle through his throat. A few battered emotions flicker over her face, leaving in their wake a rare and unguarded Lois. Then, quicker than the cat that stole her heart, her face resigns into something sharp and deadly.

“I’m sorry.” He circles the desk and pulls her into a hug. After a begrudging glare, she tips her head into his chest. They inhale and exhale together—a routine they’ve shared for years. She relaxes into him.

“No, you’re right.” She chuckles. “I fell for a thief. That’s on me.”

“And I spent the night with the one guy I shouldn’t have. We can’t all be perfect.” Clark elbows her, looking for a smile. Lois’s eyes blow wide and she starts spluttering.

“You hooked up with him?” She thankfully keeps to a hissing whisper, but he can tell she wants to shout. He contemplates flying around the Earth fast enough to undo the moment, but she’s gripping his shirt tight enough to stop him.

“Well, okay, we kissed a bunch but it didn’t go further—“

“Oh god, we’re both hopeless.” She groans into her hands.

“No, not hopeless. We can both have what we want. I’ll call Bruce if, and only if, you call Selina.” He pulls her hands away from her face. She huffs and smiles.

“This optimism thing is going to bite you in the ass. How do you think you’re gonna maintain a relationship with someone who doesn’t know that you, uh, work two jobs?” She casts a weary glance towards the office door and drops her voice even lower.

“He gets me, Lois.” It’s all he can say. It’s the truth.

“Alright.” She brushes a thumb over his cheek. “Then get to know him at least. Find out if he’s the kind of guy worth being around.”

“I know he's worth it. That’s not ever in question.” Clark can’t help but smile a little as he thinks of Bruce. “It’s an internal thing. He sees me. I see him. We don’t have to pretend with each other. It’s…just us.”

Her keen eyes scan every inch of his face, even as he trails off.

“You should tell him.” She squeezes his arm.

“What? No. Absolutely not. I only said that because I know you won’t call her. C’mon, you’re supposed to be the voice of reason here.” He squints at her. She flicks him in the forehead.

“Okay, well the ‘voice of reason’ thinks you should say something before you lose this…somehow healthy-sounding relationship you have. With Bruce Wayne, of all people,” She mutters that last part, but Clark both hears and ignores it.

“We’re friends and it’s good. Really good. He trusts me at least a little. I don’t want him to think I have ulterior motives. If I could read him at all, figure out what he wants…but I can’t. I can’t lose him.”

“This isn’t the healthiest advice, but…start a list. Treat him like a case. What are some things that draw you to him? Things he hides? Things he shows only to you? If it makes you do that dopey giggle thing you do, he’s probably worth it.” She leans against the edge of her desk and crosses her arm.

“I don’t do a giggle…thing,” he mumbles, but his face is already heating up an incriminating amount.

“It’s cute. He’ll probably like it.” She tweaks his nose. He swats her hand away, but his spirits are far lighter.

His phone buzzes and he checks it as discreetly as possible.

B: Free this afternoon?

Clark smiles.

C: On my way. :)

“I’ve gotta go.” He stands and shrugs on his suit jacket.

“Boyfriend awaits?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Bye, Lois.” He rolls his eyes.

“Tell him I’d love to do an exclusive with him.” She snickers.

“I’ll tell him that when you call Selina.” He smirks. She gasps her way into laughter, her face blooming pink. Her hand comes up to play with a diamond necklace sitting on her collarbone--a cat-shaped pendant he’s never seen her wear before--and shakes her head fondly.

“I will after you kiss your playboy. Again.” She raises her eyebrow. Checkmate.

“Bye, Lois,” He says a little louder. She playfully shoos him from her office. He kisses her cheek.

Clark can only smile when he hears her phone ringing and the faint “Hey, kitty” through the glass.

….

It’s apt that Gotham is as dark and segmented as its protector, Clark thinks, because he’s never in his life met anyone as fragmented as Bruce Wayne. Everyone in the League is broken in some way, battered by traumas that still threaten to crush them, but Bruce is markedly...different. He covers the cracks in his soul with masks. For every unveiling, six more facades lay below it.

The reporter in him finds a dark fascination with it. The lost Kryptonian in him finds it…depressing. The human in him is currently bouncing on his heels in the lobby of Wayne Tower until Bruce finally meets him downstairs.

Bruce glides off of one of the elevators and nods at a few hushed executives who scurry in behind him. He must come off so effortless to them—not a hair out of place, a new suit and coat every day, but Clark can see the exhaustion clouding his eyes. Bruce Wayne is put together. Bruce is tired.

“You seem eager.” Bruce gives him a practiced small smile as they fall into step.

“I’m having the slowest of slow days. This was a much needed adventure.” Clark stretches his spine. It gives a loud, much needed crack. He’s just a little too big for his chair at the Planet and it’s starting to take its toll.

“We’re just walking down the street,” Bruce chuckles. He bumps the doors to the building open and Clark darts out. A light flurry of snow twirls through the air as they start their walk. He catches a snowflake on his tongue before he can think better of it. Bruce’s smile grows a little wider.

“So? Every trip away from my desk is an adventure. C’mon, I know a spot.” Clark nods to the side and they hang a left, passing under a train overpass.

“You know a spot in Gotham?” Bruce raises a brow.

“I get around.” Clark grins.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

They end up at a patisserie on the East side, a small family-run shop that deserves far more business than it gets. Clark can smell the wonders within from a good mile away.

Months ago, when he was helping Lois write a scathing exposé on Wayne Enterprises, this spot had served him well. Nothing better than a building full of sweets and a decent wifi connection to get you through betraying a good friend. Shredding that article was easily the best decision of Clark’s life, especially since Lois’s pivot towards flaying Lexcorp alive won her an award.

He buys them both coffee—black for Bruce, vanilla for himself—and sets about the intricate ritual of sweetening his coffee to perfection. This is normalcy. Normalcy is good.

“This is the only part of Gotham I like.” Clark steals little peeks at Bruce, waiting for him to inevitably make fun of him, but his eyes are elsewhere.

A refrigerated display tower of macarons stands proudly next to the register, boasting all sorts of delicious surprises. The splash of color is welcome among the somewhat dreary day outside.

“Hm?” Bruce’s gaze struggles to find its way back to Clark.

“You seem distracted.” Clark pops the stirring straw into his mouth and pulls the remaining coffee out with a little slurp. He pops the lid onto his cup much slower than necessary. The first time you crush a cup of boiling liquid in public tends to change you, after all. He’s grown since then.

“Heavy work day.” For a man so difficult to read, Bruce has never clearly been more full of shit. He doesn’t even try to look away from the cookie display.

“Do you…want a macaron?” Clark doesn’t bother trying to stifle his amusement.

“What? No.” Bruce withdraws slightly.

“What’s your favorite? My treat.” Clark jerks a thumb towards the display.

“Money isn’t the problem.” Bruce scoffs, but not unkindly. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. Clark tries to ignore the still-fading lovebite on Bruce’s neck that he left.

“Then what is?” Clark leans forward on his elbows. Surprise flickers across Bruce’s face for the slightest of moments.

“…I’ve never had one,” Bruce mumbles, shuffling a bit in his seat. Clark beams.

“First time for everything. C’mon.” Clark vigorously beckons him over to the line. Bruce trails behind with an endearing awkwardness that he’s learned to identify: slow steps, shifty eyes, and silence.

Clark takes his time to point out his favorite flavors and make a few recommendations, but he feels like he’s stumbling around in the dark. His sweet tooth is only rivaled by Diana’s—even then, their tastes match so closely that he’s a little lost with someone like Bruce.

Bruce stares deeply at him. Clark’s rambling stutters to a halt. He pulls on his collar a bit. Adjusts his glasses.

Bruce’s eyes seem so warm. Must be the light.

“If today was my last day to live and you had to give me a macaron, what would you choose?” Bruce leans close. His eyes are on the display, thank god, because Clark doesn’t know that he can handle more of that eye contact right about now.

“It amazes me that you’re so committed to the dark and brooding thing.” Clark rolls his eyes, and after some thought: “Raspberry.”

“Hm. Okay.” And that’s that. Bruce orders quickly and walks away with his prize, leaving Clark to scramble after him. They sit back down in their quiet little corner, the naturally-frosted window fogging slightly at their presence.

Bruce opens his box of macarons clinically, like he’s stripping it for parts. He takes one out and admires the color, gives it a little test squish, sniffs it. Clark watches the process with vested interest until Bruce pulls out another box and slides it towards him.

“What’s this?” Clark pulls the box close.

“Strawberry Cheesecake macarons. I saw you eyeing them when we came in.” Bruce pokes the box again, sliding them just a little more forward.

“I’m not subtle, am I?” Clark pushes his glasses up again. He cracks the box open and pops a cookie in his mouth. His eyelids flutter shut and he does a little dance in his chair.

“It’s one of your more endearing qualities.” Bruce quirks a small, smug smile.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark fake sniffles. The resulting eyeroll is incredibly satisfying.

Bruce takes a mouse-like nibble of the macaron, catching maybe an atom of cookie and filling between his teeth. He chews thoughtfully.

“So? Do we have a winner?” Clark rests his chin on his hand.

“I think so. You have good taste,” Bruce hums, taking another tentative bite of the macaron. A gentle, genuine smile peaks on his lips like a glimpse of the sun through storm clouds.

“That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark swipes a macaron from Bruce’s box fast enough to send a small breeze fluttering between them.

“And it will never happen again.” Bruce peeks open one eye as he finishes his macaron.

Okay, bumping shredding that Wayne Enterprises article down to number two. This, Clark thinks, watching Bruce smile to himself, this is easily top of the list.

1 ) He likes raspberries.

It takes later in the week until they have a moment to truly spend a bit of time together. Criminal roundups never leave much personal time, and Clark’s hearing has him near-constantly running to save lives. But, on a quiet Wednesday night, he has a moment.

He loves visiting Wayne Manor. It’s been a while since he last swung by, but he adores the place. He could spend hours swooning over the architecture alone. It’s a beautiful place to disappear for a while, and he’s been doing that more and more lately.

He gets buzzed into the gates easy enough with a lie about taking the bus, and then he’s standing in the massive foyer and hanging up his coat by the door. The manor smells of old wood and citrus. Clark draws in a big breath of it.

He turns and jumps a bit when a flock of people are suddenly staring at him atop the stairs. Bruce’s kids, right. He knows Dick, Tim, and Jason. The others are still a bit fuzzy to him. They all leer from the landing like royalty watching a gladiator in the pit.

“Hey there.” He waves at the smallest and angriest of the bunch. This is Damien, he’s pretty sure.

“So you’re the new guy.” A blonde—Steph, he remembers her from the Christmas card—leans on the railing with her forearms.

“I wouldn’t mess with him, Steph. He’s tougher than he looks,” Dick murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, trying his best to be subtle. Clark gives him a friendly wave. He returns it.

“He looks like he wears a pocket protector. I could take him,” Steph whispers to Dick. Clark tries to rein in his expression so he doesn’t give himself away.

“I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m Clark. You’re all Bruce’s kids, right? It’s nice to meet you.” He tries to make himself look as friendly as possible. He gets a few waves, but mostly owlish stares. He sees where they get it from.

“Is your father home?” Clark sticks his hands in his pockets and tries to kill the silence.

“Bruce! Your boyfriend’s here!” Jason bellows. Clark bites his lip to hide his smile.

“Clark?” Bruce peeks around the corner, then shuffles quickly down the stairs.

“Hey. I, uh, had a few minutes. Just came by to see you before I went home.” Clark rubs the back of his neck with a smile, trying to kill the flutter in his chest.

“Bruce, say something,” Tim hisses, crouching behind the banister as if Clark can’t see him. Bruce startles, glares at him, and then gestures for Clark to follow him. As they pass, all of the kids watch him go, whispering in a building flurry that he doesn’t bother dissecting. He tells himself it’s because they deserve their privacy, but really…he’s nervous. Severely.

“I hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable. They can be a bit…eager.” Bruce’s smile is warm beneath the lights of the old manor.

“They’re wonderful. Terrifying, but wonderful.” Clark chuckles and bumps their shoulders together while they walk.

It’s these precious minutes that define their friendship more than anything. Clark tells Bruce all about his day, about his Lex Luthor exposé making the front page, about everything and nothing at all. He talks and Bruce listens, egging him on with gentle tilts of the head when he shyly falls into silence.

By the time they reach the gardens, it’s Clark’s turn to listen. Bruce tells him about the kids, occasionally stopping whenever he notices one lurking. He asks for his opinion on random scenarios. Clark can’t tell if they’re hypotheticals but he answers as truthfully as he can, chasing the little noises of appreciation that Bruce makes as he talks.

Not only are Bruce’s masks interchangeable, taking him from Bruce to Batman to Bruce Wayne, they’re also removable. Clark doesn’t know when he was bestowed with the honor of being with Just Bruce, but he’s immensely grateful for it.

“Good evening, Mr. Kent.” Alfred nods respectfully in his direction. “Master Bruce, you have a call from Mr. Fox. Line three, sir.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce squeezes Clark’s shoulder. “You can wait here, if you’d like.”

“Am I allowed to touch anything?” Clark teases.

“Anything you want.” Bruce winks at him, completely straight-faced, and disappears into the corridors of the manor. Clark’s face grows embarrassingly hot and he reclines against the lip of the fountain.

He birdwatches as he waits, counting which of Bruce’s kids make normal, completely non-suspicious trips through his personal space. Dick’s the least sneaky of the bunch, but it lends him a genuine quality. He sits and chats with Clark for a few minutes, asking him about work and the like. He asks about his relationship with Bruce and Clark mumbles something non-committal, cheeks warm.

Bruce, uh, never put out that statement about them breaking up. Clark thinks he might be alright if it never gets published.

As the hours draw on, he catalogs where the other Robins like to hide. Tim and Damien have an affinity for hiding in the massive hedges surrounding the gardens, while Steph takes to watching from the windows. Cass is the hardest to spot but he catches her on the roof a few times, perched and enjoying the warm dusk breeze. He sees Jason with her once too.

If he’s learned anything from their father, it’s that staring is caring. Probably.

When Alfred fetches him hours later, he arrives at a scene he wants to burn permanently into his memory.

Bruce is seated at the beautiful. obnoxiously long table in the dining room. He’s got a knee hiked up on the chair, picking idly at the fabric of his pants. On the table, a black kitten rolls around and bats at a toy. It’s sweet and oddly domestic.

“Hey.” Bruce doesn’t turn.

“Hi. Who’s this?” Clark holds a hand out to the kitten and it drops its paw on top of his palm, mewing softly. The squeaky, deflating noise that leaves him is not one he’s proud of. It’s so sweet and small.

“Nyx. She’s a stray. I give her food when I can.” Bruce scratches her head gently. Nyx purrs and lays down on the table, tucking her head into the attention. She’s a precious baby, is what she is. Clark has half a mind to take her home.

That is, until Bruce sneezes loud enough to send poor Nyx running. She flings herself off the table and into one of the manor’s seemingly endless corridors.

“Bless you.” Clark chuckles. Bruce pulls a face.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred hands him a box of tissues.

“I can hear you laughing, Alfred,” he sniffles, hair a bit ruffled from the sneeze. Clark purposefully averts his eyes.

“I would never, sir. Goodnight, Mr. Kent.” Alfred bows his head, sharing that mischievous glint in his eye.

“Goodnight, Alfred.” Clark grins, settling into the oversized chair beside Bruce.

2 ) He’s got a cat allergy, but he feeds the strays anyway. Bruce = cat person?

“Stop it.” Hearing the Batman voice and knowing it’s mostly because Bruce is annoyed is truly golden.

“Stop what?” Clark floats leisurely alongside Bruce, arms behind his head. Keeping pace with him isn’t hard--he’s fast for human standards, but not by Clark’s. He’s made it a habit anyways not to zip too far ahead as they’ve grown closer. It kills the banter.

“Look, all I’m saying is that if Batman started flying, criminals would absolutely take the week off. If I was a criminal and I thought Batman had suddenly gotten superpowers, I’d simply leave Gotham.” Clark flips upside down and hangs in front of Bruce, still drifting backwards in pace with him.

He can sense Bruce trying not to smile, but when he opens his mouth to tease, karma speaks instead. Clark smacks his head into the side of a building just as Bruce slips through a narrow space between it and its neighbor. Clark flies up over the building and catches up with Bruce again, scowling.

“I know you’re laughing.” Clark crosses his arms.

“Me? Never. Just thinking about how great it is to be grounded.” Bruce allows himself the tiniest of smirks, just enough to be infuriating, and it’s Clark’s turn to roll his eyes.

3 ) He restrains his emotions. Even the good ones.

Roaming the Hall of Justice late at night is a cultivated hobby of Clark’s. The best snacks hide in the dark, after all, and he knows that no one’s gonna come bother him about a missing bag of chips at this hour. He needs time to think and food to think with.

Clark’s feelings for Bruce could both span and fill an ocean. He doesn’t know when this happened. As far as he can remember, there’s always been this beacon of warmth in his chest guiding him to Bruce. Through every late night and early morning, through hopelessness and joy, Bruce is a constant. It’s too much to put on one person. Too risky.

The ‘l word’ pops into his head like a dark omen, and he skids to a halt. He glances around, listening for any league members skulking around. All he hears is his own thundering heartbeat.

Fuck. Fuck.

He makes his way into the kitchen past a snoring Arthur, pausing to snatch the jumbo bag of cheese puffs from his limp grasp. He slips quietly out into the hall, passing by the lounge, where Bruce and Diana are laughing—

Clark backpedals, nearly tripping over his own feet, but god it’s worth it. Bruce is clutching Diana’s shoulder and giggling, stuck in the loop of overwhelming laughter that follows an unyielding barrage of jokes.

They’re still suited up, probably fresh off a patrol, and Clark wonders how long they’ve been sitting here. A mountain of chocolates, the fancy ones, cover the surface of the table. Diana delicately sorts through and plucks the ones she wants from the pile as Bruce watches.

“Diana’s the new team comedian. None of you are funny.” Bruce recovers from his laughter, but the smile stays, and Clark makes an active effort to be normal about it. The delirium of another late night in a row must have gotten to him. That’s the only explanation.

“Barry will be devastated.” Clark chuckles. He leans in the doorframe and catches a cheese puff in his mouth.

“He will survive.” The sparkle in Diana’s eye has him wishing he had tuned into their conversation.

“If I had known y’all were partying in here, I would’ve come to hang out.” Clark crunches on another cheese puff, mostly to distract himself from the way Bruce’s eyes are sparkling. He didn’t know they could do that.

“There’s no reason you can’t party with us now.” Diana gestures to the seat next to Bruce.

Aw, what the hell? Eating junk food together couldn’t be much worse than doing it alone.

4 ) Bruce can laugh--he just has to be caught off-guard. He likes to laugh (?) (who doesn’t?)

“When you said you needed help, I thought you meant with translating.” Clark wanders into the room. The concrete is irritatingly cold on his feet.

Bruce types away wildly at a computer station with too many monitors. A pair of giant goggles on his head pull his hair out of his face. Clark leans over his shoulder to see what he’s doing, but the code flying across the screen is a nightmare.

At the opposite end of the room, a mechanical rig sits primed on a set of rails. In the center, a gnarly looking gun barrel stares out into an empty expanse.

“I’m trying to test new ammunition for the Batmobile, but my target system is down. Can’t reboot it.” Bruce clicks something else and the gun starts calibrating. A pathetic clicking sound picks up as targets struggle to ascend from the floor, twitching lifelessly in their compartments.

“Do you want help?”

“With coding?” Bruce turns with an expression just shy of condescending.

“God no. I am bulletproof, if you remember.” Clark sticks his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Doesn’t help. I need to study the impacts afterwards.” Bruce gestures to a massive chunk of concrete on a stand nearby. Clark hefts it into his arms with a quiet grunt.

“Just...keep up with the gun. I prefer my walls without bullet holes.” Bruce quickly turns away from him. Clark can hear his heartbeat pounding. He starts to ask, but the gun rig starts warming up and he sacrifices his curiosity.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready.” Clark adjusts his stance to prep for the recoil. The machine whirrs and clicks as it loads itself with rounds. Bruce types in a few things on a nearby control panel and pulls the goggles down over his eyes.

The gun barrel spins and whines as it gains force. Clark hovers a few inches off the ground and tenses. He lines the concrete up with his chest, his eyes just clearing over top of it.

The machine fires quicker and lower than he anticipates.

A sharp zing zips up Clark’s side, then another, then another, and he drops the concrete, instead covering his smile while forcing himself to stay still. That’s certainly not his best idea--no block means no cover, which subsequently means getting pelted with another wave of bullets.

Clark crumples into a flurry of giggles before he can stop himself. He curls up as much as he can—partly to stop any new onslaughts, mostly to hide his reddening face. He’s been shot more than anything and it’s never bothered him. He didn’t know he could be ticklish to touch, let alone to goddamn bullets.

“Clark! Are you okay?” Bruce leaps over the gun rig and pulls the safety goggles up onto his head.

“Y-Yes. I’m fine. Your machine…thing packs a punch.” Clark clears his throat to stop the rogue snickers forming a conga line in his throat.

“I thought you were supposed to be bulletproof.” Bruce huffs, kicking the pieces of shattered brick out of the way. He swipes at Clark’s torso, probably trying to brush away the dust on him. Clark flinches under the touch and coughs over a laugh.

“I am. It just…felt…weird.” Clark snatches Bruce’s wrist a little too quickly. Bruce’s brow furrows and he leans close, eyes glued to Clark’s stomach with sheer worry. His face resolves into tense understanding. Clark lets his hand go.

“What? What?” He tries to catch Bruce’s gaze. There shouldn’t be anything wrong. He feels fine. Nothing pierced. Definitely not bleeding—he learned what that feels like and he hates it. But Bruce has an eye for things that Clark could never dream of noticing, and right now he’s staring like Clark already has a foot in the grave.

“Can’t believe you fell for that.” Bruce smirks. He pulls Clark close—hello—and kneads unhurried fingers into his stomach.

No one will ever believe him. Bruce Wayne is tickling him and no one will ever believe him.

“B-Bruce!” Clark strains out of Bruce’s grip as best as he can, trying not to break any useful bones, but his joints keep turning to jelly. His forehead collides with Bruce’s shoulder and he shimmies rather uselessly.

“This is very entertaining, in case you were wondering.” Bruce hums and starts pinching up Clark’s sides. His warm breath sends goosebumps flaring over his throat.

“I wasn’t!” It’s more of a squeak than words. Evil fingers manage to squeeze beneath his arms and Clark jumps directly into the air.

“Did you just fly away?” A genuine laugh floats out of Bruce, warm and a bit scratchy. Clark wishes he could hear more of that instead of his own dorky laughter ringing in his ears.

“Not on purpose—shut up!” Clark aims a half-hearted kick at Bruce’s shoulder. His face burns hotter than the sun and he hides in his hands.

Bruce grabs his ankle and tries to reel him in like a lost balloon. Clark almost falls for it until suddenly calloused hands are scritching along the bottom of his foot. He giggle-snorts. Kryptonite through the chest would be a mercy, at this point.

A hush falls over the room. Clark dares to peek through his fingers.

“Oh.” Bruce blinks, then the most wicked grin overtakes his face. “Do that again.”

“You’re the worst!” Clark pulls his leg towards his body and accidentally takes Bruce with it--who doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, by the way. Every time he lowers his leg, Bruce doesn’t let go.

“I don’t want to drop you!” Clark shrieks as if a bug is crawling on him, rather than a person.

“Then don’t.” Bruce squeezes his calf and Clark whines his way into a fit of cackles. His body trembles with the effort to not fly directly through the ceiling. The illusion of escape makes it so much worse, especially with Bruce’s fingers worming behind his knee.

“You coming down or am I gonna have to call the fire department?” Jesus, Bruce has a real talent for smirking out loud. Clark tries to shake him off without throwing him across the room. Bruce digs his fingers into Clark’s thigh like he’s climbing a tree and the resulting yelp has Clark resolving to flee the country.

“Y-You’re not building a great case as to why I should!” He flinches after a flurry of giggles and slams his head into the ceiling. Plaster and dust rain down on the two of them. Clark tries to cover the crater he left behind with his hands and a bashful smile.

“Alright, I’m done. I’d like to keep my ceiling in one piece.” Bruce pulls him down to Earth, only letting go when he’s sure that Clark won’t float away again.

“Ticklish Superman. Who knew?” Bruce scritches beneath Clark’s chin, just like at the gala all those weeks ago, and Clark shoves his chin down with a snort.

“No one, and I prefer it that way. Keep it quiet.” He can’t muster any severity in his voice and he’s not sure it would help if he could. The thought of Lois finding out--or worse, Diana--starts an inescapable loop of nervous smiles and a light fluttering in his chest.

“No promises.” Bruce smirks. “I hear Lois wants an exclusive. Maybe I’ll give her a call.”

“Don’t you dare. Bruce—“

He dials her office line, jogging towards the stairs. Clark shrieks and chases after him.

5 ) He’s mischievous. Deathly so.

…

After a long while of staring at his pitiful little list, Clark still finds himself restless. He has naught more than a skeleton, clinging scraps of Bruce’s infinite depths. The paper isn’t suited to contain him. He might actually know less than before.

Even as Bruce beats the shit out of him, he can’t think of anything else.

“Why don’t you let anyone get to know you?” Clark frowns at Bruce across the sparring mats. Bruce runs and leaps onto his shoulders, executing a flawless scissor grip. Clark raises his hand to support his back and Bruce swats him away.

“What?” Bruce grunts, bringing his elbows down onto Clark’s head. He barely notices.

“You’re always so stoic. You never let anyone see you happy.” Clark flips Bruce off his shoulders and down onto his back. He puts his hands on his hips and stares down at him.

“No, I never let anyone see me vulnerable. There’s a difference.” Bruce wraps his legs around Clark’s and takes him down, quickly rolling atop him. Within a second, Bruce unleashes a flurry of blows that, if Clark could feel more than dull impacts, he probably would fear.

“You’re allowed to be vulnerable in front of your friends, Bruce. That’s what makes them friends, not coworkers.” Clark catches his fists and holds them.

“I’ll pass along your suggestion. Are you going to fight back or should I go get Diana?” Bruce raises an eyebrow, breathing hard. Clark flips them both and pins Bruce down.

“I just think—stop wiggling—we should bond more, y’know? Know thy enemy, and all that.” Clark keeps pressing down until Bruce sighs and goes still in his grip. He knows he’s defeated. Smart man.

“That tends to apply to actual enemies, not coworkers.” Bruce sighs.

“Well, we’re more than that, aren’t we?” Clark presses, searching Bruce’s eyes. Bruce nods, looking all for the world like he might bolt from the room.

“Sooo, what’s your favorite color?” When Bruce is silent, Clark rolls his eyes and sits back. “Mine is yellow. Your turn.”

“…lavender.” Bruce eyes him warily. Clark helps him to his feet and they start the cycle again. The minute they stop fighting each other’s rhythm, they find a flawless sync.

“Nice! Okay, uh…favorite food?” Clark ducks under Bruce’s left hook and shoves him back.

“Alfred’s chicken noodle.” Bruce kicks Clark across the face and he lets himself go down. He brushes some of the dust off.

“That sounds nice.” He grins up at Bruce from the mat. The light haloes behind his head so beautifully.

“Yeah.” Bruce clears his throat. “And you…?” He pulls Clark to his feet and resets his stance.

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of fresh apple pie.” Clark sweeps forward with a wink.

Bruce shakes his head and snickers, then punches Clark hard enough in the ribs to crack his own knuckles.

…

Two sharp knocks on the doorframe announce Bruce before his voice does. Clark looks up from the dull light of his laptop.

“Got a second?” Bruce leans in the doorframe, cloaked in slight shadow. He’s dressed comfortably, surprisingly, in a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that hug him well. It makes Clark wanna pull him close.

“Always, yeah.” Clark sets his computer aside and sits up. Bruce leans against the edge of his desk and fishes something out of his pocket.

“Found some intel. I could use a fresh set of eyes on it.” The moon casts loving light across his eyes and jaw.

“Of course.” Clark sits up more.

“Found this nearby. I was hoping you could decipher it.” Bruce hands over a scrap of folded paper. Clark furrows his brow as he takes it, gingerly opening it up. He casts a curious glance at Bruce before he starts to read.

It’s his notes. His notes on Bruce. Shit.

He looks up slowly, horrified. Bruce smirks in full force, oozing mischief that Clark now knows is very much in character.

“Normally, I’m not a fan of being watched. Try to avoid it as much as I can.”

“You’re a hard man to read.” Clark clears his throat and folds the paper down to hide its contents further.

“Yet it seems you’ve cracked the code,” Bruce hums. Clark catches the faint glimmer of that old playboy spark. Bruce’s lips tilt into a devilish smirk.

“So, I’m right then? It’s important…for the record.” Clark scoots up against the headboard in an attempt to look casual. Bruce sits at the foot of the bed. Voluntarily. Clark stops breathing.

“I would say that parts are accurate.”

“Parts?” He clears his throat. Bruce snatches the paper from his grip. He starts murmuring as he skims the list.

“Let’s see…I like raspberries but I’m allergic.”

“You’re what?” The color drains from Clark’s face. Bruce shrugs.

“What else? Oh—I’m a dog person. I have a soft spot for cats.”

“Huh.”

“I am physically capable of laughter.” Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Proved that one already.” Clark smiles. Bruce scowls, then turns back to the paper. Clark remembers, in a terrible flash, the looping doodles of ‘Clark Kent-Wayne’ at the bottom of the page and chokes out a strangled scream.

He disintegrates the paper with a precise blast of heat vision. He feels a little bad for scorching the wall, but not that bad. The evidence is gone. Plausible deniability.

“Seriously?” He brushes the ash off his hands.

“I gotta keep my secrets.” Clark shrugs, but his face is incandescent with heat.

“What about that paper was so bad that it made Superman blush?” Bruce smirks.

“There is nothing on God’s green earth that you could do to make me tell you.” Clark grins from atop the high ground.

Bruce plucks his glasses off of his nose and sets them aside, careful not to touch the lenses. It’s a tender gesture for what is essentially a costume, but something in his heart flutters at the delicate care.

“Are you sure?” He leans close—close enough for Clark to catch a whiff of cologne and the intoxicating sparkle in his eye, close enough for Clark to lean in on instinct, and close enough for Bruce to wrap his hands around Clark’s waist like he’d been wishing he would since that stupid gala. Clark’s lips part.

“Okay, there might be a couple thi—“ Clark cuts himself off with a squeal, slamming his head into the headboard—the resulting crack speaks to a later promise of duct tape. As Bruce shoves his hands under his arms, Clark’s laughter bowls him over quicker than he can apologize.

“You are such a kid!” He throws his head back and cackles, curling into the tightest possible ball that his hulking form could take. Bruce leans over him.

“You have no grounds to call me that. You’re giggling.” Bruce raises an eyebrow,

“Because you’re t-tickling—” Clark regretfully finishes his sentence with a snort. Bruce lights up and chases the sound, relentlessly working his fingers into the grooves of his ribs. Clark hits his head again--there goes the rest of the headboard. And part of the wall.

Between the buzz of being touched by Bruce and being unused to this kind of touch, Clark melts into a haphazard pile of Superman with embarrassing speed. Bruce manages to work his fingers up further, right into his top rib, and he punches a hole directly into the nightstand, sending the lamp toppling over. Bruce relents then, passively assessing the damage while Clark drags in a deep breath.

“You really think it’s a good idea to tickle someone who could throw you into the sun?” Clark huffs, wobbling on a smile. Bruce smirks.

“Never said it was a good idea. Just an alluring one.”

“You find me alluring? Scandalous, Mr. Wayne.” Clark offers a teasing grin. Bruce’s brow crinkles with concern. He goes from fiddling with Clark’s waist to fiddling with his hands.

Bruce gets tactile when he’s stressed. Or when something’s on his mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clark asks softly. He scoots just a bit closer.

“The day after the gala, I had Vicki write up a piece about you and I splitting. Like I promised. It was never published.”

“I noticed,” Clark says carefully, tracking every detail of Bruce’s face.

“I asked her not to.”

“Why?”

“I knew if the article went live, you would stop with the affection and the dates. I know it was only for appearances, but…I really enjoyed it. I wasn’t ready to let it go. I…care about you.” Bruce looks up at him, worry entrenched in the dips of his face. It slips to something resigned and neutral, a blank mask.

Clark smiles like a lunatic, covering his mouth to hide it. He contains the desperate urge to take a lap around the manor. Months, years, of pining bloom into sweet possibility within him. The weight of guilt sloughs off his shoulders. Bruce likes him.

“Y’know, for the smartest man in Gotham, you miss quite a lot.” Clark leans in and waits. Bruce’s eyes flick to Clark’s lips, and in a Batman-esque flash of motion, he swoops down and kisses him. Their bodies slot together almost magnetically. Clark flips them over and bears back down, swallowing Bruce’s gasp of surprise in his mouth.

In an insane way, kissing Bruce is like coming home.

He flings his arms around Clark’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Clark immediately, greedily, lets his lips travel along Bruce’s pulse point. He chases the memory of the gala, littering desperate bruises along the cologne-tinged skin. His hand lingers at the base of his throat, brushing reverent fingers as he marks every inch available to him.

Bruce yelps into a giggle, breaking them apart. Clark blinks, processing, then grins with unbridled power.

“This feels…counter-productive.” Bruce swallows, bobbing Clark’s hand. His skin is hot and red to the touch.

“Nice try. You already enabled me—that was your first mistake.” Clark tickles him everywhere he can reach, dodging elbows and headbutts. Bruce cackles from his core, stumbling through a few high-pitched syllables of protest as he twists. He works so hard to force his voice back into its usual octave that it cracks. Clark snickers.

“I am going to kill you,” Bruce growls, reaching back to return the favor. Clark slams his arm down on the mattress, caressing the back of his hand with immovable fingertips.

“Then this is a wonderful last night on Earth.” Clark nibbles on his earlobe. Bruce’s giggly scream and the ensuing threats on his life are music to Clark’s ears.

#my fics #ticklish!bruce wayne #ticklish!clark kent #bruce wayne #clark kent #superbat #dc #ALRIGHT the lois/selina thing came from somewhere ok bc i know its a teeny ship #tbh im not sure it even exists #but my lois is inspired by lena luthor from the cw supergirl series bc lesbianism + superman makes me happy #but i felt like if lois was into kara (which originally she was) clark would be working around the clock to get them together #which derailed the scene. so i put lois and selina together #wlw mlm solidarity clark and lois both being head over heels for their respective creatures of the night speaks to me #they're besties your honor #sorry this is not what i said i would post next but its what i finished off my pile so #also titles from better love by hozier bc that song is superbat to me

221 notes · View notes

il-miele-che-scrive · 3 months

Text

Go for his brother part 2

Part 1 here

Part 3 here

username1 DOUBLE BETRAYAL 😭

↳username2 wdym bro wtf Arthur is just getting his karma, he CHEATED on Y/n with her best friend

↳username2 and Y/n only got with his brother after the breakup

username3 It's so crazy to me how not long ago Y/n was with Arthur at Charles' race and we could see them all lovey dovey and now she's with Charles 💀

username4 I hope they actually like each other and it's not just something Y/n schemed to get back at Arthur

↳username5 And even if it is, so what? Both Leclercs deserve this if she's doing it for the sake of revenge

username4 What did Charles ever do to you 😭 he's a literal pookie

username6 I am BEGGING to find out Arthur's reaction

username7 I wanna see this on Drive To Survive lmao

↳username8 The most interesting thing in the whole season lol

username9 Exactly! Men driving in circles? Nah, fuck that, give me family drama

yourusername The Art & The Artist

view all comments

charles_leclerc I took way more than these 2 pictures, should post them all

↳yourusername some would get me banned🤭

username1 MY OH MY

username2 What did she say 😐

username3 I'm jealous but haven't decided if I want him or her

username4 Arthur better not read this comment section (I hope he will)

francisca.cgomes Thanks for blessing my eyes 🫶

↳yourusername You're welcome bestie🫶

username4 it's so nice to see Y/n found a friend who won't steal her bf

username5 You can't be sure, it's Charles Leclerc we're talking about. You think he wouldn't go for his best friends' girlfriend who is now his own girlfriends' best friend after pulling what he's just pulled?

username4 ngl girl I got lost in whatever you're saying

yoursister In your iconic girl era ❤️

↳yourusername I slayed didn't I 💅

username6 Honestly guys I believe it's not just a revenge scheme

↳username5 What makes you think that?

username6 Given these pictures and the pictures from the gossip page they look pretty much happy to me, too happy for it to be fake

username5 Whatever you say, we'll see. They have to get tired of pretending one day

exbestfriend Glowing ✨🩷

↳yourusername 😐

↳francisca.cgomes 😐

↳yoursister 😐

↳charles_leclerc 😐

↳pierregasly 😐

↳georgerussell63 😐

↳carmenmmundt 😐

↳alex_albon 😐

↳lilymhe 😐

username7 Y/N AND HER COMMENT SECTION ARE ICONIC 😭

↳username8 I can't stop imagining them having a gc and she sent a screenshot of her ex best friend's comment like "you know what to do, guys" 🤣

username9 I just know Arthur is screaming crying throwing up because LOOK AT WHAT HE LOST

username10 Lol who's next? Toto Wolff?

arthur_leclerc My favorite love story is ours ❤️

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exbestfriend So happy we found each other ❤️❤️

username1 💀

username2 Alright they both have the audacity

username3 your love story is cheating on Y/n lmao

username4 Imagine they have a kid one day who'll ask mom dad how did you meet lol

↳username3 I'd be EMBARRASSED

username5 They deserve each other tbh

username6 Hey but... What if this pic and Y/n's pics were taken on the same day...

↳username7 wdym

username6 Arthur wanted to keep and eye on his ex and his brother from afar 😭

username7 it's terrible but possibly true lmao

exbestfriend I'm so sick of people judging us

↳username2 That's what you deserve, the both of you

↳username4 when actions have consequences:😮

yourusername Back at the paddock ❤️

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username1 At least she didn't downgrade right?

yoursister You guys look so good together

↳yourusername Thank you 🫶 ily

↳charles_leclerc Yes we do 😊

↳username2 Y/s/n never commented anything like this when Y/n used to post with Arthur😭

lilymhe It was nice catching up with you when the boys were playing

↳yourusername maybe next time you and Alex could come over so the boys can play some video games together

username3 Pls they're just two single mothers bonding over their toddlers being besties😭

username4 I NEED TO KNOW IF ARTHUR WAS THERE

↳username5 You crazy? Ofc he wouldn't have come, he's too scared of confrontation

username4 Okay but then what if one day Y/n and Charles get married? Will Arthur just skip his brother's wedding?

username5 I think some time will pass before Charles decides to settle down. And not with Y/n, that's for sure

username6 Why not? Y/n makes a much better couple with Charles than she did with Arthur

username5 Charles would never take her seriously lol she dated his brother, Charles is just having fun with her while letting her have her moment

arthur_leclerc Are you wearing the dress you wore on our first date?

↳username2 SHE'S WHAT?????

↳username3 wtf are u doing here

↳yourusername Maybe...

username4 Mother keeps slaying 😭👏

username7 I aspire to be like Y/n fr

alex_albon Lily said we should have a double date

↳yourusername Let's do it then @/lilymhe @/charles_leclerc when and where

arthur_leclerc I just wonder when will you get bored of this

↳yourusername Bored of what exactly? Going to races? You know I've always enjoyed looking at cars go vroooom

arthur_leclerc You know what I mean

arthur_leclerc Of pretending to like Charles just to prove me some delusional point

yourusername You really think I'd waste my energy on that? It's a funny coincidence indeed, but I do like him actually

arthur_leclerc Mhm sure I give you maybe 6 months more, can't keep pretending forever

charles_leclerc A family gathering & the morning after

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username1 OH GREAT HEAVENS

pierregasly Now that's something none of us expected

↳username2 bro speaking facts

username3 They said fuck you Arthur you'll get a proof we're not pretending😭

username4 Well at least the family already knew her

↳username5 Pascale liked Y/n so much she said girl you have my blessing no matter which one u marry

username3 Guys do you think Arthur was there? You know, it's a family gathering, so he had to be there, right?

alex_albon Charles settling down wasn't on my bingo card this year

↳lilymhe Neither was it on mine but I love it

francisca.cgomes Girl you realize there's no going back now? 😂

↳yourusername I hope so😜🫶

arthur_leclerc I still can't believe how disrespectful you both are

↳charles_leclerc Look who's speaking of being disrespectful

↳yourusername stfu arthur maman literally had to kick you out of the party

username3 The way it used to be "Thurthur" and now it's "stfu arthur" 😶

username2 at least the "maman" is the same right

username5 I feel like Pascale likes Y/n more than she likes Arthur

username7 wtf guys PASCALE HAD TO KICK ARTHUR OUT OF THE PARTY 😭😭

↳username8 That's crazy, imagine how's the wedding gonna look like

carlossainz55 Getting engaged after a few weeks? Is she pregnant?😂

↳username9 Not funny

username10 Chill that's just millennial humour from back when pregnancy outside marriage was a disgrace

↳charles_leclerc We've known each other long enough to make this decision 🫢

carlossainz55 Valid point

arthur_leclerc But for majority of this time she was my girlfriend

charles_leclerc On which you cheated

arthur_leclerc @/yourusername did you use me just to get to Charles? Was it your plan from the beginning?

↳yourusername Sure because I have nothing else to do lmao

↳yourusername We've talked about it yesterday arthur, don't start again

arthur_leclerc I just still can't believe Charles would do something like that to me

yourusername And half a year ago I believed you wouldn't have ever cheated on me

charles_leclerc I said it yesterday and I'll say it again, Arthur I will always love you as a brother, but you messed up big time, you can't be mad at us

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #f1 smau #f1 social media au #Charles leclerc smau #arthur leclerc x reader #Arthur leclerc smau #Charles leclerc social media au #Arthur leclerc social media au

2K notes · View notes

tiredmamaissy · 1 year

Text

Behind the Façade

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Characters: Ao’nung (20) x Fem Metkayina Reader y/n (20)

Warnings: NSFW, smut, rut cycle, no foreplay, mostly sub ao’nung, mostly dom reader, slight power struggle, creampie/breeding kink, knotting, smidge of fluff, spitting mouth (kinda), awkward moment during sex, profanity

Word Count: 2.6k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: As requested. Bestie, this is for you @jiafeimagic

Synopsis: Ao’nung unexpectedly goes into rut in the middle of the night. You calm your mate. Simple dimple. Enjoy

Intro:

You and Ao’nung have been mated since the sully family sought uturu in your village. He likes to put on a brave face – a façade that he’s this big, bad bully, when really he’s softer than the flesh between your legs. His rut is more like a heat, similar to what you experience monthly - lasting for 3 days. You allow him to keep up his façade in public, being his little bitch that follows his every order. But behind closed doors, he’s yours to do whatever you want with.

----

“Y/n.” Ao’nung pants.

“Hmm?” You croak, trying to open your eyes.

All you can see is the luminescence of your own skin. Feeling around with your hand, you find that the space next to you in the bed is empty. You sit up and rub your eyes, hoping to figure out where your mate’s voice is coming from.

“Y/n.” He repeats, this time in a more frantic manner.

“What is it? you ask, worried that something is wrong with him. “Where are you?”

You squint your eyes, and scan the marui pod, looking for your mate. Two heavy lidded, purple eyes float in the corner of your room, watching you intently. They're dazed and full of lust. A sinking sensation plagues your stomach when you realize what’s happening.

Ao’nung’s rut came early.

You squint your eyes, trying to make out the figure in front of you. He's sitting in the corner, with his knees to his chest and his head in his hands.

“Sorry to wake you.” He grits his teeth. “I just... I can’t take it anymore.” He huffs, dropping his head between his knees.

You get out of bed and approach him slowly. “It’s alright, I know how intense your ruts are, my love.” You hum, kneeling to his level to stroke the length of his queue. “You should have woken me earlier.”

He’s trembling, shaking his head from side to side in his knees and panting heavily – he must have been enduring this all night long. Leaning into your touch, he rubs his face into your bosom, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent. You shush him, rubbing circles into his back.

“Shh. Shh, baby boy. You’ll be alright, I’m here now.” You reassure him, laying his legs flat on the floor as you mount him.

His legs are now between your knees as you tower over him, shortening the distance between your hot bodies.

“I want this.” Ao’nung whines, cupping the soft flesh between your legs. “...please.” He whimpers, looking up at you through the dip of your breasts, with inebriated, glowing eyes - begging for some relief.

“How could I ever say no to these eyes?” You whisper, moving his hands to your waist.

Using a single finger to lift his chin, you kiss him fervently, swirling your tongue around his. You shuffle even closer to him, lowering your pelvis onto his crotch – sticky from his own slick. He’s already rock-hard, writhing his pelvis into the softness between your thighs. You share each other’s hot breaths between wet kisses as your hands explore every inch of your bodies.

He’s whimpering quietly into your mouth, succumbing to the urges of his rut, trying to fuck you through your loincloth. His movements are impatient – full of desperation and desire for his mate. Unable to form a coherent thought, he allows his body to speak to you, begging to be inside of you. His hands slide down to your hips, gripping it tightly, using it as leverage to grind even harder against you.

You move your sloppy kisses down his face, planting bruise-like marks on his jawline and neck. You linger there, filling your lungs with his potent pheromones, intoxicating your body with his scent. His pheromones remind you of the salty ocean, mixed with the scent of the sap of a mangrove. You know that you wouldn’t be able to satiate him if you weren’t high, too – his rut is just too intense for that.

“Tsheylu, Ao’nung.” You mumble into his neck, moving your hand to the base of his queue.

His movements are eager, tugging at your queue to bring it closer to his. It sends small shocks down your spine as he makes the bond eagerly. In an instant, the heat and fogginess of his rut transfers to you, putting you in a trance, too. Your hips pick up speed, whining and grinding against his member whilst he kisses your shoulders.

“...please, y/n.” He lets out a lengthy mewl, squeezing his eyes shut. “...f-fuck me.”

His eyes fly open, glossy and glowing in the dim light. You witness his pupils morph into slits. He’s now at the height of it, and if you didn’t give it to him soon – he would just take it for himself. This part of his rut always frightened you a bit, he would go from begging on his knees to forcefully-taking-what’s-his in a split second. You slip the thin cloth covering your breasts over your head, and fiddle with the knot of your loincloth with trembling fingers.

“Hurry. I need you now.” He grunts urgently, untying his own loincloth in a hurry.

“I’m trying, I’m trying” you pant, struggling with the knot due to the darkness of the room.

In frustration, Ao’nung rips your loincloth down the middle and throws it aside. He’s fighting with himself, trying his hardest to be gentle with you, but he just wants to shove his knot inside of you already. He’s rubbing his veiny cock against your sticky cunt, getting off from the feeling of your clit rolling against his tip.

“Stretching. Do you need it?” he mumbles, as his fingers burrow their way between your hips, frantically searching for your hole.

“No.” You yank his hand out by his wrist.

“What I need is...” you line up his tip with your slippery hole, “...this huge cock.” You moan loudly in his ear as you slowly slide his entire length inside of you.

He lets loose a lengthy, guttural groan, finally getting the attention his cock has been begging for. He softens under your touch, burying his face into your chest, hiding his expression from you as he hums into your breasts. Gripping him by the neck, you push him away, and stare at his erotic expression.

“I like seeing your face when I ride, understood?” You purr.

Your taken aback when you realize why he hid his face. You can feel his cock throbbing in your cunt, already emptying it’s seed inside you. He’s gritting his teeth, trying to bite back his lewd noises as he rocks into you, ensuring that your womb gets every drop of his sticky cum. The pure bliss – the ecstasy that he’s feeling from the gummy, hot walls that clench around his cock is unbearable.

“Are you cumming? Already?" You ask quickly, trying to hold back your laugh.

"All from me putting it in? Fucking pathetic.” You spit, watching his face contort from overstimulation as you start moving your hips.

“Haah.. ah... Fuck.” He lets out choked pants, glaring at you through his slits. His cheeks redden even more, he's clearly embarrassed by his quick release. He buries his face back into your breasts.

“I’m sorry, you just feel so fucking good.” He huffs, pushing himself even deeper into you, ensuring his cum makes its way into your womb.

“Shit. Still going? Was that not enough for you?" You grab a fist full of hair at the back of his head and pull him from your chest, looking directly into his eyes.

"Fuck... trying to drill yourself into my womb like that.” You drop your gaze to your sticky pelvises.

“Such a pitiful sight...” You moan, looking back up into his drunk, pleading eyes. “Now, beg.” You whine your hips on him ever so slightly, massaging his cockhead with your cervix.

He clenches his jaw and swallows his spit. “Please.” He growls begrudgingly.

You start lifting your hips off him. “Oh? That didn’t sound very genuine. I see I am not needed anymore.”

“Wait. Fuck. P-please y/n.” he grabs your hips, pulling them back down onto his cock. “Please... I need you. I can’t live without you. Please, I can’t take this anymore.” He sobs, looking up at you with watery eyes.

A grin plasters your face as you start riding his cock, firmly gripping his throat for support.

“I love when you listen to me.” You grind onto his cock, already feeling a little bulge growing at the base of it. “Whoa... I can feel your knot already, Ao’nung.” You whisper, feeling your face heat up.

You glance at him to see that his eyes are closed – face contorted from how good your pussy feels around his cock. He really looks like he might cum inside of you again, all from just a few thrusts of your hips.

“Woman, you feel too good.” He groans, dipping his head back.

“I know. I know, baby boy.” You moan, feeling his tip poking against your sweet spot. “You feel good too... I can feel you heating up inside of me. Gonna cum for me again?” You chuckle under your breath.

Ao’nung’s body is taking control, thrusting his hips upwards as they chase the warmth of the slick that coats the walls of your cunt. He’s whimpering from the overstimulation – but he can’t stop rutting into you. His sweet, little moans are becoming louder in your ears as he buries his face into your shoulder. You can feel his cock jumping inside you, ready to burst and fill you to the brim with his seed.

“Talk to me, Ao’nung. What do you want?” you breathe, picking up speed.

“Haa.. ah. I want... Ngh – I want to get you pregnant...” he whines, looking back up into your eyes. “Please... bear my child, y/n...” his head slumps forward, back into your chest. “Please...” his pleads are muffled from the plump flesh of your breasts. “...I’ll do anything”

“Good boy.” You moan, chasing your own climax now.

“Ugh... it is coming, y/n. L-let me cum inside of you... Please.” he whines loudly, manhandling your hips.

Through the bond, you can feel the heat pooling in his chest as he wills himself not to cum until you give him permission. Not only that, but you can feel his enormous, veiny knot poking at your entrance, begging to rip you into two. Knowing that this is only the beginning of his 3-day-long rut, you want to start slow – so not to tire yourself out.

“No knotting yet, my love.” You pant, trying to lift your hips off him. He drives his fingernails into your hips and shoves you back down onto his knot. “Fuck. Control yourself, Ao’nung.” You whimper, feeling it stretch you out.

“Please...my love.” he begs.

He’s pushing his cock even deeper into you, trying to break through the walls that prevent his knot from popping inside of you. He’s completely consumed by his urges to turn you into a vessel to carry the heir to Olo’eyktan – to carry his son. You see his thoughts, as he imagines you heavily pregnant with his child. Soon, you feel this urge too, wanting to be his little breeding bitch.

“Oh, fuck it.” You huff, going over the edge from the mere image flashing through your head. “Fill me up, Ao’nung. Give me your fat knot.”

He rams his knot into you in one quick thrust, forcefully holding you down onto his pelvis as he cums deep inside you yet again. His tip is drilling through your cervix, directly into your womb – spurting thick ropes of his hot seed inside of you. It sends you over the edge, finally allowing yourself to release your own orgasm, pulsing around his cock as your walls milk him dry.

You slump into your mate, who’s finally feeling some sort of relief. You look down into his face as the room is becoming brighter from the suns emergence, and see that his heavy lids are finally closing – covering his dark blue eyes. He rocks into you every so often, putting you into a state of comatose, too. You’re both breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath and calm down from your high.

Only an hour passes until he’s tugging at your entrance, trying to pull his knot out of you – pinching himself and you in the process. This is what you didn’t want from the get-go, but it’s too late now and his rut has only just started. He’s nipping at your neck, tracing your jugular with his pointed fangs, silently asking to mark his mate. You too are deep in the thick of his pheromones, feeling woozy and jaded.

“Yes... do it, ma’ nung.” You hum, feeling the bite of his sharp teeth, piercing your skin as he marks you as his.

His urges take the forefront, as he thrusts in and out of you causing his partially deflated knot to pop in and out of you. This continues for the rest of the day, in the same position. You’re completely numb now, unsure of how many times he’s knotted you, as your abused hole is just dripping with his cum.

“Ao’nung...” you croak, trying to get off him for the fifth time. “I’m hungry... and thirsty.”

“Mmnn... come” he kisses you sloppily, spitting in your mouth as a poor attempt at quenching your thirst. “...better?” he moans, still deep in a trance.

“No... skxwang. I need real water.” you groan, pushing him off you and crawling away.

He pounces on you, knocking you on your stomach as he mounts you again. He slides himself inside of you and starts bucking his hips, desperate to breed you once more - despite the extreme overstimulation. Both of you were fucked out raw, but he couldn’t help it – he couldn’t stop himself. You lay there and take it, just grateful to finally be in a new position.

----

You open your eyes to see a bright room. The sun was out and shining vibrantly. The dead weight on top of you makes you winded, knocking all the air out of your lungs. You look behind you to see Ao’nung slumped over your shoulder, sleeping soundly. You groan from the soreness, reaching down to your pelvis to feel if he’s still inside of you.

The answer is simple – yes. He is. You feel a little more, to find that his knot has finally gone down enough to pull him out of you. You shove him off your back, and crawl towards the bucket of water in the corner of the pod – breaking tsaheylu.

Gulping loudly, you chug the water, quenching your extreme thirst at last. You pull away and finally take a deep breath, looking back at your mate. You're met with his delirious gaze. You sympathize with him, feeling awful that it took three full days of this to calm down.

“Oh, baby boy.” You mumble, shuffling back over to him with a cup of water. You stroke his hair – wet from sweat. “It’s over now.” You pull his limp body into your lap, supporting his head with your breast.

“Drink.” He laps up the water greedily, not realizing how thirsty he was until it wet his dry lips.

“Y/n. I love you. Only you truly see me.” He stares longingly at you, with his light blue, teary eyes.

“I love you, too ma’ nung.” You lean down to kiss his wet lips.

He pulls away from you, panting heavily. “No. I mean it. I will stay by your side for the rest of my life.”

You smile at him, feeling the warmth in your heart, and kiss him gently.

----

After cleaning, feeding and watering one another you both walk out of your marui pod to be met with the bewildered eyes of no one other than Lo’ak, Neteyam and Roxto. Ao’nung slips back into his usual self, walking towards the na’vi with an aggressive demeanor. You follow closely behind him, with your eyes locked onto your feet. It was obvious that you two were loud enough for them to hear you.

“What is wrong with you freaks?” Ao’nung spits, puffing out his chest.

Lo’ak laughs, mocking Ao’nung. “Oooh, y/n. ‘only you truly see me’.”

“Lo’ak! Come on brother. I thought the ‘I will stay by your side for the rest of -” Neteyam taunts, being cut off by Ao’nung shoving him in the chest. Roxto tries to keep his smile to himself, finding the whole ordeal amusing.

“Agh.” Ao’nung spit, rolling his eyes before turning around and walking away.

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