PSA to fic readers, it is so hard to freak a fic writer out with your comments. we are just as crazy about the fic as you are.
tell me you love it. tell me it made you slam your laptop shut. tell me you brought it up at your college lecture about kink. key smash in all caps. quote the passage that made you think. i promise, weâll love it.
we spend hours thinking about it, writing it, editing it. there is no such thing as over enthusiasm when youâre talking about our fics to us. we are sooooo weird about them, i assure you. you are just matching my freak. the freak bar is already set so high. feel no anxiety about enjoying something and letting the creator know.
another reminder that what you put in your public bookmarks on ao3 is public, meaning anybody can see them, including the authors.
all of this. heavy on âthe fastest way to discourage fandom writers is by rating/assigning numerical value to fanficsâ. also the âbut donât you want to get better?â argument is so exhausting to me. because if us fanfic writers want to âget betterâ at our hobbies, the things we do out of love, and if we want constructive criticism, we will either directly ask for it (so if we didnât ask, keep your opinion to yourself) or we will go to our trusted friends, whose opinions we actually value, for their feedbacks.
because more often than not, the unsolicited constructive criticism random strangers give us isnât even constructive criticism but what these people personally want to read. so hereâs the thing, us fanfic writers write for ourselves first and foremost. we appreciate people who read our works and show us support, but weâre writing and sharing our works for free â itâs our hobby and passion, our source of comfort, something we do as a form of self care, itâs not a job we are paid to do â so weâre not writing to please anybody but ourselves.
you donât go up to a stranger you see in public, tell them what you dislike about their clothes and how they can âdress betterâ then defend your actions by claiming you âhave the rights to criticize their clothing because they are in publicâ.
if you like our fics, cool. if you donât like them, thatâs fine. you can find something else to read. or, better yet, you can WRITE THE THING YOU WANT TO READ YOURSELF, nobody is stopping you. but keep your unsolicited criticism to yourself if we didnât ask for one.
Someone bookmarked one of my active fics and said some... not so nice things... now I lost my motivation and haven't updated it in almost a month đĽšđĽšđĽš
writing fanfics has made me go out of my way to learn things and do deep research in ways no colleges, exams, jobs or other projects ever could. yes, itâs a hobby. but itâs also my love and passion. next time you say âfanfics are an unserious activity for kidsâ, I will actually bite you. no maâam, while kids certainly can enjoy writing fanfics, itâs sleep-deprived adults â with jobs and responsibilities, bills to pay, kids to raise, animals to take care of, battles to fight â who have built the fanfic community and always been the backbone of it since day one.
cw: Dom/Sub undertones, Sub!Clark Kent, Dom!Reader, No use of Y/N, BDSM undertones, lots and lots of pet names (baby, babe, good boy, sweetheart etc.), AFTERCARE, comfort, smut, fluff!!!, anal play, pegging, whimering, all the good stuff
Chapter summary: Clark's girlfriend is the queen of communication, and gives him a new toy to experiment withâŚ
Ever since his little massage-giving treat, Clark had been enjoying a high unlike any he had experienced before.
There was a pep in his step wherever he went, and the whole world seemed to notice the change. Clark and Kal-El started to blend together almost dangerously, people remarking that he even seemed taller than usual (which was certainly saying something, because even when slouched, he still managed to tower over everyone).
But the changes werenât exclusive to just Clark Kent, oh no, even Superman was acting⌠different. He was still kind, of course, the biggest, brightest sunshine anyone could ever wish for. He just⌠didnât take as much shit anymore. From anyone.
It was like his Sweet Pea managed to destroy a wall inside him â that he hadnât even known about for the past thirty plus years of his life â that held his confidence at low-to-moderate levels. Now?
All of it was free to roam.
When faced with alien creatures, he didnât waste time trying to talk an obviously not English-speaking creature down. He simply captured them and took them somewhere safe before the Justice Gang could even arrive on scene. He saved people before they even realized they were in danger, even getting some flack from the local police station about him meddling too much and starting to become like that moody guy in Gotham.
At the office, and in his articles, he started to express his opinions a little more and more with each title he dropped. He realized he didnât need to fear consequences as much as he did in the past, he was an award-winning journalist after all! And anyways, many of his colleagues had behaved in such a way for years, while he held himself back time and time again, not wanting to come off as mean.
For the first time in a long while â since wearing the blue suit, anyway â Clark didnât feel like the whole world rested solely on his broad shoulders. Or, more precisely, on his ability to hold back. Because he simply didnât need to.
All his life, he feared that he had another side to him. A darker side lurking in the shadows, threatening to take over not just him but the whole world! That was what he feared, and that was why he struggled to give into his urges.
Urges that every ânormalâ person went through from time to time, according to his wise girlfriend.
But now that he did, and saw (and felt, and heard, and tasted) how much she enjoyed that side of him⌠it helped him realize he wasnât something white or black. No one was. He was just another grey shape in a sea of all sorts of shades and variations of grey.
How could he ever go back to the timid, shy reporter he used to masquerade as? Especially after he had his finger inâ
âBabe, are you listening?â Raven cut into his thoughts, bumping against his shoulder.
They were staying in his apartment over the weekend (for a change), having spent the days mostly exploring this new side of him. They barely dressed the whole weekend, her opting to wear one of his shirts, him simply relaxing back in his underwear. Any more layers only became hindrances after the first round on Friday afternoon.
The two of them were currently residing on his couch, cuddling in positions that shouldâve felt uncomfortable. Her nails scratched his scalp idly, a movie playing on the screen that both of them had seen a thousand times before.
Clark, still on his dominant high, was in fact not listening, too lost in his pondering.
âOf course, sweet pea,â he bluffed, his voice too high even for his ear.
She gave him a measuring stare, eyebrows furrowing, looking deep into his soul. âWere you listening?â She asked again, her fingers in his hair stopping the scratches, twisting and pulling hard instead.
Clark hissed, his head moving back to expose his throat, blue eyes dazed as he gazed up at her. âI wasnât⌠I'm sorry. I was just lost in my thoughts.â
âBaby, as much as I love all this confidence, and as much as it turns me on... it doesnât give you an easy excuse to misbehave.â
And that, after weeks of almost unhinged self-assurance, was what finally managed to knock him back a few paces. His confidence didnât disappear, of course not, he didnât feel any less secure than before⌠He simply slipped back into the warm arms of comfort that being under her control brought.
His shoulders drooped, his eyes rounded, and a pout of sincere apology tugged on his lower lip.
âI'm really sorry, ma'am.â
âOh yeah, I bet you are,â using her hold on his hair, she guided his head further up and away from her chest, pushing and pulling until he maneuvered himself to a kneeling position on the floor, nestled between her knees.
Looking at her from down there, Clark felt giddy and awestruck. It felt like he was a lowly worshipper, who managed to catch a glimpse of his goddess in her most relaxed state.
Her body laid stretched out on the couch, the stolen shirt hanging off one shoulder enough to almost expose a breast, her spread knees and thighs proudly showing off her lack of underwear.
Tsking, she snapped her fingers in his face, drawing his eyes to her own. âYou're being a bad boy,â she warned sternly, but neither of them could deny the presence of a smirk on her face. One full of desire and pride. With a hint of mischief, of course. âI think youâve earned yourself a punishment.â
The words both thrilled and scared him. He was desperate not to show any sort of happiness, in fear of a harsher punishment, or a lack of any future contact.
âHmm, what to do, what to doâŚâ she mused, hand absentmindedly â but very much on purpose â playing with the neckline of her too big shirt. âI suppose I could spank you again. Or ride you and not let you finish. Maybe I should just not let you touch me at all and get myself offâŚâ
As she rattled off her ideas, Clark's puppy eyed look only intensified, the blue shining bright like a damn star.
âWhich one do you want, baby? I might let you choose.â
Now, how could she give him such a task? That was just cruelâŚ
âI donât know, I just need you to touch meâŚâ
It didnât matter if they had already spent the better part of the day tangled together in the sheets, that his last bout of happy hormones was still coursing through his veins. When it came to her, Clark could never have enough.
âOoh, baby, those are dangerous words. See, I'm already touching you,â she grinned, referring to her hold on his hair. The words only managed to worsen his pout, a pathetic little whimper slipping past his lips. âWell, I'm not hearing any begging, I guessââ
âPlease!â Clark almost sobbed, genuine tears of distress gathering in his baby blue eyes.
âYes, that's a very pretty expression, sweetie, but I need more than just a please,â she mocked, and were Clark not so turned on, he may have taken offense to her tone. âOr are you too good at just taking things now? You forgot how to ask for them?â
âNo-no, no-o. I can be a good boy,â he promised, his head bobbing up and down as he rapidly nodded up at her.
âI know you can, honey, but I still need to hear it.â
âI can prove it!â He swore, scooting closer to her on his knees. âCan I eat you out?â He blurted without putting further thought behind his words, not an ounce of hesitation in him. He couldnât help it. Not with her dripping wet pussy on display right in front of his face, her scent leaving him ready and wanting. When no answer came from his breathless offer, he added the magic word. âPlease?â
âNow, how exactly would that be a punishment? We both know you get off on giving me head,â shaking her head with a disappointed sigh, she continued to ponder. âDecisions, decisions⌠I do have something in my bed that I could use on you, actuallyâŚâ
At once, his eyes darted over to his bedroom door, ready to look through layers of drywall, paint, leather and fabric.
âHey! No Kryptonian peeking!â She smiled at his innocent blushing at getting caught, standing up from her perch on the couch. He whined at the loss of her closeness, but perked up when she motioned for him to follow.
He knew better than to try and get up from the floor by now, having learned over the many months they had been together, still he liked to clarify. âHands and knees?â
âThere's my good boy! I was worried it would take longer to bring this side out again. But you're just eager to please, arenât you, baby?â
Lost for words at the sweet, loving tone of her words, Clark just nodded like the lost little puppy he was, crawling after her on his hands and knees. Thankfully, he had cleaned the apartment recently enough not to have dust bunnies floating around him. His head remained high, however, eyes fixated on the hypnotizing sway of her hips.
They swung to the right, his right hand shuffled forward, followed by his left knee. Her hips swung left, his actions mirrored, long limbs moving smoothly over the hardwood floor. What shouldâve felt humiliating or undignified, felt anything but to Clark.
Hearing the steady beat of her heart in her chest reminded him that everything was under her steady control. Seeing the easy â and far too sexy â sway of her hips reminded him that even if she was about to deliver some form of punishment, she wasnât out to hurt him. And finally, her gentle hands reaching down to softly rake her nails through his curls reminded him that soon enough, no matter what devious thing (or things) she was about to do to him, she would be gentle with him after.
Loving and warm without expecting anything in return.
In all honesty, he enjoyed that part more than the sex itself. Not that he would ever tell her that, because he also enjoyed the sex. Very much.
Gosh, who was he and where did his old self go? Because he can stay there. Forever. Good fucking riddance.
âBaby, is your head in the clouds again?â
Clark looked up to see the two of them had made it into his bedroom finally, him still on the floor by his bed, her standing a few paces away with her hands behind her back.
She looked so innocent, grinning down at him and rocking on her heels. That was how Clark immediately realized he was in trouble.
âSo, we have touched on this subject before⌠and that was why I went out and bought this,â oh yeah, Clark felt his stomach drop straight to his feet from the words, the floor threatening to fall out from under him.
Loudly gulping, the kneeling cutie stared up at the woman of his hopes and dreams, fearing more in that moment than facing aliens and that lunatic bald headed guy with a weird obsession for him.
âIt looks and sounds more daunting than it really is. In all fairness, I personally am not the biggest fan of it, but I think you're going to really enjoy it,â she told him honestly.
âS-so what is my punishment?â
âOh honey, I donât want you to associate this with punishments. How about this; instead of giving you a punishment I would enjoy, you prove to me you're sorry by being really brave and trying out something we both will like?â
âIs it theââ his words began as already a low whisper, but by the end they had almost completely faded into the silence of the apartment around them, âthe strap-on?â
Her face immediately crumbled, concern and compassion replacing the dominating firmness previously on show. Kneeling down so she sat by his side on the floor, she rubbed his trembling back muscles with one hand, while slowly revealing what she had in the other.
It was a tasteful â if not elegant â black box with no words or drawings of any kind on it. The cardboard wasnât all that big, instantly calming him further, his sweet pea able to easily hold it in her much smaller palm.
Handing it over for him to open, she continued to reassure him as he did. âI would usually ease you into things with my fingers, but my nails are too long and sharp, and I really didnât feel like doing them this week. So that will have to wait a bit. But I did some serious research, and I found some good reviews on this.â
In Clark's hands now rested two things. One larger, one smaller⌠A vibrating plug and its remote. The plug was black and covered in soft silicone, the base of it comfortably fitting in the palm of his hand. There was a⌠bulb at the end/top of it, which was the most flexible part of the whole apparatus.
âTalk to me, sweetheart,â with both of her hands now free, she cradled his cheeks, smiling at him encouragingly.
âIt won't hurt?â Her smile only warmed at the innocent inquiry.
âNo baby, it won't. it will feel a little strange at first, but we will use a whole bunch of lube. And then this part,â her pointer finger delicately trailed over the bulb at the end of the toy, watching as the silicone lightly bent with the motion, âwill nestle right against your prostate.â
âUhhââ
âAnd when we turn on the vibrations⌠well, I think you will lose your mind.â
âIn a good way, right?â He checked.
âThe best way,â she winked back.
Clark's fingers tightened around the toy as he looked down at it, his thoughts not exactly racing so much as⌠unfurling in his mind, one after the other, each one heavier and deeper than the last.
This wasnât just new, uncharted territory. It was unfamiliar in a way that brushed up against something deeper, something he hadnât quite put a name to before, something that hadnât really bothered him since his early high school years.
A quiet, lingering question stirred at the back of his mind, hesitant yet persistent, and he couldnât help the way his chest tightened at the thought of it. What did this mean about him?
He had been teased about his âsoftnessâ plenty of times throughout his young years. Before joining the football team, he had been told daily that he was too girly. That his pretty face would look better with makeup on it, instead of covered up in a helmet, or roughed up from sports.
He had acted like they never bothered him, those people didnât know that he feared joining sports because of his immense strength, but in reality, the words remained etched in his mind, haunting him on his lowest points.
Now, the thoughts didnât quite resurface with fear, just a couple of familiar questions circling his mind that he hadnât thought of in years. He stared down at the toy, then glanced up to see her reassuring smile, and back down.
Was this something he wanted? Or did he only want to do it because she wanted to?
After all, she had been teaching him about setting up his own boundaries and lines in the sand. Where did this activity stand?
Clark had always been like this, hadnât he? Always trying to understand himself, to place every feeling neatly into something that made sense, something that fit into the version of him he thought he was supposed to be. But that version had been changing.
She had changed him.
Or⌠maybe she just helped him see that it was never quite as simple as he made it all out to be.
âW-what does this say about me?â he questioned, honest and vulnerable, like he knew he could be with her.
âOh, sweetheart,â she cooed, enveloping him in a quick hug, pressing a chaste kiss against his forehead. âIt doesnât say anything about you except that you trust me, and you're open to new things.â
Her thumb traced along the sharp line of his cheekbone, taking in the soft look in his eyes, the way one of his dimples appeared as a reluctant smile grew on his lips.
âAnd you know I appreciate that trust more than words can sayâŚâ
The reluctant smile turned into a vibrant grin at those words, straight teeth on full show, cheeks heating up from the sheer pull of those muscles working overtime.
âYou're not changing into someone else,â she continued, her tone calm and casual, knowing that was what he needed. âYou're just⌠exploring yourself in new ways. And anyway, a man who knows his body is a very, very good boy.â
Her grin returned with a malicious edge to it, the praise encouraging him to gather up all his bravery in his body.
âThen⌠yeah. Yeah, let's try it.â
âThank you for trusting me, Clark,â she repeated, standing up from the floor with finality. âNow, you just go ahead and get comfortable on the bed, okay? Let me handle the rest.â
Doing as he was told, Clark nestled into the mountain of pillows at the head of his bed. He had shed his underwear on the climb up, leaving it forgotten on the floor, where it joined some of his other brethren. They had a⌠very busy weekend.
He felt awkward for a bit, not knowing where to put any of his limbs, his cock â red, hot, and pulsing â laid flat against his stomach. He glanced at it, then looked away as if he was caught doing something he wasnât supposed to. But then again, it's not like he ever really spent time actively looking at his own anatomy. Hers on the otherâ
âBend your knees for me, sweetie,â rather than reverting back to her strict voice and persona he had long since affiliated with reprimands, Raven remained calm and careful, her tone like a soft hand rubbing his back in reassurance.
For a moment, he felt like he was at a doctor's appointment, his erection softening at the quick thought. Though, it barely got a chance to lose any of its hardness before it was back to full mast again, the sight of a completely naked Raven next to him enough to get his blood racing through him. She crawled and settled between his legs, smiling down at him like the goddess she was, her hands braced on his knees.
Leaning forward put her chest in perfect focus for him. Refusing to allow his mind to wander away from her again, she crashed her lips against his, refusing to let up until her lungs demanded oxygen. Curse her and her earthly design!
One of her hands began to wander over his body, caressing and massaging every muscle she came into contact with, distracting him from her other hand, which carried her intimidating gift.
When the silicone touched the unexplored space on his body, Clark couldnât help the instinctual flinch. He could feel â and smell â that she had covered the toy in a generous coat of their favorite, flavorless lube, some of which was now smeared on his skin from his sudden move. Their lips separated from one another, still connected by a string of saliva, the remnant of their sloppiness.
âEasy there, cowboy,â she soothed him, her massaging hand grabbing for his erection, stroking it until he eased back against the pillows again, his cheeks brighter than the fucking sun. âJust relax, I'm here. I won't hurt you⌠and I'm so proud of you for doing this, baby.â
âYeahâŚâ Clark nodded along to her words, though his breathing remained hitched. âYeah, yeah, yeââ Feeling the pressure again, he did his best to relax and unclench. Finally, with a weak eep from him, the toy breached, his torturer (and lover) giving him ample time to adjust to the new sensation.
âWow, look at you, baby. You're doing so well. Such a good boy.â
âThank you-u,â Clark cried out, a whole-body shiver going through him the moment the toy nestled against something that was surely otherworldly. The noise that left him shouldâve been embarrassing, but he was so lost in the clouds, he didnât even register hearing himself.
She only giggled at the moans and whines of pure pleasure, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. âFeels good, huh?â
âYes!â Yeah, his neighbors under him most definitely heard that one.
âThen I'm sure this will feel fucking phenomenal.â
With that, she reached over for the remote and turned the vibrations on, effectively wiping every doubt, every idea, hell maybe even every thought he had ever had in his mind.
He was a clean slate. A clean slate of shivers, moans, whimpers, rushing blood, and abso-fucking-lute mind-numbing, earth-shattering bliss.
Her hand never let up on his cock either, continuing to pump and squeeze and massage his sensitive skin, drenched in more lube and his own flowing pre-cum. And God, was it weeping with it! A steady flow that seemed never ending.
It was almost like he was continuously experiencing an orgasm, driven higher and higher with every stroke, with every shiver that forced the toy inside him to rub up and down against that wonderful spot, his body not knowing how to deal with it all. Before he realized, his hands fisted and tore up his sheets, fingers even delving into his mattress to try and find some sort of purchase.
They didnât.
Fabric and foam tore around the seeking digits, his back arching at a concerning angle, his eyes heating up behind clenched eyelids. He was floating, he knew, both physically and metaphorically, yet he couldnât care less about it. Thank fuck she already knew about his secret.
âWell, this makes things more comfortable for meâŚâ she muttered â not that he actually heard the words at the time â suddenly face to face with his throbbing cock.
She had smirked and giggled at his reactions, reveling in his incoherent bumblings of desire. With his brain shut down, he didnât even realize just how vocal he was being. Didnât realize his throat was starting to grow raw from his moans, or that he was beginning to drool on himself.
He had floated just high enough to where his pelvis was much closer to her face, and she didnât even think twice about bending the rest of the way, swallowing his cock down her throat in one rather large gulp.
The moment her lips wrapped around him, the world around Clark shattered, turning into nothing but white noise and static. There was no pain, there was no sadness, no worry or doubt or anything even remotely negative.
Just comfort, happiness, and mind-numbing pleasure.
 His orgasm was sudden, and there was just so much of it. She didnât have the know-how, or even just the physical ability to swallow it all. So, unfortunately for her, the first two bursts came right back up and out her nose, burning all the way from her throat to her nostrils.
Choking a little, she still refused to prematuredly end the fun for Clark â knowing that such a good first introduction to anal play would mean a lot more in their future â and continued to bob and stroke him with her free hand, the other fumbling with the buttons to actually turn the vibrations a tick or two higher.
The effect was immediate, his body came plummeting back to the bed, the frame rattling dangerously under them, his cock flopping uselessly from her lips, still weeping with a steady flow of pearly white cum, creating a great big puddle on both his stomach and slowly the bed.
Raven stared down at him with a gaping mouth â still coughing up a bit of his sperm as she did â absolutely flabbergasted at just how much there was.
She guessed the part about his parents sending him to Earth to make babies rang truer than ever now. Surely, he wouldnât struggle with that load.
When his moans started to turn into whimpers of overstimulation, she was quick to shut off the toy, easing it out of him with murmurs of pride.
âGood boy, baby. See, I told you it would feel good!â She giddily told him, reaching over for the towel she had prepared in advance, slowly wiping him clean whilst he continued to babble.
âI love you,â he declared in his haze, blindly reaching for her hands.
âI know baby, I love you too, but I need to finish cleaning you up before we can sleep, okay?â
âNo-o, I just want to snuggle~â he whined, trying to pull her closer to his still heaving chest. With his orgasm, however, all his strength seemed to abandon him, leaving him physically weaker than her in that once-in-a-lifetime instance.
âIt will only take a moment,â she assured again, taking great care to be gentle as she wiped his spent cock first, and then used a clean edge of the towel to wipe his newly abused hole.
Yeah, they will be doing this before Monday again.
Once he was clean, and the towel was disposed of in the shower to be rinsed off before a well-deserved wash cycle, Raven quickly walked back into the bedroom and jumped on the bed, embracing an open-armed Clark as quickly as she could.
The two of them laid on their sides, facing each other with their arms tightly wrapped around each other, doing nothing but breathing for a few minutes. His body was still tingling, and she was still coming off her own dominant high, but there was only one thought lingering in his mind now.
âI love you,â he repeated for what mustâve been the thousandth time since his climax, wanting her to know they werenât just words induced by the earth-shattering experience.
âI love you too.â
âSweet pea, I'm not just saying it⌠I am telling you that I love you. It's not just a spur of the fucking-amazing momentâŚâ
âI know, baby, that's why I'm telling you that I love you.â
what ao3 would look like with ads. no, you do not want this. support ao3 because itâs one of the last few places on the internet that is not tainted by capitalism bullshit. support ao3 because itâs one of the last few places on the internet that is genuinely about the connection between audiences, artists, their works and the love/passion artists have for what they do
cw: Dom/Sub undertones, Sub!Clark Kent, Dom!Reader, BDSM undertones, lots and lots of pet names (baby, babe, good boy, sweetheart etc.), AFTERCARE, comfort, smut, fluff!!!, future anal play, pegging, whimering, all the good stuff
Chapter summary:
Clark tries his hand at taking control...
Clark thought he was already familiar with all the different types of pain there was.
He had been burned with the fiery breath of otherworldly creatures. He had been thrown through buildings, had them be dropped on him, had them crumble around him like castles made of cards. He had been shot, beaten, poisoned by green kryptoniteâŚ
But none quite measured up to the pain he felt for the rest of the week, forbidden from touching the one he so wished to always have in his arms.
With the painful feeling, a sort of understanding finally settled around him. She had been right. He was clingy⌠that wasnât news to him, of course, but she was the first woman â or girl â to not enjoy it. All his previous partners favored his need to spoil them. Especially after they learned about his secret.
But she didnâtâŚ
She said he needed to want things for himself⌠but he just wanted her.
But wanting her, he was slowly realizing, felt like wanting air after being held underwater too long. It wasnât some dramatic pain that came with flashes of horrible memories, just this constant, dull ache under his ribs that followed him everywhere and made even the most mundane moments feel wrong.
Incomplete, as if the world itself had tilted ever so slightly off its axis and refused to right itself again.
The week dragged on in a way Clark had rarely experienced before, each dray stretching endlessly on while simultaneously flying by him in a blur. Every morning he woke up with the same foolish, fragile hope that maybe today would be the day she would look at him the way she used to, with that sharp little smirk and the glint in her eye that made his chest feel too small to contain his rapidly beating heart.
Instead, she was distant â not cruel, she could never be cruel to him in a way he wouldnât enjoy â but politely reserved, her words clipped and professional, her attention swallowed whole by her work and the lingering frustration that clung to her like a storm even he couldnât fly above.
He tried anyway, because of course he did.
Clark had never known how not to try.
He brought her tea in the mornings, remembered exactly how she liked it without ever having to ask, and set it on her desk with a soft, hopeful smile that wavered just slightly at the edges when she thanked him distractedly and went right back to her screen.
He left her favorite chocolate bar tucked into her bag, knowing just seeing the wrapper would bring a pep back into her step, only to receive a brief thank you through text that felt almost formal compared to the teasing voice he was used to hearing.
He stayed late under the pretense of finishing reports he could have done in minutes, lingering near her office, listening for the familiar click-clack of her footsteps, his body instinctively turning toward her every time she passed as if pulled by a string even his eyes couldnât see.
Nothing changed.
Every small gesture he offered felt like it dissolved the moment it left his hands, falling uselessly into the space between them and with each quiet failure, something inside him wilted just a little more.
He found himself hovering, then catching himself and retreating, unsure whether his presence comforted, or irritated her. His confidence eroded into that familiar stuttered uncertainty he hated but couldnât seem to outrun. When she brushed past him in the hallway without touching him, it felt like a personal loss, his fingers curling uselessly at his sides as if they'd forgotten what they were meant for.
By midweek, the ache had settled so deep it became background noise, a constant hum of longing beneath everything he did, and he hated himself for how visible it made him. He sulked without meaning to, his shoulders slumped, his expression perpetually soft and wounded, earning him more and more curious glances from coworkers who had only known his sunshine disposition. Every time his raven-haired lover would speak to him, even briefly, his entire being leaned toward her, his voice growing quiet and careful, the words slipping out of him like a plea he hadnât consciously formed.
And when she walked away again, he was left standing there feeling faintly ridiculous and unbearably empty.
Poor Clark didnât understand that her distance wasnât punishment, that her clipped tone didnât have everything to do with his devotion and mostly had to do with the accountants she still had to face daily, the ones who had drained her patience dry and left her simmering with rage she refused to spill where it didnât belong.
All Clark knew was that the woman who had let him kneel at her feet, who had smiled at his need like it was something precious instead of burdensome, now felt impossibly far away, and no amount of careful kindness seemed capable of bridging the gap.
By Thursday afternoon, Clark was officially at his fucking limit. He even started cursing out loud⌠and that, itself, was shocking enough to get the attention of everyone.
He hovered by the bullpen longer than necessary, pretending to reread an article draft heâd already memorized word for word, his eyes flicking up every few seconds toward Ravenâs office, where the door was half-open and the sound of her angered typing carried through like a reminder of everything he was missing. When the day was close to being over, he found himself drifting toward the only place he could think to go.
The boys.
Jimmy was the first to notice him, blinking in surprise before immediately squinting at Clarkâs face like he was trying to solve a very obvious puzzle. âDude,â he said, lowering his voice dramatically, âyou look⌠sad. Like, kicked puppy sad.â
Clarkâs mouth twisted before he could stop it, shoulders hunching in on themselves. âSheâs still mad at me,â he admitted softly, as if saying it too loud might make it worse.
Steve swiveled his chair around, instantly invested. âStill? Kent, itâs been days.â
âWell, maybe you should just do something nice for her,â Jimmy offered with a clueless shrug, entirely sincere. âYou know. Run her a bubble bath. Make her some food. Girls like that stuff.â
Clark stared at him, visibly considering it, and Steve had to bite the inside of his cheek.
Before Clark could spiral too far down that particular mental path, Perry chimed in, leaning back against a desk with a cup of coffee in hand, looking far too relaxed for a man who technically ran the place.
âHonestly, Kent, itâs probably just the stress from that meeting,â he said evenly. âIâve had to deal with those accounting sharks before. They still give me the creeps, and I donât even have to work with them every day. And anyway, I doubt anyone could be genuinely mad at you.â
Clark frowned, brow creasing as he shook his head. âBut she said she was,â he insisted, voice dropping into something almost petulant. âShe said she didnât like that I spoil her so much.â
The room went very quiet for half a second, all three men watching him pout like that â lower lip just barely pushed out, eyes a little too earnest â and it took a collective effort not to make a sound. They had never heard something as absurd as that, but they also didnât want to laugh in his face and make him pout even more.
Steve cleared his throat first. âO-okay,â he said carefully. âThen⌠donât tell her youâre doing it for her?â
Clark blinked. âWhat?â
âYeah,â Jimmy nodded, as if this was the most obvious solution in the world. âJust say youâre doing it for you.â
Clark recoiled slightly. âThatâsââ he hesitated, eyes widening. âIsnât that manipulation?â He could just hear her say âbad boyâ in the back of his mind, and the thought sent shivers down his spine.
Perry hummed thoughtfully, lifting his coffee to take a slow sip before answering. âThe way I see it,â he said, measured and calm, betraying his age and experience, âin order for you to feel good, you need to make her feel good. Thatâs not manipulation. Thatâs⌠motivation.â He paused, glancing between them. âSounds almost selfish to me.â
Clark went very still.
Selfish. Thatâs what she wanted him to be, wasnât it?
Perry straightened, as if the conversation had reached its natural conclusion. âWhich reminds me,â he added casually, pulling his phone from his pocket, âI need to make a reservation at my wifeâs favorite restaurant.â And just like that, he wandered off, leaving chaos in his wake.
Jimmy shrugged and spun back toward his computer. âAnyway, man, good luck,â he said cheerfully. âLet us know how it goes.â
Steve gave Clark a brief, sympathetic look before following suit, and suddenly Clark was alone again, standing there with his thoughts buzzing too loudly to ignore.
He sank into his chair slowly, staring at his hands like they might offer him answers if he looked long enough. He needed to want something for himself. Needed to show her that this wasnât just blind devotion, that he wasnât erasing himself in the process of adoring her.
But how did he convince her of that⌠when it wasnât a lie?
How did he prove he was a man who wanted things for his own gratification, when the truth was that his gratification had always, instinctively, been wrapped up in her reactions â her sighs, her softened expression, the way her shoulders loosened when she let herself be taken care of?
His thoughts drifted to her tense posture lately, the tight set of her jaw, the way stress seemed to live permanently between her shoulders.
And then, before he could stop himself, the idea slipped out of his mouth in a barely audible murmur.
âHm⌠so⌠a massage?â
The mental image hit him all at once â his hands careful and reverent, her body beneath them, finally allowing herself to rest â and Clarkâs face immediately went up in flames, heat blooming across his cheeks as he ducked his head, heart pounding like heâd just committed a crime.
Selfish, he reminded himself faintly.
Yeah.
Sure.
ââźâŹâźâ
Saturday arrived far too slowly and far too quickly all at once.
Clark had been awake since dawn, lying rigid in his bed for exactly twelve minutes before giving up entirely, the nervous energy in his body buzzing too loudly to ignore.
By seven, he was already cleaning â not the casual, half-hearted tidying he usually did before she came over, but the kind of meticulous, borderline frantic scrubbing that came from needing control over something, anything, when his thoughts refused to behave.
The same type his mother would do whenever she heard wind of guests coming over for a casual visitâŚ
He wiped down surfaces that were already spotless, rearranged furniture only to move it back again, vacuumed twice in neat, precise lines, his jaw set with quiet determination as if the fate of the world depended on the absence of dust.
He even went out to buy massage oils, standing in the aisle far longer than necessary, face flushed and heart racing as he read labels and overthought scents, eventually settling on something subtle and clean that made his chest feel calm just smelling it through the cap.
By the time the doorbell rang that afternoon, his apartment was immaculate, softly lit with scattered candles, and filled with a nervous anticipation so thick it felt like it might hum.
When he opened the door, the sight of her nearly short-circuited his brain.
His sweet pea stood there barefaced, hair still faintly damp, dressed in the softest, most casual clothes imaginable â oversized sweater, worn leggings, sneakers that had clearly seen better days â and the only effort sheâd put in was obvious in the clean scent of soap lingering around her.
Something in Clarkâs chest loosened instantly, because for the first time in a week, she didnât hold a frown on her face.
She looked comfortable⌠almostâŚÂ happy.
He didnât give her a chance to say a word.
Before she could even open her mouth, he was moving, one large hand slipping securely around her waist as he dipped her back just enough to steal her balance, the other cradling her jaw as he kissed her â deep, unrestrained, all the pent-up longing of the week pouring into the press of his mouth against hers.
It was messy and hungry and uncharacteristically bold, his lips claiming hers like heâd been starved and then presented with the most succulent of meals.
For a moment, the world narrowed to warmth and breath and the quiet sound she made when she melted into him.
When they finally broke apart, she blinked up at him, thoroughly flustered, lips parted and eyes a little dazed. Like she was seeing an entirely new man⌠and loving it.
âHiâŚâ she managed, the word barely more than a breath.
Clark smiled, soft and relieved and far too pleased with himself, and before she could recover, he tugged her gently inside, nudging the door shut behind them. He took her coat without ceremony, fingers lingering just a second too long at her wrist, and then he was guiding her down the hallway, one hand warm and steady at her back.
âI could tell youâve been really stressed,â he said as they walked, voice careful but earnest, like heâd practiced this. Because he had. âAnd I just⌠I was thinkingâ I mean, I want to change it,â he stated firmly.
She didnât answer.
Her steps slowed as they reached the bedroom doorway, her body going suddenly still when she took it all in â the candles casting a low, golden glow, the neatly arranged bed, the faint, calming scent in the air that unmistakably belonged to massage oil, the relaxing orchestra music he had coming from some Bluetooth speakers connected to his phone.
The room wasnât loud about its intention, but it was undeniably sensual.
Raven froze.
Behind her, Clark was still talking, oblivious, explaining in that soft, rambling way of his how heâd read that massages were good for stress relief, how heâd made sure everything was comfortable, how he really just wanted her to relaxâ
And with every word, something dark and simmering began to curl in her chest, irritation mixing with exhaustion, old frustrations bubbling dangerously close to the surface.
She didnât stay silent for much longer.
âClark, I told you that you need to stopââ
Her words cut off sharply, frustration finally spilling over as she turned to face him, arms folding tight against her chest, eyes narrowing at him. âYou keep doing this,â she snapped, voice tight with weeks of pent-up irritation. âYou keep giving me what you think I need, what will make me feel better, and you donât even stop to think that maybeââ
âYou think this isnât for me?â
The interruption hit harder than her anger ever had.
Clarkâs voice wasnât loud, but it was firm in a way sheâd never heard before, steady and unyielding, leaving no room for backtracking or apology. He stood straighter, shoulders squared, hands clenched at his sides as if holding himself in place, Kryptonian blue eyes dark with something resolute and unmistakably hungry.
âSeeing you naked,â he continued, stepping closer, closing the distance she hadnât even realized sheâd put between them. âTouching you. Taking my time with you like this.â His jaw flexed, and when he spoke again, the words were low, deliberate. âTrust me. This might be more for me than it is for you.â
The room went very, very still. And hot.
Scorching, in fact.
For a heartbeat, Raven could only stare at him, her anger stalling out mid-burn, something warm and electric curling in its place. This â this â was what sheâd been trying to drag out of him for weeks, the spine beneath the softness, the want unfiltered by guilt or permission.
A slow, smug smile curved her lips, eyes downright sparkling with satisfaction.
âWell,â she said lightly, the tension bleeding out of her posture as she reached for the hem of her sweater, âabout time.â
She didnât wait for further prompting.
The sweater came off first, then the rest, each movement unhurried, intentional, her eyes never leaving his as she undressed and walked to sit at the edge of his bed, leaning back to rest her weight on her hands, pushing her chest out. His eyes followed her movements, trailing over her body, shame and shyness fighting with the undeniable hunger in his cheeks, pale skin turning bright red in the matter of seconds.
âWell, how do you want me?â
Clark didnât answer her right away opting instead to take off his own shirt, he then turned away just long enough to pick up the bottle of oil, hands trembling faintly as he poured some into his palm â and then paused. A thin beam of heat flickered briefly from his eyes, just enough to warm the oil until it shimmered pleasantly against his skin.
âWhat theââ Raven broke out of her temptress role, brows lifting in genuine surprise. âDid you justââ she giggled.
He froze instantly, panic flashing across his face. âItâs okay,â he rushed to say, stepping closer again, voice softening but not losing its grounding. âI can control it. The temperature, I mean. I wouldnât ever hurt you. I just thought⌠cold oil would be unpleasant.â
There was something quite⌠intimate about the act. As though with the use of his abilities so blatantly in front of her â abilities that could take over and murder half the planet if he so wished â he was asking for her trust.
She exhaled slowly, then nodded, settling back against her hands, watching him from under her luscious lashes. âAlright,â she murmured, eyes slipping shut as she rolled her aching neck. âI trust you.â
Clarkâs shoulders relaxed at that, something uncoiling in his chest as he rubbed his hands together, warmth and scent blooming between his palms. He hovered for just a second between her legs, reverent and sure all at once, before letting his hands finally begin to descend.
âJust⌠lay on your stomach and relax,â he said quietly, confidence threaded through the gentleness. âIâve got you.â
As she settled on her front, she made sure to twist her raven hair out of his way, using the hair-tie always resting on her wrist to make sure it didnât bother his hands. Not that it ever could. He always longed to twirl and pull at the strandsâŚ
But they were not his focus now.
Settling on his knees on either side of her slightly spread thighs, Clark rubbed the oil once more between his hands, its sweet, calming scent attacking his sensitive senses, but then lulled them into comfort not a moment later. Some of the droplets dripped down the side of his palm, raining down and dotting the creamy skin of her upper back in shiny little circles like a gentle summer drizzle.
The moment the warm oil touched her, sighs escaped her pouting lips, the side of her head resting on her folded arms, allowing him a perfect view of her blissed-out expression. Her eyes were already closed, eyelids flickering just a touch.
With both hands sufficiently lubricated and warmed up, Clark started kneading her shoulders first, making sure to keep his strength in check as he worked out numerous knots and tough spots all centered around the base of her neck. Too many times had he seen her roll her head about and try to crack her bones, he often found himself worrying she would end up breaking her own neck for goodness' sake!
Now, he could get rid of the tension himself, his enhanced hearing picking up on the way her bones shifted as the muscles loosened and relaxed. How she was even able to live on with such knots, he couldnât understand, but he would surely remind himself more often to repeat the treat he was giving her.
At a particularly tender spot, she hissed in pain as soon as his thumb dug in, but as soon as he tried to pull back, she kicked her feet up to rest her feet on his behind, keeping him tethered above her.
Then, the longer he worked on it, she finally relaxed back against the mattress with a sigh, his hands traveling lower to press into her shoulder blades and down on either side of her spine, working her lower back over and over, trying his best to remain gentle while still working out the knots he found there.
Every little noise she made, the way her body shivered under his hands, sent all his blood south, his cock soon aching in the confines of his pants, begging for contact.
He ignored it to the best of his abilities for now. He wanted her relaxed before he tried to enact the second half of his plan.
When he deemed her lower back freed up enough â and it sure took a lot of time with her job confining her to a desk up to eight hours a day â he scooted down further on her thighs, until he could start working on her left thigh.
Getting his hands on the marvelously soft flesh had been on his mind ever since the night of the concert. Back then, it had been even more enhanced with the leather straps wrapped around it, jiggling as she walked away from him, drawing his eyes with or without his permission. But that didnât even compare to her now.
Laying on her front in his bed, legs spread just enough to be enticing, he watched as his fingers sunk into the soft flesh, almost falling into a trance as he repeated the motions over, and over, and over, and over again until he had to swallow all the saliva pooling on his tongue.
He used both of his hands to work either side of her thigh at once, his fingers occasionally brushing the apex, right against the spot where she was the warmest, already dripping with her own want. It seemed he wasnât the only one already aching for a different type of release⌠but the reins werenât in her hands that night.
They were in his.
Even though she was already sighing wantonly, her hips grinding up whenever these accidental brushes happened, he ignored her in favor to trail down to the back of her knee, and then further down until he got to her calf. He remembered the pain he could sense in them when she wore those suicidally-tall high heels of hers, and made sure to pay extra attention to the muscles there. All the while ignoring her whines.
It was the first time he got that reaction out of her, and he was starting to understand why she wanted it so badly. It filled him with a sense of pride and power, one that he had never felt before. Not even when he saved cities or even the world itself!
Folding her leg up and holding it on his thighs, he made sure not to allow any part of her to touch his erection â teasing both of them even further â and began to pay attention to her feet. He cared for each toe, pressing his thumb against the arch, tutting at her when her body almost sprung up from the mattress at the motion.
Then, he repeated the same motions to her other leg, teasing her again at her thigh, spoiling her overworked calf, and tickling her foot.
Having had enough, he deemed it the perfect time to get started on phase two:Â being selfish.
Clark began to massage her back again, starting at her ribs â where he found a few ticklish spots he made sure to archive in his brain for later â down beside her spine, not stopping until he was unashamedly, uncaringly groping at her plush behind. The bane of his existence. The jiggly, soft perfection that had been hunting his dreams, and had been burned into his mind the first moment he paid attention to it.
Had been so transfixed by it, in fact, that he⌠looked into some things that made him blush brighter than any sun ever could redden him. Things he wanted to try with her.
Finally, after a good few minutes of light brushes, he simply placed his right hand directly on top of her⌠her⌠Golly, even in his mind he struggled to use such words, but were there any better ones?
No.
He put his hand right on top of her weeping pussy, his thumb trailing up and down her slit, whilst the pointer finger of his other hand started circling something else⌠The tight hole he had never experimented with (on others or himself), but had heard her mention previously whenever they spoke about past experiences.
âThat okay?â he asked, making sure she was fine with everything they were doing. She gave an enthusiastic nod of her had in agreement, but Clark had already decided to give his best attempt at domination. âI need words, sweetheart,â
âYes, Clark,â she whined out, lifting her head up just enough to get the words out. âGod, where the hell is this coming from?â
He didnât think the question required a genuine answer, so he didnât give one. Instead, he began pressing, taking her attention away from the stretch by paying more attention to her clit with his other hand, rubbing in the way he had seen her do it on multiple occasions.
Abandoning it for a mere second, he reached over for the massage oil again, staring hard at the bottle until the faint, red lasers appeared again, taking great care not to damage the plastic and simply warm it up. Popping the cap open, he dribbled it generously all over her backside, taking great care to let it pool around his fingers.
Some of it rolled right off her skin and onto his sheets, but he couldnât find it in himself to give a singe flying fuck about stains or messes.
Not when he finally managed to slowly, but surely work his finger inside her down to the knuckle, her sighs turning to high-pitched whines. She tried to hide them away from him, burying her face into her folded arms and shaking some of her hair free to curtain his face. But he had none of it!
Putting the oil aside again â failing to notice that it remained open and continued to leak â he twisted his free fingers into her hair, pulling her head back just enough to where he could push his cheek against hers, his voice shaking a bit as he spoke.
âDonât hide away from me, you sound so pretty.â
Having lost the ability to speak at the moment, his pretty little Raven simply nodded and rested on her cheek again, grinding her hips up to remind him not to forget about her aching pussy any longer.
Heeding her wordless plea, Clark was quick to slip two fingers in her tight pussy, curving them down to press against that special little spot, massaging and rubbing in tight circles that had her biting at her own forearm.
She was sighing and whimpering in pleasure quickly, breathing heavy enough to send strands of her hair floating up and down the sheets. Her moans began to wake some sort of previously unknown beast inside him, causing his hands to pick up the pace, his cock painfully throbbing in his pants waiting for some sort of attention to finally be paid to it.
But he didnât care about himself, all he wanted was for her to feel good, to forget about whatever it was that had her so upset the whole week, and to wipe everything from her mind that wasnât pleasure.
She kept on tightening up and up around his fingers, her moans turning to whines, turning to reluctant gasps of air, and he couldnât hold back from leaning down â as much as he could, with his hands working away at her â so he could listen to her even better, to have as much of his skin be in contact with hers as possible.
Her climax jumped on the both of them a bit unexpectedly, her whole body tightening up before melting against his mattress, a pleased, satisfied sigh leaving her lips as he slowed down, only moving his fingers enough to help her through the waves of her earth-shattering high.
He slipped out of her and allowed her to calm down â trailing his wet fingers over her skin as she did â before he instructed her to turn over.
Having found that her bones seemingly turned to molted butter, he aided her with the movement, gently cradling her and arranging her limbs to stay spread even while she lay on her back.
Then, as if nothing had just happened, he began to massage her again, paying attention to her biceps, collarbones, and lastly her breasts. He rubbed and teased at her nipples with his thumbs, chasing after her when she tried to flinch away with a giggle, smiling down at her even though her eyes remained blissfully closed.
Trailing down again, he deviated to start a route down her thigh just as his fingers brushed against the puffy lips of her pussy, giving it the same treatment as he had before, only this time from the front. Once both her legs were glistening with oil and spreading open for him without any prompting, he trailed down to her dripping pussy once more, pressing two fingers inside her, but treating her clit the special treatment of his tongue.
Thankfully, the oil tasted as good as it had smelled, however that instinctual part of his mind still made sure to separate it from her taste, salivating as soon as it touched his tongue.
Clark lapped at her gently, his movements in perfect synchronization with his fingers, listening closely to her whimpers, allowing them to guide him to help her achieve that amazing high again.
Seeing her reach her climax was better than him achieving one of his own.
It was no surprise that she was still sensitive from her previous orgasm, and how worked up she was from all the sensual touches of his massage. He could hear her heart beat away in her chest, like the hooves of a thousand horses, battering away against muscle and bone, rebelling and trying to break free the higher she climbed.
Raven was on cloud nine, all the while, moaning into the air as Clark ruthlessly wretched another orgasm out of her, her already relaxed limbs turning to jelly, threatening to seep right into the mattress.
As Clark raised up to his knees and climbed over her fully to meet her lips in a furious kiss, stealing the oxygen right out of her lungs. His teeth nicking on her lower lips he bit down just enough to tease her blood to the surface, but not hard enough to make her bleed.
Bold as ever, his Sweet pea reached a hand to where his erection was now painfully bobbing up and down in his sweats, crying for attention, but didnât free it just yet. She simply rested her palm on it, cradling it, pulling back from him so she could speak.
âWhat do you want me to do?â
Wasnât that just the question of the century? He wanted her every which way physically possible for her to take him. On her back. On her stomach. On her hands and knees. Standing. Against the wall. On the floor.
Possibilities flashed before his eyes, corrupting his mind a mile a second⌠But then he remembered his fascination.
 âOn your hands and knees,â his voice didnât tremble, didnât waver, didnât even crack. It was deep and rumbly, coming from his stomach rather than his chest, driven by nothing but pure, animalistic need.
Smiling, she held a hand up that he was quick to cradle, helping her turn around and get arranged into a comfortable position. Her body was too weak to hold herself up, thankfully he had a pillow within reach, which he was quick to shove right under her stomach, angling her hips up to give him a perfect view.
Her back arched, the side of her head still turned to him and her hair pooling on one side, Clark couldnât help the way his hands became magnetized to her behind, rubbing and groping her cheeks.
Quickly, he tore his sweatpants off him, not caring when the fabric ripped in three different places, throwing it somewhere behind him and out of the fucking way.
Picking up the now half-empty bottle of oil, he poured quarter of it on his length and her perfect ass, pushing the cheeks together to create the perfect hug his cock could ever have wished for. And then, he began to thrust.
Sure, it didnât feel not even nearly as good as thrusting inside her. It wasnât quite as warm, as soft, as wet. But the view made up for anything that could have negatively affected him. And by God, what a magnificent fucking view it was.
Her body remained arched no matter what he did, how strong or how soft he bumped his hips into the backs of her thighs, and she rewarded him with sounds sent straight from the most sinful parts of hell, singing to him like the fallen angel she was.
âOhâŚÂ fuck,â Clark whispered, already knowing he wouldnât last half as long as he had hoped for, all the senses bombarding him simply too much to bear.
His climax didnât sneak up on him, didnât approach him steadily⌠it barged into him with the power of a freight train, his body locking up, voice getting stuck somewhere between his lungs and mouth, lodging in his throat.
With a grunt that vibrated the entire bed, searing hot come started spurting from his cock, painting her ass, her back, and even some of her face and hair white. Shot after shot, streaks painted her in the matter of moments, her smile twisting into a disbelieving little smile the more splatters landed on her.
Even after all this time, she was still just as shocked as she was in the beginning at the sheer amount.
The moment it stopped, his cock still weakly bobbing against her ass, Clark collapsed on his back, horrified and awed at what he had managed to accomplishâŚ
He lay there for a long minute, staring at the ceiling, his chest heaving and ears still ringing faintly with the echo of his own pulse. His hands felt too big, his body too small, and it was almost as though he was staring at himself from somewhere far away.
âOh my God,â he breathed, finally lifting his head just enough to look at her, where she still laid on the pillow. âWow, I meanâ was thatâ you know what, donât even⌠I can'tâ huh?!â
But she just laughed. A tinkling giggle that shook her whole body, and even threatened to stir Clark's back into action.
âClark, baby,â she called gently, reaching back to brush her fingers over his thigh, grounding him back into the present before he could lose himself in his wonder and horror. âBreathe.â
Taking a loud, deep breath, Clark continued to lay there for a little longer, finding a smile pulling at his lips the longer the two of them just⌠breathed.
âAlright, now help me up please,â she added, amusement clearly curling at the edges of her voice. âWe need to take a shower before this dries in my hair.â
The thought alone jolted him upright, his flying coming into play as he surged up from the bed. Leaning down, he was quick to pick her up in his arms, taking the two of them right into his bathroom.
The shower steamed up quickly, warm water cascading over them as Clark stood behind her, handling her in that precious way again. She deserved it this time around, however, and reveled in it, after the workout he had put her through.
He took his time rinsing her hair, fingers gentle as he worked through the dark strands, careful not to tug, his brows furrowed in intense concentration. âDonât hurt?â He checked in as he massaged her scalp, but she simply leaned back against his fingers, humming in content.
âYou know,â she muttered, eyes closed, âmost people would be insufferably smug right now.â
He made a small, distressed noise at the motion. âI'm mostly horrified.â
That earned him a laugh, brighter this time. She turned in his arms just enough to look up at him, water tracing clean lines down her face. âYou were incredible,â she said plainly. âConfident. Present. You didnât disappear into your head once.â
His face went pink immediately. âI⌠didnât?â
âNope.â She reached up, smoothing her thumb over his jaw. âYou stayed. You wanted something, and you took it. Thatâs all I wanted from you.â
By the time they climbed into bed â clean, wrapped up in soft sheets, bodies still buzzing pleasantly â Clark had tucked her around him, one arm slung over her waist, his head resting against his pillow while hers rested on his chest.
The silence stretched, comfortable and warm, the week's worth of tension simply easing away like it had never been there to begin with.
Then⌠she spoke.
âSo,â she said lightly, âwhere exactly did that come from?â
âIââ He groaned softly and covered his face with one hand. âI read about it,â he admitted, mortified. âPlease donât look at me like that.â
She absolutely looked at him like that.
âWell,â she said, smug and satisfied, stretching out like a lazy black cat, âI thoroughly enjoyed myself. So⌠thank you, Clark. You did really well today.â
He peeked out from between his fingers, one eye visible, and when he smiled, it was all dimples and shy pride, softer than sheâd ever seen him.
There was a pause, then she added, far too casually, âBut just so you know â if you ever want to try anal with me, Iâll have to do it on you too.â
âWhat?â
The word came out sharp and scandalized, his head snapping up as his entire body stiffened. She just laughed, curling closer to him, perfectly content.
Clark lay there, staring at the ceiling once more, realizing â with a mix of terror and something dangerously like excitement â that he had no idea what heâd just unleashed.
cw: Dom/Sub undertones, Sub!Clark Kent, Dom!Reader, BDSM undertones, lots and lots of pet names (baby, babe, good boy, sweetheart etc.), AFTERCARE, comfort, smut, fluff!!!,
Chapter summary:
Clark pisses his girlfriend off by⌠being too sweet?
Though it had been one, Clark's reveal didnât feel like a confession anymore.
It simply felt like something finally giving way. Like the last thin, trembling pane of glass between them had shattered without a sound, and in the sudden quiet, there was nothing left to hide, or hide behind.
Clark had spent more than half of his life learning how to be two people at once. Learning how to split himself neatly down the middle and call it life. But now she knew. Now his sweat pea knew, and the world hadnât ended.
It had only⌠softened.
The first time he came back to her after an actual rescue â still buzzing with adrenaline, the heat of the atmosphere and the burning fire still clinging to his skin â he didnât stand on the fire escape like a guilty little secret. He didnât hesitate with his hand hovering over the window frame like he was waiting for permission to exist.
He just landed. A little too hardâŚ
Metal groaned beneath his red boots, the fire escape shuddering with his force. Somewhere below, a neighbor's wind chime rattled in alarm, and he tried to not wince too harshly at the clatter of some planter falling down. And just as he considered flying down to pick it up, the window slid open, and Raven was there, her hair a wild halo around her face.
She didnât look frightened, not even surprised, though her makeup was smudged just slightly like she had endlessly rubbed at her eyes. She smiled the moment she realized it was him staring back at her, the lifting at the corners of her mouth sending his heart soaring sky-high.
âHey,â she murmured, voice warm and sleepy, like she'd been waiting for him. Because she did. And she continued to do so every night her phone sent a notification about another Superman spotting.
Clark's shoulders dropped â just a fraction, enough to show the relief he tried so hard not to show in his smile. He stepped inside her window, careful with the frame, as if the wrong movement would break the serenity they managed to create between one another.
Her hands found him easily, fingers hooking into the front of his suit, pulling him down just enough to press a firm kiss to his mouth.
âYou did so good, I'm so proud of you,â she murmured against his mouth.
Before he had left the office, she did something rather similar. Lois had warned her about some terroristic attack half a world away, where Superman was immediately needed to save the poor, trapped civilians. And Raven had somewhat calmly walked â ran â to the balcony where Clark was getting prepared to fly off.
She walked right up to him, pulling him down to her level with the help of his tie, and muttered against his lips with a smile. âGo get them, sweetheart.â
It was ridiculous how three words and a nickname had followed him all the was into the sky, curling around his ribs like a hug, boosting his speed to before unknown heights.
Now, in the comfortable quiet of her apartment, the city humming outside her windows, he finally let himself breathe with his whole chest.
âSorry,â he said automatically, because thatâs just what he always did, wasnât it? Because he always thought he took up too much space, too much air, too much soundââ
âClark, what did I say about apologizing too much?â she cut in, kindly stopping his inner turmoil. Her eyes flicked over him, then to the faint dents in the fire escape â which became more and more pronounced with every visit â then back up to him. âStop apologizing for existing.â
That did something to him. Something quiet, and peaceful, and soâŚÂ so bright. He swallowed around a bright smile.
âYes, ma'am,â he told her, his cheeks betraying him instantly, flushing bright red like he hadnât just pulled someone out of a collapsing building mere minutes ago.
Her lips twitched, satisfied in a way that made his heart trip over itself. âGood boy,â she said, as soft as a pleasured sigh.
After that, it became a pattern. A routine so natural it was terrifying.
He didnât go back to his apartment anymore â well, he did, but rather rarely. Not when hers was right there, not when she was right there, with her soft body and warm arms, strong enough to hold him together even on the toughest days.
His laptop began to live on her coffee table more than his own. A spare shirt appeared draped over the back of her vanity chair. Then two. Then three more until she emptied a few drawers to fit them all. Socks turned up in her laundry basket, far too big to belong to her. His glasses left beside her bed because he'd taken them off the night before and forgotten, distracted by her voice, her hands, the very way she said his name bright and early in the morning.
At work, Raven insisted on professionalism.
She was good at it, too â sharp and composed, her makeup always perfect, her mouth set in that unreadable line that made grown men straighten their posture. To anyone watching, she was just the accountant. Another woman in smart clothes with an impressive glare and a talent for making anyone behave.
 But Clark knew better.
He knew the way her eyes flicked to him whenever he went still at a distant sound no one else could hear. The way she'd step in smoothly, intercepting questions before they were asked.
âOh, Clark?â She'd say, turning with a polite smile. âPerry needed him in his office.â Orâ âHe's grabbing coffee, you know how he is with his coffee,â and evenâ âHe's on an important call in my office. I'll let him know you stopped by when they finish up.â
Reliable alibis, delivered like she'd been providing them her whole life, rather than him. It was almost concerning how easily everyone believed her, none of the excuses ever questioned.
And every time he came back, he thanked her with little gestures only the two of them recognized.
----
Clark's descend into spoiling his girlfriend into Oblivion started slow.
Almost⌠reasonable.
Raven had even encouraged it, at first â because honestly, it just made sense to do so. Clark was there anyway, and he had those ridiculously pretty hands that could lift a car like it was a grocery bag, so why wouldnât she take advantage of it?
Her apartment had been functional before. Livable at least, even if some of the walls had cracks on them and the paint had been a little faded in spots. But after Clark started showing up like a comet at odd hours, leaving heat in the air and dents in her fire escape, the place was quick to change.
The first time he offered to help, it was with paint.
Raven had been standing in the middle of her living room with a roller in one hand and her playlist loudly playing through a set of speakers. He had stared at the supplies laid out before her like they were bombs on a minefield.
âYou planned on doing this all alone?â he asked, brows pulling together in concern.
âI'm a grown woman,â she replied, her hands resting on her hips, her eyes narrowing in warning. âWith a job, and my own damn apartment.â
âThat's notââ he stopped himself, cheeks tinging faintly as he considered his words. âI just meant⌠that those look heavy.â
âIt's paint.â
âIt's⌠a lot of paint.â
Raven arched a brow, watching him for a long time. âAre you trying to tell me I'm incapable of painting my own walls, babe?â
His eyes widened, head shaking rapidly before he even knew what he was doing. âNo! I justâ I can help. If you want.â
She watched him for a long moment, considering him, measuring his height and comparing it to her own in her mind. Ultimately, she came to the realization that he was, indeed, better equipped for such a quest.
âFine. Earn your keep then.â
âMy keep?â
âYour keep,â she repeated like it was obvious, though her wide grin showed she meant no malice with her words. âYou keep showing up here. You might as well contribute to the ecosystem.â
He just barely managed to stifle a laugh, saluting like an ambitious soldier. âYes, ma'am.â
By the end of the day, her apartment didnât look like it had been simply repainted. But rather. It looked like it had been rebuilt.
The work that wouldâve taken her a month â because she worked long hours and didnât feel like spending every night inhaling fumes â took less than a day with him there.
Clark moved through her space like a gentle storm. He taped edges with meticulous care. He rolled paint with the kind of focus that belonged on someone defusing bombs, and he didnât drip a single drop on her floor. Not. One.
At some point, Raven had wandered into her kitchen to drink water and came back to find him halfway through assembling a dresser she hadnât even unboxed yet.
He looked up from the instructions, hair falling into his eyes, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He had a screwdriver in one hand, and a concentration crease between his brows that made her ruin her panties, and curl her hand in a fist in an effort not to jump at him.
âI just started,â he told her with a breathtaking smile, âwanna help?â
âI'm pretty sure this all should be the other way around,â Raven stared at him, something annoying flipping around in her chest like a drowning fish. âWhy did you start it?â
âYou looked tired,â he shrugged, completely earnest.
So she allowed him to build the dresser. And the next one. And the rods which would hold up her goth dresses in her spare room, all the while she sat back and watched him, chewing at her cheek at the sheer amount of sexy masculinity he radiated as he built and moved furniture around with unmeasurable ease.
But the fridge⌠The fridge was the moment she realized he was insane.
She'd mentioned offhandedly that she'd ordered a new one â because the old one had started making very strange sounds recently â and that she had scheduled a service to take the old one downstairs, and bring the new one up into her apartment.
Clark stopped in the middle of wiping down the top of a new wardrobe â that she would have struggled reaching without stepping on a chair, which he had claimed too dangerous, and so he simply floated as he did it.
âYou'd pay for that?â
âYes, Clark. Some of us need help moving big pieces of furniture.â
His expression tightened, but not in anger. Oh, no, no⌠he was offended on principle. âBut I could do it.â
âBaby,â she said, pointing at him with the same tone she used on interns who tried to invoice something twice. âYou donât need to do everything.â
He stared at her like she just told him she hated the way he painted the kitchen. âBut⌠but that's the whole point.â
Raven blinked once, twice, then she looked away and pretended she needed to check something on her phone, because if she looked at him too long, she might start to doing something embarrassing. Like cooing at him and giggling like a fucking schoolgirl.
âFine,â she said, pouting like a teenager told they couldnât go to a party. âGo carry the fridge, my super-guy.â
The grin he gave her was worth it, however, all teeth and dimples, his messy hair perfectly imperfect.
So, he did it. He took the old fridge down like it weighed nothing, careful not to scrape the walls, careful not to bump the railing. Then he brough the new one up the same way, moving slow and controlled, handling the fridge like it wasnât a literal fucking feather in his hands.
She stood in the doorway and watched him with her arms crossed, pretending she wasnât giggling and kicking her feet on the inside. When he finished setting it up, he turned to her, as though waiting for the verdict.
âThank you, baby,â she cooed at him, his smile lighting up the room like pure fucking sunshine. Really, it almost blinded her.
That was how it began. The spoiling.
With practical things, useful things. Things she could justify as him not wanting her to hurt herself in some way. He helped and she let him, and it was fine because it was perfectly logical. Efficient, even. Because he was already there anyway.
But then⌠other things started. The things that werenât necessary. Things that had no reason to happen except that Clark Kent paid attention like it was his religion.
He noticed when her hands were cold, and held them without asking, rubbing her fingers with his own. He adjusted the blanket around her shoulders when she fell asleep on the couch, careful enough that she didnât wake up.
He remembered what snacks she liked and stocked them in her cabinet like he was the one living there. He watched her face when she spoke, like every word was a new law he had to commit to. Like he wasnât waiting for his own turn to speak. Like he wasnât thinking about anything, or anyone else, as long as she was around.
And she wasnât used to that. Not from anyone, not from someone who wanted nothing in return.
So she waited. She waited for the other shoe to drop. But days, and weeks passed. And nothing happened.
Just Clark.
Just steady, stupid, impossibly adorable Clark â showing up, again and again, like devotion was the easiest thing in the horrible world they lived in.
And with it, she realized what it did to him. This⌠spoiling of her. How he looked when she accepted his offerings. How his eyes softened like he'd been starving and she'd finally fed him something real.
How his hands steadied every time she said âthank youâ like those two words anchored him to the earth.
But then things started to become a littleâŚÂ much.
At first, she had believed them all to be coincidence. A fluke. A string of lucky moments where Clark happened to be helpful at the exact right time â because Clark was just helpful in general, and she was. Well. Busy. Tired. Constantly having to remain strong, even when she wanted to do nothing more than collapse and let the world burry her under.
But then it just kept on happening again and again.
She mentioned that the overhead light in her kitchen made her feel like she was being interrogated. So, the next day, he came over to her apartment with new lightbulbs in his arms, looking like he got caught committing a crime (as if that was even possible).
âI thought these would be better,â he told her, eyes darting away.
âYou bought me lightbulbs.â
âYou said you didnât like the other ones!â He tried to defend himself.
âI said it one time.â
Clark blinked like that didnât matter. Like it was enough that she'd said it at all. So, she let him change them. And when the kitchen softened into something gentler, something that didnât make her want to claw her own fucking eyes out, she told herself she was grateful.
Just grateful.
Then, there was sleep.
Raven had a pretty loose sleeping schedule. She went on until she couldnât, and then she dropped, usually barely making it past eleven pm. Well, Clark started matching her without ever saying it out loud. If she yawned, he yawned.
If she rubbed her eyes, he shifted closer and lifted his arms, offering her a cuddle that would send her right off to sleep. If she mumbled about being tired, he didnât argue, didnât stall, didnât try to keep her awake for the sake of spending more time together. He just took her right to bed.
Even the mornings bent around her.
If she woke up early, he woke up early. If she slept in, he stayed still in the bed, like the smallest movement might break something precious. She'd open her eyes and find him already awake, either scrolling silently on his phone, or trying to sneak out to make her breakfast that he would deliver straight to her bed.
It was the pattern that made her uneasy.
Not because it was anything bad. But because it was too good.
Because he just⌠did things as if his body moved before his mind could even give the orders. As if taking care of her was the only thing that mattered, when the man had the entire world resting on his shoulders already. Because it wasnât only that Clark paid attention to what she wanted, it was that he overwrote himself to match it.
Every. Single. Time.
She noticed it in everything, the more it kept happening.
In the way he always let her choose the movie, even when his eyes lingered on some feel-good comedies, or on the little thumbnails of rom-coms that made her want to claw her skin off.
In the way he'd say âWhatever you want,â when she asked him what he wanted for dinner. In the way he'd ask permission to touch her, even when she'd already pulled him close, and the two of them werenât playing. In the way he'd hold himself back.
Even when it was obvious to anyone that he didnât want to.
She wasnât stupid, and she sure as hell wasnât blind when it came to these matters. She could see it on him, sometimes, like a crack in an otherwise perfect surface. The way his breath would catch when she brushed against him while passing him in the room. The way his gaze would drop to her mouth and stay there for a few seconds too long
The way he'd go quiet when she leaned in, like he wanted. And he wanted so badly.
And stillâ he never initiated.
Not once.
Not even when the air between them turned so charged it was humming. He would just choose to endure it. He would sit there, flushed and tense, trying so hard to be good, like desire was something he had to survive instead of something he could openly speak about.
And Raven, well, she was used to control. Used to being the one who decided the pace, the tone, the rules. Reveled in it, in fact. Made her feel confident and powerful in a way no other thing had. So far.
But this wasnât even control anymore, and certainly not their playing.
This was silence. This was him swallowing himself whole, afraid to express just how badly he wanted her.
One night, she tested it.
She was curled up on the couch with him, legs draped over his lap, the room dim except for the soft glow from the TV. His hand rested on her shin like it belonged there, thumb stroking absent little circles.
She shifted her feet slowly, watching his throat bob as he swallowed. Watched his fingers curl and tighten for a second, before he loosened them again, like he was afraid to hold too hard.
âClark?â she called to him softly, their faces lit up by the movie they were watching at the time.
His whole body reacted to his name like it was a command, like it was a prayer. âYes?â
âDo you want something?â
The question clearly took him off guard, and he looked away as he thought about an answer.
âI wantâŚâ he started, then stopped. His cheeks went pink, and she was very certain of exactly what she felt under her calves. But she continued to wait.
âI want you to be comfortable, sweet pea,â he smiled to her, but she couldnât return the gesture.
Rather, she got to her knees and crawled over to him, cradling his head between her hands, her pointed thumbnails brushing the tender skin under his eye. How those beautiful blue pools could turn to dangerous lasers, she still couldnât fathom.
âThat wasnât what I meant and you know it, sweetheart.â
She watched him fight with himself right there in front of her. And in that moment, she realized something with startling clarity:
Clark wasnât just spoiling her. He was training himself to need nothing.
Something she needed to correct.
Urgently.
And she had an opportunity only a few days later.
The day started normal.
Which, lately, meant strange things â Clark being gone in the morning without it feeling like abandonment, Raven drinking her morning lemonade in peace without the faint hum of a man who was ready to lay his life down for her.
He had spent the night at his own place for once, and so had she. She had a meeting, and couldnât risk being woken up by a knock on her window at 3 am.
She left for work bright and early because of that dreaded meeting. One of those meetings that smelled like printer ink, passive aggression, and expensive men's cologne that stunk rather than smelled nice. Where the air-conditioning ran far too cold, and the people around the table looked like sharks.
It was Raven, three other head accountants from other departments, and the managerial suits who liked to pretend knowing the numbers were a personality. News flash: it wasnât. It just made them disgustingly obnoxious.
She'd come prepared.
A printed report, as well as an electronic on her tablet. A spreadsheet, a short presentation that wouldnât bore even the youngest intern with a short attention span. A clean, logical argument for why the Investigative Journalism department deserved a larger budget allocation than the celebrity gossip â because it brought in the most readership, the most credibility, and the most revenue.
It wasnât complicated, just business.
Which was why it was almost funny when one of the other accountants dared to make it personal. He had leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers over his stomach, and gave her a look like he'd already decided he was right before she even spoke.
âIs this really about the department,â he asked, voice mild with fake curiosity, âor is this about Kent?â
She didnât even blink at the blatant accusation. But she did call forward a side of herself she usually left for the bedroom. Something cold and precise.
The room went quiet in the way conference rooms often do â when everyone senses blood in the water, but know they have nowhere to run. She set her pen down slowly, pushing her glasses higher up her nose.
âAre you implying,â she said, calm as a frozen lake, âthat I would misuse company funds because I'm dating someone in the newsroom?â
He gave a little shrug, as if sheâd misunderstood him. âIâm just saying, itâs a bit convenient.â
She smiled, the kind of smile that would make even the roughest of dictators rethink their life choices. âI'm going to say this once,â she said softly, and that was the most dangerous part. The softness.
âIf you ever suggest that my professional decisions are motivated by my personal life again, I will request an internal review of every single budget youâve approved in your entire carrier in this company.â
His face tightened, but her smile didnât change. âAnd,â she added, as though an afterthought, âif you're confident youâve never let bias influence your numbers, you have nothing to worry about, of course.â
Silence.
Pure, suffocating, uncomfortable silence.
One of the managers cleared his throat, and the meeting went on without further interruptions.Â
Raven got what she wanted, most of it, anyway. Not the full increase, but enough that the department would be more motivated than before. She shouldâve felt satisfied, and yet, she left the room with her jaw aching from how hard she'd clenched it for the better part of an hour.
She locked herself in her tiny office afterward and did what she always did when she couldnât stab someone:
She worked.
Her fingers hit the keys too hard. Her nails clicked like gunfire. Her screen blurred with emails and reports and follow-ups and notes, and none of it soothed the sharp, simmering anger under her skin.
She was halfway through rewriting an expense justification when someone knocked.
Raven didnât look up. âCome in.â
Lois Lane poked her head through the door like she was approaching a wild animal.
âHey,â Lois said carefully. âHowâd the meeting go?â Ravenâs stare lifted slowly and it was like staring Lady Death in the eye.
Lois held up both hands. âOkay, okay. That answers that.â
Raven exhaled through her nose. âIt went.â
Lois stepped in, shutting the door behind her. Her voice softened, genuine now. âSomeone give you shit?â
âTried,â her exhaustion left her wanting to not speak again. Ever, preferably.
âAnd?â Lois urged her to continue.
âI reminded him that I could ruin his books with a single email,â she shrugged, sweet as poison.
âGod, I love you,â Lois flirted with a grin, evoking an eye-roll from the exhausted accountant.
âGet out of my office, please.â
âNope,â she stayed firmly in place, leaning against the doorframe. âNot until I know you are not going to murder anyone today. As good of an article as it would make, I'm pretty sure Clark would never stop pouting if I didnât stop you from getting in prison.â
âWell,â Raven leaned back in her chair, and stared at the ceiling like it held answers. âI will be fine⌠I just really fucking crave some pizza right now.â
âCarbs are good for stress. In my experience, anyways.â Lois grinned
Raven sat for a moment longer, letting the silence settle.
Then she stood, smoothed her skirt, and walked out â because if she didnât get herself under control, she was going to go back into that meeting room and do something that would make HR cry.
She escorted Lois back to her cubicle, exchanged a few last muttered words, and then turned toward Clarkâs desk with a single thought in her mind:
I need to look at that cute face to calm myself down.
Only, he was nowhere to be found.
âOh, he-ey,â Jimmy looked up from his computer, a little tongue tied from her intense stare. âClark went out to grab lunch. He said he'd be back soon.â
Her eyebrows lifted, a sigh leaving her lips. It was so strong, she almost knocked herself down with it. âGreat, he went without asking me?â She was already thinking about which restaurant to order that pizza from.
âUh, I mean,â he stared at her, looked away, then looked back with a shy smile. âI guess?â
âOkay,â Raven said simply.
And walked away, she returned to her office and waited. She tried her best to work, but her foul mood continued simmering on, like a pot forgotten on the stove.
She really fucking hated being accused of being unprofessional.
Sure, she had grinded on Clark in her office. And sure, they did things that were unprofessional, but those were all during break times. And she would never cheat the system to get him a raise. He already earned way more than she did.
Pfft. Her? Unprofessional?
What a fucking joke.
Clark appeared in her doorway about twenty minutes after Jimmy had promised he would, looking windswept in a way that didnât match the calm of the Daily Planet offices at all, his tie sitting crooked like he'd thrown it on as an afterthought, and his glasses crooked as if he'd forgotten all about it.
In his hands he held a pizza boy, and for a moment her brain simply stalled, because it was such an absurdly adorable sight to see in the middle of a workday, in the middle of her simmering mood. Like someone had cut a piece of normal life out of somewhere else, and pasted it into her office.
Clark smiled at her the second their eyes met, warm and hopeful, like he'd been waiting to show her something. âHey,â he said, voice soft as if he wasnât sure how much space he was allowed to take up in her obviously shitty day. âI heard you say you craved pizza.â
Raven stared at the box, then at him, her expression flattening into something dangerously neutral. She could already tell, even before she saw the logo clearly, that this wasnât going to be something simple and local, because Clark didnât do âsimpleâ when it came to her; he did thoughtful and thorough and sometimes so over-the-top it bordered on delusional.
She stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the printing on the lid, the language, the branding that looked painfully authentic.
âClark,â she said, voice quiet and controlled, âwhere did you go to get lunch.â
His smile faltered just enough to be noticeable, and he shifted his grip on the box like he was bracing for impact. âTo get lunch,â he repeated, too innocent, too earnest, like he thought the answer was going to be enough.
Ravenâs gaze lifted to his face, and she held it there, unwavering. âWhere,â she asked again, softer this time, âdid you go.â
There was a brief pause where Clark looked like he considered lying, not because he wanted to deceive her, but because he wanted to keep her from being upset with him, and she hated that she could read him so easily now. Then he swallowed and admitted it in a rush, like ripping off a bandage.
ââŚItaly.â
Raven blinked once, slow. âItaly,â she echoed, and she didnât raise her voice, because she didnât need to. The anger wasnât loud in her chest, it was sharp and clean, the kind that made her posture straighten and her thoughts line up into something precise.
âYou went to Italy,â she repeated, the words sounding even more ridiculous out loud, âto get me pizza.â
Clark nodded, cheeks faintly flushed as if heâd run too fast, and he stepped closer, almost eager to justify himself. âItâs fresh,â he said quickly, like that was a point that mattered. âAnd I thought it would make you feel better. You sounded stressed earlier, and I know youâve had a long day and Iâ I didnât want you to have to think about lunch on top of everything else.â
Raven exhaled slowly through her nose and forced herself to keep her face composed, because the instinct to snap at him was right there, hot and immediate, and she refused to give into it. It wasnât that she didnât appreciate the gesture; it was that she could already see the chain of choices behind it, the way his mind worked when he got it into his head that her discomfort was a problem he needed to solve, and the reckless ease with which heâd crossed an ocean like it was nothing.
She reached out and tapped the lid of the box with two fingers, her nails making a soft, unimpressed sound against the cardboard.
âClark,â she said, gentler than she felt, âyou canât do that.â
His brows drew together. âWhy not?â he asked, like he genuinely couldnât see what was wrong with it.
âBecause youâre going to get caught,â Raven replied, and there was something in her voice that was equal parts warning and disbelief. âDo you understand how this looks? You disappear for twenty minutes, come back windswept like you fought a hurricane, and youâre carrying a pizza box that is very clearly not from around the corner.â
âI was careful,â Clark insisted, too quick, too defensive in that way he got when he was trying to prove he hadnât been stupid. âNo one saw me, I didnâtâ I didnât take long, Iââ
âThatâs not the point,â Raven interrupted, and she softened the edge of it at the last second because she saw his shoulders tense, saw the immediate guilt flicker across his face like he was already preparing to apologize.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice, not wanting anyone outside her office to overhear, not wanting this to become something public. âYou donât get to risk your entire life, your entire secret, just to make me smile because I had a bad meeting.â
Clark went quiet, and his gaze dropped for a second before lifting back up to her, stubborn in the most tender way. âIt wasnât just a bad meeting,â he said softly.
Raven narrowed her eyes. âOh?â
Clark swallowed, and his cheeks went pink in a way that made him look younger, like heâd been caught admitting something he wasnât sure he was allowed to want.
âItâs you,â he said, and the words came out careful, like he was handling them with both hands. âWhen youâre upset, Iâ I donât like it. I want to make it better. I want you to feel taken care of.â
There it was again, that same pattern sheâd been noticing for days now, the way he always framed it as her comfort being the only thing that mattered, the way he offered himself up like a solution, like a tool, like a person who didnât even consider that his own wants and needs should take up space too.
Her irritation didnât vanish, but it shifted, turning into something heavier, something that sat low in her stomach and made her jaw tighten. She stared at him for a long moment, then reached out and took the pizza box from his hands, setting it down on her desk with exaggerated gentleness, as if it might explode.
âSweet pea?â Clark watched her closely, uncertainty flickering across his face.
âSit,â she said, and the word was quiet, not dramatic, but it carried the kind of authority that made his body react before his mind could argue.
He sat in her chair immediately, posture straight, hands hovering awkwardly like he didnât know what to do with them, like he was waiting for instructions. Raven stepped closer until she was standing between his knees, and when she leaned down and looped her arms around his neck, she felt his breath hitch, felt the way his entire body went still with a kind of careful anticipation that made her teeth grind.
His eyes flicked down to her mouth and back up again, his pupils blown wide behind his glasses, and it wouldâve been almost funny if it didnât make her want to grab him by the collar and shake him until he remembered he was allowed to want things too.
âI brought it for you,â he started again, voice slightly shaky now, like he thought she hadnât understood the point. âI just wanted to make you feel better. I didnât want anything, I swear, Iââ
Raven let her fingers slide along the back of his neck, slow and deliberate, and she watched him swallow hard, watched his hands twitch as if he wanted to touch her but didnât dare. When she shifted as if she was about to lower herself, his reaction was instant, panic flashing across his face as he leaned forward.
âNoââ he called her name, voice cracking, âyou donât have to uh, do anything. You donât need toâ I didnât do it for thatâŚâ
She stopped.
Not because she couldnât, but because she wanted him to see it, to feel it, to understand exactly what she was doing when she denied him the reward he was already trying to refuse. Raven straightened slowly, stepping back just enough to break the moment, and Clark stared at her like the floor had shifted under him.
âYouâre right,â Raven said, her voice even, composed again, though her eyes were sharp. âI donât have to.â
Clark blinked, visibly thrown. âHuh?â
Raven tilted her head slightly, watching his confusion bloom, watching him search her face for the rules heâd missed.
âIn fact,â she continued, and she had to take a steadying breath to keep her tone from turning into something too heated, too sharp, âIâm not touching you again until you finally learn to justâŚÂ take.â
The silence that followed was thick, and Clarkâs throat worked as he swallowed, his brows drawn together in a helpless frown. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â he asked, quieter now.
Ravenâs mouth curved into something that wasnât quite a smile. âYouâre a smart man,â she said softly. âFigure it out.â
She pulled him up by his tie once more, guiding his large body until he stood in the doorway, the pizza box still cooling on her desk. He stumbled out of the office himself, still staring at her with that frown that said his mind was working much faster than he thought it was capable of.
Just as she was about to close the door in his face â she needed to be alone to cool off completely â another warning crossed her thoughts.
âAnd Clark?â she added. âDonât ever risk getting caught just to fix my mood again.â
cw: Dom/Sub undertones, Sub!Clark Kent, Dom!Reader, BDSM undertones, lots and lots of pet names (baby, babe, good boy, sweetheart etc.), AFTERCARE, comfort, smut, fluff!!!
Chapter summary:
Clark´s girlfriend reacts to him being Superman pt. 2
Clark woke up to the sound of her breathing being wrong.
She wasnât choking, per se, simply taking each breath too fast, too shallow to be normal. Like she'd been running laps around the room whilst he slept, something that he surely wouldâve noticed. She had tired him out the night before, but his Kryptonian stamina wasnât so easily defeated.
He didnât move at first. Didnât even open his eyes fully, simply choosing to nuzzle up to her neck, throwing an arm around her to enjoy her soft warmth. Gosh, even after all the nights they had spent together, he couldnât get over just how nice she felt, her softness completely melting into the hard muscles he couldnât get rid of, no matter how much he didnât work out.
Her scent, her warmth, her softness, they all worked diligently to erase any stress and worry from his mind⌠usually, that is.
Because the morning after the reveal of his secret, all he felt from her was panic.
âMorning, sweet pea,â still thinking, or maybe hoping, that his hearing was picking up on someone else, and she wasnât the one breathing so fearfully. âYou okay?â
âUh⌠no, not really,â she admitted, her voice shaking, lungs trembling beneath the armor of her ribcage.
He looked up at her then, reluctantly letting her soft body slip from his arms, trying his best to smile at her in a way that would hopefully calm the tremble coursing through her. Leaning his weight on his elbows, he allowed his eyes to focus on the pulsing vein in her neck.
With the help of his super senses, he could see the rapid flow of her blood, and he didnât even need to touch her to know her blood pressure was through the roof.
âI made a list?â She shook her phone lightly, and he could see the open notes app, sentences littered with spelling mistakes flashing on the screen.
âThat sounds⌠fair,â Clark murmured to her, still focusing on the internal workings of her body, a sense of dread looming over him that he usually picked up from the people he saved.
She laughed at his quip, which he had believed to be a good sign at that moment in time, but the smile soon disappeared from her face, her eyes widening as her breathing took to a whole new pace.
âHey,â he urged her to come back to him, eyes snapping up to connect with her own. âRaven, c'mon, talk to me.â
But she didnât answer, simply couldnât. Her hands clenched tightly in the sheets, knuckles pale, shoulders drawn up like she was bracing for a meteor's impact. Her gaze was fixed somewhere past him, darting about as though she chased an invisible monster.
Clark pushed himself up further onto his elbows, trying his best to make the movements slow and clear, like any sudden move would shatter her. He sat next to her, rather than loom over her, keeping his hands very clearly to himself. He reminded himself that he needed to be careful with her, because what she learned the night beforeâŚ
Well, something like that would mess even with the strongest of minds.
âI'm here,â he told her softly. âYou're safe, I promise.â He paused for a moment, then, quieter still, âCan you hear me?â He called her real name, noting how that had gotten the desired effect.
It caught her attention at once, her head turning to look at him, pinpoint pupils focusing on his gaze.
âOkay, that's good,â he swallowed, nerves twisting tight in his chest. He hated this part, hated knowing he could lift literal mountains but not fix this situation instantly. âWe're going to slow our breathing down together, okay? You're hyperventilating a little, and it's probably making you a little dizzy, isnât it?â
She nodded a little, lips wobbling as she hissed every breath from between clenched teeth.
âAlright,â he took a slow breath, overexaggerating it to give her unsaid instructions to follow. âIn through your nose, count to four.â
He breathed with her, counting out loud, letting her hear the steadiness in his voice. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how one wanted to look at it), this tango was something he was familiar with. He had to calm down countless people by now, having even gone as far as to talk to an actual therapist to learn the best methods on slowing someone's panic down.
After a few breaths â and some of her shaking lessening â he risked it.
âCan I⌠can I touch you?â he asked, his eyes flicking up to her face from her neck, searching for permission on account of her speechlessness. âJust your hands, sweetheart. If thatâs okay. I won't if it's not.â
Her fingers twitched, and slowly, so slowly, she uncurled one hand from the sheets, holding it halfway between them. A peace offering, if there ever was one.
He took it like it was something fragile and sacred, cold and trembling in his palm. His thumb moved in small, steady circles over her knuckles, pressure firm enough to be real, to be there.
âI've got you,â he whispered to her, âI'm here for you, and I will answer all the questions you have.â
The worst of it passed slowly, like a storm retreating inch by inch instead of all at once. And finally, her heartrate began to slow down.
Her breathing evened out next, the tension in her shoulders and jaw softening, no longer grinding her teeth together. And still, he didnât let go of her hand, beginning to massage the intricate bones and joints, noting the signs of eczema here and there, along with the few millimeters of new nail growth under her gel manicure.
âYou did really good,â he told her gently, thumb tracing those small, grounding circles. âYou know that, right?â
She exhaled, long and shaky, forehead tipping forward until it just nearly touched his bare chest. The weight of her settled then, melting into the mattress â heavy, boneless, and emotionally spent at eight in the morning.
Clark's voice lowered, âThat reaction was completely normal, by the way.â He shook his head slightly, like he was annoyed with the idea of anyone ever thinking otherwise. âThat's what I was expecting last night in all honestyâŚâ
That got her attention. She lifted her head just enough to look at him, brows knitting together.
âI really did,â he assured. âIt's⌠a big secret, and that usually invokes big feelings. I guess you went to sleep with all that adrenaline still in you, and then when you woke up it all just⌠crashed. Doesnât mean anything's wrong with you, doesnât mean you messed up or are weak in any way.â
His hand squeezed hers, reassuring. Certain.
âYou're safe,â he added. âYour nervous system just didnât get the memo yetâŚâ
âYeah, I think⌠I think the happy hormones won out last night,â she joked, and the sight of her smirk made him finally breathe out in relief.
He smiled at her little joke, knowing it was a sign that she had managed to wade through the haze of her panic attack, hesitating for only a second before he came up with a new question. âCan I make you some tea?â
She nodded, tucking the blanket away from her, leaning on her hands to sit up. When she turned to leave the bed, however, his hand settled gently on her sternum, not applying pressure just laying there, halting her movements.
âActually⌠would it be okay if I carried you?â
âUh,â her breath stuttered, but this time the hitch wasnât from panic. It was want, simple human need for comfort. âYeah, I think that'd be niceâŚâ
He moved carefully, one arm sliding behind her shoulders, the other under her knees. When he lifted her, she instinctively curled into his chest, hands curling behind his neck, fingers tangling into the curls there. Clark's heart twisted painfully at the way she melted into him â the clear show of how much she needed this, and hadnât said it out loud.
âI've got you,â he murmured again, pressing a soft kiss into her hair without even thinking about it.
The kitchen was quiet and warm, sunlight slipping in through the window. He set her down gently on a chair, tucking a blanket around her bare legs like it was second nature. He had seen the goosebumps erupt on her perfect skin, and wanted to make sure she was as comfortable as possible, without getting overheated.
The kettle went on, two mugs prepared with tea bags she had on the edge of the counter.
He moved around the space with practiced ease, pans cluttering softly, his movements calm and unhurried â like tending to her would be the most important thing he did that day. Because in a way, it was.
She watched him over the rim of the mug when he finally pressed it into her hands, the drink sweet and fruity just how she liked it.
âSmall sips,â he reminded her, crouching slightly so he was at eye level. âAnd you donât have to finish it if you donât feel like it.â
She nodded, obedient without realizing it, wrapping her hands around the comfortable warmth. The steam fogged her vision for a moment, reminding her of the fuzzy feeling in her eyes whenever she had looked at Clark in those glasses.
Clark turned back to the stove, already starting on their breakfast. Eggs, toast, and bacon for himself, something simple yet filling. Wholesome. A typical breakfast he would have shared back at home with his parents.
The smell filled the room slowly, reassuring and domestic and just painfully real.
And Raven just sat there, wrapped in her blanket, sipping tea, watching Clark Kent⌠watching Superman make breakfast like it was his own personal brand of love language.
When he finished, he set a plate in front of her before setting his own down (about four times the size of hers, and he was very happy he didnât have to pretend to eat theâŚÂ normal portions anymore), once again reminding her to take it slow and not to push herself too much.
She was halfway through a bite of toast when she finally spoke again.
âHey,â she said, voice still a little rough around the edges. âUm, would it be okay if we talked now?â
Clark looked up instantly, concern flaring, then he stilled, reading her face. He wasnât aware that he had a piece of egg stuck to the side of his mouth, and Raven didnât point it out to him.
âYeah,â he replied quickly, swallowing his mouthful. âOf course, ask away.â
She reached for her phone, fingers hovering for a second before unlocking it. The notes app was open already, her messy list awaiting its reading.
âAlright, uh, let's start with something lightâŚâ
âTrust me, nothing you ask will be a 'stupid question' and I've probably already heard it all.â
âHow strong are you?â she asked, tucking her hair away from her face.
He swallowed again, wiping his mouth finally, considering his strength. Considering how to answer to best describe something he didnât have the exact numbers for.
âStrong enough to hold back collapsing buildings. Or derailed trains,â he told her calmly. âNot strong enough to stop every bad thing from happening⌠I've tried but⌠even I make mistakes.â
She nodded, absorbing the answer, scrolling a bit as she tried to decide which of her crazed questions she wanted answered first.
âHow⌠h-how indestructible are you?â
âI uh, I can get hurt,â he nodded, placing his utensils down for a moment as the serious question required a serious answer. Locking his fingers together, he rested his chin on them, blinking at her for a moment as he came up with a new explanation.
âMost things on Earth canât do much,â he continued gently. âBullets bounce off, fire feels comfortable, impactâ I register them but they donât do anything lasting. It's like⌠being hit through a thick wall. I feel it, but it doesnât break me.â
She exhaled, some of her tension easing, a small smile appearing.
âBut,â he adds, because he won't â can't lie to her. âThere are exceptions.â
âKryptonite,â she filled in, having heard it through the media before.
âThat's one,â he nodded. âRadiation from my home planet. It poisons my cells. Makes me weak. Disoriented.â His jaw tightens â not with fear, but with memory. âFeels like my body is turning against itself. Like breathing glass, but the glass is burning hot.â
Something cold coiled in her stomach at the sullen expression on his face, her eyebrows dipping in the middle.
âI donât pretend that I'm invincible, because simply⌠I'm not.â
She pushed her food around her plate, appetite gone, mind racing â while he kept eating like a man who just remembered he needed fuel. The contrast was almost absurd, his large plate already half empty, while hers remained mostly full.
She watched his hands, how he lifted his fork, or used the side of it to cut some of the larger pieces of eggs. They were steady. Unshaking. And she realized that what scared her wasnât the idea that he could be hurt. It was the idea that someone like him â someone as sweet, caring, and powerful â could still choose to stand in front of the world, saving it from danger day after day.
She hesitated, then asked the one thing that had been clawing at her ribs all night.
âWhy do you keep doing it?â She scoffed a little, finally giving up on her breakfast and pushing her plate away. âWhy even bother. Protecting this world⌠it's a fucking shitshow. You could just leave, find a better one with better people. You could do anything. So why⌠this?â
There was an unsaid part of this question. One she was thinking, but didnât dare say out loud.
Why me?
He met her gaze without wavering, no stutter, no blush. Just calm, terrifying certainty. âBecause someone has to care,â he told her simply. âEven when it's ugly. Even when it's painful. Even when it's bad. Maybe especially then.â
She swallowed, the new image of Clark messing with her mind.
Usually, his softness would make her itch. Make her want to push him, fluster him, take him apart just to see what noises he'll make when he falls apart in her hand. Destroy him with a smile, and lick the tears off his face.
But this? This was so different.
âI donât help people because they deserve it,â he continued patiently, unshakable. Nothing like the timid reporter she knew him as. âI help because I can. Because I know I am capable of saving at least some, even if I can't save them all. Because if I walked away, that would be on me. I would have to live with that.â
His little speech loosened something in her chest once more, reassuring her in a way no one else ever managed to. She asked another question. Then another. Between small, reluctant bites of her food. Between his steady answers and the quiet clink of cutlery.
And every time he revealed something â his limits, his fears, the cost of it all â she felt herself recoil just a little, only for him to ground her again with a gentle smile and soft reassurances, or a calm explanation. Maybe even a hand resting solid and warm on the table between them.
He was patient with her pauses, with her pessimism, with the way she circled around questions rather than asking them straight. And fuck, she could really see it now.
He wasnât the guy she could unravel with a simple look. But a man who chose restraint. Who chose gentleness. Who held power like a loaded weapon away from the world. It unsettled her worse than his softness ever did.
Because for the first time in a longâŚÂ long time, Raven realized.
That if she wanted to give up her control. To give in to her softer side, the more vulnerable side. It wouldnât be because he was weak and couldnât hurt her.
It would be because he was strong enough not to.
This new side of Clark brough out a part of her she thought had been burned and buried out of existence. Ruined beyond any hopes of revival⌠Until he came about, it seemed.
A part that once needed, once leaned, once trusted naively â and paid for it dearly. A softness that had been taken apart piece by piece, taken advantage of until she learned how to treat her own wounds with teeth, eyeliner, hair dye, and control. She learned how to be the one who did the steadying, the one who held. The one who didnât crack under immense pressure.
And yet⌠there she was.
She leaned into his touch without thinking too deeply about it, following the warmth of his hands like it was instinct instead of a choice. Letting herself drown in the impossible blue of his eyes, bright and earnest and devastatingly kind.
For the first time in years, she didnât have to be the spine of the room. She didnât have to hold anyone together. Not even herself.
She allowed herself to feel, to experience, to let panic wash through her without awaiting any consequences, without punishment, without someone else falling apart simply because she dared to wobble.
Her body noticed before her mind could catch on.
Muscles she hadnât known were clenched finally loosened. Her shoulders dropped, her jaw stopped grinding down her molars. Her breathing settled into something that belonged to her again. She clung steadily to him. To all of him. To his voice. To his warmth. To the simple, yet radical fact of his presence in her apartment.
When she asked him to carry her again, it was barely a question, much more of a plea. And when he obliged, she curled back into him like it was her space all along.
He walked with her slowly through the apartment, arms secure, footsteps unhurried. He spoke about Smallville, his words soft and fond, mirroring the kind smile playing on his lips. He told her about pretending to struggle with heavy boxes. About falling to the ground during football plays, pretending to be injured to blend in with his fellow peers. About learning how to be small, so he could go about his life mostly unbothered.
She listened to it all with her cheek against his chest, absorbing every word. Further loosing herself in him.
And somewhere along the way, even her voice had changed. Clark didnât notice it right away, he was too busy talking and holding her, too busy being careful not to trip over anything or hurt her in any way.
But when she spoke again, asking him a question or murmuring a comment or two⌠It hit him.
Her voice was wrong.
Not wrong as in bad. Nothing she ever did could count as bad in his mind â except maybe making fun of him with hashtag supershit twitter posts. But wrong as in unfamiliar. Like hearing a song being played in a different key.
It wasnât the deep, velvety confidence she usually wielded like a weapon and blanket around him. Not the calm, clipped professional tone she used at work to get people to finish their assignments on time. Not even the composed warmth she brought on their dates, a balm to the burns she would cause.
It was⌠softer.
Higher, maybe a little rough with emotion. Relaxed yet wary all the same. Like she was testing the ground he walked on, worried that the two of them would fall through.
Gosh, she sounded exactly like him. Like the voice he donned whenever they played. When he could afford to simply let go and live in the moment. When he would trust her not to hurt him.
It caught him completely off guard. The realization landed all at once, heavy and bright and unbearable: Raven â sharp-tongued, unsheakable, terrifyingly sure of herself â curled into his arms like this. Fingers gripping him, breath steadying against him. Looking to him for safety.
The pride swelled in his chest so fast it ached.
It was ridiculous. It was boyish. It was almost embarrassing how badly he wanted to pump his fists in the air, how close he was to grinning himself sick. There was a feral, joyful urge in him â to spin, to laugh, to celebrate like a kid who just learned he did something right.
It made him want to run. It made him want to shout. It made him want toâ
Fly.
He didnât even notice when it had happened.
One second, his feet were planted firmly on the hardwood floor just outside her bedroom door â the two of them had agreed on continuing their conversation in the safety and comfort of her bed â the next, there was no pressure anymore.
They had risen slowly, gently, until his feet hovered just two inches above the floor. Every muscle in his body locked as the realization snapped into place. His heart stuttered â not with fear, but with a sharp spike of oh shit. If she was scared beyond her wits just from talking about his powers, an unannounced flight would likely render her unconscious.
Thankfully, she hadnât noticed their sudden heigh gain. Or maybe some part of her did. Her body shifted subtly in his arms, tension flickering through her spine like an animal sensing a change in the atmosphere before a storm.
âHow does it feel like to fly?â She wondered out loud, her soft voice almost lost against the skin of his neck.
His arms tightened instinctively around her, and his throat struggled to swallow around the lump residing there. âIt'sâŚâ he exhaled, slow and careful, âit's kind of like this moment right now.â
He lowered them gently back to the floor, bare feet touching down without a sound. Only then did he dare move again, stepping into the bedroom to approach her bed.
âIt feels like letting everything go,â he continued, the softness of his tone a perfect match for her frazzled state. âLike the world stops pulling at you for a second. Everything else fades away and you're just⌠held. By the air.â
His thumb brushed against her arm as he set her down on the mattress, remaining standing for a moment longer.
âAnd it feels⌠the safest I could ever feel.â
An idea came to his mind then, one that he had had of her for weeks now, only he didnât know when the opportunity would arise to ask her opinion on the matter.
âI could⌠if you wanted to, that is. I could take you?â
Her brows creased, chin tilting up to look at him. âTake me?â
He rocked on his heels, suddenly shy and giddy at the same time. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, yet he simply couldnât stop. âFlying,â he clarified quickly. âLike uh. Think of it as a test drive. Of me.â He paused for a moment, realizing his words sounded far more sexual than he had intended. âTotally okay if you donât want that, but I would go slow, and we wouldnât go high enough to cause concern.â
He was already bracing himself for polite hesitation and fear disguised as concern. The careful âmaybe later.â
âI mean,â he rushed on when she continued to remain silent in her thinking. âWe donât have to do it today, I know it's already been a long day andââ
âYes.â
âHuh?â Wow, Kent, so eloquent.
âYes,â she repeated, her heart tudding so loud he barely needed his enhanced hearing to pick up on it. âI'm a little scared, yes, but⌠I want to.â
For a while, Clark just stared at her, like a computer program that had failed responding to commands. His jaw hung open, everything he had known about anything being actively destroyed by her wild decision-making.
âWe need to do it now,â she added with a huff, a half-attempt at a smile playing on her face. âWhile I'm still brave enough.â
âOkay,â he said far too quickly. âYeah. Yeah, okay. Just â uh â one thing.â His feet started to back him away from her, in the direction of the fire escape resting just beyond her shitty window.
âI can't really⌠fly around like this,â he explained, gesturing vaguely at himself. âI need the suit. It's this whole thingâŚâ Before she could respond, he was already climbing onto the fragile iron construction with impossible grace. âI'll be right back,â he promised, pointing at her while he flashed a grin so bright it almost blinded her. âDonât go anywhere.â
Thenâ
BOOM.
The air cracked, the whole building rattling in his wake. And Clark Kent was gone, a blur of not-red-and-blue but rather grey and tan, vanishing into the sky.
And Raven stared after him. And stared. And continued to blink for a little longer still, concentrating on the empty space where her sweet, stutter, soft-spoken boyfriend just launched himself into the fucking stratosphere like it was nothing.
ââŚWhat the fuck is my life,â she whispered into the silence he left behind.
Her mind reeled â replaying his smile, the gentleness, the hovering, the causal mention of test drive like he hadnât just shattered her understanding of physics and men and everything in between.
Her heart started to race again, but this time it was from anticipation tangled with awe and a creeping, slow shattering of her reality. Becauseâ
What the hell do you wear when your alien, otherworldly, impossibly kind boyfriend is about to take you flying in his arms???
She looked down at herself, at her oversized sleep shirt, and the fluffy socks Clark had pulled on for her before they left to eat breakfast. Definitely not something designed for⌠altitude.
So, once again hiding behind her fair skinned, black-lipstick wielding persona, she marched to her goth-room of doom, picking through pieces of her wardrobe with an intense furrow between her brows.
âWhat do you wear,â she muttered, hands itching to throw hangers behind her, âwhen your boyfriend is about to defy gravity with you? Heh, I am so going crazyâŚâ Alas, she had grown out of her throwing phase (in honesty, she simply didnât want to pick up after herself), and so she continued to peruse. âOh, look at you.â
The answer came in the form of something she couldnât remember the last time she wore.
She pulled on the black catsuit that had done nothing but gather dust for what had to be years now, the fabric soft, body-hugging, and stretching smoothly from her wrists all the ay down to her ankles, like it was made for movement. Almost⌠almost like it was made for flight. The zipper slid up the front, stopping just short of her neck. She left it open a little lower, her chest moving freely in the stretchy fabric.
And yes, fine⌠also because she knew Clark's eyes well by now.
The way they always flickered, traitorous, torn between being respectful and lust.
Giving herself a wink through the mirror, her hands then delved into her hair, pulling the black mane into a braid that would hopefully keep the strands out of her eyes and mouth in the winds.
Just as she tied a hair tie at the end of the braid, the sonic boom outside announced Clark's return, his footsteps soon softly bouncing off the walls of her bedroom.
âSweet pea? I'm back,â he called out, stepping through the doorway.
Superman steps inside her room like the laws of the very universe they lived in had moved out of his way to let him pass.
The suit looked⌠different up close. Not glossy or theatrical like in the pictures she had seen online and in the Planet's articles. It lookedâŚÂ alive. The blue was richer, clinging to every line of him like it was poured on him. The red of the cape fell heavy and sure behind his shoulders, framing him like a promise. The emblem on his chest gleamed happy and proud, a declaration of hope if there ever was one.
His shoulders looked even broader somehow, his waist narrower. Thighs that looked like they could crack stone if he flexed them wrong.
He wasâŚÂ devastating.
Her brain supplied the thought before she could stop it, a smirk crawling over her lips. I want to climb him like a goddamn treeâŚ
She forgot, however briefly, how oxygen worked.
Clark, meanwhile, was having an equal yet opposite crisis of his own.
Because there Raven was, standing in black, sleek from wrist to ankle fabric, which hugged her curves like it was a personal attack aimed right at him. The catsuit left nothing to the imagination, and somehow that felt deliberate. The zipper was open just enough â enough to make his eyes stutter, traitorous and helpless, before snapping back up to her face.
She had braided her midnight hair back, exposing her neck, her jaw, the sharp line of her fake confidence. She looked ready for flight. Hell, she looked ready for danger.
âOh,â he said simply, because apparently she was able to make him forget all the words of the English language.
She noticed the way his eyes had darkened, the way his chest rose just a little higher than before. The way he very deliberately did not look at her chest again â failed briefly, then forced himself to behave like the good boy he was.
âYou uhââ he cleared his throat, painfully aware of the suit stretching across his heaving shoulders. âYou look prepared.â
âAnd you look wonderful in blue.â She winked back, licking her lips as they chapped in her thirst.
They stood there for a moment, just looking, taking each other in. Two predators politely agreeing not to pounce. Yet.
âShall we?â politely, he held his hand out for her, and her fingers soon linked with his own.
The two of them made their way to her fire escape, Clark standing with his back against the sun, shielding her eyes from its blinding rays.
âBefore we begin,â he said quietly, his hands coming up to cradle her flushed cheeks, thumbs absently rubbing at the redness. âWe'll go slow. No tricks, and no showing off.â
âAre you saying that for me, or for you?â She quirked her eyebrow.
He huffed a breath that might have almost been a laugh. âBoth.â
The moment his arms closed around her, the world tilted.
Not even in a metaphorical way, quite literally he tilted her to the side, carrying her bridal style. Her stomach dropped the moment her feet left the somewhat safety of her fire escape (who was she kidding, the frame was five seconds away from collapsing), a sharp swoop like the first plunge of a roller-coaster.
âOh,â she gasped, arms shooting up to wrap around his neck.
âHey,â Clark soothed her instantly, voice right by her ear, calm as an undisturbed lake. âClose your mouth for me, okay? Trust me, swallowing a fly is not tasty.â
She did it without question, startled huff of breath escaping her nose instead. And with one last look between them, Clark began to gently float away from the fire escape, his arms tightening around her to keep her steadily against his chest.
âThat's it,â he murmured. âI've got you, you're doing great.â
The wind roared past her ears, cool and insistent, tugging at the loose strands of shorter hairs framing her face, at her clothes. The city below stretched and rearranged itself beneath them, buildings shrinking, familiar streets turning into something unreal and almost toy-like.
They glided over the block at an almost leisurely pace, nothing fast or sharp â just as he promised. He pointed out things quietly â that's the park we had a picnic at, that's where I get my coffee when I'm in a rush, â like he was giving her a simple tour rather than carrying her through the fucking sky.
She could barely process it all.
She pressed closer to him still, forehead tucking into the curve of his neck, and smiled in wonder⌠And Clark? He loved it.
He didnât say it, didnât need to, but the way his arms continuously tightened and loosened around her, the way his voice dropped to something silky smooth, it all gave him away completely.
âThatâs enough for today,â he said after a while, not wanting to push her any further. âYou did more than enough.â
The landing was gentle.
Clark could barely even call it that, more like setting something precious down. Her feet hit the floor of her apartment, knees wobbling immediately, gravity rushing back in along with the blood, like they were offended she ever left the safety of the ground.
âWoah,â she breathed.
âI've got you,â he told her at once, arms quick to steady her as she walked toward the couch. Or rather, as she stumbled along like a newborn deer.
âMy legs are so wobbly,â she laughed, disbelieving.
âThatâs normal,â he assured her, helping her sit down. âFirst flight jitters, I wasnât much different if I'm honest.â He kneeled in front of her then, moving his cape to his side, searching her face with that quiet, earnest focus that made her chest ache.
âYou okay?â
âYeahâŚâ
âI can stay, if you want. Or â I mean, if you need time alone, thatâs completely understandable too⌠I donât have any, uh, Super-business right nowâŚâ
âPlease?â
âOf course.â
He moved around the apartment with the same gentle competence as earlier â shedding the suit in the privacy of her bedroom, changing into a pair of sweatpants he had stashed there â bringing her water, nudging her knees up when she curled sideways, reminding her to take it slow every time she started to ramble.
The world slowly settled as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, the adrenaline melting into a simple, comfortable warmth.
She watched him as he sat beside her, close but not crowding, throwing a blanket over the two of them that she quickly curled into.
âHey,â she said after a moment, voice back to tis familiar husky confidence â still softer than usual, but unmistakably her again.
âYeah?â
She tilted her head, eyes flicking over him with renewed interest, a slow smile curling at her lips. âSo,â she began casually, like she was asking about the weather. âHave you ever thought of like⌠doing it while flying?â
His ears went pink so fast, it was honestly impressive.
âIââ he cleared his throat, completely undone. âIâno. I mean. I havenât. I meanâ now I have, butââ
âGood,â she grinned wicked and pleased and very much back to the vixen he knew her as. âJust wanted to plant the seedâŚâ
And Clark Kent â Superman, savior of the world â just sat there, staring at her grinning face, wondering how on Earth he was supposed to focus on anything when this woman existed.
cw: Dom/Sub undertones, Sub!Clark Kent, Dom!Reader, BDSM undertones, lots and lots of pet names (baby, babe, good boy, sweetheart etc.), AFTERCARE, comfort, smut, fluff!!!
Chapter summary:
Clark´s girlfriend reacts to him being Superman
She rubbed and blinked her eyes heavily, not caring about smudging her makeup anymore (it was already way past the point of saving), until her contact lenses finally popped out, falling on Clark's chest uselessly.
The superhero â BECAUSE HE WAS FUCKING SUPERMAN?? â still stared up at her, that dumbstruck expression making him appear more cute than he shouldâve been. Really, how did he look like a Greek god and a puppy all at the same time? It wasnât fair.
He blinked those adorable, super-blue eyes up at her, a crease forming between his eyebrows that made him look older than what she knew him to be. But then again, now she learned that he was an alien. What if his kind aged differently? What if he was an old man by their standards. Or worse. A child?
âSweet pea?â He called out to her again, trying to sit up on his elbows. It was then that he noticed the lack of miniscule weight on his face, his eyes widening and darting about in panic.
But it didnât matter anymore. His glasses lay inches away from his head, fallen to the mattress in their passion, and his true face was revealed.
And what a face it was.
His jawline was sharper, square but not overly-so, like the fake ones created by injecting too much filler or shaving down the bone. Masculine and bite-able in the best of way. And he had dimples.
Dimples. As in, more than one.
With a defeated sigh, Clark reached up to his face to confirm his suspicions, all the while she remained on top of him, dumbly blinking her confusion â and the smeared makeup â out of her eyes.
Likely taking her reaction for what it was, shock, he finally managed to get into a somewhat sitting position, gently laying one hand on her bare waist to support her, lest she fell off him, and consequently, the bed. She didnât seem to mind his touch, her hands werenât swatting at him, and she wasnât screaming, but he wrote all that up to the shock too.
âI can⌠explain,â was his pathetic attempt at speaking next, his voice lower than what she usually heard from him. It was as though, the moment his glasses came off, all of his masks and hiding places fell away too.
âYou're Superman.â
âY-yeah, I amâŚâ
âYou are a superhero.â
âI mean, I never put that label on myself⌠But, sweet pea, I need you to know that,â he took her hands in his, his touch gentle as can be, eyes searching hers to show just how truthful his next words would be. âI need you to know that⌠what you heard in the mediaââ he took a rattling breath, her eyes immediately falling to his gaping lips as though they were magnetized there. âAbout the whole taking over the world. And the control. About what I'd do with itâŚâ the words didnât want to come out, even though he had practiced this explanation in the mirror before.
Countless times, actually.
âAbout me building a harem,â he finally spat out, looking away as a scorching hot blush suddenly took over his face. The move was adorable, despite their shared nakedness and the smudged makeup they were covered in. âIt really wasnât true. Well, the video was real, but I didnât even know about that part of the message, it really was never my intentions.â
Like a puppy who knew he dug into the trash even though he wasnât supposed to, Clark blinked at her with the widest, most round eyes she had ever seen. His lips formed a pout, strong chin wobbling as tears of conviction gathered in those baby blues. Â
âHmm, bummer.â
He had expected many things. The aforementioned screaming, swatting and slapping hands. A punch. But that? That he didnât expect.
âWhat?â
âOh, Clark, my innocent, sweet boy,â Raven leaned closer to him on her knees, her thighs struggling to straddle his mountainous width. She laid her hands on his flaming cheeks, thumbs rubbing the dent his dimples created, a grin slowly stretching across her lips. âYou didnât even notice Twitter, did you?â
âI was⌠I was fighting with Luthorâ But I've seen the #Supershit postsââ
âNo, no, baby, I didnât mean thoseâŚâ She was quick to cut in, noticing the frown pulling his eyebrows down at the offensive hashtag.
âThen what could youââ
âDo you have any idea how many women worldwide were ready to sign up?â
That made him completely speechless, because he did not, in fact, have any idea that such a thing happened.
âPeople were already fighting for the opportunity to see you without that suit on for years, and trust me, they were ready to give you babies the moment they saw the video,â she continued on explaining with a little shrug, as though she were talking about the changes in weather, rather than something as crazy as strangers wanting to have his kids!
âAnd⌠and you? How did you react to the news?â Gosh, he sounded so small. It was almost laughable. For such a large, strong, imposing man, he could be so vulnerable and open with her. It warmed the dark pit in her chest others had claimed to be her heart.
âWho wouldnât want to go for a round with a superhero?â She ridiculed back with a little laugh. When she saw his shoulders deflate a little, however, she instantly turned serious again. âBut, I am really glad I got to date Clark Kent first.â
Once more, like a baby animal, Clark perked up at the reveal, eyes shining with mirth this time around. âYou are?â
âOh baby,â her hands dropped from his face but only for her hands to quickly come wrapping around his neck, her bare chest mashing against his equally as naked one in a warm embrace. âYou are⌠by far the sweetest, cutest, most adorable man I've ever met. I know we havenât been together all that long, but I already know that what we have isnât a fling, or an exploration⌠This is the real deal.â
âI wanted to tell you,â he reassured, hugging her even closer, though forever mindful of his strength. âI wouldâve told you, I just needed the perfect opportunity.â
âSweetheart,â she gently cut in, stopping him before he could spiral too far down a hole even he couldnât fly out of. âI understand.â
Slowly pulling back from him, she smoothed his hair back until it somewhat resembled the style she had seen countless times on the news and in pictures online, that rebellious strand popping out and curling on his forehead perfectly. She admired him for a moment, taking him in without the fuzziness bothering her eyes.
âThis isnât something you just blurt out on the first date.â
âI swear,â he softly uttered her name, one of his hands cradling her jaw, the other still on her waist to make sure she didnât fall off the bed, âI'll keep you safe. Because Iâ I care about you. AÂ lot. Maybe even a bit too much, too fast.â
âBecause that's who you are, isnât? A big ol' sweetie,â she teased with a giggle, pinching his cheek. The two of them shared a quick laugh, foreheads coming to rest against one another.
âYou arenât scared?â He asked after they calmed down a touch, his eyes threatening to close now that the adrenaline of the reveal (and the hormones from their rather tantalizing lovemaking) was fading away.
âI am scared of many things in this life, Clark Kent, but you are not one of themâŚâ sighing a dreamy little sound, she finally climbed off him, gathering things to clean up.
While he got rid of the used condom, she took to the vanity to wipe off what remained of her makeup, quickly gathering a mountain of reusable little towels, as well as some cotton pads soaked into a liquid that stung Clark's sensitive senses.
Though, it didnât matter, because he soon found himself similarly sitting in the same chair she had used, with Raven balanced in his lap, gently wiping at his face to get rid of whatever had transferred to him during their⌠wrestling in the sheets.
âYou know, you're handling this a little too wellâŚâ he pointed out, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles on her hips.
âI know,â she giggled back at him, instructing him to look up so she could get rid of a smudge right under his eye. âI might freak out a little more later. Honestly I uh⌠I'm having a bit of a fangirl moment.â
âA fanâ a fangirl moment?!â
âWell, duh,â she grinned, rolling her eyes in an attempt to appear nonchalant, though her blush said otherwise. âWho isnât a fan of the brave and strong Superman?â
âHave I ever told you that you have a pretty smile?â He questioned rather than giving an answer to her own inquiry.
She bit her lip then, setting down the wipes on the tabletop to free her hands, her arms soon linking behind his head, pulling him closer. At the touch of their bare chest a shiver ran furiously down his spine, but not even that could distract him from the shine in her eyes. The absolute mirth she looked up at him with, her lightly stained lips pulling so wide⌠He feared they would tear at the corners.
âWell, I think yours is very pretty, too.â
âIs it?â Good, because he couldnât fucking seem to wipe it off, no matter how serious he was trying to be.
âMhm, I especially love these,â her hands came to cradle his cheeks, thumbs lightly circling the prominent dimples. âCouldnât see them with the glassesâŚâ
âYou might just get sick of them, with how much you make me grin like an idiot,â Clark snorted, desperately trying to act cooler than what he felt like.
âI donât think that's possibleâŚâ
ââââźâźâźâââ
Her bathroom light was too bright for the late hour they found themselves brushing their teeth.
Clark stood at the sink beside her, toothbrush in hand, bare feet planted on the cold tile like he was holding the whole damn building together. They had showered just a few minutes prior, and while he had washed his hair â the feeling and scent of the dry gel was bothering his sensitive senses â hers had been safely tucked under a shower cap he may or may not have giggled at.
It had little bats on it, okay? He was allowed to laugh. She said so herself!
Their hands had wondered over each other's bodies. His reverent, taking in the softness, the hidden muscles under plush squishiness. Hers exploratory, squeezing and clawing to see what would leave a mark and what wouldnât, her eyes big and wide as she understood his muscles more deeply.
Now, he stared at his own reflection, which was cut off just above his eyebrow. He stood tall, impossibly so to most, his shoulders wide, spine straight, the careful curve he usually folded himself into around others nowhere to be found.
âGod, you're tall as fuck,â she murmured around her toothbrush all of a sudden, eyes narrowing slightly as she leaned closer to the sink, spitting out some of the toothpaste as she studied the change to his posture.
He glanced down at her through the mirror, confused. âWhat?â
She rolled her eyes and spat again, wiping her mouth while she turned around completely, leaning her â finally â clothed hip against the sink. âIt's funny, I've seen you naked, in all sorts of positions, but now you look like you're half a foot taller⌠Is that the glasses too?â
âOh, uh, noâŚâ Clark spat his own toothpaste out, too, and quickly rinsed his mouth with water. He forgot his little flossers at home, so simply brushing would have to do. âI just⌠I usually try to make myself as small as possible, I guess⌠So, I donât look asâŚâ
While he searched for a proper word, she filled it in for him. âIntimidating?â
With a sigh, he lowered his head and muttered, âYeahâŚâ
His voice had come out lower than before, not a forced fake âalphaâ deepness either, just settled. Calm. Natural. At once, she perked at the sound, the shivers attacking hers for once.
âOh,â she said softly. âThat's also new.â
He frowned at his reflection, finally noticing the changes she was talking about. His shoulders filled the space of the reflection, his presence seeming to press outward instead of folding in. Instinctively, he tried to slouch. Tried to shrink. But it didnât work anymore. His body, his heart refused. He didnât need to do that anymore, she knew. But it would take some time before his mind accepted that fact.
âSorry, I know it can be a⌠lot.â
She stepped closer, turning so they stood side by side, her head leaning against the part of his shoulder she could reach. âDonât apologize, sweetheart. It might be a lot, but I can handle⌠a lot.â
âYeah, so it seems,â he grinned, jostling her a bit with his shoulder, delighting in her little giggles.
âAugh, that voice,â she groaned, throwing her head back, almost falling over if his quick reflexes hadnât reached out to brace her weight. âIt's sinfully hot.â
His ears flushed pink immediately, burning hotter than the lasers he could shoot out of his eyes. âIâ my voice is the same!â He tried to defend himself, but she wasnât listening.
She was laughing instead, warm and low reaching out to tap the middle of his chest with a manicured finger. âNope, honey. If you spoke like that when you came to my office?â She leaned closer, lips brushing his heated skin. âWe never wouldâve made it to dinner.â
âWeâŚâ his breath hitched, his cock stirring at her closeness. âWe wouldnât have?â
âOh, absolutely not.â Her eyes looked up to meet his, dark and amused. âI'd have locked us in my office. Paperwork be damned.â
He choked on a laugh, shoulders finally dropping â just a little â as he ducked his head, mortified and pleased all at once. âI'm sorry.â
âHey, what did I say about apologizing?â Her tone dropped the teasing mirth, eyebrow rising in the way it did while they played together.
Despite the serious voice she donned, something in his chest softened, like a knot loosening. He nodded once, small but sincere, and let himself breathe. Himself. Clark. Superman. Kal-ElâŚÂ Him.
Wiping their foamy faces clean one last time, Raven tugged him by the wrist toward the bedroom, the two of them wrapped in sleepy intimacy that came after everything important had already been said. Clark followed eagerly, letting himself be pulled along, until, halfway there, he had a realization.
A lightbulb moment, so to say.
In one smooth motion, his hands settled at her hips like they'd been stuck there with some otherworldly glue, like they had always known they belonged there, and he lifted her.
Just up and took her in the air, holding her like she was a precious porcelain doll.
She barely had time to gasp before the world shifted around her, and then she was laughing as he carried to and plopped her on the bed, giggling as the mattress bounced with her sudden drop. He hovered over her for half a second, meeting her grin with his own, like he'd just gotten away with something naughty.
âOh,â she breathed, eyes brightly shining. âYouâve been holding that back, huh?â
Clark stared down at her for a moment, before his laugh shifted to something boyish and utterly unashamed. âI've wanted to do that since⌠well. Since always.â
He scooted in beside her, the two of them pulling up the blanket around them, settling in for the night. âThere's so many things,â he admitted. âLifting you up. Spinning you around. Moving things so you never have to strain. Being useful without having to pretend I'm not.â
He shook his head softly, a rueful smile tugging at his pretty lips. âAnd not having to come up with terrible excuses every time I disappear during the dayâŚâ
âYou hated that, didnât you?â Her expression softened, teasing melting into something far gentler as she reached out to lace their fingers together.
âI did,â he answered immediately. âEvery time I lied to you, or omitted the truth, it felt⌠wrong.â
âMmm,â she hummed thoughtfully, thumb stroking over his knuckles. âNaughty boy.â
His eyebrows shot up. âIâI didnât meanââ
âEasy,â she cut him off, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek, right were his dimple sat. âNo punishmentâŚâ
He sagged with visible relief â only for her to add, eyes glinting:
âUnless you do it again.â
The grin crawled back, softer now, reverent almost, as he eased back and stretched out beside her. This time, when he pulled her close, there was no hesitation. No careful calculation of angles, pressure, or permission. Just warmth.
Just certainty.
For the first time in a long while, as the lights went out and the world finally quieted, Clark let himself be exactly as he was â tall, strong, ridiculous, tender, a little goofy â and drifted toward sleep without listening to trouble.
Because he didnât have to be anywhere else.
ââââźâźâźâââ
Raven had a bit more⌠interesting time in the morning.
She woke up in silence. Not the bad kind, of course â not the hollow, buzzing quiet she had gotten used to in her single years â but a heavy, cushioned, sweet stillness, like the world had been wrapped in cotton candy overnight.
She blinked, staring up at her ceiling, her curtains, the morning light bleeding in through the edges of her shitty window. And thenâ and then she turned her head.
Oh.
Oh.
Right. That happened. That wasnât just a dream. A figment of her â admittedly â rampant imagination.
Clark was still asleep beside her, one arm flung above his head, hair a curled mess that didnât dry right, lashes casting unfair shadows against his cheeks. His breathing was slow and deep, chest rising and falling with an ease that suggested he had a peaceful sleep.
And handsome. Super handsome.
Because he was Superman.
She was dating Superman.
Her eyes widened at once, blinking heavily as though she still fought with the fact that this was her new reality. She bolted upright so fast the mattress barely had time to react, one hand clapped over her mouth as the realization came crashing down all at once.
She. Was. Dating. SUPERMAN.
Her brain immediately began a free-falling rampage. The previous night replayed in flashes â opening her eyes to see him under her, his voice, his height, the lifting her like she weighed nothing, the way he'd smiled like a kid allowed to finally be himself.
She dragged a hand down her face, breathing broken and fast.
âOh my holy fuck,â she whispered. âHoly shit, holy shit, holyââ She scrambled for her phone like it was a lifeline, thumbs flying as she opened her notes app.
Questions for Clark (totally not panicking):
Can he hear my heart beat????
Does he age normally, or am I dating a minor alien??
How does his flying work?? Can he take me??
Can he get sick
Does he have food allergies
Does he NEED sleep, or is it optional???
How much can he lift??
Does he ever get paid for saving people, or is it just charity
If so, does he pay taxes??
HOW DO I ACT IF I SEE HIM IN PULBIC???
How indestructible is he??
Can I choke him and he is fine?
She stopped typing, her chest heaving wildly, completely blocking out his stirring beside her.
Her usual calm, cool, composed, goth-dom exterior was gone. Obliterated. Reduced to a woman in bed with a god and absolutely no idea how the fuck to proceed. The rug had been not just yanked from under her, it was burned.
WITH LASER FUCKING BEAMS FROM HIS EYES!
It was all fine when he was just the dorky â albeit extremely good-looking, and built(!) â journalist she worked with. That, she could handle. She was good at bossing people like him around, enjoyed it.
But a literal fucking GOD?? Amongst men?? She was a bit out of her depth.
How did he even allow herâ god, she made him crawl after her. AND HE DID IT???
She glanced at him again, out of the corner of her eye. Still asleep, still peaceful. Still painfully handsome.
Carefully, she laid back down beside him, phone clutched to her chest like a lifeline. With analytic eyes, she watched him breathe, counted the rise and fall, trying to match it and ground herself in the simple, impossible fact that he was there.
âThat's it,â she talked to herself, like a fucking lunatic. âI'm normal about this. Completely normal. NormalâŚâ with a shattered breath, she whispered on, âI'm about to lose my shit.â
As if on cue, Clark stirred some more, brow creasing in displeasure as he shifted closer, only relaxing once an arm automatically curled around her waist. His voice came out warm and thick with sleep, so deep it shook her to her core.
âMorning, sweet pea,â he murmured into her neck, nuzzling closer, forehead undoubtedly pressed against her racing pulse. âYou okay?â
âUh⌠no, not really,â she admitted, voice shaking with a thousand emotions, none of which she could name.
He lifted his head then, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips that made her feel a touch better.
âI made a list?â She shook her phone slightly.
âThat sounds⌠fair.â
And just like that â despite everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours â she laughed.
cw: Dom/Sub undertones, Sub!Clark Kent, Dom!Reader, BDSM undertones, lots and lots of pet names (baby, babe, good boy, sweetheart etc.), AFTERCARE, comfort, smut, fluff!!!
Chapter summary:
Clark lets himself be used as stress relief
When the taxi arrived, Clark could feel his breaths rattle around in his lungs, uselessly whooshing around from his nose, down his windpipe, and then could almost feel the oxygen surging through his veins.
He opened the door for her, almost crushing the handle when she brushed against his front â rather deliberately â her hand delicately caressing his cheek as she thanked him for his gallant ways.
While she took the seat behind the driver, he clambered to the one on the other side, his large stature and Kryptonian muscles taking up so much space that his thigh still ended up being pressed against hers. It wasnât his fault, not really, he simply didnât fit in just one seat. And with his slowly thickening erection? Well, he couldnât help but spread his thighs a little.
Not that she seemed to mind, with the way she grinned and shot him a sly little wink, barely greeting their driver in her distracted state. Oh, she didnât mind his flustering a bit.
And he didnât either, not when his blushing and bumbling got that fire back in her eyes. The fire others so desperately tried to snuff out with their grabby hands and stabbing words. But she wasnât deterred. No, his Raven was strong.
Stronger than him, it seemed. At least for now.
Golly, how many times had he lost it and shouted in the solemnity of his apartment, grumbling about the word âsupershitâ more often than he allowed himself to count. He had to uninstall twitter, for God's sakes, just to be able to finally ignore the mockery and continue on with his life.
Just thinking about it now was enough for his fists to clench where they were draped over his lap, shaking with the effort it took not to lose his shit.
His fingers relaxed, however, the moment she reached over and linked her own with his. The move lessened the tremendous weight pushing and pulling at his heart⌠up until she dragged it over to her lap, unlinking their hands in order to let his rest on her thigh.
âTouch while you can, pretty boy,â she mused from the corner of her mouth, barely sparing more than a glance at him before she went back to resting her head against the seat, her eyes closed with battling emotions brewing. âWhile I'm still sweet to you.â
Recognizing a warning when hearing one, Clark did as told. Flipping his hand around, he was careful when applying pressure to her muscles and tendons, only adding more when a pleasured little sigh slipped free from her painted lips.
Even without his sharper-than-human eyes, he could see her body start to loosen up, her thighs falling further open the longer her thighs fell, allowing more surface area for his hands to wander. And boy did they wander.
Up and down his fingers traveled, working out stress-knots and leaving shivers in their wake, his sensitive skin able to pick up on the little bumps even through the silky fabric of her ethereal dress. Soon, he found it wasnât enough⌠His hands needed â no, demanded more.
He wanted to touch more of her. He wanted to massage more of her. He wanted to get rid of all her pain, all her tenseness at once.
So, with a strike of bravery that usually only his tight blue suit could give, he allowed his hand to drag lower on her leg. And lower still when she didnât react, only stopping at her knee to dart a curious eye up at her, his eyebrows lifted in a silent question. Silent, because he had already caught the driver look at them through the mirror a couple of times.
Her face was still turned away from him, however, and toward the ceiling of the cab, her eyes closed and an expression of peace drawn on her like a lace veil. Hearing no objections of orders that would tell him to do otherwise, he continued his exploration, now with his other hand as well.
Reaching down, he carefully lifted her leg in his lap, watching with mesmerized eyes as the hem of her dress dragged up as well, leaving her creamy skin exposed to him. He still couldnât get over her incredibly sharp high heels, or how smooth her freshly shaved leg was, his fingers glued to her like he was metal and she a magnet.
Pressing and rubbing firmly, his thumb soon found a knot in her calf that was more stubborn than the rest, his x-ray eyes instinctually trying to figure out what the culprit was. Realizing that, indeed, standing and walking around all day in a pair of death-traps had caused the damage, he couldnât decide to curse or praise the footwear that would likely haunt his wet-dreams for a while.
On one hand, they very obviously caused her pain. Though she hadnât shown it during the day â she didnât lean on him once during their time at the gallery â he could see now how much effort they had on her body. The muscles in her calves were bunched up and angry, pulsing with irritation. Her ankle wasnât faring much better either, he could feel the hot anger radiating from it inches away.
On the other hand, she did look incredible in them. She walked, swayed, and sashayed about like an ethereal vampire queen, looking down at any who were unfortunate enough not to wear something similar. And though he didnât mind doing it, it was rather pleasant not to have to bend and slouch for a whole day to reach her. Hell, he simply had to tilt his head down just to whisper in her ear, and things like that rarely happened in his giant life.
Having found the nest of her issues, he firmly began to rub it in circles, when she finally tilted her head in his direction. Before her lips opened, they curled into a lazy, satisfied grin, her silver contacts absolutely otherworldly in the faint light of the cab.
âTrying to get in my good graces, baby?â She almost purred, stretching and moving around like a comfortable cat, her fangs now no longer causing a lisp after a whole day of wearing them.
Her hands now rested on her corseted middle, fingers idly tapping along to the rhythm crooning from the radio.
âNot at all,â he was quick to reply, his tone almost smug, if only his voice werenât so wrecked already. Under her thigh, his cock jumped and rebelled against the tight hold of his slacks, begging unashamedly to be let out and rub against her without the irritating fabrics between them.
âThen what?â She bobbed her foot absentmindedly, causing more friction that left him panting. Alright, seeing her scandalous grin, maybe the act wasnât half as innocent as he believed it to be. âJust spoiling me?â
âYou looked like yo-u could use itâŚâ Clark shrugged, looking away when his voice cracked midway through the mumbled sentence.
âAre you trying to tell me I look bad?â She teased cruelly, sitting up a big more in her seat, and thus putting more of her weight in his lap. Gosh, he was about to blow upâŚ
His eyes widened at once, breath catching as a thousand different explanations and excuses raced in his mind, his mouth too slow to utter any of them. Instead, he sat there dumbly gaping at her, his fingers never stopping her motions, and the driver of the cab once again staring at them rather than the road.
If they were going to crashâ
âBut no, I donât think soâŚâ she mused, reaching out a hand to gently pat his flaming cheek, her hand almost burning from the heat he exuded. âMy good boy wouldnât do thatâŚâ
Choking on nothing but air and his own saliva, Clark didnât know where to look and what to do with himself, especially as he heard the driver's heartrate pick up and thunder along almost in tandem with his own.
Almost as though comedic timing, the cab lurched over what Clark hoped was a pothole and not the poor driver experiencing a heart attack. The lurch was just enough to jostle her in his lap, and just enough to yank a soft, broken sound out of him.
He bit down on it a second too late, and her grin sharpened like the kiss of a knife. âYou okay there, sweetheart?â She questioned, tilting her head in his direction, the motion almost slow and almost⌠predatory.
âMhm, yesâ yep.â He nodded quickly, his voice scraped like he'd swallowed gravel. Which he had once, and wasnât a pleasant feeling. âJust⌠the road.â
âThe road,â she echoed back at him with amusement. She dragged one fingernail down the glass beside her, the sound light to her, but earth shattering to his tuned ears. Then she took her other hand and draped it on his thigh, just next to her own. âI hope you're not getting motion sickness.â
âThatâ no. That's not itâŚâ He ground out, his jaw clenched tight in an effort to somehow control his breathing a little better.
âMmm,â she leaned in, stopping short of his ear. He could feel the brush of her breath â cool, despite the furnace that his body had become â and couldnât help but shiver in anticipation for her next words. âYou know, you make the most adorable little noises every time I move. And to be honest? They've made me really wet.â
Oh yeah, his brain shut down from that.
And not just his, it seemed, because the car lurched once again, a bunch of honks ringing out behind and next to them, the driver now hunching close to the wheel to avoid the looks from outside, and inside the car.
Clark braved a glance at her, a mistake anyone would make. Because she was looking right at him, her contacts reflecting the blurred city lights, the silver fangs creating indents in her lower lip. Her calf shifted, allowing more space for her hand to shift to his inner thigh, and he jerked like someone had pushed his hand into a socket.
âSir?â Her head tilted lazily to the front, addressing the driver who desperately didnât want to be addressed. âEverything alright up there?â
The poor man made a noise that did not sound at all reassuring, but the couple didnât pay much more attention to him.
âRelax, baby. There's still a few more minutes before we get home.â Yeah, a few minutes now sounded like a straight up death sentence.
 âI am relaxed,â he lied.
She snorted delicately, free hand coming up to hide her absolutely goofy little smile. Were he not so pent up, the sight of it alone wouldâve made him melt. As of now? It just caused more throbbing in his pants.
âHoney, you have a vein on your forehead thatâs ready to burst.â
âI just wanted you to be comfortableâŚâ he mumbled, swallowing thickly as his fingers resumed their massaging.
âOh, I know,â her hand slipped higher, resting just an inch or two shy of where he needed it most. âYou're always so considerate.â
ââââźâźâźâââ
When the apartment door closed behind them, Clark expected an order.
Barked at him, or whispered, he couldnât care less. His body would likely obey before his mind even caught up to the events. Gosh, he was practically vibrating, absolutely shivering in anticipation to the loving cruelty she would put upon him.
Would she make him beg, he wondered, would she make him cry and weep for a single touch?
But none of it came when that door closed. Instead, she stood by in silence while he removed his shoes and then led him to the room where she kept most of her more theatrical outfits. She stayed two steps in front of him at all times, and only stopped once she stood before the large mirror, meeting his eyes through the clean glass.
âUndo my corset for me?â Still not an order, yet he obeyed it like it was, his fingers busying themselves with the silk ties. At first they tightened, charming a small noise from her lips, then they fell loose, her ribs opening up as she took a breath she had clearly craved the whole day.
She watched him work through the mirror, silver eyes focused entirely on his reddening face.
Finally, the fabric loosened enough that it couldnât cling to her form anymore, the dress falling around her legs in a shiny black heap. She sighed at the freedom of being unclothed, rolling her shoulders, tilting her head left and right until a satisfying pop came from her neck. Through the mirror, he saw how her nipples had hardened from the sudden exposure to chilly air, and Clark did his damnest not to drool.
He may have failed, but at least she didnât notice his gawking.
Or, more likely, she reveled in it. She was showing her body off, after all, unashamed as she stretched and reached for her robe, before she thought better of it. Turning around, she raised her eyebrows at him with one hip popped and her hands resting on her hips, clearly waiting for something.
Allowing his eyes to dart over her form once more, his gaze got caught on her deathtrapsâ sorry, the heels still strapped to her aching feet. Gosh, he could see how red her soles were from all the way up there, and he didnât even need to use his x-ray vision to see the throbbing muscles begging for an end to their torture.
And he would give it to them, God knows he would just about do anything for her now. Especially as the fire came back to her eyes, igniting the sparks that had been snuffed out only hours before.
Kneeling before her, he looked up and admired the difference between their heights â a reversal so simple, so physical, and yet it struck something deep in him. Something he rarely ever considered or even thought about these days, remaining buried beneath all that Kansas sweetness he grew up in, and further locked away under all that Kryptonian might.
Most of his life, the world had looked up at him.
People craned their necks just to meet his eyes â both as Clark, and as Superman. Children tugged at their parents' clothes and pointed up at the sky. Strangers stepped back, made space for him, made way even on the busiest sidewalks. They whispered about safety and strength and how he could just handle it all. Even as a young boy, he'd felt it â that quiet weight of expectation from football coaches and PE teachers alike â and then as an adult, donning the blue suitâŚ
Protecting them. Not scaring them. Not failing them. To be tall, be gentleâŚÂ to be good.
But now, looking up at her⌠that weight loosened.
The angle alone made something in him unclench, a pressure disappearing that he hadnât noticed being there before. His breath came easier â even though he was panting â like gravity itself gave up existing around his lungs. From down there, she wasnât someone he had to reassure or evenâŚÂ soften himself for. He didnât need to slouch to make himself less intimidating. He didnât need to raise his voice higher to not come off cocky.
She was the steady one, the unshakable one, the sun he decided to orbit around.
And God, it was freeing as all hell. No matter how much he didnât enjoy cursing (fearing a mouth full of soap curtesy of his mother), he couldnât help but let out a soft fuck when she smiled down at him in that half-cruel, half-gentle way of hers.
He reached for the strap of her heel, wanting â no, needing â to ease the angry tension from her body. He could feel the heat radiating fom her aching foot before he even touched her, so eager to take the pain from her that his fingers absolutely trembled.
But before he could even graze her skin â and he was damn close to begging for an opportunity to touch â she clicked her tongue softly and nudged his hands away with the pointed toe of that cruel, beautiful shoe. A gentle kick, dismissive and intentional, teasing in a way that made his whole body hum.
Clark froze, like a child caught doing something they werenât supposed to. Raven bent at the waist, her hair spilling over one shoulder like a curtain of shadow, and caught his chin between her fingers. The cold gel of her nails contrasted with the burning warmth of his skin, anchoring him in place.
She studied him for a quick moment.
Not in the way most people studied him. Others were wary, grateful, or in some cases (khm khm Luthor) disgusted by his presence. But she just looked at him like there were a couple hundred thoughts running through her mind and she couldnât decide which one to listen to.
Like she was deciding what to do with him. What shape she wanted him in next. What part of him she'd peel open tonight just to see the color inside.
After a beat, she tilted her head and jerked her chin toward the door, a silent command.
Then she turned, robe forgotten where she had left it that morning, and began to walk out. Her steps were slow as she rounded him, hips swaying deliberately, the kind of movement that forced his eyes to stayed glued to her figure.
He scrambled to stand and follow her â instinct kicking in where his mind was lagging behind â considering if he should walk by her side, if he should walk two stepsâ
Her hands were suddenly on his shoulders, his knees still half crouched, firm and unyielding as she pushed him back down. And boy did he go down.
He went down so easily, in fact, that it startled him. His palms caught the floor, breath knocked right out of him as if a building had just landed on his back. Heat flooded his face when he realized she didnât even use any strength â not that it wouldâve worked on him to begin with. It was simply his choice to fold, his body catching the order before he could even question it.
And so he followed, on his hands and knees, the gleam of the wood floor blurring beneath him, her steps the only sounds he could hear over the storm of his heartbeat.
His eyes were the only thing he dared raise five inches above the ground, remaining on her swaying behind with every single step she took, and the crawl he followed her with. They swung to the right when she stepped with her right foot, then quickly rolled to the left when she used the other one. Completely glued to the way her already plush ass was even more enhanced by her high heels, the sight so sinful, it could've driven a pastor away from their faith.
She reached the threshold soon, reaching in to turn on the light. The warm light spilling out sharpened her silhouette in a decadent contrast against the darkness of the hallway. Shadows danced at the curve of her hip, the dip of her spine more visible now than ever. As she turned her head just a touch, the spill of her hair looked like ethereal darkness itself.
She looked like she had been carved from pure darkness, and dipped in moonlight.
Just one step into the doorway, she paused and let her fingers rest against the frame, her head turned just a touch more. Enough for Clark to see the glint of silver in her eye as she glanced back, and soon the gleaming metal in her teeth when she smiled.
âYou're so beautiful down there,â she murmured, voice low enough that the air between them became instantly charged with the words. Like a strike of lightning in an otherwise peaceful summer night.
She looked down at him much like a queen would look at a kneeling knight before her. A quiet sort of satisfaction to her that made her a hundred times more attractive. As if she'd been waiting for this exact moment, this exact version of him, for far longer than she'd admit.
Her words had been both observation and praise. Ringing with a truth that would satisfy any and all lie-detector-machines. A little purr that brushed against the raw, quiet parts of him. The parts hidden behind boyish smiles and the polite greetings, and the glasses on his face.
Turning around fully, she backed into the space so her front remained exposed to his eager stare, raising her eyebrows when he remained rooted in his spot for a moment longer. âComing, honey?â
At the nickname, he swallowed hard, eyes darting between her chest and her own silver gaze. âYes,â he sounded pathetic. Absolutely fucking helpless.
She stepped fully into the room, and he followed her dutifully, his palms bracing most of his weight.
âTake off your clothes,â she ordered, standing off to the side to give him more space, her arms folded in front of her in a way that left her breasts pushed up and together, a hypnotizing sight that almost made him miss the command.
Almost.
He began with his shirt, sitting back on his heels as he unbuttoned each button hurriedly, accidentally tearing one off in his haste. She raised her eyebrows at that moment of carnage, but didnât further comment on it, choosing to simply lean against the foot of her bed, unashamed as she stared at his slowly revealed skin.
Flexing his arms and stomach, he asked for permission before standing so he could get his slacks, smiling bashfully when she complimented his manners.
âYou can make a mess tonight,â she added when he began to dutifully fold his clothes. âI have a feeling we will be messy anyways.â
Dropping his clothes to the side, he lowered himself back on his knees, tilting his chin up as he awaited his next instructions.
Walking over to him, she circled around him with a hand trailing over his shoulders. âHave you heard about the Amazon position before, Clark?â
âAmazon? Like the uhââ his words faltered for a moment, her fingers tangling into his hair to pull his head back, baring his throat and forcing his eyes to stare into hers. âLike the ancient warriors?â
âExactly,â Raven purred, leaning down next to his head, her hair tickling his back like how her breath brushed against ear. âWith these heels on, I think I can do it with you⌠You're just so big, you know? I need all the advantage I can get.â
âW-what is the position like?â
âHmm, well,â she brushed some of his curls away from his forehead, crouching behind him so she could brush her naked chest against his sweaty back. âYou need to lay back on the bed, right on the edge. Can you do that for me?â
Not trusting his words anymore, he simply stood with her metaphorical hand â because if he did lean any of his weight on her, she wouldâve likely toppled over. Taking the two steps to the bed, he turned his back to it with a concerned furrow to his brows, a bit intimidated from the unknown.
Reading him better than anyone ever had before, she met his unease with a sweltering kiss, her teeth biting into his lower lip just enough to show she was there. Laying a hand on his chest â right above his ready-to-explode heart â she started pushing him back, easing him down, down, down until his spine met her comforter.
His thighs hung off, his tall frame causing his feet to firmly plant on the cold floor, and she stopped kissing him, stepping between his spread legs.
âMhm, such a delectable view. Fuck, I could just eat you up,â hearing those words, delivered from her mouth where her silver fangs still gleamed, caused a shiver of anticipation to run all over him, his thighs quaking as they framed her.
He noticed that with the help of her tall heels, she stood perfectly in like with the mattress, and thus his hips. Wondering if she would mount him like she had done before, Clark felt all his senses and thoughts be stolen away from him⌠the moment she reached down and hooked her hands under his knees, pushing his thighs up.
She didnât stop until he was well and truly folded in half, his knees soon resting close to his shoulders, his eyes wide open in an expression of shock and bewilderment.
âUhââ
âYou okay with this, baby? You can say no, it wonât hurt my feelings. Promise.â She cooed at him, leaning over him so their faces were only an inch or two apart, her hands now lovingly petting his arms and chest in order to placate his racing pulse.
âI think so,â he nodded, swallowing around the ball lodged in his throat. âYou're not going to uh⌠do anythingâŚÂ down there, right?â
He had to ask. He had to! Because with this position? Well, all of him was exposed. As in, parts that not only had he never explored with any of his previous partners⌠but he didnât even experiment on himself. Ever.
âNo baby, not today.â Wait, whatâ âI'm just going to ride the ever-loving shit out of you.â
Words stolen, Clark could only lay there and watch as she straightened, took his cock in her hand and after she rolled a condom on him, she guided it inside her, heels still planted firmly on the ground.
And the moment she started moving, the moment she rocked her hips back and forth, he realized exactly what this position was. A mirror to his favored and beloved missionary.
Her tits bounced with every stroke, her hair wildly swaying with every harsh thrust she rocked his body with. âOh fuck, sweetheart. You look so pretty right now,â she complimented, her voice finally losing that confidence to show just how affected she, too, was. âSo pretty and dumb.â
Usually, the word would feel like an insult. But coming from her mouth, while she fucked him? It felt like the best of compliments.
He did feel a little dumb, like her body, her tight, warm, wet, perfect body fucked every thought, every concern, every worry right out of him. Like his brain had noticed that she held the reins perfectly, and gave up control completely.
âHold your feet for me, sweetie,â she instructed, and he did so without hesitation, his head thrown back and indistinguishable noises filtering from his gaping lips.
Moans, groans, and whimpers all interlaced with one another, until he had a fleeting concern for a possible noise complaint. He simply couldnât stop the noises escaping him. He couldnât control anything anymore.
And it was so freeing.
âThere you are⌠those pretty noises you make,â her voice curled around him, velvet and wickedly fond. With her hands freed, she used one to pet his hair and cheek, and she rested the other beside him on the mattress, using the new advantage to rock into him harder. âYou're so pretty when you sing for me, you know that?â
Clark could only reply with a broken rush of air, his eyes fluttering, his hands gripping his feet in an effort to anchor himself to the world. The closer he got to his climax, the more the urge to just simply⌠float away attacked him.
Her thumb brushed across the high blush burning his cheek, the action fond and degrading at once.
âI needed his,â she groaned out between moans, her heels clanking noisily on the floor with her movements. âFuck, I needed this so much.â A shiver ripped through her, her forehead dropping briefly to his, her eyes closing for the first time. âYou have no idea how good you are for me⌠you make it easy to breathe again, baby.â
His breath kept escaping him, lungs refusing to take in more than a handful of air at once.
âAre you close, sweetie?â She demanded to know, raising up just enough to meet his eyes again, sweat dripping from her forehead to land on his own glistening skin, leaving behind little white drops.
Her lipstick was gone, her eyeliner melting off along with her mascara, and even her previously hidden eyebrows had started to come out of hiding, the glue she had used to stick them down melting off with their perspiration.
âI'm so happy you allowed me to use you. You like it when I use you, donât you?â
He nodded again, eyebrows furrowing harshly when her dripping wet pussy started contracting around his cock. He was so close, so fucking close that he could taste the end on his tongue. And her breathy words didnât help one bit.
âYes you do, because you like making me feel happy. My eager, sweet thing. All mineâŚâ
And with those words, it seemed their end had become inevitable.
As their climax began, words left them. He dropped his feet in his delirium, legs wrapping around her tight enough to lift her from the floor, her body toppling and landing on top of his. Though, she clearly didnât mind it at all, not with how her arms then wrapped around his shoulders, hugging him to her front tight.
Neither of them noticed his glasses being knocked off in the action, neither of them really cared about anything other than holding each other close.
The sound of ragged breathing filled the room â shaky and spent, uneven in the best of ways. Heat clung to their skin in an exquisite glow, their limbs tangled in a way that made it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
Slowly, Raven forced her tired muscles to cooperate. Her arms loosened from around his shoulders, and she shifted with a groan, every inch of her trembling from exertion and release.
âGod⌠okay,â she panted, blowing some of her hair out of her face, knowing her melting makeup wasnât helping her case at all. âGive me a sec, sweetheart. I need to get up before I can make sure you're alive under there.â
Her voice was teasing, but soft now. That instinctive aftercare slipping into place like the best type of muscle memory. She pushed herself onto her knees, breath still uneven, hands bracing next to his head so she could lift her chest off his.
âClark?â She murmured, eyes still closed in her relaxation. âYou goodâ?â
And when she opened them. She saw him. Him.
His glasses just inches above his head on the mattress, his face suddenly loosing that faint fuzziness she always saw around it. The shape of his jaw was different, sharper, familiar in the way a celebrity would feel. His nose was stronger too, his ears sticking out a little more than what was normal for him.
ââŚClark?â Surely she was imagining things. Right? It couldnât be who she was very certain it looked like⌠No way.
His lashes fluttered, dazed and soft and still blissed-the-fuck-out â but the eyes they framed?
Impossibly blue. Super blue.
Not the gentle, muted sort of baby blue she'd now memorized â but clear, sharp, almost celestial kind that lit up newsfeeds and made crowds go silent with a single glance. His hair, freed from product (thanks to their vigorous workout) curled across his forehead in perfect little ringlets⌠Exactly like on those newsfeeds.
Her stomach dropped through the floor, while he blinked up at her all innocent and happy, chest still harshly rising up and down with the aftershocks, pupils blown wide and trusting and entirely unaware of what had just been revealed.
âSweet pea?â He whispered, voice hoarse and soft, as if the world hadnât shifted beneath them.
cw: Dom/Sub undertones, Sub!Clark Kent, Dom!Reader, BDSM undertones, lots and lots of pet names (baby, babe, good boy, sweetheart etc.), AFTERCARE, comfort, smut, fluff!!!
Chapter summary:
Clark saves the day
They didnât stay too long staring at the painting which had left her looking so⌠haunting.
This time around, as they continued walking and looking at the other photographs and paintings, Clark made sure to âaccidentallyâ stand behind her at every given opportunity. It wasnât exactly his fault that he was big enough to completely shade her from any prying eyes.
Well, that wasnât true. He didnât save her from every eye that looked in her direction. Only the camera that so stalkerish-ly followed them all over the large room. As they passed by, some of the other guests and attendants of the event turned to them for a few words at a time.
They were surprisingly familiar with Raven, their tones speaking of past memories that Clark wasnât privy to as of yet. Or maybe, he never would be.
From how she reacted to each person that touched her shoulder, or grabbed her elbow, or â and he really had to stop himself from punching the person when this happened â outright wrap their arms around her when they saw her⌠Clark had a feeling she would deny the event even happened at all.
âOh, girl, I thought that was you⌠I barely recognized you under all thatâŚÂ makeup.â One woman loudly declared, only a few years older than Raven herself. Her tone was nasally, chin pointed right up to the ceiling, her eyes almost cruel as they roamed over the darkly dressed accountant before her.
âWow, I didnât know you finally came to places like this again. I havenât seen you in years!â Another harumphed, this one older than the one before, and even more outraged at the alternative woman's rather unique outfit and makeup choices.
âIs this your date? I didnât even know you were interested in menâŚâ A different one almost seemed to complain, pushing her glasses further up her nose as she refused to look away from Clark. He didnât need his super senses to recognize the flames behind the look in her eyes.
In all honesty, that wasnât the first, nor the last person in the room who looked upon him with jealousy clearly written over their expressions. Handful of heads turned in their direction whenever the odd pair took a step whichever way they wanted. Raven's appearance had that affect, he supposed. She was like a magnet for eyes.
And though plenty of the looks she received were on the negative end of the spectrum, they never seemed to dim the proud glint in her silver-contact covered eyes.
âYour father must be thrilled that you came, is he around?â
Through it all, Raven's smile remained polite. Too polite. Almost like a porcelain doll (with a bit freakier makeup), pristine and perfect until someone dropped it and it shattered. Her shoulders remained stiff, crowding around her ears until some of her white face-paint even managed to smudge on the delicate material of her dress.
Her pulse continued to thunder away in Clark's ears, picking up the speed every time one of them used her real name. They didnât call her nicknames like Clark did. Not even Babalon, like what the painter had called her. They simply said her real name out in the open like that, as though her whole getup wasnât a very obvious mask of anonymity she tried so diligently to hide behind.
Through it all, Clark fought a battle of his own in his head.
He didnât know what he was supposed to. They didnât expect anything of the sort to happen. Raven didnât prepare him for questions, for more and more personal matters of her own to be revealed than what she had told him so far.
He didnât know if it would be alright for him to step in.
Every inch of his being clawed at him from the inside, begging him to help her. To pick her up in his arms and run, no, fly out of the building and leave them all behind in the dust.
It worsened every time he noticed her nails dig into her palm, her hands clenching with disgust at the pompous words of the rich. Every time her eyes flicked toward the exit with such want in them that he was almost jealous of a pair of glass doors.
Every time her voice lost that dominating confidence he was so familiar with, turning shaky and almost⌠childish, whenever her family was mentioned.
Clark's jaw clenched every time, his mind constantly reminding his heart of the agreement they have come to all those weeks ago. She would lead, and he would follow.
But it was clawing at his spine now, that instinct to protect and care, whispering in his ears like a demon sitting on his shoulder.
She is uncomfortable. Her shaky hands were proof enough. She is clearly overwhelmed. Her silence gave her away, the quips and sharp smile traded in for stoic wordless nods and shakes of her head.
Do something.
Raven excused herself from one conversation, holding his hand and dragging him away before he could jump at the man who dared to look so openly down the front of her chest â only to be cornered into an equally as thrilling one not two moments later.
But alas, even Superman had his limits.
And his limit came dressed in an expensive suit, wearing a Rolex worth more than probably all of Smallville put together.
Clark recognized him at once, Theodore Fasano, the troublemaker heir of a luxury fashion house based in Italy. His family owned an empire of handbags, watches, perfumes, and anything else the upper one percent could ever have wet dreams about, all built on an obnoxious generational wealth dating all the way back to the monarchy and the bases of the Catholic Church, combined with a healthy amount of tax loopholes.
He spoke as though he was auditioning for an overly masculine cologne commercial, his hands a bit too touchy for Clark's tastes.
 âTheodore,â she greeted him with no effort to hide the disgust in her voice. Clark's eyes widened at her apparent familiarity with the luxurious man, but he had no time to question her.
âCara mia,â he breathed in turn, taking her hand the one might handle a priceless artifact, lifting it for a kiss that lasted two seconds too long. At Raven's shudder, Clark could feel his eyes heat up behind his glasses. âMy⌠you look transformativeâŚâ
Clark's hands clenched in tight fists, and were he a normal human from earth, his knuckles mightâve popped out of their sockets from the pressure.
âYou're absolutely radiant,â Theodore continued, ignoring Clark entirely, despite him standing not even two feet away. âThough I admit I miss the version of you that didnât need all the theatrics.â
âFunny,â Raven shot back without missing a beat. âThis is more of a real me than anything you have seen.â
Theodore laughed the insult off, delighted in the same way an injured mouse might amuse a hungry cat. âStill sharp. Dio santo, you barely changed at all.â
At the rather obvious jibe, Clark's body finally acted before his brain could hold him back. He took a step forward, a step that was neither aggressive nor rude. Just an obvious show of confidence, and a momentary break to the power dynamics he and Raven had set up between one another.
His chest brushed up against Raven's shoulder, and he held a hand out for Theodore, almost laughing out loud when the slimy heir's smirk faded from his handsome face.
âClark Kent,â he introduced himself, extending that hand because his manners were tattooed onto his bones, gosh darn it, and his mama didnât raise a rude person. Even if the urge to dropkick the heir out of the window was still very present. âI'm withââ
âI'm sure you are,â Theodore interrupted, clearly showing his mother didnât raise him anywhere near as good as Martha Kent did. He gave the offered hand a glance so dismissive Clark could feel his eye twitch with annoyance.
âAnywayâ as I was saying, car amia⌠I'm glad I got to see you today. Florence did mention that you were hired to advertise. Your Instagram page is rather⌠illuminating. Your parents mentioned how youâve been hiding, and I've been telling them 'No, no, she's just reinventing herself, she will come back.'â
Clark could feel Raven prepare to lunge, and quickly wove an arm around her middle, holding her tightly to his chest. To those looking in from the outside, the gesture appeared as a normal â if not slightly possessive â move between a couple. He had held a few girlfriends like this before⌠but both of them knew he was currently acting as the only stop between her nails and Theodore's face.
âIf you're interested,â the assholeâ sorry, Theodore added casually, shrugging as though his next few words were about the weather. âI'll be in Prague next month. My parents gave me the penthouse. We couldââ
He never got to finish his proposition, because Clark took another step, this time moving Raven along with him, his arm around her tightening just enough to push a small noise out of her.
The most gratifying of all? She absolutely melted into him.
Her shoulders relaxed, her back leaning against his chest completely. Her breathing evened out, loosing the sharp edge it had just a moment before.
âOh,â Theodore scoffed, rolling his eyes pompously. âI see how it is.â
Clark smiled back at him politely, in that Southern way that hid his malice just an inch beneath the surface. That look, his mother taught him during bingo games and church cookouts, when their neighbor Melissa would bake the same pie she did.
âGood,â Clark murmured, so softly that none of the other bustling guests could overhear him. âThen you won't mind us walking around, right? Like you said, we have a job to do.â
Raven blinked up at him at the use of we, but he didnât look down. He didnât need to. He had made the choice for both of them, guiding her away while she still allowed him to hold the reins. However short-lived that little power would be.
Behind them, Theodore let out an annoyed little lough, but he didnât dare follow them anymore. Like the rat he was, he simply ran off to bother someone else, licking his metaphorical wounds with his poisonous tongue. (I wrote this after a healthy baldurs gate 3 session, can you tell?)
âThank you,â she muttered, shifting a bit so her arm was similarly around him, the two of them linked together and as close as can be.
âYou donât have to thank me,â he was quick to reply, happy to see she wasnât angry with him for stepping in when he did. âYou looked like you were about to jump him.â
âYeah, that's why I'm thanking you. You saved me from getting arrested.â
The two of them shared a quick laugh, drawing some attention from the crowd, but they shrugged them all off, happy to be happy. And just as they wrote the interaction off as a win, the room around them dimmed, the annoying sound of a badly tuned microphone turning on hurting all their ears.
There, on a small podium stood Florence, radiant and smug from all the eyes on her.
âLadies and gentlemen,â she purred, looking around the audience with a smirk that wouldâve amused even the devil herself. âAnd those far too divine for either categoryâŚâ
Florence stood beneath the spotlight as if born there, the glow kissing her high cheekbones, glinting off the tasteful silver of her perfectly styled hair. Appalous rippled through the gallery like something compelled them to do so. She absorbed it all with a slow-curling smile.
âDarlings,â she started again once the roar of the crowd died down. âThank you. Truly. Your presence makes this day a blessing, one I have labored over for years.â
Clark felt Raven stiffen against his side once more, before she relaxed as his hand comfortingly drifted over her arm and side.
Florence gestured like a magician wooing their crowd, her ears glinting like precious stones. âSo many of you know my work, have followed me through the years. You followed me through my obsessions, my visions, my flirtations with the divine and the damned.â
Soft laughter filtered through the room, and the painter basked in it, her heart beating rapidly as the smell of lustful pheromones poisoned Clark's sensitive nose.
âAnd today,â she continued, voice tastefully song-like. âI share with you what might very well be my most personal collection. A series born from a singular, spine-tinglig muse.â
The crowd hushed now, eyes darting about as though searching for the muse themselves.
Florence's calculating eyes similarly rowed about, stopping when they met a pair of silver contact lenses. And she stared, then she smiled. The knowing curl of lips that would haunt anyone not strong enough to withstand it.
But Clark knew his Raven could.
âI would be remiss, if I didnât acknowledge the soul who shaped this exhibition. The creature who taught me everything I know about beauty with teeth.â She raised her glass in a slow, ceremonial gesture, like a queen raising her hand to gesture at the executioner. âTo my Babalon,â she said, savoring the nickname like a forbidden fruit. âThe mother of my monsters.â
A murmur swept through the room, which the painter patiently waited to stop before she spoke again.
âShe is the storm behind much of the serenity you see on these walls. The discord beneath every brushstroke. The truth that made my lies magnificent. Without her⌠half of these pieces would have never clawed their way into existenceâŚâ
Clark's Kryptonian teeth shook with how tightly his jaw was clenched, his concentration pouring into making sure his fingers didnât follow along and accidentally bruise Raven's side, where they firmly remained, both of them needing each other for comfort.
She, so she didnât cause a scene â which Florence obviously longed for.
Him, so he didnât laser the abhorrent woman in half.
âShe was, once upon a time, my fallen angel's brideâŚâ
The room gasped softly at the romanticism, drinking every word in as though it was wine from the Greek gods' table.
âAnd though she may think she has outgrown my light,â she said, voice dripping honey and acid in equal measure, âshe should know she is still the most exquisite creation I have ever touched.â
She laughed into the microphone, the sound lilting and light to others, but heavy and bitter to Clark's ears.
âEnjoy the evening, my loves,â she finished, âand enjoy the ghosts among you. God knows I will.â
Raven literally gagged at the last line, shoving her face into Clark's chest to somewhat muffle the sound of her disgust.
Clark could barely hold it together anymore himself, so he didnât blame her for it. Didnât even complain when he realized she would likely transfer much of her dramatic makeup onto his shirt. Who cared? He would let her paint the whole thing, or douse it in bleach, as long as she didnât hurt anyone else.
He leaned closer to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in a half-embrace â which, given how much larger he was, was a full embrace in all honesty.
âPlease tell me when can leave.â
âFuck yes,â she didnât even hesitate, pulling away so she could lead the way out of the stifling building.
Her glare swept the room â all those gilded strangers applauding a speech that felt like Florence had peeled open her ribcage and displayed the bones as decorative art. Clark felt the heat rolling off her, not sorrow or fear.
Rage.
A firestorm trapped beneath white facepaint and lace.
A private woman whose past was just tossed like table scraps into a room full of rich voyeurs pretending they were better than anyone because they bought art by the handfuls, never to look at them, but to flaunt them. Each pompous voice made her seething worse, each nose turned skyward causing her hands to clench tighter and tighter.
âI needâŚâ she exhaled, shaking out her free hand as though trying to fling her tangible fury off her skin. âI need some fresh air before I commit a felony.â
âYou read my mind,â he murmured back, shoving the doors open roughly, hearing the hinges creak dangerously from his superhuman strength.
Raven's eyes flicked up to him with some surprise at the power behind the move, silver contacts catching the light from a streetlight, flashing like a warning flare. But behind that sharp, false metallic sheen was something aching for escape â something that had been clawed at all day by hands, names, memories, and the ghosts Florence had dragged into the spotlight.
And Clark â sweet, golden retriever Clark â just continued on walking with shoulders squared, parting the crowds on the sidewalk like a man on a mission, dragging Raven in his wake. Some called after them when they bumped shoulders, others simply grumbled curses under their noses.
But Clark didnât even pretend to pay attention to them.
Raven let out a sharp, almost disbelieving laugh as they finally reached a side-street that had almost no people on it, tilting her head up toward the sky where the city's light pollution didnât allow the stars to show.
Oh, how he wished in that moment that she knew about his secret identity already. That he could just pick her up and fly with her, show her the sky and how insignificant worries could be amongst the clouds.
She breathed like she could finally inhale again, still in his arms as she got her phone out and ordered another ride â this one not as luxurious as the one they arrived in.
âBetter?â Clark questioned, his arms still wrapped around her though a little looser now, allowing her to fully fill her lungs with as much oxygen as her human body could handle.
Raven tilted her head, exhaling another lough that sounded like a knife being sharpened.
âNot yet,â she pondered, eyes narrowing and traveling over him with wicked intensity. âBut I know exactly how to get there.â
And Clark had never felt so alive â so wanted â in his life.
cw: Dom/Sub undertones, Sub!Clark Kent, Dom!Reader, BDSM undertones, lots and lots of pet names (baby, babe, good boy, sweetheart etc.), AFTERCARE, comfort, smut, fluff!!!
Chapter summary:
Clark meets someone he would VERY MUCH like to throw out of a window...
When Clark and his demonically beautiful beau finished getting ready for the gallery event â and he finished scolding her for her choice of deadly footwear â she reassured him that he neednât look for a ride himself. The two of them walked down the dangerous stairs of her apartment building hand in hand, all the while his ears were tuned into the movements of her neighbors.
He feared that if one of them were to come out their door in that exact moment, and catch a glimpse of the fallen angel he had on his arm, they would get a heart attack!
Alas, they didnât run into anyone, and no ankles rolled by the time their feet met the pavement outside, where a sleek black car already waited for them. As soon as Clark â ever the gentleman â opened the door to the apartments, the driver had done similarly to his own door, hopping out and circling the car to welcome his passengers.
The man's eyes widened then, growing three times their original size, as soon as he gazed upon the perfection that clung to Clark's arm in a rather regal manner. The black-dressed beauty didnât seem to mind the flabbergasted reaction. If anything, she seemed to revel in it.
Her chin further tilted toward the sky, the dangerously high shoes on her feet allowing her to look down upon a man that would have usually been taller than her. Blood-colored lips curled into a dangerous smile, the tips of her silver fangs flashing just so.
Helping her into the seat, Clark thanked the driver before hopping in himself, shaking his head when he saw the goofy smile Raven wore in the car. Clearly, the woman loved having power over people. Specifically men, it seemed, using her makeup skill and the natural aura of authority she justâŚÂ exuded.
That authority seemed to shake, however, turning fragile just a few minutes into their ride.
Clark felt rather relaxed in his rather cushiony leather seat, going to such events not being too far from his norm. He had attended dozens of gallery openings, charity balls, and all sorts of other events in the name of journalism before. And a few even as Superman, mainly ones for charities (especially those involving children, where his appearance would draw in more and more supporters and deep-pocketed donators).
Beside him, Raven seemed to have trouble. Gone was the confidence that would scare a dictator to his knees. The steely resolve shining in those fake-silver eyes, the grin from ruby lips. In their place, her beauty remained, now tainted with an air of⌠uncertainty.
Uncertainty?
Clark couldnât remember ever seeing such an emotion on her before. Vulnerability, once or twice. Hesitation? Not exactly. But clearly questioning herself? Never.
Tuning into his more refined senses, he couldnât help but raise his eyebrows at her fast heartbeat, the thumps only getting louder and louder with each yard they neared to their destination. Her fingers grew restless, too, fiddling with the silver rings she had pulled on, or drumming her gel nails together so they let out a pleasant little sound.
Feeling brave â and the need to act â Clark reached over to rest one of his large hands over both of her smaller ones, easily swallowing up the twitchy digits under his palm. He always enjoyed seeing the differences in their bodies. The contrasts the two of them created whenever they were together.
His skin was sun kissed from all the healing and flying around, palms calloused from farmwork even though his skin was much less fragile than normal. All the while hers remained white, as though she had never even felt the rays of the sun on her skin before. Like a well-cared for porcelain doll, hidden away in a treasured cabinet behind protective glass. Only taken out for special occasions such as these.
Flipping them over, he offered his fingers to fiddle with, Raven immediately catching on.
She smiled at him, opening her lips to offer an explanation to her sudden out of character behavior.
âDespite what you might think⌠I'm actually not a big social butterflyâŚâ Her fangs slurred her words just a touch, giving her the slightest lisp. Rather than making her sound childish, it just further created a new image of her, almost like an exotic accent.
âI have trouble believing that.â
She giggled at his quick quip, some of the tension finally loosening from her shoulders. In the front, the driver took a quick peek at them from the mirror, before quickly concentrating back on the road when someone pumped their horn a few cars ahead.
âNo, no, it's trueâŚâ she continued, looking down at their hands as she continued to play with his fingers, rather than to look into his eyes as she spoke. He didnât pester her for eye-contact. He knew how avoiding it would make confessing certain things easier. âI uh, the makeup helps. A lot. It's like my own personalized gothic shieldâŚâ For a moment, her fiddling stopped.
She still wouldnât meet his eyes, but she did lift her head just enough for the curtain of her hair to fall behind her shoulder, allowing him to see her sharp side-profile.
âIt's the events like these. They make me wanna scratch off my own skin and jump in a pool of bleach.â She flinched at her own statement, but he couldnât exactly imagine what that sort of injury would feel like. Fortunately.
âThe people we will meet here are some of the mostâŚÂ arrogant, selfish, piece of shit assholes you will likely ever meet in your life. They donât like me, I'm pretty sure they hate me, and I fucking despise themâŚâ
The fire returned to her then, drawn-on eyebrows furrowing and narrowing dangerously, her whole body heating up with emotion. A blaze he was now well and truly familiar with, the one that could scorch a man down to his bones without her ever even touching them.
âWhy take the offer then?â He asked softly. âIf it makes you so uncomfortable?â
âWhy do any of us do things we donât want?â
He knew better than to answer that question.
Arriving at the gallery, Clark couldnât help but stare up at the building in awe.
It wasnât as though it was some Gothic building from the 16th century with stained glass windows and towering peaks that rose up to the sky. Nevertheless, it was still a neat, not too-modern building in the center of the large city, people shuffling in and out of the secured doors by the handfuls.
There were some photographers taking pictures of the crowd, going wild whenever a celebrity or a social media influencer would pass them by. They turned to look at the sleek black car, too, when it had arrived, though they didnât have any reaction when they saw Clark.
When he leaned down and helped his elusive gothic fallen angel out of the car, however, some had glints of recognition in their eyes. And even those who didnât necessarily recognize her, still had a sharp moment of curiosity to them. Her look demanded their attention, after all, regal and dark in a sea of bright happiness.
She stepped out beside him like a fallen shadow, a single stroke of ink across a world full of watercolor paintings. Black from her hair to her heels, she looked like someone had carved her from some otherworldly material entirely â the darkest of stones, the sharpest of obsidian glass, the kind of beauty that instead of glowing, simply consumed the light around it.
And golly, did it consume.
The mask was back. The persona he was most familiar with behind closed doors â whether it be her home or her office â the one that simply radiated with that familiar confidence that drew him in in the first place.
She didnât blend in, but she didnât even try to.
Against the bright chatter and pastel confidence of every influencer and wannabe millionaire on the rather short red carpet, she was silence. She was gravity.
She was the sudden hush that only darkness could bring.
But the funny thing? No one approached.
Not one person dared to step up to her â and thus, to him â not a single photographer leaned in to ask for her Instagram tag. They just looked at her for a moment or two before turning to photograph the next model that came staggering up the stairs of the entrance.
Sure, a few more alternative-leaning people took pictures and stared at her with adoration, and Clark couldnât help the rush ofâŚÂ possessiveness that filled him when he heard all their hearts pick up the pace.
He offered his arm again, and she took it, her shoulders appearing slack to the crowd. But he felt the tightness in her muscles as she wrapped her hands around his biceps, felt her pointy nails desperately try to dig into his impenetrable skin.
The gallery's busy chatter swallowed them whole the moment the doors closed behind them â warm light spilling through high ceilings, classical music humming somewhere behind the clinking of glasses, guests already walking around in pairs or small groups. Clark felt her tighten her grip just a fraction, releasing a sigh only he could pick up.
They didnât get far before the security guard stepped forward with a polite-but-bored smile, clutching a fancy tablet in both hands. âNames?â
Raven gave hers, stating Clark was her plus one. Her tone was crisp, almost business like. It lacked the sweetness she would use at the office, though it wasnât as firm as the one she used while they played.
But as the man swiped his screen, a frown built up on his otherwise rather handsome features. âI'm sorry ma'am, you're not on the list.â
Her eye twitched â the left one, the movement so miniscule that only Clark's heightened sight could pick up on it. âUgh, it's probably underââ
âBabalon!â A bright voice sang from behind the guard, slicing through Raven's sentence like a sword from a fairytale.
A tall woman strode through the crowd gathered inside the vast hall of the building, silver hair arranged on the top of her head in a crude crown, her outfit dazzling in rhinestones that were probably worth more than the Kent Farm back in Kansas. She had an air of old money around her, a flair for the dramatics as she swept forward with her nose tilted to the sky.
Behind her trailed a radiant posse â photographers, influencers, models, and bored rich fold drifting like a cloud of poisonous perfume in her wake.
Clark felt Raven tense up beside him, not with fear⌠no, this was pure irritation that made her look even more deadly than her dark visage already painted.
âDarling, there you are,â the artist trilled, her posse curiously staring at the⌠rather strange couple. âI was wondering when you'd show.â
But the goth wasnât really looking at her at that moment. Clark followed the line of sight of her silver contacts, eyes drifting over the walls. At first, the paintings looked harmless enough.
Destroyed cities that looked so realistic they couldâve been photographs. Wide fields of flowers, destroyed and burned by missiles (I tried to spell this word out for 3 minutes, but had to google it), tank tracks muddying up the petals. There were even a few abstract pieces, what rich people liked to refer to as âmodern artâ but Clark never understood the appeal.
How could a red square on a blue canvas symbolize anything?
But there were faces, too. Hidden among the colors, or entire crowds painted in all sorts of shades and sizes. Women, men, children â all captured with a careful detail that made anyone linger who caught sight of the pieces.
Balls with flowing dresses and champagne flutes filled to the brim. The expensive insides and outsides of a large manor somewhere in the countryside. Horses grazing in meadows, with their riders leisurely resting against the trunks of thick trees.
Something in particular struck him. The delicate curve of a cheekbone. Eyes that held too much emotion to be accidental, often not fitting the rest of the crowd around them. A mouth he had seen â and tasted â a dozen different times now across quiet mornings and lazy afternoons.
The realization came slowly for him, unfamiliar with any of the works previously, but it all his Raven at once, like a harsh slap delivered from a past loverâŚ
âWhat the hell, Florence?â She snapped, her voice low and tight enough to cut diamonds.
And Clark easily understood why she was so frustrated. Why she had warned him of her hatred of these people. Why she was so reluctant to enter, despite her good mood earlier in the apartment.
The faces staring back at them from different frames werenât Raven's from the present â there were no traces of the black hair he so adored, the bold lips that grinned sharply whenever she was pleased, the dark armor she wore so effortlessly.
NoâŚ
These were versions of her from beforeâŚ
A younger her, softer. The one who didnât yet know how to protect herself from the pain others could cause.
The one who got hurt, and learned from other's mistakes.
âOh, darling,â Florence â the artist who painted the pieces â purred, âdonât be shy now. You know you were always my favorite muse.â
Raven's nails further dug into Clark's arm, hard enough that were he not invulnerable, she mightâve likely drawn blood. Clark couldnât help but mirror her feelings, an anger starting to grow in him that flexed his muscles and warmed his eyes dangerously, baby-blues itching to glow red.
âYou look wonderful, by the way,â the older woman continued to ramble on, ignoring the pissed off look Raven was sending her way. âWhen I first saw your Instagram page, I honestly questioned this whole getup youâve got going on⌠but I have to admit,â she gestured lazily at Raven's outfit, as if she were officially approving of it. âThis is divine.â
Raven looked ready to snap. To sink those false, silver fangs into the taller woman's neck and refuse to release her hold until she tore a large chunk of skin, meat, and muscle out. To drench her black dress in blood and not even think twice about it.
And yet, at the same time, she looked⌠subdued. As though her body desperately fought with her brain, knees shaking like she wanted to sink to the ground. The shakiness of someone whose body remembered carefully trained obedience.
Clark felt the confusion tighten in his ribs, constricting his lungs until it pained him to draw another breath. Their talk in her kitchen came flooding the forefront of his thoughts, her solemn words as she reminisced about how someone had hurt her in the past.
He didnât know whether to step forward and protect her now, or simply throw Florence through a window, public image be damned. He didnât know what his lover needed, her face slowly transforming back into the unreadable mask he was quickly growing to hate.
Florence, on the other hand, didnât hesitate to move.
She reached out, slow and practiced, clearly intending to toy with the shorter woman's necklace â a gesture far too intimate for stranger, way too casual for exes, and too claiming for someone who had no right to do so.
Raven moved out of her reach just in time, shuffling back half a step and to the right, straight into Clark's side. Her chin lifted proudly, a cool and practiced angle â regal, defiant, and untouchable. In doing so, she revealed it: the black handprint Clark had painted around her throat earlier, his palm still buzzing with the leftover sensation of her fragile skin under his own.
A clear sign of possession.
The artist's fingers stalled mid-air, hovering inches away from the mark. âOh,â she breathed, her smile faltering for the first time. And did it falter hard. âMy, myâŚâ
Raven's eyes narrowed, the silver contacts shifting slightly from the pressure.
âHands to yourself,â she hissed, though the words didnât sound as dramatic as they shouldâve. Just a low, grounded tone that made anyone heed to them without a need for a second warning.
âBaââ
âWhat the hell gives you the right to put these paintings out like this? To put my life on a canvas and hang it for people to gawk at?â
The painter stepped back, the movement rather miniscule, her breath caught in her chest. Clearly, she wasnât used to Raven not following, to her standing up for herself so brazenly. Even in public.
Clark shifted then, the fire in her awakening similar flames in his body once more. Seeing her not allowing the imposing woman to talk down to her did things to him. Good things. Things he really needed to stop feeling in public.
That was when Florence's gaze landed on him, deep brown eyes roving up, and slowly down. Amusement wafted off her almost as strongly as her expensive perfume.
âBabalon, we are not making a scene,â she purred, not taking her eyes off the man. âYou got yourself a toy? Hm⌠I never wouldâve guessed.â
Clark opened and closed his mouth, a helpless, startled thing â utterly readable, completely mortified. There was so much history in the air, he could feel it pressing into the air between all of them, like cold fingers digging into his ribs, trying to get the cartilage out from between.
âDo mingle, would you?â Florence spoke up suddenly, seeing as her mocking wasnât getting the reaction she was so eagerly digging for. âThatâs what's in your contract. The one you actually signedâŚâ Clearly, there was another hidden meaning behind that too. The reminder was barely hidden poison.
She crooked a finger, and a photographer came bounding like a loyal dog.
âI hired you to promote this event. So promote. I have to go charm another few thousand out of these idiots before the charity drops my name. I need the tax benefits,â and with a shrug â and an overwhelming swirl of sneeze-inducing perfume â she was gone.
The silence she left behind was so heavy, Clark could feel it vibrate between them. He stood, blinking his puppy eyes, his journalist mind combining everything he had learned in quick succession.
And Raven⌠she looked like someone had reached inside her and twisted something old, an old scar that had well and truly mended, but was still a little sensitive around weather changes.
Not knowing what else to do, how else to help ease that furrow from her brows, Clark swooped in to steal a kiss from her blood-tinted lips, not caring the slightest about the residue he could feel on his lips right after.
His hands wound around her shoulders first, gripping and pulling her in firmly until she fell against his chest, her body easily relaxing the longer his lips remained on hers. He wasnât big on such blatant public displays of affection. His mother raised him with a strict policy on polite behavior, but kissing her in the middle of a large crowd felt like taking a breath of fresh air.
The first one since they had entered the stuffy building.
Hearing her heart speed up from lack of oxygen, he pulled back gently, hands firmly remaining on her heaving shoulders. Seeing her lightly gaping expression, he panicked and quickly blurted out, âYour makeup still looks amazingâŚâ
For a single moment more, her eyes were storms of emotions⌠and then they slowly began to ebb away. Something in his lightly panic-stricken face cracked her composure just enough. Just enough for the corners of her lips to twitch upwards.
Just like that, she let out the tiniest giggle. He'd earned a giggle.
âGod, you're hopeless,â she muttered, leaning further up to steal another giggly kiss from his lips.
He grinned when they separated, stupidly proud. âBut helpful?â
âOf course.â
She shook off the last ghost of Florence's attempted touch and squared herself again, reaching for his hand like he was the last tether holding her to the Earth. With a sigh, she nodded her head in the direction where all the other people were walking.
âLet's go before I get sued for breaking my contract.â
They stepped deeper into the gallery, and the photographer followed with predatory enthusiasm, often kneeling or even⌠crawling on the floor to get the best angles. Clark was glad her dress was only an inch away from touching the ground. Were there a risk of something more showing, he was ready to break the damn camera.
For now, they just did their best to ignore the incessant click, click, click from the little machine.
Raven walked as if every frame on the wall was a live landmine. Fields of flowers. Halls full of dancing people. Stark cityskapes. A war zone painted in shades of deep red⌠And the familiar face they both tried hard to ignore.
It wasnât as though they were the main focal points in any of the drawings and paintings. Just a character in the background, always there. Always watching. The figure rarely interacted with any of the others. Rarely turned to completely face the observer, always more of a shadow than anything tangible.
âHey,â Clark whispered, tightening his hold on her hand gently, because he knew he was holding something precious. âI'm here. Just⌠tell me if you want to leave and I'll take you out the back. I'll carry you if you want. You can even choose between bridal or fireman style.â
Her lips pulled up into a grin again, the points of her silver fangs digging into her lower lip.
âI might just take you up on that.â
But still they continued on. Raven sometimes pulled away from him to pose for a photograph of two, and sometimes she even instructed him on how to pose with her, making sure both of their faces were covered just enough to leave them anonymous.
Up until they reached the middle of the large room, where Clark suddenly found himself unable to breathe.
The noise of the crowd, the clicking of heels, the shutters of cameralenses, they all faded away the moment they faced the painting. The centerpiece. The showstopper.
The one Florence Hosteler probably imagined people would stand before and whisper about her genius.
But he didnât see genius.
All he saw was cruelty.
The canvas towered over them, swallowing most of the wall. The bride in it â broken, scorched, and stripped down to bone and flesh â looked back at him with eyes so heartbreakingly alive they felt like a mirror to his harshest nightmares. The white gown was torn open, leaving a pale spine exposed like a poorly hidden secret. Whip-marks bloomed red against the fragile skin, the smallest trickles of blood looking like the paint on the canvas never really dried. The wedding dress, which had once been a bright, shining white, was now dragged through fire and dirt, scorched at the ends until the tulle faded away to expose deadly thin calves and thighs.
The bride was hunched on herself, her arms wrapped tightly around her front to shield her heart from further wounds, but her arm faced outward. Faced the crowds gaping up at the most realistic painting so far.
And the tears shining in her eyes couldnât hide away their beautiful color.
The Fallen Angel's Bride.
The title glimmered on its gold plaque like cruel mockery.
Clark swallowed hard, but couldnât tear his eyes away no matter how hard he tried. It felt like staring at something he was never meant to see â something intimate, filled with sorrow, yet sacred in a way that both harmed and soothed.
And a step away from him, Raven simply stood still.
Terrifyingly still.
Her breath didnât stutter, her hands didnât shake. But er face⌠her face tightened, slow and quiet, as if she were holding back an entire ocean behind her teeth. When she finally spoke, it wasnât dramatic or even angry.
Not even bitter!
Just tired. Oh so very tiredâŚ
âI never looked good in white,â she murmured, silver gaze fixed on the bride. Meeting the same eyes on the canvas. Undeniably hers.
The photographer snapped another picture, the sound making Clark flinch.
âYou donât have to pretend you're okay,â he leaned in to murmur in her ear, his arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her in, fingers itching to dig in under her corset so he could actueally feel her and not the stiff fabric.
âI'm not pretending,â she had yet to look away from the painting, but he couldnât hear a lie in her words.
She stared her past down like it was a villain she had already well and truly defeated. And Clark realized â like an uppercut from an alien giant monster â that strength could look exactly like this. Standing still in front of the very thing that had once destroyed you, and refusing to let it control you any longer.
He wished he knew what to say. He wished he had his father's ability to come up with pep talks on the fly, like how he used to do during football games back in high school. But he also knew this wasnât the time for him to save her.
That she didnât need to be saved just yet. She just needed him to stand beside her while she faced her struggles.
âIf it's worth anythingâŚâ he continued to whisper against her ear, enjoying the shiver the words got from her. âI think you look better now. The black hair really suits you.â
Her eyes finally left the painting to look up at him, and the smile she gave him made his heart melt.
cw: Dom/Sub undertones, Sub!Clark Kent, Dom!Reader, BDSM undertones, lots and lots of pet names (baby, babe, good boy, sweetheart etc.), AFTERCARE, comfort, smut, fluff!!!
Chapter summary:
Clark learns that when he dates a goth woman... she will dress like a goth woman...
Sitting on his girlfriend's comfortable bed, Clark balanced his laptop on his lap, trying his best to focus on editing his latest hit piece.
It wasnât about Superman, for once â as Lois so helpfully teased â but rather about the large apartment complex firm he had uncovered to be laundering money through fake renovations all over Gotham city. Perry had been pestering him about it for the last two days, but between fires, rescues, dates, and the thousand other distractions in his life, the piece kept slipping through his fingers.
At the vanity table, she was already getting ready for the event they had to attend, although she had assured they would only need to leave around eleven. Why she had to start getting ready at eight, he didnât understand at first⌠until he remembered exactly who he was dating.
She had invited him to a morning shower together, where he had been granted the immense honor of rinsing the shampoo out of her raven hair, fingers combing through ink-slick strands under the scalding water. Sure, she had then promptly kicked him out so she could shave her legs in peace, but the minutes they shared in there, naked and wet, Clark would cherish for a long time.
While he pulled back his comfy attire from the night before, she walked out of her bathroom in a satin robe â the front stained with white face-paint and⌠what he hoped was toothpaste â her wet hair completely stuck to her back as she brushed it out. She continued to add nice-smelling products into it, focusing on the ends mostly, until her hair shone in the early morning light with the brightness of the very sun that powered him.
When she sat down at her desk, she made sure to warn him that her makeup would take at least two hours, and that he needed to find something to entertain himself with, as she wouldnât be the best conversationalist. She needed her concentration to make sure her white foundation wasnât patchy or streaky, and her eyeliner was as sharp as humanly possible.
That was when he had pulled out his laptop and told her of his plans of editing articles⌠though, as the minutes ticked by, he had to admit his eyes wandered to her more than once. He watched the curve of her neck as she leaned in, the glint of her shiny black nails catching the light, the way her plush lips parted as she focused.
Her phone played music from the surface of the vanity, the playlist a mixture of screaming noise even his super ears couldnât comprehend, love songs from the 50's and 60's, andâ
âNo way,â Clark whispered, staring at the woman before him with his jaw slack and eyes wide open.
âNot. A. Word.â She threatened, turning in her chair so fast that something clattered to the ground. Thankfully, it wasnât anything fragile, as he didnât hear it shatter on impact, but she still looked annoyed by having to lean down and grab it.
âI just⌠I canât believe you wouldââ
âClark, I am serious.â
ââlisten to country music?â
The song, which he had heard playing at his parent's house before, started playing loudly from her phone's speakers, and Raven hadnât been able to skip it fast enough. The starting chords were telling enough, even if Clark hadnât been familiar with the material, its country twang heard through the guitar as clear as the bright morning sky outside the window.
âI donât even think they're countryâŚâ She tried â and failed â to defend herself, looking back at the mirror as she started carefully drawing on some new eyebrows. She had blocked her natural ones with glue of all things (Clark had watched the whole thing, thinking it had to be some sort of witchcraft), making the new ones stand out with their sharp shape and thinness.
âThey sound country to me,â he shot back with a grin, falling back against her pillows when she shot him a glare once again. Admittedly, she did look quite spooky with her white skin, thin black eyebrows, and the even freakier silver contacts she had donned.
âWhatever, it's a good song,â she huffed, turning back to finish up her left eyebrow. After a few moments of silence, however, that was clearly charged with some leftover agitation, she looked to him again. âAnd what if I sometimes listen to some folk songs? Am I not allowed to just because I dress a certain way?â
Now, Clark felt like he had stepped into a trap he couldnât quite climb out of.
âThat's not what I said at all⌠just didnât expect it,â he shrugged, staring down at his laptop. Would she notice if he typed âhow to get out of a trapâ into google?
âGood, because remember, babe, I didnât judge you for your awful music taste.â
âAwful?â
Instead of replying, Raven simply turned back around to face the mirror, continuing on perfecting her already perfect features.
Clark was smarter than to point out that she didnât need all the makeup she was putting on herself. He had made that mistake once in high school, and didnât hear the end of it from both his at-the-time girlfriend, and his mother. Now, he simply sat and stared as she used black, grey, white, and silver to make herself appear as some otherworldly vampire queen sent to destroy the human race by entrapping them in her beautiful gaze.
She blended the white all the way down to her decolletage, though she left her arms and hands uncovered.
Rather than reaching for her black lipstick (and she had an entire drawer dedicated just for lipsticks, he noted, the shapes varying from bright yellows, all the way to the most muted of mauves), she chose one that was the closest possible match to the color of blood, painting it on with careful strokes of a small brush, opting not to use the dulled point of the lipstick itself.
Then, she did the strangest of her rituals yet. Something he hadnât seen before from any woman he had watched get ready â though, yes, admittedly there werenât many to begin with. She stuffed cotton between her gums and cheeks, sucking the air in through her mouth toâŚÂ dry her teeth?
Reaching for the lowest drawer of her vanity, she grunted through one of those hissed breaths with the effort, the satisfying cling of clinking bottles heard as she ruffled through them. Making a victorious sound she placed down something that resembled a nail polish bottle.
Leaning closer to the mirror, she unscrewed the top and proceeded⌠to paint her teeth black. His work now completely forgotten, Clark flopped to his stomach on the end of the bed, his chin resting on his fists as he watched, completely enchanted.
Fanning her teeth with her hands, she shot a wink at him through the mirror, her silver eyes, black teeth, and corpse-white skin creating an image he never wouldâve thought to be⌠attractive.
Though he wasnât much of a believer anymore (he was raised by two good Kansas Christians) he understood faith again just by looking at the image she painted. Maybe angels didnât exist â not the soft, shining ones from paintings and bible verses⌠but the fallen kind? The ones who looked at you and saw everything you tried to hide⌠Creatures of beauty far exceeding what humans should be capable of.
Though she didnât wear white, didnât hold large feathery wings at her back, she was everything a fallen angel could ever hope to resemble.
âSo, what do you think? Spooky enough?â She smiled through the window, opening a jewelry case. Hooking large earrings through her ears â silver swords that just barely brushed her slightly hunched shoulders â she followed those by a matching necklace of silver and small red gemstones.
âYou areâŚâ Words escaped the esteemed journalist, his mind completely empty as he was still too busy taking all of her in.
âWow, made you speechless and I still have clothes on?â She teased, popping the last of her jewelry in â a pair of silver fangs that made her look both dangerous and devastating.
Standing from her chair, she stretched and grinned when several pops sounded from her back, leveling her silver gaze with him. Her eyes raked his figure stretched over the plush surface of her bed, much like a monster seizing up their next meal.
âIf only we had more timeâŚâ She murmured under her breath, adjusting her robe pitifully. âAlright, mirror is all yours, I'm gonna go do my hair. Shouldnât take too long, maybe half an hour, and then I have one last thing before I can get dressed.â
With that, she left the room and headed for the bathroom, where Clark could hear her turn on the hairdryer.
Sitting down at the messy vanity, Clark stared at himself in the mirror, wondering just what in the hell did he get himself into.
Forty-seven minutes later â all spent existentially staring at his reflection and occasionally fixing strands of his hair in ways that never seemed to work â Clark straightened the second he heard her footsteps behind him.
He turned, instantly attentive, like some eager retriever puppy waiting for a command and a treat.
When she appeared, his lips gaped like a fish, mind a mess of thoughts he couldnât linger on long enough to vocalize.
Her hair fell long and pin-straight, sleek as wet ink, the strands so dark they almost reflected light instead of catching it. As though she had flown up into space rather than him, and stole some of it to stick it to her scalp. He realized she had clipped in extensions â not that he could really tell where her real hair ended and the synthetic began. She'd hidden every clasp and seam, letting the silky curtain brush against the tops of her hips.
It made her look taller somehow â not an easy feat. More otherworldly.
Regal.
âYou're drooling,â she teased, silver fangs glinting in the light with her smile. At her words, his jaw snapped shut, and his gaping lips pursed into a pathetic pout. âYouâve been staring at yourself for almost an hour?â
âI was⌠uhââ he glanced back at his reflection, and his own expression betrayed him. Was the guy in the mirror really the savior of the world? âThinking.â
âAbout what?â Gliding toward him with a rustle of her robe, her fingers dug into his hair without hesitation. She twirled and fluffed a few strands, contemplating slicking the tresses back with some gel. In the end, she simply carded through the dark strands with expert precision, ruffling the front just enough to make him look a little more undone than usual.
"All sorts of things..." was his lame answer.Â
âCute enough to eat,â she murmured, smirking when he swallowed hard.
He tried to hide it â the shiver that ran through him, the way his Adam's apple bobbed with the lump stuck in his throat â but she saw it. Of course she did. She always did.
âWas this the finishing touch you mentioned?â he asked, desperate to pull his voice back into somewhat normalcy.
âOh, no, baby,â she said, stepping around him to the vanity to reach into one of the drawers. âThat comes now.â
Taking out a plastic tray, she set it on the last empty spot before him. Unscrewing a bottle of black face-and-body paint, she squeezed a thick line of it into the tray's center, spreading it with a brush until it looked like a pool of ink.
âUh⌠what's that for?â Clark asked, brows furrowed.
Her smile was deliberate this time, slow and knowing in a way that made Clark's heart pick up the pace. âYou'll see in a moment. Give me your hand.â
He obeyed â because of course he did â heart stumbling against his ribs as she guided his palm into the dark paint. It was cold, almost shockingly so, and he shivered at the sensation. When she lifted his hand again, his skin gleamed with a slick, raven sheen.
âNow,â her voice had quieted into the sensual tone she used during their playing. âI need you to leave your mark.â
âMy⌠mark?â
âMhm, right here.â She touched two fingers to her throat, not hard, just enough to show him where. âMake sure no one bothers me at the gallery.â
His throat went dry at once. The room seemed to shrink until it was just the sound of her breathing and the thundering of his own heart. He could feel the paint begin to dry on his hands, turning thicker as the nanoseconds slipped by him.
âSweet peaâŚâ
âIt's okay,â she assured him softly, stepping between his slowly spreading legs. âJust paint, it won't hurt me.â
Looking into her silver eyes for a second longer, he gave in with a small nod.
Clark raised his hand slowly, hesitantly, his palm hovering above her skin. When she nodded once more, he let his hand rest against the column of her throat â light as air, just enough to leave behind five shadowed streaks, and the larger splotch of his palm. The change in her was immediate, and he didnât need super senses to pick up on it.
Her pupils dilated under her silver contacts, her lips falling open to expose her painted teeth. Her heart hammered under his gentle fingers, beating a harsh rhythm right beneath the skin.
The black paint bled against the white already drawn on her skin, forming something between a collar and a necklace no one else could copy.
Her breath hitched, the same as him, and neither of them dared to break the silence just yet.
When he pulled his hand away, he stared at the mark â his mark â spreading across her skin. He had easily covered the entire column of her throat, his thumb print disappearing under her ear, his pinky just brushing against her collar bone. The more he looked at it, the⌠the braver he felt.
Like he could fly around and save everyone and everything all at once.
She tilted her head to stare at her reflection in the mirror, gently brushing her hair aside so she could marvel in how much skin he managed to cover with one giant hand.
âPerfect,â she complimented, and before he could answer, she dipped her own fingers into the paint. âYour turn,â she murmured.
Her hands were smaller, but she pressed them to his skin in the same mirrored gesture â her touch soft, reverent, leaving behind black shapes blooming across his neck like the shadowed petals of a mysterious flower. His breath stuttered, though he didnât dare swallow whilst she had her palm on the harsh bump of his Adam's apple.
There was something electrifying in the way she looked at him then, proud, playful, and so tender.
When she finally stepped back, they just stared at each other for a moment â the air thick with the chemical smell of the face paint, and unspoken thoughts â staring at each other like they were seeing each other in a new light.
âI uh,â for once, Raven was the one stuttering. âUhm, I'll go get myâ I mean, I have my dress in the other roomâŚâ she gestured behind herself with a thumb over her shoulder, almost falling as she took a hasty step backwards.
Clark reached out at once, setting his hands on her hips to stabilize her, and that bravery still zapped through his veins with the speed of light, boldening him up enough to where he stood and used his height to his advantage. Looking down at her, he smiled as his thumbs rubbed small circles into the satin of her robe, the two of them⌠almost swaying to music without any actually playing aloud.
âDo you need me to zip you up?â
âIt has a corset,â she blubbered out, staring up at him with wide eyes. And somehow, even with the flawless application of her foundation, he could still see her blush through the layer of white.
Then, after another charged moment, she spoke with a similar reverence to the night before. âIt looks good on you,â she murmured, smiling her blood-colored smile.
He tried to laugh, but it came out a bit more like a failed scoff. âI didnât ruin your look?â
âI donât think you could ruin something if you triedâŚâ
Clark followed her into the next room, watching as she crossed to the wall where all her âvampire goddessâ pieces lived â long skirts and dark fabrics neatly hung on makeshift shelves she'd stubbornly installed herself, corners missing and paint chipped where she had obviously messed up.
She reached for a black dress, floor-length and a touch too long for her shorter height. Its sleeves hung open and weightless, the corset built in with old-world precision. It looked like something an elf might wear if Tolkien had ever dared to imagine darkness quite as beautiful.
It surely was as enchanting as any fictional seamstress could create.
She stepped into it without much fanfare, dropping her robe carelessly to the floor in a shiny heap. The fabric whispered against her smooth legs as she tugged the bodice up and began tying the front. The neckline dipped just enough to tease, not enough to give what so many would obviously want to see.
When she turned her back to him, the laces of the corset waited â taut and expectant â and Clark took a small breath before stepping closer.
His fingers worked slowly, threading the satin ribbon through with careful precision, always pausing to check her reflection for a nod or a shake of her raven hair.
âNot too tight?â He asked softly.
âYou're doing wonderful,â she murmured, her eyes catching his through the mirror.
And for a long moment, they just stood there â her spine straight and proud under his hands, his reflection a shadow of adoration behind her. The pair looked like they'd stepped out of some half-remembered painting: the dark muse and her golden devotee.
When he tied the knot, she turned to face him with a fang-exposing grin, and his gaze drifted down to the hem pooling around her feet.
âYou're going to trip,â he told her, worry creasing his forehead.
She grinned, brushing past him with a teasing shake of her head. âNot when I wear these.â
From a cubby near the corner, she produced a pair of black stilettos so sharp they might as well have been considered deadly weapons. Clark blinked at them, visibly distressed, and before she could open her mouth to tease him, or reassure him â he was already kneeling.
The sound of his knees hitting the floor was quiet, but the sight of such a large man on his knees before her stole her breath. He took one of her heels gently from her hand, sliding it onto her foot like it was made of precious glass. His thumbs lingered just above her ankle (fearing that she would break it before the day was over), his touch steady and reverent before he bent his head and pressed a single kiss against her skin.
Then another, just below the bone.
âYou're going to be the death of meâŚâ he muttered against the skin, fingers fumbling with the small clasps of the deadly shoe.
âStole the words right out of my mouth, sweetheartâŚâ
Even people who already mastered many aspects of life can still learn, from the very creatures they were taught to underestimateâŚ
Obi-Wan Kenobi x Siren Reader
Word Count: 9 000.
Cw: prostitution, slavery, degrading talk about the reader, attempts at being funny, me being the ultimate yapper, I actually know nothing about star wars, mentions of child abuse, jealousy, inexperience, sexual inexperience, touch starved, blow-jobs, oral sex, cowgirl position, praise kink, crying during sex, Force bond, running away
While he usually enjoyed missions, Obi-Wan often found himself in places he would have otherwise never visited.
Alas, missions like the one he was currently on required him to blend in with the more âregularâ people of the galaxy, shedding his Jedi robes and exchanging them to tighter, more fashionable clothes of silver and grey.
He kept his cool, of course, though anyone who spared him a longer glance could see the discomfort hiding behind his self-satisfied smirk. Watching the women dance on the stage filled him⌠many contradicting emotions.
Sirens were not very common in the vastness of the galaxy, most of their population locked down on the very planet he was stationed on at the moment. They were regarded as something between sentient beings, and animals. They could speak, they could feel certain emotions, and yet, they behaved more like animals than anything else.
At least, that was what the rumors and the Jedi archives had told him growing up.
They were driven by nothing but hunger and lost, both of which they could satisfy in one act alone.
Clubs and brothels â like the one he was in now â took these wild creatures in, saving the locals from being preyed on in the waters and jungles of this particular planet. The owners of said establishments then trained the females to the best of their abilities, the entire planet's economy resting in their hands.
Dicrurn was the first known planet to completely build its economy and value on sex work, becoming an even more popular place to visit ever since the war broke out, from people on both sides of the war.
But the longer Obi-Wan remained on the planet, the more he could feel it. The Force. All around him.
It resonated through the earth in thick waves. It rained down together with the precipitation. It warmed the air just as the sunrays did, diminishing the aches and pains from his joints effortlessly.
But most of all, it surrounded the dancing females in an aura strong enough to blind someone if they looked too close.
He had heard whispers before, rumors of the creatures' connection to the Force, but he hadnât believed them. How could he? How could he and these apparently blood-thirsty, lust-controlled being be connected to the same sacred thing?
Standing in the middle of a disgusting building made for the pleasure of males from every race and ethnicity, however, the truth of the rumors became unavoidable.
âHaven't found one to your liking?â The voice slid behind him like a rancid, handsy ghost. Thick accent, thicker stench of expensive cologne and the unmistakable smell of ego. Before Obi-Wan could fully turn, a damp, pudgy palm landed on his shoulder with the confidence of someone who had no concept of personal space. âFirst time, hmm?â
Obi-Wan schooled his expression, softening his Coruscanti accent into something a bit more rugged and casual. âIs it so obvious?â
âOh, clear as fresh bathwater,â Gribbo crooned, leaning in until Obi-Wan could smell his dinner⌠and lunch, and maybe even his breakfast. âYouâve got that⌠uptight look. It's almost adorable in a place like this.â
The Jedi resisted the violent urge to roll his shoulder out of the man's sticky grasp. âSimply looking.â
âOf course you are,â Gribbo said, tapping his claws against Obi-Wan's collarbone. âThey all âjust lookâ the first night. Then they come crawling back, pockets empty like their balls.â The crude phrasing almost took the Jedi back, his training the only thing allowing his face to remain impassive. âMy girls? They're the best you'll find in the whole galaxy.â
He waved his hand broadly, as if showing off a gallery instead of living beings.
A siren passed by them then â moving fast with her head down and shoulders squared. A man trailed after her on all fours, whining, begging like a loth-cat, hands outstretched like she was the air he needed to breathe, and he was suffocating.
Gribbo beamed, proud as any merchant showing off a prized animal. âSee? They know what you need before you even open your pretty mouth.â
Maker, Obi-Wan inhaled through his nose, he truly needed meditation. And a cold shower. Preferably both.
âHow much for the night?â Obi-Wan questioned, rather than to address what he had seen.
âA thousand credits for the thirtyââ
âAnd if it's for the whole night?â The young Master cut in, the war having greatly damaged his patience.
âOhohoh, ambitious, arenât we? Didnât think someone with your soft spoken words would ask for the more⌠deluxe package.â Gribbo leaned closer, Obi-Wan leaned proportionally father away. âBut I like that. Confidence.â
Obi-Wan simply waited for an answer, his arms crossed over his chest. His shoulder itched something fierce under the other man's heavy paw â and his eyes begged to trail over the girls again.
That was their job, he supposed, to enchant any and all who dared step inside the building. Thankfully, his trainings made him immune to their magical manipulations.
So he believed, at least.
âAlright, alright,â the other man rasped, finally turning to face him head on.
âTell you what,â Gribbo spoke, beckoning one of the girls with a single taloned finger. âI like ya, red. I wanna see if you can survive the night, hehâŚâ
The girl arrived then, dressed in scarps of cloth that barely covered anything.
She looked⌠perfect. Just as he thought she would be.
She was taller than he expected, with long, smooth legs built of seemingly pure muscle, and a form that screamed power and strength. But there was softness, too. Feminine curves and dips in all the right places to awaken a primal need in any man â no matter their race.
Her shoulders were wide, thick with muscle, the obvious structure of a good swimmer. They melted into a slim neck with closed up gills on its side. And as she turned under the sultry light, he could see the shiny reflections of scars upon her pale grey flesh.
Gribbo smiled at the girl, an expression she did not return, and weaved his hand into her translucent hair, turning her head left and rightâŚ
He was showing her off for him, Obi-Wan realized not soon enough. Showing what he would purchase for the night.
âShe is a big favorite with our new-commers. Can be real gentle. Or rough, too. Depends on what you want.â
Her eyes were hollow, Obi-Wan realized. Unique, with ever-changing shades ranging from the same dull grey as her skin, to a light purple. Staring seemingly right through him.
âHollow thing, isnât she?â Gribbo chuckled, giving her head a little shake that she silently endured. âLike a pretty shell you can just⌠pour your troubles into. Perfect for a long night.â
âThe price,â Obi-Wan's jaw clenched.
âTwenty-thousand,â purred the merchant. âAnd I'm cutting my own throat giving you that number. She's worth twice that to the right kind of man.â
Like a brewing thunderstorm, Obi-Wan could feel the Force hum around her, rumbling and alive, yet soft in a way that not even the oldest Master had ever felt. As if she hadnât learned, but was simply born with the control already engraved in her mind.
âOne more thing,â Gribbo added, patting the siren's hollow cheek like she was nothing more than an obedient pet. âNo leaving the building with her. These girls are⌠rare stock. My stock. And I ain't losing one because some tourist got attached.â
Attached. The word felt like a splinter in his ribs. Attachments werenât allowed for him, after all. They went against everything he had learned. Everything he was taught. Everything he held dear.
He nodded once, letting the persona slip back into place. âUnderstood.â
âThen follow her to her room, red. Let's see if you survive till sunrise.â
âââááááâââ
The door hissed shut behind him with a finality that felt like a held breath released.
The room was a cheap imitation of the paradise outside the durasteel walls. A beach carved from someone's lack of imagination. Large trees were painted on with lightly chipped paint, plastic leaves sadly bobbing with the imitation breeze filtering through the air.
There were even the sound of waves present, played from a set of speakers in one corner, intercepted with the occasional trill of a bird whose wings didnât flutter anywhere close.
The ventilation circled fake saltwater and humidity in the air, leaving his clothes clinging to his skin uncomfortably as he turned in a small circle to observe his surroundings.
His boots sunk into sand that was really just finely ground pebbles tinted a golden color.
The Force didnât breathe here, not like how it surrounded everything else on the planet. It felt as though it was locked out, far behind the metal walls, muffled and distant.
Finally, his circle completed, he faced the siren once more⌠and froze.
She stood with her back to the door, one webbed hand still resting on the locking mechanism. When the bolt snapped into place, a soft click echoing in the artificial air, she exhaled a slow, measured breath.
And then she moved toward him.
She glided through the fake sand, her steps careful and light, barely disturbing the pebbles under her webbed toes. She brushed past him, her arm scarcely touching the edge of his tunic, stopping by a clean looking blanket under a couple of large leaves.
Above her, a manufactured moon lit up the room in a soft blue glow, leaving her scares looking more blue than grey now, and her eyes absolutely glowing.
âCome, sit,â she murmured, her voice low and honey-like. Accented similarly to Gribbo's warble, though hers was much more⌠seductive.
The syllables curled like fingers tickling the edges of his mind, digging into sore muscles until they were forced to loosen under their demanding touch. Her presence pressed similarly against his consciousness, probing and tasting, searching for purchase.
She wasnât attacking, by any means. She was just⌠trying to read him. She likely didnât even know that he was aware of what she was doing, her movements practiced and skillful. More skillful, it seemed, than even some of his fellow Masters.
The instinct was there at once, scratching at him like a needy cat â let her in, let her soothe, let her take â but he locked his mental defenses in place with the precision of a man who knew war far too well.
âIââ he began, only for her to circle behind him when he continued to stand, breath ghosting his neck.
âWhat do you need?â She whispered against his skin, and the spell in her voice brushed over him like silk threads. âWhat do you want, my love? Tell me. I can feel it already⌠you're so lonely. Tired. Angry⌠I can fix it for you.â
Oh, Maker. She felt everything.
He pulled the Force tighter around himself like a cloak. âNo,â he said more sharply than originally intended. âYou canâtâ I donât want you to read my mind.â
It was her turn to freeze now, her body turning rigid behind his own.
With the fake moon shining above them, he could see her shadow next to his own, and saw her head tilt as a pang of confusion rang through the Force between them.
âBut⌠I must. I must know. That is how I workâŚâ she murmured, her r rolling pleasantly in a way that sent shivers down his spine. âI have to give you what you want.â With her hands on his forearms, she gently turned him around, her expression one of⌠comfort. As though she wanted to comfort him. Placate his fears.
She thought he was afraid of her.
âYou donât have to worry, I never get it wrong.â
That was when it hit him finally, a blow sharp enough to almost double him over. She wasnât seductive because she was attracted, or because she was hungry. She was trained.
Conditioned.
Taking a steadying breath, he gently brushed her hands off his arms so he could save himself from the shivers wrecking him. From the urge screaming at him to allow her into the deepest, darkest parts of his mind. âI didnât hire you for me.â
At once, her brows knit, a tiny crease of shock and worry. Then anger. And finally, fear.
âThat is wrong,â she said quickly, shaking her head with the sharp, frightened precision of an abused animal knowing punishment is coming. Taking a step back from him, she continued to speak through her own shaking. âWe do not do that here. We cannot do that. I cannot go with anyone else. That breaks the rules.â
She sounded like a student who revising lines she had read over hundreds of times before, the words controlled and perfectly burned into her mind.
âI know,â he assured softly, trying to lay his hands on her arms.
âNo,â she backed away a little further, her hands clearly trembling as the control she usually had was suddenly ripped right out of her hands. âNo. I cannot⌠My owner he willââ
He lifted both palms, sending out soothing waves into the Force. âDonât look at it as breaking the rules⌠I just want to ask you something.â He used the same tone on her he used during the upmost diplomatic moments of his life. Thankfully, it seemed to work on her as well.
Though her breathing remained rapid â to the point that he could see her gills shake on the sides of her neck â she nodded at him to continue.
âWould you,â he began carefully, etching his lips into a smile, âlike to go on an adventure?â
It seemed he had chosen the perfect words to get to her.
At once, her entire behavior changed. It was small at first, but the waves in the Force were anything but. Small and fragile, and so⌠so wrongthat Obi-Wan's heart stuttered the moment he recognized exactly what it is he felt from her.
Hope.
She felt hope.
A light bloomed in her previously hollowed eyes, the grey irises now shifting into a brighter, curious shade of lilac. The exact spark he had seen in Padawans clutching their first lightsabers, bouncing on their heels as they begged to be taken off-world on their first mission.
âAdventure?â She echoed, the world trembling on her tongue like it was forbidden.
âYes,â his voice had turned even gentler. âJust for tonight, a few hours out of this place.â
Her lips parted to expose a hint of sharp teeth, trying her best to mirror his own smile. She wasnât so hollow then, he noted in his mind, simply waiting for someone to treat her as more than just some luxurious toy.
âAdventureâŚâ she whispered again, contemplating only a moment longer beforeâ âYes, Iâ I think I would like that.â
âââááááâââ
They slipped out of the fake jungle-beach room and into the back corridor they had previously taken together, their steps light thanks to his concentration on the Force.
Though it took a lot out of him, he managed to hide the two of them from curious eyes, making sure they stuck to the shadows and didnât take their steps too quickly to draw attention, yet fast enough that they didnât look too out of place among the busy bodies littering every inch of the building.
She stayed close to him, her scent overpowering the smell of disinfectant and other⌠less pleasurable smells that wafted around in the air, though it wasnât even close to the sultry way she had done so inside the room. It was more of an instinctual closeness now, the way a stray howler would track the only nice soul around in the dark.
Two bouncers stood at the exit, armed and massive. They were very aware of who went in â had almost not let Obi-Wan in originally, were he not the smoothtalker he was â who went out, and who they would drag back inside at the first glance.
Her fingers brushed Obi-Wan's wrist, her body partially leaning against his so she could whisper in his ear. âI can try to talk to them, butâŚâ
âLet me,â he cut her pondering off, pushing her a little more into the shadows before he faced the guards head on.
âGentlemen,â he called their attention with a smile, which quickly dropped as he poured all his concentration into the Force, pushing into the burly men's minds. âYou donât see us leaving,â he commanded, brushing his hand over their faces with authority. Â
Behind him, he could hear the tall siren gasp in surprise, but didnât allow the sound to destroy his concentration.
âYou donât remember us leaving, and will allow us back in without any issue.â
Both men nodded much like droids would, their eyes glazed over and jaws slack with drool already starting to gather at the corners of their wide mouths.
âThatââ she breathed once she joined his side, eyes wide with something akin to reverence. âYou can do it too?â
âDo what?â he questioned innocently, trying to gauge how much she knew about the force and what she had been likely doing for years now.
âThe mind-pull. That thing. The thing we can doâŚâ She stepped in front of him then, just as they were about to step outside, almost blocking his path. âI've only seen my sisters do it â the other girls,â she explained when she saw his questioning look, âand⌠and our mother. But never anyone else.â Her voice broke when mentioning her mother, making him soften even more.
âThere's a lot you donât know about the world, it seems, about even yourself.â
But they didnât linger any longer, couldnât. He placed a hand on her upper back and guided her into the alley next to the brothel, shielding her mostly naked body behind his much more dressed up one.
As soon as they had stepped outside into the relatively clean air, she took a deep breath that made her back widen before it collapsed again, her gills opening and shuttering as she circulated the oxygen through her greedy lungs.
Her head tilted upward, eyes darting from star to star, taking in the night sky as thought⌠as though it was her first time seeing it.
He didnât have time to ponder on that discovery, however, as a somewhat hesitant voice called from the shadows of the alley.
âMaster?â
Anakin stepped up to them with a bundle of fabric held out in his hands, his eyes quickly taking in the siren before darting away just as fast, a blush rising to his cheeks. He looked⌠pleasantly mortified, and the sight brought a pleased smile to Obi-Wan's cheeks. Though he was a Knight now, it seemed Anakin was still the same as he was only a year before.
âHere,â he thrust the bundle forward like it was a wild animal about to jump out of his arms, his eyes decidedly remaining in the metal walls of the building beside them. âI managed to get a dress for a few credits.â
The siren stared at the dress for a few moments, then up at the men before her, and back to the fabric once more.
âWhy is it so⌠big?â She questioned with genuine curiosity, unfolding and holding the item in front of her to see how much of her it would cover up. âAm I supposed to live in it?â
âIt's a dressâŚâ Anakin told her plainly, not understanding her confusion.
âBut I already have clothes on. And my scales. I'm not coldâŚâ
Obi-Wan coughed lightly into his fist, opening his other arm to guide her behind the large trash bin. âWe can discuss philosophy after you put it on, alright?â
She huffed sharply but allowed herself to be led over, whispering under her breath in a way she thought they wouldnât hear her. âWhat the kriff is philosophy?â
The men patiently turned away and waited for her to get dressed, trying not to laugh at the excessive noises ringing out behind them. There were rustles, groans moans, and even a harsh growl.
âIs this supposed to come up this high? It's almost touching my jaw!â
âThat is⌠the collar,â Obi-Wan called back gently, rocking on his heels with his hands resting behind his back.
âI hate the collar!â
Anakin pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing a long suffering sigh. âMaster, remind me why we needed her for this mission?â
âBecause,â Obi-Wan murmured back, âher kind is native to this planet, with her as a distraction, our target won't suspect a thing.â
ââŚright.â
Finally, the sounds of anger and frustration stopped, and their siren emerged from the shadows.
Her eyes were wide and bright purple, mouth agape to leave her razor sharp teeth on show. She twirled in place before them, her long limbs catching a nearby street lamp, the folds of fabric moving around her like ripples on water. She slowly, almost hesitantly, ran a hand over the soft cloth draping her body in red.
âIs it⌠supposed to cover me so much?â she whispered, awe creeping into her tone. Her tailbone brushed the fabric, and she felt⌠strangely protected. Entirely surrounded, like a hug she couldnât remember the last time she received. Safe.
Her cheeks warmed â a faint flush she didnât quite understand. She tugged at the dress lightly, and realized with an unexpected thrill that she felt⌠pretty. Really pretty. It was strange, entirely unfamiliar, and yet comforting. Like seeing herself for the first time not as a thing⌠but an actual being.
She spun once more, a small smile tugging at her lips. âI⌠I like it,â she decided, almost shily.
Then she growled again all of a sudden, and her hands reached up to tug at the high collar itching against her gills, the organs flaring in irritation. âBut thisâ it scratches my gills.â
Obi-Wan gave her a small, reassuring glance, gently taking her hands away from the neckline. âIt's just for a short time,â he said carefully, not wanting to shatter the fragile joy in her voice.
She frowned at the collar, but her steps â barefooted, but elegant none the less â were lighter now, more confident, and the glow in her eyes returned. The same flicker from earlier when he'd offered her an adventure. She followed him out of the alley, still grumbling a little about the gills,
They stepped into the bustling streets of Dicrurn, the neon glow of cantinas and holo-ads painting everything in harsh, shifting colors. She froze for a moment, then tilted her head up and around, sniffling the air. A stray scent caught her attention â food, smoke, some strange, sweet tang â and she leaned closer, nose twitching, almost as if she were going to just go around licking everything until she found the source of the smell.
Obi-Wan's hand shot out instinctively â he had raised a Padawan before â gripping hers before she could stumble into a food stand.
âCareful,â he murmured, almost as much to himself as to her.
Her eyes were wide, absorbing everything: the towering buildings, the flickering signs advertising the endless amounts of brothels, the odd smells and shifting colors, the diversity of creatures all around them. Every step was filled with marvel, every sound a new discovery she would dream about for days. Her hands reached out to touch a durasteel railing, the wall of a building, a strange glowing console, and she recoiled when it buzzed unexpectedly, letting out a tiny, startled squeak that made Obi-Wan's chest tighten.
âThis⌠this doesnât hurt?â She asked, voice soft and curious as she looked at him for guidance.
âNo,â he told her carefully, keeping his tone light. âJust⌠unusual. But it's safe.â
Her lips parted in wonder, and she took a tentative sniff of something steaming from a nearby food stall. Then she recoiled slightly, sneezing a little when the seasonings assaulted her sensitive nose.
No⌠she wasnât like an animal at all. Not in the way he'd been taught to think from holocrons and data-chips. She was⌠almost like a child who had been deprived of the simplest of pleasures â fresh air, food, touch, and wonder. The way she explored, the way she reacted to the smallest things, it wasnât the instinctual fear of a frightened animal let out of its cage. It was pure, unfiltered curiosity, pure and untaintedâŚ
Burried beneath years of neglect.
He squeezed her hand gently, guiding her away from the stall which had caused the reaction. âLet's keep moving.â
âââááááâââ
The cantina loomed ahead, a low-slung building glowing like a neon wound in the night.
The closer they got, the more her excitement bubbled beneath the surface â not the dangerous, animalistic energy he'd been warned about, but the spark of pure curiosity. Her steps were quick, almost skipping, hands brushing against and touching everything within her reach.
Obi-Wan adjusted his grip on her hand again. He had never seen someone so alive in their senses, so attuned to the smallest details. And yet, he felt it too. The pull through the Force.
Subtle at first, like the whisper of wind across water, then stronger, more insisted, flowing through him in a way that made his chest tighten: her presence, her attention, her curiosity⌠all amplified.
Inside, the air thickened with the buzz of conversation, the clatter of glasses, and the soft whir of mechanical arms serving drinks. Obi-Wan guided her to a table on the edge of the room, pointing discreetly toward their target.
Her gaze shifted to him, roaming the Separatist with the slightest bit of curiosity. Then it happened: the light from her eyes faded.
The childlike awe, the wide curiosity, the trembling excitement â it sharpened into something precise, deliberate. She moved toward the man with a feline grace that felt entirely at odds with the fragility he had seen on the street, the Force pulsing around her like a second heartbeat, resonating with every thought she siphoned from the man.
Obi-Wan felt it immediately, the scan of the man's mind, the delicate, yet meticulous way she picked through his thoughts. She revealed desires, fears, and all the unspoken urges he carried. Every tiny pulse of the Force from her struck him, a wave he could not ignore, and he realized with a pang that it was not coercion. Not manipulation like he had expected.
It was an invitation.
He watched her approach, shoulders straightening, hips swaying almost obscenely, movements so confident it made his body stir with need. And yet, the softer remnants of her earlier innocence lingered: the tilt of her head, the way her fingers brushed lightly along the man's arm as if she were testing his strength.
Obi-Wan's jaw tightened, feeling bad now that he had asked her to do this. To do exactly what she had been trained to do her whole life â captivating, and seducing â and yet, he could feel the layers beneath like they were his own emotions.
The loneliness, her hunger for connection, the childlike wonder that had not yet been completely obliterated.
And it seemed, he wasnât the only one who could pick up on the emotions.
âShe's⌠she's really doing it. The rumors were true⌠I didnât know they would be quite this strong in the force.â Anakin remarked, whispering just enough for him to hear.
Obi-Wan swallowed hard, regret filling him a little faster than he had expected it to. All he could think about now, was keeping her safe. Keeping her free, even if it meant she had to play the part for a quick moment.
As she draped herself over the man, her movements precise and intoxicating, Obi-Wan felt the pull of guilt and awe clash inside him. Every instinct screamed to stop her, to protect her, to pull her back into the safety the shadows provided. And yet, they needed to finish their mission.
Of which he was reminded when Anakin tugged at his sleeve, nodding in the direction of the hall leading to the private rooms.
âââááááâââ
After they separated from Anakin â who brought back the information they gathered to the ship â Obi-Wan walked her back to the building where their night started, their steps a bit more somber now.
They slipped back through the brothel's service entrance like two undetected shadows, walking down the corridor in quick steps so they werenât caught sneaking about. Down the hall, a door slid open, and Obi-Wan quickly guided her back behind him, holding his breath until the footsteps faded away.
Only when the coast was clear did he let out a slow, relieved exhale.
They were safe, for now.
He turned to her, already bracing himself for the goodbye. For the onslaught of guilt. For the wrench of having to leave her behind in a place that now felt a thousand times darker and smaller than it had on his arrival.
âThank you,â he murmured, voice almost swallowed up by the fake waves. âYou've⌠helped us more than you know. You should get some rest, after all, you have the whole night off.â
He shouldnât linger, attachments were dangerous. Staying longer would only cause one to develop. But before he could step away, she moved â not much, or anything dramatic like a lunge or a hop⌠just a small hesitant reach of her fingers.
âThank you,â she said quietly.
âFor what?â
Her eyes lifted to his, now a muted, soft purple, and a smile graced her plush lips. âFor the adventure.â
There was nothing seductive in her voice now. No trained charm, no sultry tone. Just a girl trying to put something enormous into words she was never taught.
âIt was my first time,â she whispered, her arms snaking around her front to hug herself. âSeeing the starsâŚâ
His heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach, the landing harsh enough he almost doubled over.
âYou've⌠never seen them?â he asked, voice barely holding it together.
She shook her head, scales glinting faintly under the fake moon. âWe grew up in the old building across the street. The windows were all covered, though. He said the moon would⌠distract us. Make us restless.â
âHe?â Obi-Wan repeated softly.
âFatherââ Her eyes widened, as though she revealed information she hadnât meant to utter out loud. âI meanâ Gribbo. Our owner. He⌠he trained us.â Something inside him twisted hard, having to breathe through it before his rage took over him. âAnd when we were old enough, he moved us here. He said it was safer if we worked here, that⌠that we werenât accepted anywhere else in the galaxy.â
She shrugged then, a huff passing through her nose that was neither a laugh nor a sob. âI havenât been outside in years.â
She swallowed, and her fingers wrapped around his palm, the webs between them stopping her from linking them together like others normally would. âBut youâŚâ
Her smile trembled, sharp canines digging into her lower lip until he feared they would draw blood. âYou showed me the stars.â
His throat closed, unable to come up with any words to say. A rather large feat when it came to Obi-Wan Kenobi.
âAnd nowâŚâ she said, stepping closer, her forehead brushing against his, voice trembling with something too soft to be sin, too earnest to be conditioning. âNow I want to show you stars too.â
Obi-Wan didnât breathe for a moment.
Her words hung there between them like fragile glass â too beautiful to touch, too heartbreaking to ignore. He wanted to step back. He shouldâve stepped back. The Code was already screaming at him, stiff and hollow in the back of his mind.
But the Force wasnât screaming.
It was whispering.
A low, aching hum that pulsed through the space between their bodies, threading gently from her to him and back again. Not hunger. Not seduction. Just⌠truth.
She lifted her eyes again, lashes trembling. âI can feel it,â she whispered. âThe loneliness in you. Itâs⌠loud.â
His lips parted in a sharp inhale.
She wasnât reading him. She wasnât tearing into his mind the way sheâd done to the man in the cantina. This was softer â a brush, not a probe. A presence. A sensitivity so instinctive it bordered on empathy.
Her hand slid from his wrist to his palm, timid and almost shaking. âYour body is tired. Your thoughts are tired. Every inch of you is exhausted.â
He closed his eyes because hearing it felt too close to a confession.
âAnd I know,â she continued, voice small, âthat you want to be touched. Not for pleasure. For comfort.â
âPlease,â he whispered, âdonâtâŚâ Because he could feel himself unraveling.
But she pressed on, desperate and earnest:
âYou gave me something beautiful today. Something no one has ever given me.â Her voice cracked. Her thumb brushed the side of his hand â feather-soft, reverent.
âLet me give you something beautiful too,â she said. âLet me repay you.â
âThat isnât necessary,â he managed, though the words were barely breath. âI didnât do it forââ
âI know,â she cut in, gentle. âThatâs why I want to.â
Without another word shared between them, she started removing his clothes, her forehead still firmly pressed against his as she worked on them.
Obi-Wan's breaths shook with every movement, the feeling of her calloused, scaled fingers on his sensitive skin wrecking him with shivers that left him unable to utter any objections.
His belt hit the fake-sand first, the small pebbles completely swallowing up the small thud the leather and metal wouldâve otherwise drawn. Strangely, even without his lightsaber strapped to his side, he felt safe, enclosed in her strong arms.
It was like his soul, his life force had been crying out into the aether all his life, begging for⌠for something as simple as a hug. And now, getting it from this strange creature, this strange girl⌠no, from this wonderful and unique woman. The crying stopped.
Like a too-tightly woven line finally cut, all that pressure exploding in a moment, and leaving peace in its wake.
His tunic was next, the item only bought for this specific mission to help him blend in with the people of the planet, now uselessly lying in the metallic sand under his boots. Without it, her bare chest melted into his naked back, and he could feel how warm she was.
After all, her body was built to withstand the waters for her whole life, not fake-humid rooms enclosed in steel.
She almost burned him, her hands wandering over his front, caressing every inch of him like a devoted worshipper would take care of their god. Her touches were reverent, an excited little noise leaving her lips at the sight of his freckles.
âWhere did these come from?â She questioned innocently, speaking against his shoulder blades before she began kissing each and every one she could reach, the lightest layer of saliva quickly drying on his skin.
âT-they are from the sun,â he revealed to her, his voice stuttering from the touches she basked him with. She hummed at the answer, her fingers outlining the muscles on his stomach as she continued her little kisses.
âThese are like the stars tooâŚâ she giggled, her hands finally dropping to the front of his trousers.
Before he could further delve into the explanation of sun-caused beauty marks, his words were once more stolen from his throat as her deft fingers made quick work of the ties holding his trousers up. They dropped from his hips, leaving all of him exposed except the boots still clinging to his feet.
Not that those stayed long.
In the blink of an eye, she had circled around him, the two of them now standing chest-to-chest. When he saw that she had removed her coverings, his eyes instinctually raised to look at the painted ceiling, remaining there even as she chuckled at his behavior.
How strange it mustâve felt to her, to have someone not ogle her, after having been raised to believe that was all she was good for.
Her hands traveled over his front again, dragging slower now that she could actually see all the skin revealed to her, her nails carefully combing through the hair on his chest.
She paid a great attention to his arms, biting her lips as she massaged his biceps with both of her hands, her movements deliberate and filled with just enough pressure to loosen some knots, and even pop some bones. Her hands were blessed by the Force, there was no doubt about that now, working out yearsâ worth of pain in the matter of moments.
Abandoning his arms and admiring his torso for another moment, she began to sink to her knees before him.
The position rang alarm bells in Obi-Wan's mind, his lips opening to urge her to stand back up. But none of that made it to his tongue. Not when her face came level with his erection, his traitorous cock bobbing and begging for attention.
She smiled up at him innocently, untying and removing his boots. Pulled his socks off and set them to the side, pressing pressure points in the bottom of his feet that didnât tickle, but left a pleasant buzzing when her fingers were gone.
In the shadowy light of the fake moon above her, her teeth appeared a little less sharp now. He supposed she didnât want him to be scared with his sensitive flesh so close to them.
Obi-Wan gulped as she took him in her hands, giving his cock measuring pumps as she licked her lips. Her scales proved a new texture his cock had most certainly never felt before. Slick, yet hard, cold, yet searing hot at the same time.
Opening her shiny lips, she lolled her tongue out before placing the head of his erection on it, giving it a few tentative licks before she closed her lips around it. Suckling on the sensitive organ, he almost doubled over at the rough texture of her ever-caressing tongue.
The tongue of a predator, made to lick the flesh off bones, the movement now giving him pleasure that already drew stars on his closed eyelids. He didnât even remember closing his eyes, and battled to open them once more.
His hands uselessly bobbed at his sides, his inexperience with the sexual acts leaving him insecure about where exactly he should place them. His mind still screamed at him to stop it all, but his body cried out to touch her. To caress her the same way she had done to him.
From the air, she caught them however, placing one on the back of her head, where his fingers instinctually wrapped around her translucent hair, and the other on her cheek, her head leaning into his touch.
She gazed up at him wit those wide, big, shiny pink eyes, observing each twitch of his well-defined muscles. The way his knees bent, the little humps his hips forced upon him, and most definitely observing the way his cheeks burned purple with the furious blush upon them.
He watched in wonder as she took him deeper and deeper, not stopping until her nose brushed the trimmed red hairs on his pubic mound. Her gills opened then, breathing for her when her nose was incapable, her throat swallowing around him to massage him further.
Her hands began their trailing again, then. Roving the muscles of his thighs, she watched in amusement as they tensed, relaxed, and tensed again in tandem with her throat's movements.
Wanting to thoroughly pleasure him, however, she gently allowed his cock to slip out of her mouth, her gills closing up as soon as her nose was able to breathe once more. Reaching up, she held his hands as she pulled him along with her, carefully flipping the two of them over as soon as her bare bottom touched the soft fabric of the prepared blanket.
He hesitated, his head still tilted to look up at her as she crawled on her hands and knees, settling on his hips with a little sigh.
Leaning in, she kissed his shoulder first, her hair falling over her shoulder to tickle his arms. Then his jaw, her hair moving to pleasantly brush over him. Then, she kissed his lips.
Slow, soft, and unrelenting until she felt him start to tremble under her. His breathing hitched, and his muscles clenched, but he didnât pull back from her. She kissed him harder then, deeper, until he melted into it like he couldnât stop himself if he tried. Until he was clutching at her like she was the only thing that made sense in the turmoil the galaxy was in.
âI'm here,â she spoke then, breaking the fragile silence they had basked in before. âYou are not alone.â
The exact words his soul had so longed for. The exact words he needed for his body to finally relax and give into her. His head hit the blanket first, then his slightly hunched shoulders, and finally his legs straightened out, a great sigh whooshing out of him at once.
Then, she wrapped her hand around his cock once more, and led him inside her.
He gasped when she slid down onto him, the air punched out of his lungs more violently than the blast of a droideka. She didnât move at first, just held his face in her hands, pressing their foreheads together again.
âYou are strong,â she continued to whisper, her glowing eyes gazing deep into his, until all he could see was pink. âYou are not broken; you are not alone. And you are good.â
His eyes fluttered, overwhelmed by not only the physical sensations and her words, but by the Force. Her signature clashed against his almost violently, wrapping tighter and tighter around him until she consumed him entirely, swallowing him up so he felt the assurance, the truth of her words in every cell of his being.
âAnd for tonight, you are mine and I am yours.â And then she moved.
He groaned, his hands finding and wrapping around her hips like she was gravity and he was flowing through space.
She rocked her hips against him, slow and purposeful, every grind and bump undoing the walls he had spent years building higher and higher until he was nothing more than the Code he followed.
But in mere minutes, she was able to show him that feeling, that emotions, didnât have to be the enemy. That they could be friends, too, comrades that helped him through the dark and dangerous night.
It wasnât just sex, he realized, wasnât a repayment, or even a heartfelt gift â as fucked up as that was.
It was reclamation. An awakening.
When moans began to overwhelm him, she leaned down and kissed him again, weaving her long and rough tongue in his mouth to lick against his. And when his need for oxygen arose, she parted from him with a whisper that truly broke him.
âI am proud of you.â
And Obi-Wan broke.
His body trembled, hands holding onto her like a lifeline, clenched eyes gathering moisture that quickly overflowed and trailed down his cheeks in shiny rivers. His mouth parted with every gasping breath he took while she clenched around him just right, his pleasure through the Force enough to throw her over the edge as well.
When he came, it was like surrendering to something sacred. Like falling into her and realizing he would never crawl out the same man again.
And maybe he didnât want to.
âââááááâââ
The world around them settled softly, the false moon humming its cold indifference above their heads.
Obi-Wan drew in a shaky breath, then another, only realizing he was still crying when the wet warmth on his cheek cooled in the artificial breeze. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, embarrassed despite knowing there was no one there to laugh at his unraveling.
But he wasnât alone.
She was still there, perched on his hips, her breasts only slightly hidden beneath the translucent curtain of her hair. She was watching him with her own damp lashes, tears slipping silently along the faint ridges of her scaled cheeks.
She looked nothing like the confident, man-eater persona the galaxy's rumors and datapads had crafted around her species. There was no calculated allure, no shimmering ever-changing mask of seduction. Just a bone-tired, fragile young woman who had been carved into a role she never chose.
And in that moment, as their wet eyes met, neither of them felt the need to hide. Not behind duty. Not behind performance or expectations. It was simply the two of them, hearts scraped raw and exposed, still echoing with the remnants of the Force-born connection that had flared between them moments earlier.
He felt her still, lingering at the edges of his mind â her terror at the world outside this room's walls, her deep exhaustion, her desperate yearning not to be returned to her owner⌠To her own father who sold her out to strangers and treated her as nothing more than property.
And she, wide-eyed and trembling, could clearly feel him too â the loneliness he had masked behind discipline, the guilt he carried like a second skin, the quiet wish that he might, for once, choose simple compassion without the galaxy, without the Force, reshaping itself violently in response.
She looked away first, cheeks flushing with shyness in a way that didnât soothe her naked body. And in a surprising turn of events, he reached for her. He let his fingertips brush her flushed cheek, a touch so gentle she startled from it.
âIs it always like this? I can see why people return over and overâŚâ he wondered out loud.
âNo⌠it's never supposed to be like that,â she whispered back, revealing that she was just as affected as him.
âThen maybe⌠it was exactly what it needed to be,â Obi-Wan uttered softly, surprised by the steadiness in his tone, by the clarity settling inside him like a new, quiet truth.
He drew in a deep breath, the kind taken by a man preparing to tear down a line he had once sworn he would never cross.
âYou are scared of your father,â it wasnât a question, a simple statement that she couldnât help but nod her agreement to. âThat you are scared of the punishment if he were to find out you broke the rules.â
She stilled, awaiting a verdict she already half expected. He leaned closer to her then, his own nudity none of his concern as he concentrated on sending out serenity through the bond between them. A bond that still lingered, though not even a hundredth of what it had been.
âI'm taking you away from here.â
Her head jerked toward him, eyes widening as if hope itself were something dangerous.
Obi-Wan held her gaze without wavering. âI refuse to leave you here. There is no Code, no command, no authority in the galaxy that requires I deliver someone into slaveryâŚâ
She inhaled sharply, startled by the word. As though⌠no one had ever named her reality so plainly before.
âYou deserve safety,â he continued, voice soft but certain. âYou deserve choice. And you deserve to see the stars again. Every night, and every day until you grow bored of them.â
A sound escaped her then â part sob, part disbelieving laugh â and she clutched his tunic in a reflex born of panic and longing tangled together. âBut⌠what will happen to you? To your mission? To your code?â
âOur mission on this planet is done, and one life won't collapse an entire economy. I'm sorry I cannot save your sisters, too, but even taking you away goes against so many things the Jedi stand forâŚâ He pondered for a moment longer then, but didnât allow the reality of his words to deter him now. âI believe⌠the Force will not punish me for compassion. That the act of saving you isnât an act of rebellion that would send me to the dark side. I have lived enough years to know the difference.â
She blinked, shaking her head a little with confusion, clearly knowing nothing about the Force, despite being a creature so full of it. âBut I am just a siren⌠I am nothing to the likes of you.â
âNo,â he said back immediately, both hands now holding her cheeks to force her to meet his eyes. âYou are someone, and never let anyone tell you otherwise.â
He stood then, slowly, deliberately, and extended his hand to her â the same hand that had trained younglings, steadied soldiers, lifted rubble, and carried burdens the galaxy would never see. Now it reached toward her not to command, not to lead, but to offer her a way out.
She looked at his hand as if it were a star fallen into her reach â forbidden, terrifying, impossibly bright. Her breath shook, her fingers fluttered, and then, with a courage she didnât know she possessed, she placed her hand in his.
And just like that, her first choice was made.
âââááááâââ
The descent into Coruscant had been quiet.
Not the reflective, peaceful kind of quiet â but the taut, uncertain silence that settled when too many things had been done, too many lines crossed, and no one yet knew the price they would pay for any of it. The ship slipped through the traffic lanes like a ghost returning to its graveyard, and even Anakin, who never could keep still, remained strapped in place, hands folded, eyes moving between his old Master and the girl sitting beside him.
He didnât speak, didnât challenge, didnât accuseâŚ
He simply watched, as though trying to decide whether Obi-Wan Kenobi had finally lost his mind â or finally found something that spoke to the man beneath the robes.
When they landed, Obi-Wan felt the pressure in his lungs ease just a little. No Jedi met them at the port, no Council members lingered with folded arms and carefully crafted blank faces. No curious Padawans came running to greet the returning Master and Knight. The platform was mercifully empty, swallowed in the steady chatter of droids and the hum of distant skylane traffic.
Anakin was the first to stand. He nodded once at Obi-Wan â a nod that was equal parts confusion and reluctant understanding â then glanced toward the siren with something like pity wrapped up in young adult bewilderment. He didnât know the details, didnât really want to. He only knew his former Master had taken a risk so uncharacteristic that it left him speechless.
âI will⌠see you at the Temple,â Anakin said quietly before stepping down the ramp, his black-clothed figure swallowed quickly by the flickering lights of the hangar entrance.
Exhaling long and slow, Obi-Wan stood, murmuring for her to follow.
Dressed in the large dress again, she followed him down the opposite corridor, one of the secondary exits meant for supply runners and technicians, not the grand walkway where Knights and Masters normally strode in or out. Each step echoed softly behind them, and she stayed close to his side, her shoulders still tense beneath the too-big dress.
Coruscant overwhelmed the senses. The metallic tang in the air, the steady thrum of thousands of machines working at once, the distant wail of speeders flying past buildings tall enough to break the neck if one tried to look at their very top. She flinched at it all fist, but only slightly, quickly squaring her shoulders again to not appear weak.
They stopped at the threshold of the exit â a tall service door that would lead her into the city properly, into a world she had never been allowed to imagine, much less touch. Obi-Wan hesitated, hands at his sides, before turning to face her, trying his best to smile.
âThis is where I leave you,â he said softly.
âThank you,â she whispered back, her voice steadier than he imagined it would be. âFor⌠everything.â
âI merely opened a door,â he shook his head. âYou're the one walking through it.â
Her eyes shimmered in delight at the knowledge of her impending freedom, overwhelmed, terrified, and graceful all at once.
âIf you ever need help,â He added, reaching into his robe and offering her a datachip with a contact code engraved into it. âThis friend of mine will keep you safe, no questions asked. She owes me a favor. A few⌠actually.â
She took the note as though it were fragile enough to crumble in her hands, pressing it against her rapidly beating heart like a promise.
A long pause stretched between them, warm and quiet and somehow still heavier than anything that had happened before. She then stepped forward, hesitated⌠and with a brave motion finally wrapped her strong arms around him, holding on tight.
He inhaled sharply, not because of the inappropriate nature of a Jedi receiving an embrace, biut because of how honest she felt through the Force.
He rested his hands on her back, tentative at first, then firming as he returned her hug just as fiercely. âYou will be alright,â he murmured against her hair, gently stroking her back. âI believe that. Truly.â
She nodded into his chest, drawing in a deep breath to remember the scent of him⌠and they parted slowly.
âGo now,â he told her, stepping back so he wasnât tempted to hold her and never let her go.
Her lips curved, close enough to resemble a smile that made something in him loosen. Then, clutching the skirt of her dress, she stepped out through the service door and onto the narrow walkway that overlooked the endless galaxy of light below.
She paused once, glancing back at him â her eyes wide and violet, scared but steadier than he had seen them â and then she walked into the city.
She didnât sneak. She didnât flee. She wasnât dragged.
She just⌠walked.
And for the first time since this mission took him to her planet, Obi-Wan allowed himself to breathe.
