myheadhurtscutely

  Clark was your superior, not necessarily your boss, but superior to you in every way, shape, and form, and he let you know that. Clark was in charge of editing and revising your pieces as you were new to the Daily Planet.  When you had first arrived, everything seemed normal. Clark seemed normal. He seemed nice even. Perry took you on a quick tour around the office when you first arrived. Papers flurried, feet scurried, and voices clamored as you followed briskly behind Perry’s surprisingly quick warpath. He led you to Lois, the woman who was meant to be your original editor before that huge jackass tapped on Perry’s shoulder with a sheepish smile, offering to take the load off the raven-haired woman’s hands. At first, you found Clark endearing, cute even, he looked like he could do no wrong, despite his large muscles and frame. His glasses tilting off his nose helped in hiding his true personality that had misled you so quickly.

It had been months of Clark treating you like an assistant. Degrading your work with snide comments, complaining about your lack of care when ordering his coffee for him, and leaving abruptly after he had promised to help you revise during lunch. You were by no means a confrontational person, but he seemed to be desperate to change that.

“You can do better.” He said, letting go of your chair, finally standing back up to his full height. You had been stuck on an article for days, and the deadline was approaching quickly. Clark Kent was the most useless tool in your toolbox. While he typed furiously at his desk, the glare of his computer was affected by a smudge of his fingerprint on the lens of his glasses, making it impossible to decipher what he was working on from the view of your desk. Presumably a Superman lead. He never let you have those. He’d toss you the scraps Jimmy would pile on his desk that Perry had him sort through.

“Clark,” You huffed, watching the sharp tick of the clock pass well after the hour 6. His eyes met yours, brows furrowed still, chin propped in his large hand.

“Yes?” Could he sound anymore annoyed with you?

“Okay, fine nevermind.” You turn sharply back to your computer.

He throws his hands in the air in frustration, as if he could just flick you away with the slight of his hand like a pesky mosquito. “Here if you need me.” You can almost feel the slick in his words as he grins.

You could also feel the slick between your legs when you looked at him. It was just the frustration. You did not like Clark Kent.

“Yeah, that’s kind of your job.” You cringed at your weak comeback. He took the slyness out of you that you could muster around anyone else but him, something Jimmy had actually praised you for when you, him and Lois would all go bar hopping. Something Clark would always decline your invites to. “Y’know, to be there if I need you, need help.” You said after a moment of awkward silence.

The office had just about cleared out by now, the power company shut the lights off at 6:30 every day to put less stress on the power bill, leaving the only illumination to your and Clark’s desk lamps that gave off just as much light as a firefly. You felt him lean back in his chair to see you. “Good one, sweetheart.”

‘Would he get HR involved if I spilled coffee on him?’ You thought. His words angered you beyond belief. It was almost creepy how well he was at getting under your skin like no other, even though he had only known you for a couple of months now. Lois and Jimmy swore and laughed at you when you would rant about the man when the three of you went out together, both praising him for his manners and gentleness. It made you feel crazy. What made him treat you differently? How could the man they speak so highly of be the same one that nightmares were made of?

“Clark.” You stood up abruptly. “I’m going home. It’s late, and I'm getting nowhere in this article, and you’re absolutely no help.” The huffed as you shoved your things in your purse, refusing to make eye contact as you spoke.

He chuckled, “What are you talking about?” he quit his typing, crossing his arms, amused as he watched you pitch your mini tantrum.

“Goodnight, Clark.” You refused to play his game, waving goodbye as you turned on your heel to leave.

The next morning was mundane. You walked over to your desk, tucked in right next to Clarks. Late like usual, his desk was empty. Setting down your things, you draped your coat over the back of your chair, coating your lips in a fresh layer of gloss from your purse, using the reflection of your dark computer screen for accuracy. That’s when you saw it, a yellow sticky note on the top left corner. ‘You owe me – Clark.’ What the hell.

It scared you. What had he done? You quickly power on your monitor, the old computer taking its sweet time since Perry refused to invest in new ones.

Nothing seemed out of place… Your browser is still open to your half-baked article from last night. As you scrolled through, you noticed it was no longer incomplete. Not only was it completed now, but it was perfect. The conclusion was concise, the facts were straight, and the embellishments encapsulated the perfect amount of charm for the subject.

Clark Kent saved your ass.

Perry ran into the bullpen, hollering about deadlines, picking you out from the crowd specifically, just to be pleasantly surprised by the completion of your assignment, and especially proud of the quality.

You thanked him, silently thanking Clark as well.

Perry grumbled something about Clark's absence, but it wasn’t anything new to the office. He was most often late at the very least.

Your mind was plagued the rest of the day. What was his angle? Why did he do it? What the hell was his game? Surely not out of the kindness of his heart. As far as you were concerned, he didn’t have one.

You stumbled through the dreary streets, walking back to your apartment after your mini celebration with Lois and Jimmy despite your better judgment. You couldn’t tell if it was the night chill or genuine instinct that made the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up. You quickly found out it was fear as you turned around to face a masked man, clearly chasing you.

Despite your drunken stupor, you frantically do as quickly as possible. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, so that’s probably why you didn’t register the sound of grunts and skull meeting pavement.

“Ma’am?” You didn’t bother to stop or turn around. You soon had no choice as you realized your feet were dangling about 20 feet in the air, and an arm wrapped you tightly around the waist.

You flailed like a manic while the captor set you down gently on the rooftop of the building you had just left. The man kneeled in front of you as your chest fell and rose rapidly, eyes adjusting to the darkness to take in the huge figure in front of you. Your mind settled as you recognized the golden ‘S’ emblem on his chest. Superman had just saved you. Your heart now raced for a different reason. The hero of metropolis has=d just saved you. It was something to hear about all his feats in the news and his super abilities, but it was something entirely different to experience them in public, up close and personal.

“S-superman.” You stuttered in awe, taking in the sheer size of the hero in front of you. “Thank you.” Your eyes met his as he caressed your face, looking around you for bruises, cuts, or any pain.

“Are you alright?” He ignored your gratitude, worry etched on his features as if you weren’t just another citizen of Metropolis. He realized his overbearing touch as he quickly retracted his hands, waiting for your answer.

“Uh-um, yeah, I’m okay, I’m good.” You stumbled over your words.

A sigh of relief left the broad man’s lips. “Perfect,” He let out a familiar chuckle, one that made you feel pathetic in every way, your heart fluttering in response. “You should be more careful next time, okay?” He tried to lighten up after such a frightening encounter, “Let me fly you home, alright?” He insisted as he covered your head from the drizzle with his long cape.

You shuddered and smiled, “Are you sure?” He nodded, opening his arm, offering you a seat on his hip.

He scooped you up as you stepped forward, holding you close to his chest as he made his way according to your directions. It was a short flight there, disappointingly so. There was something beyond comfort in the expanse of his chest.

He set you down gently at the door to your building, covering your head with his cape as you both said your goodbyes, and you fished for your keys in your pocket. “Thank you, really, again.” You laughed slightly, avoiding his gaze, knowing if you looked at him too long, you’d probably melt.

He smiled down at you, “No need,” he scooted you inside with a gentle hand on your lower back. “You owe me, though,” He waved you goodbye after his playful remark.

You didn’t know if the rain had ruined your panties or if you were just soaked from that low voice and hung smile. Something about him felt warm, comforting, hot, despite him being a superhero… it was something else, something unexplainable.

It was shameful how hard to keep your hands out of your pants that night.

The next day felt like a weird, twisted nightmare. Clark walked in that morning, and it felt like the world slowed down. He smiled at Perry, a smile that brought a flush to your face even though it wasn’t even directed at you. You felt the space get hotter as he sat down at his desk right next to yours. “Good morning.” His voice ripped you from your trance.

“Morning, Kent.” You replied, clearing your throat. There’s about five minutes of silence between you two until it eats you up. You lean over and whisper, “Hey, Clark?”

“Hm?” he said, not looking away from his computer, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“You uh, you know superman right?” His typing pauses before he nods softly, a soft hum of agreement. You squeal quietly, almost crowding his desk with your body as if it's your own, as you start to tell him about your experience with the guardian angel of your wet dreams.

“Clark, he was such a sweetheart, he was so muscular too,” You continued on as clark reained wuiet, avoiding your gaze but not typing, just quietly listening.

“You have to help me write an article on him tonight.” Clark's eyes meet yours for the first time in 30 minutes. He clears his throat louder than he meant to, his voice cracking,

“Please,” You interrupt your superior. You see him in a different light as the sun glares off his glasses, that sweet boy everyone claims he his, showing himself to you for the first time, unable to deny you.

That’s how Clark Kent ended up at your place that night. You're not sure if you remembered telling him your address, but you had asked him to grab some wine on his way there.

‘Bzzztt.’  You cringed at the sound of your irritating doorbell. You had told him to knock when he got here, specifically cause you hated that sound. You opened the door, met with his chest, looking up at him as he smiled, holding up a bottle of wine.

“Clark, holy shit.” He panicked instantly.

“What? What is it?” he says rushed as you pull him inside and grab the bottle of wine from his hand as he shuts the door behind him.

“I told you to get the cheap box wine from the drug store!” You groan, “This stuff is like 45 dollars!” you say, inspecting the label. He rubs his neck in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I thought they were the same thing?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him as you reached for the wine glasses in your cabinet. Clark made his way over to you to help reach. “I asked for the cheap shit lois and I get at the bar? I thought you went drinking with her and Jimmy, too. How did you not notice?” You chuckle as he reaches over you to grab the glasses for you. You thank him with a nod.

“I don’t drink!” His voice squeaks, “I’m always the designated driver.” Little did you know it’s because he refused to spend money on alcohol when he couldn’t get drunk on earth anyway.

You laugh loudly at him. He huffs, insisting you go sit on the couch while he pours for both of you. You throw the pillows off the couch to make room for his large presence when he comes over with two glasses of wine, setting them down gently. You both open your laptops as you take a sip, leaving a stain of your pink lipstick on the rim.

After a couple of hours of explaining your encounter, brainstorming, and sipping on something you would definitely pay Clark back for, he perks his head up, taking a beak from his quiet typing. “Okay, now what was something that stuck out to you?” He asks, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

You smile drunkenly, “That hung ass smile.”

“What?” Clark looks confused.

You get up, reaching to grab Clark's broad shoulders, giving them a small squeeze, “That hung ass smile, Clark!” You insist, “You know, you talk to him all the time. He’s got that look that you just KNOW his dick is big.”

Clark nearly chokes on air at your remark, “Um, I’ve never- gosh, I don’t know.” He stutters

You loved it when a little bit of farmboy Clark came out, his cheeks growing red. You knew he grew up in a reserved home, as you had heard much about Ma and Pa, especially when he hid his face in embarrassment when they called him at work, chatting loudly through his phone speaker, doting on their successful son.

“Listen, I know we can't put it in the article, but you sit back down and lean over to him, invading the small space between the two of you on the loveseat, “do you think it’s big, I mean like, something from a guy's perspective.”

Clark just looks at you for a minute before laughing with a grin.

“That!” You shout, getting up and pointing at his smiling face, “That smile!”

Clark looks at you in disbelief, “Are you…?” Clark can't bring himself to ask you if you just said he had a big dick. You cover your mouth in embarrassment at your loose lips.

“Shit, Clark, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say- I’m not saying it is, well, I’m not calling it small, oh fuck, I’m sorry.” You blabber embarrassingly.

Clark rests a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, “Shh, it’s okay.” He has to stop himself from laughing at your panic, finding your words endearing. “Listen,” he commands softly, softening his tone, “we’ll meet up tomorrow and finish this article, okay? It’s late, and we got a good bit done.” You don’t fight his words, despite your disappointment at his suggestion of departure.

“Okay,” You sigh, both of you walking to the door so you can lead him out. “M’ really sorry, Clark.” You whine.

He rubs your shoulder as he opens the door, “Hush, it’s okay, I promise.”  You both say your goodbyes, stupidly, you wrap your arms around his torso, hugging him before he goes. Clark stands there for a moment, surprised, before sharing the brief embrace.

You rush into work, trying your hardest to beat the ticking clock as you shove your way through the doors late. “Shit!” you huff, dropping your things onto the floor at your desk.

“There she is!” Jimmy teases from across the bullpen, resulting in a quick middle finger from you. Lois slaps his arm in support of you. Clark looks up, offering you a sympathetic glance, only just now reminding you of your behavior from the previous night. Your cheeks flush instantly as you feel your eyes well up in embarrassment, too ashamed to meet his gaze, pursing your lips as you sat down.

Clark doesn’t push conversation, nor do you. It isn’t until he goes to leave for lunch (and presumably not come back like he does some days) that he asks, “Are we still on for tonight?” Your heart soars, it’s like a weight has lifted off you, he's not upset, he's even somewhat eager. You nod, your eyes lighting up as he smiles at you before picking up his coat and leaving. You turn your chair around, catching Lois’ gaze, as she watches the interaction, giving you a teasing, suspicious gaze.

‘bzzzt!’ Your doorbell shouted through the apartment. You quickly applied more lip gloss before rushing to the door, throwing it open eagerly.

“Hi, Clark.” She smiles. He gives a small wave, completely towering in the doorway as she leads him inside. They both take their sides of the loveseat, ready to perfect the article that was interrupted the night before. The radio hums softly in the background, the sound of both of their fingers typing away, adding a new timbre to the songs.

“So,” Clark speaks with a newfound sense of confidence, “I told Jimmy about the ‘hung smile thing’” You gasp in horror.

“Clark, oh my god, no, you didn’t.” You smoosh your face into your hands. Clark’s deep voice echoes through your apartment as he laughs, “What’d he say?” you groan, knowing how Jimmy tended to be.

“You really want me to repeat it?” He teases you, enjoying your fair share of embarrassment.

“Clark, tell me, don’t be an ass.” You throw your head back on the couch.

“Fine, fine.” He smiles and sets his laptop to the side. “Well, first off, he agreed with you, he thinks, and I quote, ‘He’s gotta have a super dick c’mon’” You cringe at Jimmy’s attempt at a joke. You can tell Clark cringed, too, when he first heard it. “Then,” He continued, “he teased and said that you were trying to hit on me.”

Your eyes go wide in shock, your entire body turning to face him. “Oh my god, I’m going to kill Jimmy Olsen, fuck!” Clark laughed.

Adding onto his statement, he mumbled, “Lois agreed.” He said, taking a sip from his water, tilting his head in a ‘I’m just saying’ way.

“No, she didn’t.” You laugh in disbelief. He just nods at you.

The air in the room feels heavy, like there's a weight on your lungs that’ll collapse you unless you ask, “What if I was?”

Clark looks to you, surprised. Your eyes flicker all over his face, admiring the frames that he hid behind, his soft lips, adorned with a sharp bow at the top. You looked at Clark in a way that felt too knowing, too intimate, too familiar.

Clark reciprocated this glance. You wanted to hide, bury your head between the cushions to avoid this burning sensation in your chest. “What if I’d hope so.” He laughed nervously. You look at him as if he held the world from spinning, pausing time around you two. You can't get the words past your throat before you’re inching closer. His stillness is an invitation. His lean forward is a plea.

Clark’s lips meet yours halfway. It's softer than you would’ve imagined. After a while of slight pecks, his inexperience is evident. You guide his large hands to your hips. He takes the hint, bringing you on top of him. He lets a moan slip, offering you an opening into him. Your tongue dives in, testing, tentative. He pulls back, his glasses slightly fogged, but you can still see how wide his eyes have become. “What?” You ask, “Not good? You didn’t like that?” You ask, trying to learn him.

He denies your assumption quickly, reassuring, “No, no, um, I like it, I really like it.” He says with a pant, “Can I try?” he asks? You nod, grinning. He reattaches his lips to yours as if you had been withholding his air supply. You part your lips softly, offering him a chance. He enters eagerly. It's sloppy, messy, but not bad. You become desperate for more, rolling your hips on his lap. He groans again as the both of you exchange turns, taking the lead.

You pull away, “Clark, take 'em off.” You pant. He shakes his head no, glasses entirely fogged up as he refuses.

“No.” He says plainly before leaning in again. You stop him with a finger to his lips.

“Please, Clark.” You whine. You feel his dick twitch beneath you.

He grunts in response, refusing to fold to your request. You kiss him once more as a distraction, quickly pulling his glasses off for him, tossing them gently onto the chair nearby.

He shouts your name, causing you to pull away from the kiss, only to be met with a familiar but unexpected face. “Oh my fuck!” You shout, climbing off of him. You begin to pace. Clark jumps up, following you, shushing you around your living room, trying to calm you down.

“Please,” he begs, “Please listen!” he grabs your shoulders.

“Y-You’re Superman!” She looks at his smile, his chest, his hair. Its unmistakable.

He doesn’t know what to do. He grips his jaw in frustration, rubbing the slight stubble he has. You take a deep breath and snake your hand up to his wrists after a moment. “Clark?” you sigh, looking into his eyes, removing his hand from covering his mouth, “To be honest, I had a suspicion.” Clark groans and closes his eyes. You laugh, “I promise I'll keep quiet,” you reassure, caressing his cheek.

It takes a moment, but after much reassurance, you speak again, “So… is Superman’s smile thing true?” You tease. You can feel Clark's smile against your lips as you get closer.

“I think being a quality journalist includes hands-on research, doesn’t it?” He teases, pulling you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around him, inciting a small squeal from you. You nod eagerly and point to the direction of your bedroom. He heads that way on your command. He ‘tsk’s you as you reach for the handle, opening it for you, holding you in one arm while kissing your neck tentatively. He slings the door open, thudding it against the wall, mumbling an apology before setting you down on the bed with the utmost care.

“Y’know,” you prop yourself up onto your elbows, watching him roll up his sleeves, “You used to be so mean to me, Kent.” He rubs the grin off his face, forearm flexing.

“Cause you made my life a living hell. You're talented, beautiful, smart, gosh, it was so… so irritating just having to be in your presence every day without getting to,” he pauses, “be with you.”

You smile, finally satisfied and cured of your curiosity. “I'm sorry for making it so difficult.” You say coyly, bring your legs up onto the bed. He comes to stand in front of you quickly, pulling your legs back out to spread them around him. You gasp at the sudden movement.

“m’ so sorry, pretty. I can’t wait any longer. Tell me what to do.” He begs, caging you between his forearms, kissing your ear. You whimper at the light kisses and his desperation.

“Fuck me.” You look at him as he kisses lower onto your chest. He shoots up, meeting your gaze with hungry eyes.

He stutters, “I-I don’t know if you can take that yet.”

 You laugh at his response, assuming he was just nervous because of his inexperience… Until he proved to you, there was reason for worry. He had dropped his belt between you. You could feel the length pressed against your thigh. The weight alone told you enough. Despite your reservations, you needed it. You gave him a few words of reassurance, promising to communicate with him if it was too much.

Clark lifted you closer to the head of the bed, to make room for both of you, hand gripping your ass as he repositioned you both. “Ready, pretty girl?” You nod eagerly, immediately questioning your sanity as he presses the head past.

Your breath hitched, he noticed. His eyes searched yours for any flash of regret or pain. You smiled at him and gave him a quick peck on his shoulder, encouraging him to continue. He nodded and pushed slightly further, earning a groan from him and a whimper from you. “S’good?” he asked quietly.

“Mhm, perfect, Clark.” You scooted yourself down slightly, shoving more of him in prematurely. A loud moan erupted from you, Clark's face becoming contorted with worry.

“Gosh, are you alright?” He asked, kissing your jaw, trying to soothe you.

“Please.” You whined in his ear. He finally understood that you didn’t want to wait any longer. Clark, being the giving man he is, gave it all to you in one quick thrust. You sobbed in pleasure as he moaned over the feeling of you. He quickly lost control, rutting into you desperately. You could hear him grunting and holding back swears.

Clark pulled out abruptly. You whined. “Clark?”

“M’sorry sweetheart, I was about to um, I’m sorry.” He said quietly.

His timid apology didn’t last long. After just a moment, Clark pulled your legs over his shoulders, driving you into the bed, the creaking noise completely drowned out by shared pants, words, and moans. “Clark, oh my god!” you cried, gripping his shoulders, trying to warn him of your climax approaching.

Clark groaned, “Oh yeah? C’mon Sweet girl, c’mon pretty,” he said through gritted teeth, “get it out of you, let me get it out.” You obey his commands, biting into his shoulder, convulsing and whining with pleasure. Clark isn’t far behind. You’re too fucked out to be concerned with the cracking noise of your bedframe as he drives himself impossibly deep. “Can I?” He begs breathlessly. You nod, unable to deny him. With your permission, Clark unravels inside you. He growls, slowing his pace, but still filling you completely before riding out his high. He collapses but is careful enough to still support himself to prevent crushing you.              

 You and Clark lie there for a moment, breaths syncing with each other. “I um” Clark laughs a little, his large chest vibrating against yours. “I think I broke your bed. M’sorry.” You smile at him, laughing along.

“Guess you owe me then, Kent.”

an/ holy shit this is rough my bad, its hard to make clark mean hes such a sweetie pie bro. im not super in love with this one but i was too proud of the time put in, I hope you enjoy.

It was torture. That's all it ever was around her. Tonight would be his last chance at preserving himself from temptation, from desire, from her.

He walked past her room one more time that night. Watching the jewels shining from her neck and ears through the crack in the door. He didn’t understand why or how one could look like such a gem themselves. A handmaid spotted him staring, shooing him away from her door with urgency, since she was not to be seen until her ‘debut’ tonight.

Anakin didn’t understand. He never did. He wasn’t used to or understanding of all the new customs and old traditions of the world around him after being raised within the Jedi temple's walls.

That night, he waited. and waited. and waited. The bell of the ball had still not rung yet. He hung near the royal family, facing the grandiose staircase that he assumed would be making way for her. Taking note of the large number of men, young, old, beautiful, ugly, there were many. Too many. The only ladies that littered the ballroom were mothers, sisters, and maids. How strange. He thought. Were balls not gatherings for dancing and mingling, a meeting of friends and lovers?

“She’ll pick one of my choices,” Her mother said from her throne, “I have much better taste than you, dear. I’d bet on it.” She smiled at her husband with a teasing gaze.

Choices? Taste? Anakin didn’t understand. He didn’t have much time to think, though, for the rest of the world began to dim as a halo of light seemed to guide his eyes to the angel at the top of the staircase. A radiant beam of beauty blinding his sight and mind.

She stood at the top of the carpeted marble entryway, gown overflowing over the first set of stairs. Harps silenced, no one dared to speak, and the dancing ceased.

Was practicing a religion forbidden in the order? He racked his brain, wondering if it would be blasphemy to make her his heaven, his place of worship, his guiding light. What a devil she was, daring him, tempting him to risk his reason for being.

As she glided down the stairs, Anakin couldn't help but notice the crowd of men watching, oogling, and drooling at the beauty amongst them. Then he heard the mumbling from a mother to son, “Make a good impression, I’d love to introduce those genes to this family,” she sighed.

How did he not notice until just now? Anakin Skywalker felt like a bird with no wings being thrown out of a tree. How cruel. This ball was a bid, a stage, a rite of passage, a trial. She was to be wed, and every man in this room was itching to be her groom. He was not exempt from them, but he was not an option.

He swore parts of him died as she was swayed and twirled into the men's arms one at a time, each trying to talk about themselves over the loud violins, harps, and cellos playing. His feet were glued, his eyes tracking, wishing he could break through the crowd. Surely this was a safety issue? All these men touching and talking in her presence, how could they ask him to essentially not do his job? He tried to ration any bit of sense he had left to keep him in his spot. Apparently, it was not enough.

Magnitized by you, he tried to break through the wave of crowds, getting caught in between dances. Mothers swayed with him, asking him surface questions about himself and his status; he was almost catatonic in response. Eyes never leaving her location. The song swelled as he finally got close enough to brush her fingers with his, only for her to be whisked back away. Her eyes held something like a prayer, a pleading, a promise if he would save her.

The man dancing with her finally relented, allowing her to finally be caught by Anakin. His hands held her waist intently as if a man would snatch her away at any chance, which they would.

“What is this?” He asked lowly.

She gazed at him, her skin glowing under his hands. “What is what, Anakin? This ball?” She asked. Damn her, damn her voice, damn her. Silence, angel of temptation. Every drop from her lips poisoned him as he drank; he swore she wanted him dead.

He grunted, a childish display of displeasure. “Yes, this,” he let his hand wave around them. “All these men, you want to leave with one of them?”

She scoffed at his surface-level analysis. “No,” she murmured, “I don't want this at all.”

“Then why? Shameful that you let this happen! I thought-” Oh, what dangerous phrases dared to push past his plush lips. “Never mind.”

“You're right. Never mind.” Her eyes pricked as she pushed away from him, into another's arms, before glancing back at him, leaving him to sway in the crowd of waltzes. How foolish and sheltered could a man be?

Anakin needed space. He grunted and muttered, pushing his way through the crowd and to the long balcony that stretched across the length of the ballroom, only slightly illuminated by the stars above. The same stars he had talked to after seeing her, voicing his worries to the galaxy about his commitment to the order. His fist turned white around the balcony railing, fighting to hold back his pointless groans and tears. Why would she do this to him? How could she?

The door down on the other side of the balcony creaked open; he didn’t even bother to offer the other partygoer a glance, still brooding over what he can't have.

It wasn’t until soft sniffles disturbed the silent contemplation that he turned to see her. In her beautiful gown, glowing under the moonlight like a star that had missed the sky. He hesitated. Should he? She could have him exiled, sent away, back to the temple, never to be sent on a mission again, after how foolish he acted to her highness. It was emasculating to him how much power she could hold over him, but part of him knew that added to the temptation and forbbideness of it all.

With silent steps, he walked over to her, the large carved wall hiding the pair from the crowds inside. “Princess?”

She gave a small glance over her shoulder, only to see him and quickly turn her eyes back to the sky, refusing him the pleasure of her gaze. “Please, Princess, please?” his voice quivered. He clasped his hand on her waist, feeling as if he was starting a prayer.

She turned to him, his hand shooting up to wipe a tear sparkling down her cheek. “Stop.” She huffed.

“No, listen,” he began.

“I don’t have to listen to anything you have to say.” She said spoiledly

“Listen.” He grunted, daring to place a finger in front of his angel's lips.

Somehow, she let it happen, allowing him to silence her. “I'm sorry,” he started his spiel. “I’m so sorry, I just don’t understand, please teach me, I'm so stupid I-”

She removed his finger from her mouth, “Anakin,” she sighed, forgiving him for his sins. “Anakin...” she began, “I- I don’t have a choice, trust me, you know this isn’t me.” She whined, tugging at the gloves covering her hands. “It’s all arranged, though; they’ve already picked him out, even, from birth. I have never known freedom.” She sighed, trying to get through to him.

His ears flushed hot and angry, “They can’t do that-”

“They can.”

“No.” He said through gritted teeth. “You deserve love, and freedom,and- fuck.” He stuttered, unable to fully confess his sin to her.

Something in his tone notified her, signaled to her that this was the chance, her opportunity to slip a hand through her cage she’d known all her life. With one swift lunge up to him, she held onto his neck. “Please,” she begged, “Anakin, please show me freedom, please let me experience love, let us.” She asked of him, as if he could refuse.

“The code...” He started, confliction apparent on his face. Maybe, he thought, maybe his heart wasn’t wrong. What did the Jedi know of love? What did he know of sacrifice or pleasure?

His lips crashed onto hers, cradling her head tenderly. It felt as if the stars slipped away around them, giving them space behind the clouds. The pair cried. tears slipping in ecstasy, like a saint experiencing the highest level of devotion as he licked the salty tears off her lips, desperate to learn with his new savior.

She placed her hands on his chest, breaking the seal between them. “What?” he asked, confused and desperate.

“Tonight...” she looked towards the large glass doors that led them out here. “Not here. I want to know real love... real freedom, Anakin.” he swallowed harshly.

“The garden.” He said. Tonight, Anakin Skywalker would commit his first sin, his first act of devotion. His first and final act of treason to the Jedi code.

DIVIDERS by enchanthings, v6que

a/n :okay sorry, I know its been forever i miss you guys. I know this seems a little instense compared to the previosu chapter but I really wanted to advance this story oopsies, very self indulgent. i hope you love it babeyy

You had been trying the past couple of rounds to get him to be rougher. You didn't understand why he was okay with practically tearing you in half, but drew the line at a little slap. He wouldn't even spank you unless you specifically reassured him that it was okay, and even then, never hard enough to leave a mark.

"Clark, please-" you whimpered, crawling all over him, doing whatever it would take to convince him.

"No, baby." He said firmly. You had it. You quickly made your way off him, picking your pants off the ground. "What're you doing?" He asked, his glasses slipping down a little.

You didn't respond, slipping into each pant leg.

"Honey?" he said, swinging his legs to sit on the edge of the bed, watching in confusion and worry.

You wouldn't even look at him, too busy trying to find your purse you had slung somewhere on his floor when you came in. He continued to plead and patiently observe you, asking for an answer. "Talk to me pretty girl?" he begged.

"No, you don't think I can handle you." You really were good at putting on a show, honestly, Oscar-worthy performance you were giving right now. You knew you would get your way, no matter what; Clark would always fold for you.

"Oh baby- cmon, you know that's not what I meant." He runs a hand through his hair, his little signature curl swooping right back into place.

It was when you reached for the doorknob that he stood up, "Where do you think you're going?" His little accent was coming out. Oh, you really were getting him worked up.

"Home." You said, hugging your shoulder bag even closer to your shoulder.

"Home?" he snorted, "Home? Now? At," he glanced at his watch, visible past his rolled up sleeves. "Twelve AM?" He stood up, following your forearm down to your wrist.

"Clark." You whined. He tried to gently redirect you around, but you yanked back. He was shocked; you were normally putty under his touch. His grip tightened just slightly.

You were wearing him down. "No, you're not going home this late; we haven't even made those cookies yet." He said, reminding you of the domestic activities he craved your presence in.

"Too bad, I'm probably too fragile to be in the kitchen anyway. Wouldn't want me to sprain my wrist opening the oven." Now you were being fecicious. Clark wasn't one to snap, but he was one you could light a fire under. You could feel his gaze becoming more intense, more disdainful.

He huffed, using a small amount of his strength to pull you around to face him, "Now you know I don't mean it like that."

You wouldn't even look at him.

"Seriously?" He grunted, really trying to keep his cool with you. "Baby, be sweet, cmon." He smiled down at you, trying to coax you like a feral kitten into his arms.

You still refused to look, making a point to huff and swing your head away.

"Is it really what you want?" he sighs, "That's what's gonna make my girl stop being so mean to me?" You couldn't hide the small smirk forming on your lips.

You shrugged, turning your head another way to avoid his gaze, which was bringing him closer and closer to you.

A firm pressure directed your jaw towards him, not directed- forced. Your eyes glance down, seeing his large hand engulfing your pouted bottom lip and chin. You knew he would cave. "I don't like it when you get all bratty with me. I know you were raised better." He hummed. His lips got dangerously close to your cheek. "Cmon let me teach you why you need to be sweet to me? You want that sweetie?" You nod slowly in his grip.

He was nervous about his next moves, no doubt, but it really did something to him, seeing you finding pleasure in him, no matter how he had to earn it. Suddenly, he pulled you by your shoulders to the bed, managing to slip behind you. You fussed for a moment before his hand came to slide against the back of your neck. pressuring you face down into the plush new comforter. "Clark-" You whined, muffled by the fabric.

"Shh, gonna teach you to be nice." He sighs. His huge body pinning you over the edge of the bed, one of his strong arms lacing under your hips. "Gotta teach my baby a lesson."

You tried not to squeal at the idea and soon-to-be reality of your silly fantasy. "But-" Smack!

He actually did it. He spanked you without you having to beg for it. "I said hush." His arm pulled you up, lifting you like a light little toy. You squirmed as you could feel him lining himself up. You knew he wouldn't waste time on prepping, hoping you were still warmed up from the past rounds.

You bit the comforter, trying to obey for once, keeping quiet for him. He pressed forward, hooking you on his length, letting out simultaneous groans and whimpers, "Fu- G-gosh.." You loved almost making Clark slip up with his language.

"Watch it, baby," You teased, looking back at him.

He grunted, his hand shooting out, gripping your hair in his huge hand. "I said- shut up," he muttered in your ear, yanking you back, his arm pulling you flush against him, "Behave, oh yeah," he moaned, "There you go, pretty girl."

Your jaw was slack, whining and drooling at the fullness. "Look at you," he laughed, you could feel it shake your core. "learning real quick." He teased you, effectively silencing your bratty remarks.

He began to question his own preferences, really getting off on the slight degradation of you as he broke you down, relentlessly stuffing you now. He couldn't even help his noises, his whiny grunts and moans, which had earned you noise complaints.

"Shit- Clark!" You yelped as he started unknowingly lifting you off the bed to hit higher and deeper.

"Language." He responded, not breaking his pace, and grunted again. earning a slap on your ass again.

"m'sorry!" You whined, trying to take what you had asked for.

He smirked; you could feel it, his smug demeanour. "Aw, my girl found her manners." He pounded again, as if to reinforce his words, "gonna make you all polite before I introduce you to Ma and Pa, okay, pretty girl? Don't wanna have to go over this lesson too much, do we?" He said, huffing and sucking in air through his teeth when he got his chance.

You nod fervently, "Yes, I'll be so good! So polite for you, I learned my lesson, promise!" You cry as he flips you around swiftly, bringing your ankles to his ears. He begins to quicken his pace, using you like a tool in his attempts to snap the bed in half.

"Good-Hngh- good fuckin girl," he huffed. You met his eyes, a smirk of your own forming.

"Language, Mr Kent.." You tease against your better interest. Clark reacts quickly, landing a slap across your cheek, effectively shutting you up. It still wasn't as hard as you could take, but god, it was all you needed right now.

"Don't push me- Ah! Gosh!" It was his last straw, he whined, coming undone sooner than he meant to, bullying your poor body into the bed, making sure to hammer the punishment in your head. But was it really punishment if you enjoyed it?

Maybe Clark could learn to be mean.

A/n: First Clark fic, hope you love, tell me if you want more kent !! idk how i cranked this out so fast my bad :p

Anakin was not new to this duty. He had protected royals, officials, senators, etc. But this time, he was excited. He was assigned the duty of protecting an important heir. She was the new target of a terrorist group, trying to overtake important trade routes.

After an attempt on her life, her fearing parents called in a favor from the Jedi. Obi-wan had been familiar with the family years ago. He used to travel to the planet with Anakin to stop for food and resources on their travels. The master Jedi was quick to accept the task, sending his best pupil, Anakin.

Anakin Skywalker had known the princess but had not seen her since he was a teen, and her only at most 10. It would be one of his few first missions alone, due to its danger level being relatively low, and he was grown as well, nearing his mid-20s quickly.

The palace walls curved inwards up to the radiating sunlight cascading into the room through the roof. Anakin tried to keep his face straight, not trying to look in awe as he approached the throne of the royals, followed by a pair of their guards. Annunciating harps and other foreign instruments announced his arrival, preparing the royal family to stand tall before him.

Anakin's eyes squinted as he approached them, trying to get a glimpse before he was directly at their feet. He couldn't make out the faces until he knelt at the end of the long pale blue entryway.

"Your Highness," Anakin said, lifting himself up from his kneeling position, finally giving him the opportunity to soak up the faces of the family. The king's voice took Anakin back to meet his eyes. "Mr. Skywalker, thank you for your haste. We've been so worried lately after the attempt."

"Of course, I came as fast as I could sir." Anakin seemed to have a permanent smirk on his face, despite the serious conversation. She noticed it. The girl standing slightly below the king and queen was her. The princess. Her pale pink dress, fitted just for her, flowed from her hips like a fountain as she took in her protector's face. She didn't remember him looking like that.

Anakin was taken aback. He tried to hide it, but it was hard. He tried to avoid the girl's gaze after realizing he had stared into the supposed Angel's face too long. The queen, her mother, had been blabbering off about how she was the sole heir and how their baby was just too precious, 'how could someone do this', blah blah blah. Anakin couldn't take in any more voices until he heard hers. Does the Angel speak? Does the princess sing? He longed to hear the voice of pure beauty like the day longed for night.

Night chased after day's words, his voice seemed to keep parading around her mind as she wished for him to address her. She scolded herself for such relentless thoughts but it was useless.

The pair must've been shot by Cupid.

The next day, Ankin beat the sun before it rose, too anxious to start the day. The tie on his robes was tangled, perfecting it while he walked to her room. They had yet to speak to one another.

He knocked gently on the door, using the gold knocker on the front, engraved with the royal crest. "Princess?" his deep voice swept through the door and into her room.

The entrance opened slowly, standing there in a nightgown, was her. He tried his best not to ogle, he really did, but her silhouette was angelic. He felt as if it would've taken him ages to take in all of her features. He opted for inconspicuous glances.

Her eyes took a moment to rake up from his chest to his eyes as he blocked the outdoor light with his looming figure.

"Hello there." She gave a weak smile, her puffy eyes squinting as she adjusted to the morning light.

His knees weakened at the sound of his Angel. "Good morning princess." He spoke.

"What brings you here so early?" She questioned his presence at her door, wrapping her arms around herself as she realized the state of undress and unreadiness she was in.

"Your schedule said you enjoy a morning stroll, so I came to take you," his smugness was apparent. Normally she would find it insufferable, but he was charming, he could've been mistaken for a prince.

She threw her hands up to her chest and mouth, appalled at her own forgetfulness. "Oh my," she sighed, opening the door wider, "I'm so sorry. Please come in, I still have to get ready!" she turned to walk around, leaving him with an option, follow or stay. Anakin behaved like a stray dog. He walked with her.

"Close the door would you?" She asked as she disappeared behind a dressing divider, decorated with delicate hand-painted flowers that resembled the ones native to her planet. Anakin nervously pushed to handle to a click before letting himself fall further into her space.

The sunlight illuminated the thin linen she undressed behind. Anakin pervertedly stared. Her silhouette created fantasies for him so instantaneously. He felt awful for the little bit of shame he felt.

He cleared his throat, "I can come back later, princess." His voice gave way to hers.

"No no no! You got up early to walk me. I should've been ready. Besides my handmaidens don't wake up early enough to dress me in time." He could hear her giggle behind the screen. Anakin felt like a wolf stalking a sheep. He could so easily rip through the thin veil that protected her vulnerable form.

His nervous laugh bounced off the lavish walls around the pair. Anakin felt as if he could hear the silk slip onto her body over the sound of the chirping birds. Maybe he was hallucinating? Had he died and met heaven? Was she the temptation the Jedi had warned the man about since he was a boy? Maybe his angel was his personal hell.

"Um," He could hear her muffled struggle, "Could you zip me up?" Anakin froze. "I'm sorry you really don't have to-"

His warm hand guided itself over her smooth back. The other made its way over the blue silk and lace, to the zipper. She was quiet, the birds singing for them in harmony. Zip. "There you go, princess." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"Thank you, Mr. Skywalker." She spoke as she turned to face him. God protected him from the sin that stood before him.

"Of course, princess." He said, waving her formality off while hiding his smile, tilting his head down.

She smiled at him in response, "Ready for a stroll?" She snaked her arm into the gap between his waist and arm. To her, it was just a royal familiarity, but to him, the touch was like a burning wound on his tan skin. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, his own skin burning in response.

The pair left the quarters at a slow pace, she did more of the guiding as she knew the palace grounds better than him. He was torn between examining the area and performing his duties, not ogling at the temptation that hung on his arm. It was like setting fresh gazelle on a lion's nose and telling it not to bite. Anakin felt something beyond temptation.

“So,” she broke the clicking of their heels in the hallway with her voice. “It’s been a while.” She said in reference to their long intermission in each other's presence.

“it has, it has.” Anakin said. He pondered for a moment. “If you don’t mind,” he quickly felt like he was on the other side of a confessional booth. “Not to be forward, but you’ve grown to be beyond beautiful.”

She smiled and met his blue eyes. “You’re too sweet.” She looked back down at her feet as they entered the tall archway to the gardens. “If I may, you’re not what I remembered either.” The couple laughed. He cut his laughter short to hear the melody of her humor.

The garden stroll was nothing short of magical. He listened as she pointed out the native, and exotic, plants that were kept and tended to. She pointed out her favorites, her least favorites, her birth flower, and ones that reminded her of him. It was special. Though he listened to her ramblings, his mind was still occupied by his attraction, only now further intensified after this display of her intelligence. Anakin liked a smart girl. He also liked a witty one.

"Is this how you get rid of your suitors?" She looked at him confused, "Talk their ears off until they leave?" He laughed as she pushed into his side, trying to send him off balance. He smiled at her attempt.

"Oh, so I'm a bore?" She crossed her arms and sat on the side of the fountain. "Though you've grown handsome, you're still that petulant young boy."

He scoffed, standing in front of her. "Oh, princess, don't play the age game. I'm grown in many ways."

"Yeah?"

He didn't know why, but the way she tilted her head at him at that moment, the way the water glistened under her skin, illuminated by the morning sun, the way her hair played in harmony with the colors of the grandiose garden, he was smitten, beyond smitten. He wanted her. Her in whole, his. He wanted his presence to be associated with hers, he wanted her first name to become acquainted with his last. "Yeah. Don't play dumb princess."

She remained silent, turning her head to the side, shutting them to block out the sunlight.

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that." He cooed at her. "This is supposed to be a nice walk for you."

She turned back to him, opening her eyes, his figure blocking the sunlight. "Well, I don't want to waste any more of my breath boring you, Skywalker."

"Princess, please, speak to me." His voice was gruff, as he squatted down to her level.

She tried her best to hide her flushing face. "Hmph."

"You're a spoiled one, aren't you?"

"What?" She said, standing up from her spot. "Spoiled?"

He smirked, but before he could respond, trumpets sounded from the bell tower high above the castle.

"We'll continue this later, Mr. Skywalker." She stood up and made her way across the garden, wary of his watchful eye. She had to prepare for the ball.

DIVIDERS by enchanthings, v6que