Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨2
Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.
This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.
Note: Thank you for your positive response to this one! I hope you enjoy what I have in store.
Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
Your Spotify list of redundant tracks flowed through the apartment as you sat typing at your small desk in the corner of the front room. The boxy space was as oppressive as any office space, another reason for your voluntary work at the gallery. Vanessa let you in the studio to paint. Without the privilege, you wouldn’t have the space for your easel.
You stretched your fingers and rubbed your eyes. You felt dizzy from staring at the screen, even with night mode on. The work was monotonous and made you restless. You wanted a pencil or brush in hand, a canvas before you, not this blaring laptop. You yawned and took a sip of your lukewarm water.
Your phone vibrated from across the room and you checked the time. Your lunch started soon but no one was really keeping track. As long as you got your assignments done, it didn’t matter when you chewed on toast and disassociated.
You got up and grabbed your phone from the corner table and leaned against the arm of the couch. You remembered how Marcus woke up there and grumbled as he lifted his head in pain. You couldn’t really feel bad for him going into work hungover. He embarrassed you and it didn’t quite sink in until after Clark left you to stare down at your drunk boyfriend.
An unknown number showed on your screen and you answered tentatively, ready to hang up at the first sales pitch. Your name came from the speaker and you recognized the deep voice in an instant. It took you back to the night before and the canvas hung on the wall.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Clark said, “I only just had the paintings hung and I thought… well, I thought you might like to come see them in their new home.”
“Um…” you chewed your thumb, uncertain how to respond.
“Sorry, I know I can be a bit… to the point,” he laughed at himself, “how are you?”
“I’m good, just… taking a break.”
“Yeah, but I work from home,” you said as you touched the side of your neck, “I could… I could come see them but it might be a while before--”
“When are you finished work?” he asked bluntly.
“Four but I… maybe another day.”
“I don’t mean to be pushy but I did have something else to speak with you about,” he said, “a commission, like I mentioned.”
“I kinda wanna get it started sooner than later, it will probably be pretty time-consuming,” he explained and you heard a clink and a soft sip, “I don’t wanna get into details on the phone but I promise, you will be compensated nicely.”
“You can’t wait until tomorrow?” you wondered.
“I suppose I can but it’d have to be during the day,” he responded, “why don’t you take some time to figure it out and get back to me by two? You can text me through this number.”
“Erm, sure,” you said uneasily, “I’m sorry, it’s just… very sudden, I don’t--”
“You can bring the boyfriend,” he said casually, “if you like.”
“He won’t be… home,” you said carefully, “I’ll let you know. Thank you.”
“I look forward to hearing from you,” he replied, “have a good day.”
“You, too,” you said and the line died.
You put your phone down and took a moment. Good things rarely happened to you. You struggled so long it was hard to think that might change. The skeptic in you told you there was something behind it all. That it couldn’t possibly be your art.
You went back to your computer and sighed as you waved away the screensaver with your mouse. The blinking cursor made you want to believe it was your big break.
You texted Clark at one and at four, you were in an Uber. Marcus drove his car to work and you stuck to buses and the underground when you could. The address was at least an hour out, the house among those estates on the edge of the city reserved for the upper echelon. You’d only ever seen the sprawling yards on your way to the next town.
When the car finally turned up the drive and you passed beyond a low brick wall, you felt entirely out of your depth. You tipped the Uber but didn’t feel too bad with the check from Vanessa sitting soundly in your account. You clutched the strap of your bag and walked along the curve of the brick work towards the stairs.
“Hey,” you stopped as Clark called to you, your ankle still tender from the night before.
You glanced over as he came out of the large garage and peeled off a pair of leather gloves. He smiled as he tucked them into his jacket pocket. You watched him and played with the clasp on your bag.
“Just got back from a drive,” he said, “I almost got carried away. I’m glad you made it.”
“Yeah, no problem,” you replied.
“Well, come on, let me show you around,” he waved behind you towards the front doors, “we’ll go on a tour and then we can talk details.”
“Wow,” you uttered mindlessly as you climbed the stairs to the door but kept the weight on your uninjured ankle, “this place is huge.”
“My contractor went a little crazy,” he scoffed, “but I can’t complain.”
He led you through the doors and directed you to the left. In the front room, your work was hung along the opposite wall, arranged in a way that drew the eye to them. You stepped closer and peered up at your work with a hint of awe. They looked even better in a place like that.
“I had my interior designer make the final call on where to hang them,” he explained, “I hope you don’t mind, I gave her your details. She said she had clients who might be interested in your work.”
“Really?” you breathed, “that’s… too nice.”
“Oh yeah? One day, you’ll be sick of rich pricks like me,” he grinned, “I’ll show you the pool, that’s usually the main attraction.”
“Sounds good,” you said as you followed but he paused and watched your stunted gait.
“I forgot, we can go slow,” he offered, “how’s the ankle?”
“I’ll make do,” you affirmed as you neared him, “just need to get my steps in.”
As you finished the tour of the second floor, you slowed along the long hall and admired the work of artists you only ever saw in museums. You couldn’t help but be enamoured by the historic blots of paint. You almost forgot where you were as you leaned in to read the initials beneath the pastel flowers.
“So,” Clark’s voice brought you back, you almost blanked him out entirely in your mind, “I think you might have noticed the empty space above the fireplace in the front room. I was hoping you could fill it.”
“Oh?” you looked at him and smiled nervously, “did you have something in mind? A landscape or--”
“Well, your portraits are great. I like the old world style. I was hoping you might do one of… me,” he suggested, “I know, it’s vain but why not?”
“I mean, yeah, I could do that,” you said.
“I’ll pay hourly plus materials,” he continued, “three hundred an hour.”
You almost choked at the number. You blinked and swallowed through your surprise.
“Even a small portrait would take at least twelve hours,” you warned, “are you sure?”
“I know it’s a lot of time for you, so… I was thinking, if you have to miss work, I’ll factor it into your rate. I would really like to get the project started as soon as we can,” he put his hand on his hip as he looked down at you, “the only thing I need from you is a list of materials. I’ll have them waiting for you here.”
“Well, yeah, I figure it makes most sense,” he turned his palm out.
“Hmm, sure, I prefer my own brushes but… you know I can just buy the stuff myself--”
“Ah, no, I want it to be perfect. You send me a list and I’ll have my assistant go out and get it all ready,” he assured, “How does Sunday sound?”
“Sunday?” you blanched. That was two days away.
“Like I said, Marcus is more than welcome to come with you,” he offered, “I’d hate to keep you from him too long.”
“I guess Sunday works,” you squeaked, “I’ll talk to Marcus.”
“Great,” he said coolly, “well, that’s business. How about a drink to seal the deal?”
“I don’t know, I should probably get back,” you fiddled with your bag against your hip.
“One drink won’t hurt,” he said, “go on, call the boyfriend and let him know you won’t be much longer.”
“I… thanks,” you murmured.
“You’re humble for an artist,” he joked as he sidled by you, “once you grow an ego, you’ll be unstoppable.” He neared the stairs as you turned to watch him, “I’ll be at the bar, waiting. You like gin?”
“Sure,” you answered as you pulled out your phone, “I’ll see you down there.”
When you told Marcus about your new side gig, he was even more excited than you. You were anxious and slightly hesitant. You hated to jump in feet first and risk losing more than a few tubes of paint. What if the work wasn’t good enough?
Marcus was more than willing to come with you when you told him about the size of the place. He knew by the area that it was extravagant. You sat in the passenger seat with the most expensive bottle of wine you’d ever bought cradled between your legs. You hated to show up empty handed after all of Clark’s generosity.
Marcus got lost and went down the wrong driveway before you righted your course. As you drove up, you were once more overcome from the rich rosebuds and sparkling fountain at the centre of the mosaic. You gripped the neck of the bottle and got out as Marcus whistled in awe.
“You weren’t kidding. This place is fucking nuts,” he swore, “I should’ve worn the tux from my brother’s wedding.”
“Please, Marcus,” you rolled your eyes, “let’s both try not to break anything.”
“You’re the clumsy one,” he chirped, “shit, you’re so lucky. You get to hang out here and paint all day? God, I wish I had an ounce of artistic talent. I’d trade it for code in a minute.”
You climbed the steps and clanged the large knocker on the right door. You waited a moment before an answer came and Clark appeared on the other side and beckoned you inside. He smiled as he shook Marcus’ hand.
“Thanks for joining us,” he said, “I would’ve felt awful stealing your girlfriend on the weekend like this.”
“Are you kidding me? She said you had a pool and I snuck the swim shorts into the backseat,” Marcus chuckled and you nudged him with your elbow.
“See?” Clark arched a brow, “the pool is always the seller.”
“Here,” you said as you held out the bottle of red, “for everything you’ve done and welcoming us into your home.”
“Ohhh,” he took the bottle and looked over the label, “I got a spot for this right behind the bar. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, I brought my brushes,” you patted the canvas bag on your shoulder.
“Mmm, yeah, well, I’ll just put this away and we’ll give Marcus the grand tour. Then I’ll get you situated,” he assured and rushed off.
He returned and pointed Marcus through to the front room, “you’ll see, just over here,” he directed him to your paintings.
“Oh, wow, babe,” Marcus marveled at the hung portraits, “you really did it.”
You smiled bashfully and Clark peeked over at you and winked. You squirmed as your cheeks burned and you turned away as he beckoned Marcus past the mantle.
“It’s a big place,” Clark said, “I’d like to get you started before noon.”
Clark led you along the same path as days before and slowed as you came back to the top of the stairs. He turned back and clapped his hands together.
“Marcus, if you wanna hop in the pool, we’re gonna start just in there,” he pointed to the one door you hadn’t looked through, “that’s the studio.”
“What about you?” Marcus asked.
“Well, I’ll be a part of the process so I’m afraid I will be just as busy but if you need anything, Nina, she has a crooked nose and mean mouth but don’t let her fool you, she’ll get you whatever you need,” he said, “just don’t track in water from the pool or she’ll string you up.”
“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Some alone time in the sun and a pool,” Marcus grinned, “I really couldn’t ask for anything else… except you, babe.”
“Sure,” you scoffed, “go, have fun.”
Marcus kissed you quickly and thanked Clark again before he excitedly barreled down the steps. You scratched your neck as you looked back to your host, and you guessed, your new boss.
“I’m sorry about him. He can be such a kid sometimes,” you said.
“Nah, it’s fine,” he waved it off, “so, you ready to see your workspace? I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, a bit last minute so it’s not perfect… yet.”
“Uh, yeah,” you answered, “can’t wait.”
He motioned you over to the tall dusty rose doors and hooked his fingers in the slotted handles. He slid them open and revealed an airy room with a tall ceiling and long windows. An easel stood facing the sun streaked glass, an immense canvas bigger than yourself, bigger than him, propped up on it. There was a ladder nearby and the table was set with a rainbow of paints and a large pallet.
Your lips parted as you neared the easel and stared up at the canvas, “you were right, it’s gonna be a lot of work.”
“I hope it’s not too much,” he said, “but you name your price. We’ll make it work.”
“No, no, I think for what you’re paying, I’ll do just fine,” you put your bag down daintily on the table, “so, uh, a portrait, I guess that means…”
Your voice trailed off as he went to the upholstered chair across the room, at an angle so you could see him from your vantage. Behind it, hung a velvet curtain to add to the scene and a bust on a pedestal. It felt surreal, like a dream.
You turned and pulled out the brushes, “I think you’ll get more tired than me, just sitting there.”
“I’ll make it through,” he assured as he sat, “is there anyway you’d like me to sit? Chin up, or…”
“Hmmm,” you turned to look at him, “I think… if you just put your shoulders back and… did you want a profile or--”
“I was thinking front-facing,” he stared at you steadily, unflinching as his eyes stuck to you, “just like this.”
“Perfect,” you said nervously and looked back to the table.
There was water to rinse your brushes, rags, pencils, blending sticks; everything you needed and more. You took a pencil from the bunch and pulled over the ladder. You climbed up and looked over at Clark as he sat stoic and still. He looked picturesque in real life, you expected paint would only lend to his figure.
His eyes met yours and you turned to start tracing the basic shapes onto the canvas. You had to stop and steady your hand as you did. His gaze made it hard not to tremble.
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Pairing: Diane Prince, Bruce Wayne, and Clark Kent Title: A Little Wine Never Hurts... this much.
(I tried to find the original ask so I could link it, and remind myself, but I only found it on mobile)
Okay so, I semi-recently got into SuperWonderBat and I just love this dynamic. I'm taking this the full shippy route.
A Little Wine Never Hurts...this much
Bruce was not an alcoholic. Far from it. Brucie was a lush at best and a drunk at worst, and Batman was not someone most people imagined ever drinking, let alone what his drinking habits were (thank you semi-cryptid status).
However, his partners brought out his competitive side at the worst and most inopportune moments. For example: the kids are all either with Barbara at the Clock Tower, with the Kents in Smallville, or with the Titans at Titans tower in San Francisco, while Alfred was on an extended vacation in England visiting old friends and family.
As such, both Diana and Clark had cleared their schedules--not to babysit Bruce as Jason had joked--in order to spend some sorely needed quality time alone with Bruce and each other.
And now here they were--cuddling on the couch in the main media room, drinking some wine kept warm or chilled to preference by Clark's heat vision and freezing breath respectively. Bruce was begrudingly in the middle, and would have never admitted to how comfortable he was there, warm and safe and loved by his partners.
"Should we open a new bottle?" Diana asked, swirling the last few dregs in her wine glass before emptying it with a silent sip.
Bruce turned to respond, mouth open, but Clark beat him to it.
"I think we're probably done for the night."
And by "we" he meant "you both" and by "you both" he mostly probably almost definitely meant Bruce.
Bruce did not pout, but he did purse his lips.
"A little bit more wine wouldn't hurt. Besides, we never get to just enjoy the very fine tastes of previous Wayne manor residents."
Diana grinned, running her hand through Bruce's hair like she had been earlier in the night.
"See, Clark? Bruce is on-board with it."
*insert where they keep drinking and start to get frisky but Bruce promptly falls asleep, the sudden sleep of someone comfortable and just a little too drunk*
Normally, Bruce found waking between two super-powered humans a little stifling. The dull throb at the base of his head negated any instincts to withdraw his limbs from where they were tangled--6 legs and 6 arms were a lot and even with 3 torsos in the way, they were decently intertwined.
He couldn't withhold a groan when somebody (he was pretty sure it was Clark, the damn morning person he was) shifted, and his head was moved to a different angle.
Someone else, definitely Diana, snorted at his pain.
"Morning," he tried to mumble, positive that only one of the syllables was successfully coherent.
One set of fingers began rubbing his scalp, the increasing pressure and chilled fingers absolutely perfect, while another pair of hands stroked first his arm and then his chest.
Bruce didn't bother to respond to Clark. Instead he tried to sit up, but neither Diana nor Clark seemed inclined to let him.
With a huff he fell back the centimeter he had managed to lift himself. This time it was Clark who let out an amused breath at his admittedly-weak attempt to get up.
"Too much to drink?"
Bruce would have rolled his eyes if he knew they wouldn't exacerbate his (admittedly mild) headache.
"A little wine never hurts...this much."
"That's because it wasn't a little wine, it was 2 and a half bottles between us," Diana explained, voice betrayed her amusement at his predicament.
"F*ck," Bruce mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face amidst the soft laughter from either side.
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