You nodded desperately, already way too worked up. The insides of your thighs glistened with your slick, hips twitching and back arching towards him while his breath feathered across your lap. 

Quite frankly, there wasn’t a whole lotta thoughts left in your head, not when he had spent the last thirty minutes kissing you dizzy and grinding up into you until you were sure you could draw a detailed picture of his cock, complete with every ridge and vein. Not that you had ever seen it before – this was the first time he let it go this far.

You hadn’t been dating that long, just a couple weeks, and every time you made out with a little too much heat, he had gently pulled away and shaken his head.  “Not yet, sweetheart,” he had said, voice dripping sweet and thick like honey, “We should wait.”

But even the man of steel didn’t have infinite patience and you were beyond ready for him – or at least you thought so until he slipped the first finger into you. 

“Shoot, baby, you’re so tight,” he muttered, eyes glinting with awe and fascination, “Gosh, I’ll have to take my time with you, hm?”

As he pumped his single digit into you, you already felt yourself stretching more than you ever had before. The balloon in your lower tummy expanded while his finger disappeared into you, thicker than two of yours together. 

“C-Clark,” you mewled, your velvety walls flexing and pulsing around him, pulling him in further. Your back arched of the bed when he curled his fingers just right, dragging them along the spongy spot inside of you. A moan broke forth from your lips and he reveled in it.

“Yeah, pretty girl, that’s it,” he groaned. The mattress below you shook as he rutted his hips into it, searching to ease the ache of his throbbing cock. “Lemme hear you, hm? All those pretty sounds, just for me, right?” He sounded breathless, desperation tinting his voice. 

Clark nudged your thighs further apart with his free hand and added a second finger. The stretch stole your breath and your hand flew to his wrist, capturing it in a tight grip. 

“Uh-uh, lemme- lemme in, my darlin’,” he encouraged, prying your fingers off of his arm. “I need you to let me in so that I can get you nice and stretched out for me.”

The fullness was overwhelming as he slipped his fingers even further into you, buried in your wetness to the second knuckle. He gave you a few seconds to adjust around him before he pulled out almost completely. 

Fire ran through your veins and pressure built in your lower tummy – you couldn’t help the needy sounds that tumbled from your lips. 

“Clark- I… it’s so much…” You were half gone, mind cloudy with the ever-continuing rhythm of him splitting you open. 

His other hand came to rest on your pelvis, then his thumb laid on your clit. At first, it was just a suggestion of stimulation, soft circles drawn across the nub when suddenly three of his fingers drove into you. 

You yelped in surprise, hips lifting off the bed again but he increased the pressure of his hand and guided you back down. 

“Two- two is fine, Clark,” you managed to gasp while blinding pleasure and the first hint of pain coursed through your veins.

“It’s okay, baby, I know it’s a lot,” he shushed you, “But I gotta open you up, or it’ll hurt later.”

Part of you wanted to argue, to insist that you could take him, but you remembered the sensation of dragging your clothed cunt over his bulge and even then, he didn’t just feel big, he felt humongous. 

“There we go,” he praised softly when you moaned again while his thumb circled your clit. The pressure in your tummy was unbearable, drops of sweat building on your brow while he continued to thrust in and out of you. 

“You gonna cum for me, honey?” he asked, excitement tinting his voice, “Let go f’me.”

The orgasm ripped through you right then, thighs shaking and toes curling while he continued to work you through it. He didn’t slow down once, even as the first whimpers broke from your lips, your bundle of nerves throbbing and burning under his administrations.

“Too- too much! Ugh- Clark,” you gasped, writhing under him. Tears burned in your eyes, spilling over your waterline.

“You can take it, baby,” he encouraged, “Just gotta get you prepped, I promise, it’ll feel so much better.”

For a few blissful seconds you went numb and Clark seized that opportunity to add his pinky as well.  Four fingers now plunged into you, curling and twisting in you, stretching you obscenely wide.  His thumb flicked over your clit again while your velvety walls struggled to produce enough slick to keep up with him. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Clark drawled gently as you started trembling once more, “Cum for me again, yeah? Please, for me?”

It’s not like you had any choice, a sob tearing from your throat as you tumbled over the edge a second time. All muscles in your abdomen seized up painfully and your hole clamped down on him but he didn’t let himself be deterred.

“One more, okay, baby?”

You whimpered, trying to scoot away from him but he just tutted softly, keeping you in place by anchoring his hand on your hip. 

“It’s a lot, my sweet girl – I know – but it’s necessary, okay? I’m doin’ this for you.”

Your cunt pulsed, your clit ached, but his words soothed you like nothing else could. The contrast of his gentle voice overpowered any fear that you felt when he withdrew his hand almost fully, only to then insert all four fingers and his thumb. A silent scream spilled from your lips as his fist plunged into you, your walls fluttering and pulsing while your body did its best to adjust to the intrusion.

“There we go,” he reassured, “That’s it, honey, just like that.”

With the last bit of energy you had, you raised your head from the pillow to look at him and your stomach dropped. His eyes glinted as he watched his fist disappear into you, slick coating his arm up to his wrist. The pressure was agonizing, your muscles complained but no word of protest made it past your lips – only a weak wail. 

“C-Clark… please… no more.”

You didn’t know if he heard you or if he just didn’t care because his thumb picked up its speed again, bullying your clit with tight circles and with a helpless cry, you came again – right on his fist. 

“Good job, my love,” he cheered softly, “You did so well. Such a good girl f’me.” He met your eyes, his own shining with pride, “Think you’re ready for the real thing?”

Clark always liked you. 

For as long as he could remember, Clark always liked you. 

The shy one he grew up with. The one that always saved a seat for him on the bus, the one that sat next to him during lunch, the one that let him borrow a pencil when he needed one. 

His first friend. His only friend.

The one he harbored some serious feelings for, the one he loved more than anything, more than anyone. The one he wanted to give the world to.

He just couldn’t bring himself to tell you.

One day, in your junior year of high school, you disappeared. Dropped off the face of the earth. Stopped showing up to school, stopped answering phone calls, stopped dropping by his house. 

Pa Kent saw the obituary in the paper. Your mother had passed. It didn’t come as a surprise. She had struggled with addiction since you were a baby, and most likely long before that. Clark went to the service. He waited for you in the parking lot, grabbed hold of you. You let him. He hugged you while you cried.

And then, you told him to leave you alone.

He stayed holed up in his room for three days afterwards, refusing to get out of bed. Refusing to move or eat or talk, refusing to do anything. He didn’t understand it. He couldn’t. Why were you pushing him away?

He didn’t see you after that. Not at school, not at the grocery store, or the gas station, or the river you liked to go for walks along. Not at any of your favorite places, which he made sure to go to (more times than he’d like to admit). 

Years passed.

He grew up, moved to Metropolis. 

Little did he know, so did you.

-

“Clark?”

He froze. 

Impossible.

But it wasn’t.

He whipped his head around to see you standing in the middle of the sidewalk. You looked exhausted. Thin. Disheveled. Even still, you were beautiful. You smiled at him; a genuine smile, he could tell. The kind of smile that only you could give him. 

He had missed it. God, he had missed it.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” you said. You crossed your arms, probably for warmth. It was freezing out, and the shirt you had on was way too thin for the weather. Why weren’t you wearing a jacket? And why did your shirt have holes in it? “I, uh. I like the glasses.” 

“You…” he paused, trying not to tear up. He laughed. “It’s you! It’s really you!” 

Against his better judgment, he charged forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in. He buried his chin in the crook of your neck. To his delight, he hadn’t made you uncomfortable. You were hugging him back, gripping onto him just as tightly. You were happy to see him. It was such a contrast to the last time you’d seen each other. He wanted to cry. 

“It’s been a long time,” you said, chuckling. You sighed in what sounded like relief. You were relieved to see him? You pulled away, staring up at him with tired eyes. Your undereye circles were dark and deep, your eyes slightly bloodshot. How long had it been since you’d slept?

“I didn’t know you moved to Metropolis,” he said. 

“Yeah, I moved here a few years back. When did y—”

“I moved here around three years ago, right after I turned twenty seven.”

“No shit,” you beamed up at him. “Me, too.”

There was a somewhat awkward silence that followed. He was just in complete and utter disbelief. He truly thought he’d never see you again, and yet, here you were. Seemingly happy to see him, no less.

“So, what have you been up to?” he asked, ignoring the passerby bumping into him as they walked by. 

“Just, um…working. Living.”

“What do you do?”

“Oh you know, a bit of everything,” you said nonchalantly. You were dodging his question. Why were you dodging his question? “What do you do?”

“I’m a reporter. I write for The Daily Planet.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

He nodded.

“Wow. Good for you. I can’t say I’m surprised. You were always so good at writing.”

He could feel warmth rising in his cheeks, slightly embarrassed. He remembered the days when he let you read godawful short stories he’d written. Sometimes poems. You were the only one he’d been brave enough to show his writing to back then. 

He paused, staring you up and down. You really did look rough. Something was wrong. It had to be.  

“Hey, are you doing okay?” he asked. 

Your eyes widened, caught off guard.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You look a little tired.”

“I’m fine. Just busy with work is all.”

Work. He still didn’t know what you did. Why wouldn’t you tell him? You used to tell him everything, back before you disappeared off the face of the earth.

“Would you ever want to get coffee with me?” he blurted out suddenly, before he could even think about it. “You know, catch up?”

“Sure,” you said brightly.

He felt a rush of instant relief. 

“Why don’t we exchange numbers?”

“Oh,” you frowned. “I, um. I don’t really have a phone right now.”

He raised his eyebrows.

You were trying to let him down gently. He should’ve known. You’d already been avoiding him for years, what was stopping you from continuing to do so?  

“You don’t have a phone?”

“Someone stole it yesterday. I’m on my way to get a new one. Why don’t…why don’t we just set up a plan?”

“Oh, uh. Sure! Sure. Are you free Saturday?”

You nodded. “How about noon? The coffee shop across the street from The Daily Planet?”

“Sure,” he grinned. “It’s a date.”

“It’s a date,” you echoed, smiling back. 

 -

Seeing Clark for the first time in years brought you an unexpected sense of relief. He was a friendly, familiar face in an endless sea of people who didn’t care. 

But he cared. 

He always had.

“Hey, are you doing okay?”

A complicated question with a simple answer.

No. 

To sum it up, you weren’t doing okay. Not at all. You hadn’t been doing okay for quite some time now. Your mother had died of an overdose over a decade ago. Ever since then, you’d been on a path of self-destruction that rivaled hers. You pushed everyone away, including Clark, who had once been your closest friend. You didn’t know how to handle all the fears, anxieties, and insecurities you harbored. You didn’t know how to handle that kind of loss. You didn’t know how to feel.

And so, you didn’t. 

You numbed yourself whenever you got the chance. 

You moved to Metropolis hoping that it would be a fresh start for you, but it only escalated your partying into something darker. The drugs you did nowadays weren’t party drugs, although those were dangerous enough. The drugs you did weren’t of the social variety. They were the kind of drugs that most people were afraid of. You knew without question that if you continued down the path you were on, you were inevitably going to die. You had already overdosed a handful of times before.

You just couldn’t quit.

Coffee with Clark was hard.

You were running thirty minutes late, exhausted, shaky, and hungry. You were wearing the same shirt from the night before, a long sleeve baseball tee that hid a cluster of bruises on your arms. You didn’t have your wallet on you. In fact, you were pretty sure it had been stolen. Luckily, he didn’t make you pay for a thing, the gentleman that he was.  

As soon as you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel it. The complete and utter adoration, even all these years later. Clark had always loved you from the bottom of his heart, and you knew it. You felt it. He had the kindest eyes you’d ever seen. Your world had been void of kind eyes and even kinder words for so long, you weren’t even sure how to process it. 

You broke down.

You told him everything in a flood of tears. You apologized countless times for abandoning him, only for him to brush you off. You had nothing to apologize for, he had said.

“There’s help,” he said, reaching out to grab your hand. “You can get it. I can help you get it.”

You sighed. “It’s not that simple, Clark.”

“It never is. But you need help. Let me help you.”

“So what, I go to rehab and then what happens?”

“You can stay with me while you get back on your feet.”

You sighed. “It’s not that simple , Clark. I can’t do that to you. I can’t.”

“Do what? You wouldn’t be doing anything to anyone. You’d be doing me a favor, actually.”

“How?”

“You’d be keeping me company.”

“Company?”

“Yeah. Company. I get lonely.”

You chuckled, running a hand through your hair. “I can’t burden you like that, Clark. Besides, that’s a crazy thing to offer to someone you haven’t seen in years. You don’t even know me. For all you know, I could be a terrible person now.”

“I doubt that very much,” he said, squeezing your hand. 

Your eyes met his, and you wanted to start crying all over again.

“Please. Let me help you. You were always so kind to me, even when other kids thought I was weird. It’s my turn to help you now. Please, just let me—”

He reached up to brush a piece of hair away from your eyes, but you grabbed his wrist, stopping him. 

You couldn’t do this. You just couldn’t.

What if sobriety just wasn’t meant for you? What would your life look like without the drugs? How would you cope if you actually had to process your emotions without being able to numb the pain? What would become of you then?

You could hardly bring yourself to look at Clark as you stood up to go. You felt just like you did the evening of your mother’s wake, the night he wrapped his arms around you in the parking lot; the night you snapped at him to leave you alone. He looked like a kicked puppy that night, and he seemed even more desperate now. It was like he knew now, without question, that he was losing you for good.

You left in a hurry.

 -

He couldn’t lose you again. He simply couldn’t.

And so, he followed you.

He felt guilty doing it, but he knew it was for a good cause. He was just trying to protect you. He couldn’t allow you to keep doing this to yourself. Now that he knew the full extent of your whereabouts, he couldn’t sit back and worry about what you were up to.

He couldn’t lose you again, not when he’d just gotten you back.

Weeks went by, and he kept a diligent eye on you. He realized something at one point, something he couldn’t come back from. It was all about people, places, and things. Even if you did end up going to rehab, you couldn’t get sober if you were still around the same people, going to the same places, doing the same things. He had to get you out of Metropolis. City life was the worst thing for you. You weren’t meant for it. 

He often used to daydream about life with you. A life in Kansas. A simple life. A safe haven.

It was what you needed—what you both needed.

It wasn’t difficult to travel back and forth from Kansas to Metropolis, not when he had the ability to fly. He was remarkably efficient in his search for a home, ultimately choosing the most remote location he could find. He knew it wouldn’t be the easiest transition for you, but you would eventually adjust. You might even thank him for it. You needed peace and quiet. You deserved it. You may not like it at first, but in the end you would be healthier for it. Healthier and happier, and most importantly, you would be safe.

He took the week off of work. He was sweating bullets the entire time. A lot could happen in a week. For all he knew, you could be dead by the end of it. He had to move quickly. The house was fully furnished and organized within a few days. It wasn’t much, but it was quaint. Cozy.

It wasn’t long after that that he discovered he didn’t have to be Superman in order to save someone. 

You didn’t have to be superhuman at all in order to save a life.   

- 

One moment, you were asleep. The next, you were wide awake.

And the next, you were vomiting.

Naloxone had saved your life on a number of occasions. It was an incredible thing, and yet, the immediate withdrawal didn’t make you feel so incredible. You looked up at Clark with wide, glassy eyes. You had no clue what he was doing in your apartment. You had no clue how he’d gotten in. You actually wondered if you were hallucinating at first. 

One moment, you were dead. 

The next, you were very much alive—floating mid-air in the arms of none other than Clark— Superman —flying across the night sky.

- 

The contrast was jarring. 

The house was beautiful. The withdrawals were nothing short of horrific. 

The constant nausea, the shaking, the feeling that something was crawling all over your skin. It felt like it would never end. To make matters worse, Clark was with you the whole time; brushing your hair away from your face, giving you cold washcloths to place over your eyes, bringing you water and saltines when you needed them. He would say things to try and bring you comfort, but it didn’t help. It never helped. 

“Just a few more days of this, and you’ll feel better than you have in years.”

“Poor thing. You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

“I love you.”

You would ask him over and over again.

“Where am I?”

“What are we doing here?”

“Why won’t you let me go?”

And he would say it, over and over again.

“You’re home. You’re safe, and I love you.”

-

He watched you in the kitchen, still slightly disheveled from sleep as you made your morning coffee. You looked comfy in your robe. He smiled to himself. You were still getting acclimated, and progress was slow, but progress was progress. Daily life was starting to take on a certain normalcy for you, he could tell. You were building a routine. You woke up every day at seven and made coffee for yourself, then lounged in bed for another thirty minutes or so before you got up and started your day. 

“What am I supposed to do all day?” you had asked, back when he first brought you here. 

He smiled softly at you. “Whatever you’d like. You could read, write, clean. You can rest.”

“Rest?” 

“I mean it, you can do whatever you’d like here. It’s your home just as much as it is mine.”

You asked him “why” at first. 

“Why am I here?” 

“Why is this happening?” 

“Why are you doing this?” 

He hated that question the most. “Why are you doing this?” As if he was doing something to you, as if he was doing something wrong.

He remembered the first week after he brought you here. 

You were screaming, crying, throwing things.

“Clark, what is wrong with you? You can’t just do this to someone!” you shrieked. “Let me go!”

“I’m helping you. I’m saving you,” he said. “I know this is a big adjustment. Just try and calm down. Just listen to me.”

“I want my life back!”

Those were the words that made him reach his breaking point. You had said a lot of things to him in the last several days—a lot of hurtful, crazy things—but this was the most ridiculous thing you’d said so far. He wasn’t one to laugh at anyone, but he couldn’t help but laugh at that. 

“What life?” he snapped. He eyed you carefully as you jumped, startled. He hadn’t meant to yell at you like that. He lowered his voice, keeping his tone even. “Let’s say I let you go back to Metropolis right now. What do you think would happen?” 

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s not…that’s not the point I’m trying to make,” he sighed. “I mean, what would happen to you? What would you do if I let you go?”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“What would life look like for you, if I let you go?” he asked, moving closer towards you. You backed away slowly, trying to keep your distance. “Constantly trying to find the next fix. Living life like a ghost. Hurting yourself. What kind of life is that?”  

“It was a shitty life, I know that. But it was mine.”

“You need help. You need rest and recuperation, and understanding. The world is a harsh place. You don’t deserve harsh. You’ve had enough of that.”

“Clark, I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. I can cope.”

“Clearly, you can’t. Left to your own devices, you fall apart. You can have some freedoms, you can do what you like here, but you’re staying here. You need structure. You’ve never had structure, not even when we were kids.”

“Clark, please!”

“Do you remember when you’d come to my house when we were growing up?” he asked. “You cried once, because it was so quiet. Do you remember that? It wasn’t the kind of quiet you were used to. It wasn’t the lonely kind of quiet. It was just peaceful. Calming. You weren’t used to that. You weren’t used to feeling safe.”

You stared up at him with wide eyes, speechless.

“I made you feel safe. I always have. Why do you think you were so happy to see me back in Metropolis? You know I’d do anything to protect you. And that’s exactly what I’m doing now. I’m keeping you safe.” 

-

You weren’t sure what was more shocking, the fact that your best friend was Superman or the fact that he’d kidnapped you.

Sometimes you wondered if things were better off this way. 

Sometimes you wondered if you were better off this way.

Your mind was its most active at night, when you were just about to fall asleep. You were curled up in Clark’s arms, trying your hardest not to cry. The withdrawals were over. The bruises on your arms were faded. You were starting to gain weight back. You were lying there with a man who loved you deeply, in a home he’d bought just for you, nestled somewhere safe in the outskirts of your hometown. You felt healthier and calmer and more clear than you’d felt in years. You felt awake. Alive. 

Most importantly, you didn’t feel alone. 

Maybe it was his doting presence in the midst of your withdrawals. Maybe it was just pure nostalgia, or the way he told you he loved you, but a part of you had built an attachment to Clark. You hated when he left for work and waited eagerly for him to come home.

You didn’t miss the drugs, the alcohol, the lonely nights. You didn’t miss your dismal apartment or the time spent in and out of the hospital. You didn’t miss your “friends.” You didn’t miss a lot of things.

The one thing you did miss?

Being able to quiet your mind when things got too loud.

You were on an emotional rollercoaster, a mess of conflicting thoughts and feelings. All the emotions that you’d placed on the backburner for so long came rushing in at top speed, knocking you off your feet. You were processing it all in real time, and had no means of escape. The loss of your mother, all your fears and insecurities, the years of substance use, the time spent without—and now the forced proximity with —your best friend. 

You had nothing else to do, nowhere else to go. You tried to escape once, only to end up in the middle of a neverending field. Clark brought you back home, weary and defeated. 

You often wondered how long he intended to keep you there. You wondered what was going to happen to you. 

But whenever he leaned in to kiss you, somehow, all of that started to matter less.

Clark pulled at a piece of your soul you hadn’t realized was even still there, the piece you thought had been lost to time and traumatic experiences. He was kind. Caring. He made you feel free to be yourself. He made you smile, he made you laugh. You had time to read, write, draw. You had time to catch your breath. Time to cry. 

When Ma and Pa Kent came to visit, you didn’t have the heart to tell them what really happened, why you were really there. You just hugged them and tried not to sob, glad to be reunited with people who made your miserable childhood feel special. 

Whenever Clark smiled at you, you felt that piece of your soul light up. You felt yourself begin to fold. It made you feel more at ease than any drug ever could.

DIVIDERS: @ thecutestgrotto

*

You don’t know why you did it; maybe it was the alcohol in your system or maybe you were just tired of all the bullshit that you endured in this hell hole, but snapping at Clark Kent wasn’t your wisest decision. You absentmindedly wonder if you’ll have to hear from him about this.

As if the stares from everyone around you wasn’t bad enough— God forbid anyone say anything bad about their dear farm boy. If Lois had laser vision you’d probably be split into two by now.

A part of you feels a tinge of guilt, The Daily Planets new journalist almost seem hurt by your curt reply maybe even offended or angered. But you couldn’t help it, the way Lex had been praising about the boy the whole day had your blood boiling.

You’re just as fast and hardworking as any of those mic bearers at The Planet and yet what do you receive other than a dismissal or a snarky remark. Hell, you’re the one who cleans up after all his messes before those Planet freaks air out all his dirty laundry, and he best believe they would without a single though; journalism, bullshit! Look at how Bruce Wayne is doing without a personal assistant.

Lex should be grateful to have you and yet he doesn’t even have it in himself to be kind, let alone appreciative. You walk around with the champagne glass in your hand, taking in a final sip— the bubbly flavor attempts to cheer your mood as you feel fatigue slump you down— moving away to leave through the spinning doors, you clutch on to your purse and take one final look at the party behind you. You find a pair of glasses looking back at you, a small pout in between his lips. Whatever, you think; he’ll get over it. Nothing worse than any boss would have given him.

They’re all babying him, you’ve been through worse. Too drunk to care any further about it you leave, yet the eyes that had remained on you don’t sway. And even when you’re gone from his line of sight, he keeps his focus on you. Listening to the sound of you; your soft breathing, your stumbling footsteps as you walk away echoes in his ears as he keeps on wondering, what did he say wrong?

You continue on rewriting your email and attaching the final the documents, unbothered by the heavy steps in front of you. You’re used to these little tantrums; he’s been walking back and forth muttering to himself for at least half an hour. All this because The Daily Planet interviewed a few citizens who had some nice things to say about superman.

“They’re all blind, fucking blind I tell you! Actually believing that Martian is going to save them.”

“Well actually he’s from Krypton,” you joke but receive nothing more than a glare before he continues to ramble at the tv screen again.

This has started to get exhaustive, you really wish he’d stop spending all his time whining about Metropolis’s great hero. That man might be a little dense and people who solely put their trust in him are foolish but you see no point in breaking your head about it. It’s not like he’s actively harming anyone and he does a better job at protecting people than the cops ever did but if you told your boss that you’ll have your head cut off or worse; fired.

You crack your fingers and lean back on your chair, the wheels slowly rolling back and forth, “There’s nothing you can do about it Lex, people always have an opinion. It’s only natural that there’s going to be a few positive ones. If it makes you feel any better there are quite a few people who agree with you.”

“This isn’t about me feeling better, this is about the truth! None of them really see him for what he is,” he retorts.

“And what is he?” you ask unamused.

“An invader; probably a liar too.”

“Again, like I said, you know nothing about him. Don’t know where he comes from, don’t know where he goes to. We know nothing, we don’t even know if this is his only job or if he’s got an alias going on where he works at a diner, and with this economy I wouldn’t be surprised,” you chuckle trying to ease things up, but you get nothing in response, “We have so little information on who he truly is, so stop breaking your head about the things you can’t control.”

“There’s nothing I can’t control.” There’s a conviction in his voice; one that scares you, one that you wouldn’t dare doubt.

His blue eyes set to stone in a way that you recognize, in a way that you always recognize. You remember his words from earlier and yet you still foolishly try to change his mind. You flinch, swallowing down your words as the poor dog crashes into the glass cage again, you wish he’d stop before he injures himself.

The cape around him swishes around as he growls and yelps. You feel sorry for the poor animal, caught up between men and their agendas.

“Lex, I just don’t see the point of this; he’s just a dog. This just seem so wrong…”

“Oh, save it. I’m not cutting him up or anything, am I? He’ll be fine in there; it’s just a way to get to that bastard.”

“I’m sure there’s better ways to go about it, no?”

“Don’t you have job to do,” he bites, “better stick to that than try to each me how to do mine.”

You sight as he walks away the thrashing and grunting behind you continues, there’s no point to try with him everything always goes his way. You swallow down bile as look at the puppy, you wonder maybe you’re just as monstrous as he is.

You find it quite unsurprising when the door gets ripped into shreds as it gets thrown apart. The dust and smoke drifting in the air as the man sitting in front of Lex nearly gets blown away.

Heather walks in complaining about the caped superhero at his damaging entrance. The man walks forward; eyes focused on Luthor as you stand behind. This was the first time you’d seen him up-close, well at least the real him.

Distasteful memory surge up as to try to the repress thoughts about a similar looking man. If you had seen Superman in any other circumstance, you would have called him beautiful; you can see why people get so mesmerized by him.

You dig your heels onto the ground as you stand beside your boss. The anger in Superman’s voice almost surprises you, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this. But then again who wouldn’t be upset if some maniac stole their dog over petty revenge.

Only a man like Lex could stay clam even as man powerful enough the burn the whole place down stands in front of him. The rage in his eyes could almost tear the man in front of him.

He asks for his dog and lex gives him nothing; the table in front of you gets thrown aside and it goes crashing into the window. His eyes revert to you for a second; unexplainable malice in them as his nose flares.

Your brows crinkle sympathetically as your eyes find the ground; you hate that you had to be here right now. He asks again, voice nearly quivering only for Lex to aggravate him further.

You know that Lex Luthor is not a good man, there has been many a time where you’ve seen him be the worst person possible but calling that poor creature an ugly dog was definitely the lowest one could go. The rage that ensues does not surprise you, you only hope you don’t get caught up in-between.

The aftermath of the situation remains in front of you as you sit in your corner. A few workers moving around to try a clean up the havoc that was created. Lex has his phone attached to his ear; his displeasure evident as he continuous to complain about the dangerous superhero, as if this wasn’t the exact outcome he wanted.

Glass shards broken here and there, the window cracked, the table irreparable and the door… well there’s a big gaping hole where the door once used to be. Lex continuous on about his safety and the safety of the citizens in Metropolis; you’re sure the video Eve posted does great favors to prove his point.

Superman’s unsuccessful negotiation with Lex leaves back a bitter taste on both their tongue’s. You try to stray your thoughts away but you can’t help but wonder how that poor dog was doing without his human.

The day while displeasing had not been uneventful, but most definitely an exhausting one. Lex had continued on with his regular tantrums and you had to rearrange all his meetings— you are convinced that the flower shop guy at the corner gets a good penny from Luther Corp.

Your fingers tap away on your sides as you stand at the edge of the roof, the wind filtering through your hair. You stare ahead in wonderment as Metropolis shines with new life at night.

When suddenly you hear the same voice the people of Metropolis hear way too often.

“Mam, I’m going to ask you to please step away; that’s quite dangerous.”

You turn around to face the caped hero, his arm extended cautiously. He must recognize you from the morning and yet he holds no malice in his words.

You let out a scoff as you reply, “I’m not going to jump off the building, Sir.”

“That’s good. But accidents happen, no harm in being careful.”

His entire nature was almost hilarious, like that of a guard dog. Ready to jump in front of danger; slobbery yet protective. A side Luthor absolutely refuses to see.

“Not much crime fighting left?” you joke at his presence but immediately bite your tongue, a frown remains on him as he sighs, about to answer you.

You cut in apologetically, “I’m… really sorry about your dog… he doesn’t deserve this.”

He nods his head, throat bobbing as he swallows, the words heavy on him. “He doesn’t. He’s not mi—

“Never mind, I’ll find him there’s only so many places Lex can hide him. I’ll find a way.” He says shaking his head again, turning around ready to fly away.

You call for him; you’re unsure why, this wasn’t a good decision, you could get in great trouble for this. But you do it anyway and he turns back immediately, almost as if he had been waiting for a call. The polite hum of his voice felt recognizable for a millisecond but you brush it away without much thought.

“I… I may know where… I know where your dog is.”

You add of the newly printed papers onto the file, the last email had been sent, you don’t expect a reply immediately so you pack you bag and decided head out for the day, it’s only about 10:30 at night, you absolutely aren’t being over worked…

You scoff at your plight as you remember to prepare for his flight next week. You decide to just make sure that all the documents are ready when you suddenly hear a knock on the window. You look ahead, a sly smile on your lips that you’d be too embarrassed to ever admit.

You walk over to open the window pane for him and he lets himself in. You should be worried about the consequences you may face but you’re more embarrassed with the way you’ve kept your desk; you’re not always this messy but work sometimes takes a toll.

He clears his throat and you seat yourself on the table, a leg crossing over the other.

“Gotta be honest, I did have slight suspicions it was a trap,” he admits.

“I’m sure it’s nothing you couldn’t escape from”, you smirk. You look away, voice softening as you continue, “You’re not the only person who has to play a role Superman, some of us have to get along with things we don’t agree with.”

“But do you really have to,” he retorts.

You let out a sigh; he wasn’t going to understand. You’d prefer to have a nice conversation with the person you’re ruining your life for, so you return to what you always do; redirect.

“I hope he’s alright,” the concern in your voice genuine, “he was there for a while.”

“He’s alright, he’s a tough boy. It’s a good thing he can’t talk or else Kara would have my head,” he lightly chuckles, “He’s not mine, he’s my cousin’s,” he says acknowledging your confusion.

“You not a dog guy?” you tease.

He hold his hands behind him as he walks forward to you, “I’m… not sure. You?”

“I like em.”

“You smile. Didn’t know you could do that,” a small one forms on his lips as he clicks his tongue before you question him, “didn’t know anyone at Luthor Corp could.”

You hum as he comes closer to you, the night light shining on his face, “Thank you, you’ve been… kind; helpful,” he whispers. You feel your face heat up in his presence; his citrusy scent fills you up making you confused, unsure what to say.

His voice is so soft, it almost feels like a bird. Your eyes grow a little heavy as you smile at him dopily.

“You’re really not what they make you to be huh,” you mumble. His face only inches away from you, he closes his eyes for a second as he takes in a deep breath. Eyes landing on you again, “...and you’re really not what you make yourself to be,” he replies.

He leans towards you and you can’t help follow the pull you feel. His lips find yours as he kisses you, a little too gently than you’d prefer. His arms wrap around your torso as you deepen the kiss hands moving to hold his face as your fingers play with his hair.

You press your body to his and you feel his touch sooth a burning sensation that flows through you. He continuous to kiss you, lips playing with yours as you swipe your tongue over his.

Your hands dance over his body feeling up the rough edges of his suite along with the built of figure underneath. He continuous to kiss along your jaw, face pressed into your neck as your hands move to his groin, palming the already hard bulge that you feel.

You laugh softly and he chuckles along with you, “You can’t blame me,” he says as he nips at your neck, “You always just look so spectacular.”

You feel faint confusion form at his words but they faint away as you enjoy his feel on your body. He tightens his grip on your hips as he positions himself between your legs, the desperation of it all courses through both of you. He pushes the papers to the side to make enough space for you, accidently pushing them off the edge; the file and pencil case falls along with it, a loud clanging follows.

He turns to the side; distracted, “Oh boy, I’m really sorry,” he apologizes awkwardly and you can’t help but giggle. You turn his face towards you again, lips moving against his.

He presses multiple kisses on your lips and whispers “Let me make it up,” continuing, kissing along your sternum he bents his keens as he lowers. Pushing your upper body down on to the cleared space, he hikes your pencil skirt up.

You feel his hot breath between your things, a chaste kiss on your inner thigh as his fingers move to pull you panties down. He presses his face to you heated core and you feel your skin prickle in pleasure. His tongue delves into your slick heat; long, languid licks along your folds as your head lulls back. You hold on his hair tightens as you buck your hips to his face.

He lets out a soft groan that passes through, eliciting a moan of you own. You use an elbow to balance yourself as you look down only to find his eyes attached to your face as he continuous to lap from you. The heat of his stare send shivers down your spine as you throb around his tongue.

“God, you soaked,” he mumbles, sliding two fingers into you wet cunt easily. His thumb plays around with your clit as he pushes his fingers in and out of you.

He continuous on and you try your best no to scream; he fills you up completely and yet somehow you still crave for more.

“That’s it honey, let go,” he murmurs and you can’t help but whine, “No please, please… I want you inside me.”

He seems surprised by your confession as he blinks but wastes no time as he stands upright. You wine at the loss of his fingers but it’s almost immediately replaced as one of his arms move around under your shoulder to pull you closer.

His wet tip rubs onto your cunt— you don’t know how he manage to work around his suit but you glad he did, you really don’t think your mind could have managed to come up with a way around it—he slowly pushes himself inside you, your nose pressed against his as you mouth parts at the feel of him. His own part open as he completely seats himself inside you, his hot breath dancing along with yours. His tongue moves and swipes over yours, he basks in the moment for a good few seconds as he lets you adjust to him and then he snaps like an animal, hips thrusting into to tortuously.

He continuous his pace as his scent starts to drive you crazy. The heat of it all tightness a coil inside you, he gently place you on your back; pressed onto the wooden desk. His hips being to stutter as he grunts, your hands moving around his broad back as one finds the nape of his neck.

His eyelashes flutter against your cheek and moves to press a kiss on it. He moves to your lips and slowly kisses you as his pace begins to get sloppy. He moans into the kiss and you hiss as you feel him spill into you. He lays himself on top of you but careful enough to not put his entire weight as the two of lay there exhausted.

You try to retain the small smile that you had when he left you with a peck. But you can no longer hold it up, you rub your neck as you feel your eyes sting. He had left about half an hour ago and yet the smell still remains; the scent you’d presumed was his, a scent you recollect…

You press you palms onto your eyes; the frustration now turns into anger… how could you have been such a fool, of course you were to be his Guinea pig.

You clench your teeth as you head out, getting into the elevator, you push the button below and it chimes but the elevator doesn’t move. Before you can press it again it moves up, stopping at one of the floors where his lab is.

The anger in you reappears as you get out, you’d like to give him a piece of your mind.

“You’re a piece of fucking shit!” you shout, he simply turns around unsurprised, an annoying shrug on his face. “That’s not a very nice way to greet a friend,” he quips.

You huff out a laugh at that, anger boiling through; you won’t deal with this anymore. “I quit,” your voice adamant for once and without another look you turn back a head to the doors. You pull on the handle but it wouldn’t budge, you try again, still nothing.

“And where will go?” a patronizing tone behind you with barely contained anger as he continues, “You’re also going to need this little thing called a recommendation letter. You know, I could write pretty bad stuff about you, make sure you never get employed,” he sings as he moves towards you.

You turn around, lips quivering.

“Or I could just kill you,” he gleams.

You press yourself onto the door as you sob unable to stop yourself.

“Wow, hey I— I was joking,” he rambles, a surprised frown on his face, “I’m not gonna kill you, don’t be silly. Can’t believe you thought I was serious.”

His palms move to hold your face in-between them, “I wouldn’t kill you. Geez, can’t a guy make a joke.”

He looks at you as he sighs, “Why are you being like this? Can’t you see we are wining; we’ve got him wrapped up in our palms. You’ve done great, been so good. You’ve been so good for me.”

“If we work together and do things right, we’ll get him exactly where we want.”

“Do you expect this to be an ongoing thing!?” your body shakes as you look at him, he does nothing but shrug. “Do you have a problem getting laid,” he says, exasperated. “Was he not good?” he squints his eyes mockingly, “I told you that dick is probably not all that super.”

His fingers move underneath your skirt, gracing over your clothed core, “You’re still wet though.” Your eyes shut with anger, you push his hand away and he lets out an angry laugh.

You shake your head looking away but his fingers push against your cheek as he forces you to look at him, his stone-cold eyes set on you.

“You wanted me tell him, that’s why you showed me where the dog is,” you spit out, tears continuing to spill.

He fixes you a look of amusement and pity as if it was most obvious and yet somehow you cracking it seemed to fascinate him.

“You know, for once you’ve been useful. And I knew- I knew you’d do well, that’s why I chose you,” he replies, voice barely a whisper and yet so harsh.

“Don’t make me doubt my decision, I know you can be good, I know that you’re useful. So, for once alright, just be… useful.

“—enough.”

The voice cuts through the chaos, low yet even. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. The shift in the air gives him away first, the faint ripple of wind that follows his landings. Then the red and blue at the edge of your vision.

Superman.

Three of them are already down, slumped unconscious against the brick, and the last one’s wheezing under your boot. You press a little harder, just to hear the sound he makes.

“Thats enough,” he repeats, stepping closer now. He furrows his brows, condemning your actions without a word. “They’re not going anywhere. You can stop.”

You glance over your shoulder at him. “They were moving weapons, military grade. You want me to ask them nicely to stop next time?”

“I want you to show some restraint,” he says, calm but firm. “You’ve already made your point clear.”

But you don’t stop. You never stop. The guy beneath your boot groans, tries to crawl, and you kick him square in the side, sending him sprawling into the utility poles against the building with a clang. His scream echoing down the alley.

Thats when he moves.

It’s quick, in a colorful blur. One moment you’re reaching for the next target, the next his hand is wrapped around your arm, iron and unmovable.

“I said enough,” he grows, and then you’re airborne, weightless for a heartbeat before the brick wall slams into your back.

The impact knocks the air out of your lungs, and you crumple to your knees, gasping.

“I don’t take orders from a prick like you.” you spit.

By the time you pull yourself upright, he’s already taken out the last of them. Its ironic, the single punch that drops the man like a rag doll. The alley is silent once more, except for the hiss of rain against the asphalt and the ragged sound of your shallow breaths.

Superman turns back toward you, steps slow. Water beads along his jaw, tracing the sharp cut of it as he closes the distance. There’s something different in his eyes now, not the warm glow metropolis loves him for.

The gleam is darker. Heavier. Something humming beneath the surface, untamed and dangerous.

“You really don’t know when to stop,” he says softly, and the corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile.

You begin to realize, with a shiver crawling up your spine, that the fight might not be in your favor this time. And yet you push yourself up from the ground, rain pouring off your suit, already fully healed.

The scrapes that had burned along your forearms? Gone. Your knuckles, split and raw a moment ago, are smoothed over. Even your ribs, the ones that should be bruised, ache only faintly.

“Cute trick,” he mutters when you square your stance again. “But thats enough for now.”

“You keep saying that stupid shit,” your tone steady. “And yet, here I am.”

You launch first this time. Pivoting on your heel, elbow hooking, and he blocks easily. But you’re not backing down now, you can’t. Another jab, swing, and knee to the side. He grunts when it lands, more surprised than hurt. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and you swing while he’s stunned. A sickening crunch rings through the space as your fist connects with his nose. 

His head snaps to the side when you come down, blood already gushing from the break. Concrete cracks under your boots, and the faint hiss of displaced air follows your movement.

The surroundings still for a moment, before a punch sends you skidding through a puddle, knees scraping agains the ground. You rise without hesitation. Another catches your jaw, splitting your lip, his eyes widening as it seals before he blinks.

“What are you? Another meta human?” He breathes, half to himself.

“Yeah, and Im everything you’re too afraid to be,” you snap, driving forward.

For a moment, he just stares, chest heaving and pupils blown. Then the world narrows again. You duck beneath a swing, pivoting, and landing a hit across his cheek. It’s clumsy and desperate, but enough. He turns his head sharply, and when he looks back at you, there’s a thin streak of red tracing the corner of his mouth, joining the blood from his nose down his lips.

He pauses, then raises his hand to wipe it off. Dark red streaking across his palm. His eyes follow the smudge, filled with something unknown. Not anger or surprise. Intrigue. Hunger.

“Interesting,” he murmurs.

You don’t get time to process it. His next blow is faster, heavier, and you can’t dodge. The world slips sideways as you hit the ground. Your skull cracking against the pavement, a sharp, sickening sound, and light bursts across your vision.

Air rushes from your lungs. Your limbs feel distant, uncooperative.

“—hey.” His voice is closer now, lower, but not gentle. Hands grip your shoulders and then he’s on you. Weight pressed through his knees into your stomach. You gasp as the pressure pins you, your body too sluggish to respond.

Your arms twitch, trying to rise, but they’re too heavy. Your fingers curl uselessly against the wet ground as his shadow loons over you, and his gaze, the same dark and fascinated gleam, pins you even harder than his hands are.

“So you don’t break,” he says quietly, almost in awe. “But you do bleed.”

He comes closer, pupils blown wide until the blue around them is just a thin, trembling ring. 

“I like that,” he murmurs. Not threatening, and not promising either, something in between.

The rain above you two pours harder. His weight is surrounding you now, palms braces on either side of your head as he leans in, gaze dragging over every feature. The rise and fall of your chest, the twitch of your jaw, the way your pulse kicks hard against your throat but doesn’t falter.

You taste iron on your tongue, and before you can think twice you spit, and a dark wet streak hits the line of his jaw and runs down the column of his neck.

For a moment, it’s silent. Then a low surprised sound slips from his throat, a deep, rough laugh.

“Still fighting,” he says, almost fondly. “Good.”

“As if id give up on you, asshole.” You scoff.

He drags a thumb lazily across your mouth, collecting the mingled rain and dried blood staining your lip. The pad of it presses forward, past the soft give of your lips, brushing against the edge of your tongue. Instinct takes over, and your teeth catch lightly around him. You suck once, slow and carefully, metal filling your mouth.

His eyes shine, a bit surprised, and wanting more.

“Up.”

His word is low and commanding, but not a demand. He waits. And even though your limbs feel heavy and your vision pulses faintly around the edges, you push yourself up to your feet. He doesn’t move to help you. He doesn’t need to. This is still a fight, after all.

“Good,” he says when you steady yourself, chest puffing in and out as you control your breathing.

You swing first, a quick jab aimed for his face. He blocks it without effort.

“Thats better”

Another hit, this one sharper. He twists away, sending a fist in your direction, and lets the momentum spin you off balance before nudging you back into place with the flat of his palm. Every blow you throw feels heavier, slower, like he’s wearing you out on purpose. Your lungs burn. Your muscles scream. And still, you keep pushing yourself.

“Perfect.”

It’s almost mocking, his voice echoing throughout the alleyway, as though he’s savoring every second you refuse to back down. You launch one more strained punch, and this time it lands. A clean hit across his jaw that forces his head back slightly.

Before you can register the small victory, his hand closes around your wrist. With a sharp yank, he pulls you forward, and you stumble into his chest. The world narrows to the space between you. His breath hot against your cheek, the hard, steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm.

The kiss happens like another punch. Sudden, rough, and inevitable. There’s no warning, no gentle lead in, just the crash of his mouth against yours with too much force, the sharp sting of his teeth catching against yours and lips dragging against each other. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his suit, and his on your skin. Both desperate for leverage, for something to anchor to in the storm of the moment.

It’s not soft. It isn’t sweet. It’s a challenge, a continuation of the fight disguised as a kiss. A battle fought breath to breath in this dark mucky alleyway.

You push forward, trying to claim it, to bend him to your will, and he pushes back, harder. You tilt your head to depend the angle, but he shifts and takes control before you can. It’s dizzying and infuriating, yet you’re addicted. You tug at his suit, and his hands pull you closer. Every time you think you’ve gained a bit of ground, he’s there, matching you, overwhelming you. Turning your defiance into something he can mold against you.

And through it all, his hands never still. They map you slowly, snaking up the sides of your ribs, grazing the back of your neck, anchoring at your mandible. They guide, they coax, they hold, but never trap. Every touch is a reminder: you could pull away. You can end this, swing at him once more. He’d let you.

Yet you don’t.

You pull him closer, the struggle intensifying. Each breath stolen from each other, each press of your lips against his, teeth and tongue drawing another line, another boundary blurred. Until you let your strength falter. Your knees buckle, your body sways closer, and an arm wraps around your waist. Much to your silent objection, he holds you effortlessly and your back hits the wall, jagged brick pulling at your top.

A gasp escapes your lips at the sudden contact, the dull gritty pressure digging through your clothes and into your skin. The strength at which he pushes you back burns, but it hurts so good. The small tears in your skin pulling together faster than you can process. It makes your heart slam against your ribs, how much you love losing. How much you crave it.

He cages you there without even trying, a hand braced at the side of your head, breath fanning over your lips.

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me,” the words brush against your mouth like another kiss. “Do you know how rare that is?”

You don’t answer, not with words. Your pulse is too loud in your ears, too fast. Instead, you tilt your chin up, and he slides his thumb against your bottom lip, pushing gently until it’s past your teeth. The taste of rain and copper lingers there, and you bite down just enough for him to feel it. a wordless surrender.

He exhales, the sound almost a growl, and his mouth finds your throat. the first kiss is soft, the next not so much. Teeth scrape against your skin, a sharp little sting that pulls a moan from you. Another follows, a bite that lingers just long enough to draw a bead of warmth from the surface before his tongue soothes it away.

Your body buzzes at the feeling. The rough brick against your back, the weight of his body pinning yours, the steady thrum of your heart against his chest, the heat slowly spreading through your abdomen. The dizzying feeling that for all the danger coiled between you, you haven’t once thought of running.

But maybe you should.

You’re supposed to hate him, or at least what he stands for. He’s the golden boy of Metropolis, the face of a justice system you’ve spent years undermining from the shadows. You’re a ghost in the alleyways, not waiting for permission to stop crime, and not withholding any force when necessary. 

But you stay, the air between you is filled with energy. His tongue smooths over the tear in your throat as blood pools in his mouth, savoring the taste of you. 

Your hands find the back of his neck, fingers threading into his damp curls, and you kiss him. Reckless, hungry, trying to burn away everything you’re supposed to be. The sudden surge of need makes him pause for a moment, his breath catching as he didn’t expect you to fight back with this kind of heat.

Something shifts. The restraint in him, the little control he had left. It snaps. His hands tighten where they grip you, grinding his hips into yours. You let out a moan against him, tugging harshly at the hair wrapped around your finger.

He lets out a groan, and grabs your wrist. The suddenness makes you lose your grip, and thats when he has you. Before you can protest, he spins you to face the wall. Your forehead knocks against the stone and sends a flash through your vision. 

His hands pull at your suit, easily ripping the thick material. You jump from the sudden coldness. 

“Hey—!” You toss over your shoulder. He pays you no mind, tugging off the bottom of his suit.

His length presses against your bare cunt, and your eyes widen. The abruptness of his movements is making you lightheaded, but you have no room to fight it. He wraps a hand around the base of your skull, tugging your neck to the side and sinking his teeth in. His bite is hard, teeth tearing the skin on the side of your throat and drawing blood quickly. 

It burns brighter. A stinging sensation quickly following as he slips into you. You gasp from the sudden intrusion, hands pushing back to stop the strain. But he doesn’t let you. His hand grabs your wrist and pins it harshly against the wall, pushing in further to the hilt. You gasp as he buries himself in you, walls fluttering around the stretch of him. 

“You think you can run from me?” he murmurs. But he doesn’t wait for you to answer. His breath fans over your pulse, leaving a sting that would mark you long after the night was over. His laps at the bite mark, tongue following and drinking up the blood pricking on your skin. You knock against the wall as he starts moving, hips snapping against yours, stone scraping against your temple.

His hand presses against the wall next to your head, fingers digging into the crumbling brick as if were soft. The wall trembles, and so do you.

“Thought you could take me?” He asks, and though his voice is a whisper, it’s heavier than the ground beneath your feet. “I can hear the flutter of your pulse every nigh across the city. Do you understand what that means?”

You want to spit something back, a curse, a challenge, but the words tangle in your throat as he pushes closer, driving his cock up against that gummy spot inside of you. You moan instead, the sound breaking as it leaves your chest. His other hand catches your chin, forcing your head to the side to meet his eyes.

“Im not giving you mercy,” he continues, head dipping until his breath brushes your ear. “i’ve run out of patience for you.”

His lips hover above the mark he’d left on your neck, skin knit together but bruised. He doesn’t touch, simply letting the warmth of his breath remind you who holds the power here. Your body starts screaming at you to push him away, but your hands betray you, pressing weakly against the stone as you try to hold yourself up against his pounding. Anchoring yourself to the danger you should have feared.

His hips snap against yours, harder, rougher, hands gripping your sides as he pulls you to meet them. Tears swell in your eyes as his fingers dig into your skin, grinding his cock into your cervix. 

Moans slip past your lips, the sound reverberating through the alley and into his ears like a song. He wraps an arm around your front, feeling for your bud amidst his thrusts. You go slack as he finds it, adding to the pleasure rippling through your core. 

Your lips part, breath gone, and whines catch in your throat as he forces your orgasm from you. Your walls spasm around his length, milking him for all he’s got. His hips sputter, and he presses his full length into you with a groan. He pins you against the wall, and the stone digs into your cheek one last time as his mouth finds yours.

His teeth prick your lip, blood invading his mouth in a quick spill, tongue lapping over it as he pulls sounds from your lungs. His hips rut into yours, riding out his orgasm as his fingers still circle your clit. Your legs twitch, and your hands push back against him, sensation becoming too much. 

He doesn’t stop, hips pulling back and resuming their motion as you arch your back from his chest. 

“Fuck— this is too much fun,” his hips snap against your ass, sending a wave of pleasure through you.

The sensation walks the line of pain and pleasure, the drive of his cock head against your walls sending sparks through your lower half, and his fingers against your clit adding overstimulation.

“You feel that?” He asks, palm pressing against your stomach. His tone makes the hair on your arms stand.

His words coil around you tightly as his hands are, sinking beneath your skin. The rain clings to your clothes, chilling you to the bone, but the heat of him presses closer, communing your thoughts, contradicting everything you stand for yet you can’t tear yourself away from it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, cheek nudging against yours as his hips still. “All that defiance you wear… and now you’re trembling at the sound of my voice.”

His hands aren’t gentle, but not exactly cruel. His hips are pounding, snapping against the fat of your ass with deliberate force, reminding you who dictates the rhythm, the shape of the moment. Even as your body shakes, he holds you still, denying you the change to pull away now, to hide the storm pooling in your abdomen as you reach your peak.

“Pathetic,” he whispers, and yet there no hatred in the word, only something dark and heavy. “You swore you hated me. Swore you’d never let me close. And now?” His mouth hovers near your ear, a ghost of smile pulling at his words. “…now you need me to finish what we started.”

The rain still fell in waves around you, but it might as well have been miles away. His presence was the only reality left. Too close, too consuming, filling your focus. Beneath the chill in his voice, was something filled with desperation. His hunger not satisfied by control alone.

“Here you were, thinking you could resist me…” He asks laughs softly, voice threaded with possessive obsession that made your chest tighten. “you’re mine, you hear me?” It’s a whisper meant for only you, heavy and immovable. “And don’t think for a second I’ll let you forget it.”

The admission wasn’t mercy, it was another chain, another weight anchoring you to him. And even as the last of your strength faded, he stayed unrelenting. Hips snapping into yours as your second orgasm ripped through you. He watches every shudder, every breath, as you come undone under his dominion. 

You grind your hips back against his, begrudgingly, sweet sounds spilling from your throat as pleasure courses through your veins. His thrusts don’t stop, chasing his own end once more. The wall scraps against your soft skin, cold against the warmth of him inside you.

When it was over, when the storm of tension and heat inside you reached its peak, he didn’t relent. Not immediately. Instead, he held you there, cock twitching inside as his heat filled you to the brim, sending it far into your womb and claiming you as his. He watched it, savored it, as if the outside world didn’t exist. Then, with a tilt of his head and that faint, predatory smirk, he stepped back just enough to move. Giving you barely a moment to catch your breath.

Then he was gone.

It isn't easy with your ankles bound, wrists too. Not as you can't stop shaking enough to steady your feet. Your hands ache from the cold, your toes too. Your pantyhose aren't close to enough to ward off the temperature.

Your teeth chatter as your muscles ache. The longer you sit in the cave of crystalline ice, puffing out clouds from your nostrils, the more than pain fades to numbness. You won't survive if you stay.

A whoosh and a flap startle you. You look at the only opening you can find in the place. A shadow ripples through before a dark, towering figure.

As he turns, the light glowing across the ice illuminates his features. Blue eyes, square jaw, black hair. He's so familiar for a moment you can't believe it's him.

The red cape, the blue suit, the emblem on his chest. It's that hero, Superman. That's not what surprises you. How did you not see it before? You guess you never looked close enough at the TV.

"Clark?" You try to say around the gag.

"Yeah..." He strides lithely across the floor, as if he's floating. "No time to change. Not a lot of time for much, huh?"

He stops in front of you and looks down at you. He bends his knees and comes down closer to your level. His thighs are thicker as they strain and he leans his arms on his knees, his biceps stretching the blue fabric.

You know he’s there the moment you open the door to your apartment, feeling the breeze from a window you didn’t leave open. Should you run? Would it make sense? Then he comes into view at the end of the hall, hands flexing at his sides and a faint red light shimmering in his eyes...and you know, you can’t escape. Not now, not ever.

So you step inside your humble home despite the protests of your body. Shakily lock and bolt the door and carefully hang your purse and coat away.

And he doesn’t say a thing.

Finally turning to him again, you can’t make yourself move closer.

“Please...” Your voice is barely audible, but you know he’ll hear it just fine. “Please don’t...”

He doesn’t walk to you. He flies. Quick as lightning and with the cape billowing after him like a red streak. He’s in your face, crowding you against the wall with a huge hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off any other protests you might have.

“Gonna be a good girl, aren’t you?” He noses your temple, inhaling deeply. “Gonna stay quiet for me.”

You can’t swallow because of the hand around your throat but you manage to nod.

Then the world is reduced to a blur for a brief moment before you land on your bed, bouncing slightly and finally able to gasp in a lungful or two of air.

Dizzy from the quick movement, you try to focus on the ceiling, as if you could ignore how he tears off your clothes – the ripping of fabric against your skin leaving marks as if you’d been whipped. As if you could ignore how he wrenches your knees apart and spits on your pussy.

Rough fingers spread the moisture, honing in on your clit and finding a fast rhythm. Relentless. And you just look at the ceiling, noting how the paint is bubbling in some places.

But what he does is working according to his intent: all too quickly a tension inside you builds up. Your heart is hammering in your chest, your breath grows shallow and staccato...and you know he’s watching you intensely as if he’s afraid to miss anything.

--- Clark’s PoV ---

He knows that she’s close when her eyelashes flutter as if to hide how she can’t focus on that damn ceiling anymore. He can see her body react, betray her.

Swiping a thumb from her entrance to her clit a few times adds to the moisture, her juices called forth by what he is doing to her. It’s so tempting to take her here and now, but he won’t...he has to show her how good it can be for her first. Continuing the circling on her clit, he smirks at knowing what’s in store for them.

Her mouth falls open, little whimpers tumbling from her lips. Pleas.

“Gotta be quiet,” he reminds her.

But she isn’t: as her body tenses, a moan rips from her chest and out the mouth that could look so pretty with his cock in it. Instead, he reaches for her panties, balling them up and stuffing it in to shut her up. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hear her voice but she says the wrong things.

Moving his gaze down her body, he can see how her body is fighting the euphoria. How the entrance of her cunt is fluttering around nothing, silken juices dribbling down towards her ass.

He only has to pull down his trousers enough for his cock to spring free. Weeping precum angrily, it gets a few strokes before he aligns himself.

“Look at me. Hey.”

Hot tears are sliding silently down her cheeks but she does as he demands. So obedient. From under heavy lidded eyes, she meets his gaze.

When he pushes in, her eyes open fully and even with the panties to gag her, she still manages to whine at the intrusion. But he doesn’t mind now. She feels so good, so tight he can barely maintain eye contact himself from the bliss of entering her.

The pace he sets is fast with a rhythm that still allows for deep thrusts that would have her scooting up the bed if he didn’t hold on to her. He can feel the capillaries bursting under his touch and inside her where his cock rams hard...but he doesn’t care. Keeping her in place, he ruts wildly, chasing his high by using her body as he wants.

And still, each thrust, he makes sure that his pelvis nudges against her clit, the quick pace bringing her to a second orgasm just as he too tumbles over the edge. Stilling, he can feel his balls and cock throbbing with the release.

It takes a moment before he pulls out, white mingling with minuscule swirls of red seeping from her hole. Leaning down, he kisses her softly.

“You did so well,” he praises, pulling the panties from her mouth and tossing them aside. “Next time you won’t have to be quiet...I’ll find us a place where we won’t be bothered.”

His cock is softening and he stuffs it inside his trousers without bothering to wipe her essence away.