— late night devil put your hand on me | clark kent
+ red k!clark kent x f!reader
summary: you love teasing clark when he's under the influence of red kryptonite.
tags: oneshot, plot what plot, pure smut 18+, red kryptonite!clark, DIRTY talk, light choking, dom!clark
a/n: wrote this instead of masturbating since i'm obsessed with redk!clark a normal amount. if you see any mistakes, no you didn't.
wc: 2k
The air is thrumming with loud music, the sound vibrating through your chest, but it's nothing compared to the pure tension radiating off of the man standing in front of you.
Clark looks so different with that ring on. There's a wildness in his eyes, a little pucker to his lips that is so not Clark, but it drives you absolutely wild.
You're swaying to the music, fluid and sensual and the strobing lights are making your moves seem all the more enchanting. You let your hands wander, skimming over the fabric of your dress, up your sides, dragging them along all the places that you want Clark to notice.
His dark, dark eyes follow every move with a heated intensity, hungry and primal. As if he were a predator, ready and waiting to pounce on his prey.
"You're just going to keep watching me?" you ask, over the bass that's vibrating through your chest. You let your fingers slide down your ribcage, further and then some, tracing the sides of your hips, and back up, up, pulling the hem of your skirt along.
A flash of plush skin, a blink and miss moment, but it absolutely wrecks Clark.
You watch his eyes darken, lips parting just slightly as his throat bobs up and down.
You're turning yourself on, gaze fixated on the oh so long column of his neck that's disappearing into a black shirt. A black leather jacket shapes his perfect silhouette, as he leans back against the bar counter sipping his drink, his gaze never leaving yours.
The rhythm pulses through your blood as you turn around. You rake your fingers through your hair, gathering it up to expose the nape of your neck. As the beat drops, you whip back around— breath hitching and mouth parting.
Clark still hasn't moved but there's a shift. His jaw ticks, chest heaving as his eyes trace the curves of your figure.
The sway of your hips is deliberate, calculated. You want him to follow the movement, want him to be utterly hypnotised. Want him to use his enhanced senses to see right through you. See how much you're aching for him.
You lift a hooked finger in his direction and beckon him closer. Bite your lower lip and his jaw cracks, teeth clenching. That is his undoing. Suddenly he's there, looming before you in a flash, smelling like bitter gin and diesel. Clark's eyes are almost black, a thin rim of red surrounding his pupils.
He doesn't say anything.
His hand clamps around your wrist, shackling— and he yanks you toward the service exit, your heels clicking as you stumble to keep up with his stride. The thumping bass of the club drowns into a muffled thrum as you step outside into the frigid, midnight air.
You don’t even make it to the end of the alley. Before you can catch your breath, Clark has you shoved against the nearest wall, the heat of his body swallowing you whole. There’s a faint, dangerous red glow in his eyes as he crowds your space, his mouth crashing against yours.
He groans into your mouth, fingers digging deep into your plush skin, his nails carving pricking crescents into your hips. You know they’ll be purple by morning and you don't care. When Clark gets like this, the red kryptonite flowing through his veins, all he wants to do is consume you.
Use every inch of you until there's nothing left but his mark.
“Ahmmh— Clark.”
Your fingers tangle in his hair, as he drags his lips from your mouth to graze the column of your neck. His palms slide up your thighs to the curves of your ass, bunching the fabric of your dress until he finds purchase, pulling you flush against him with a firm, possessive squeeze.
"You like being a little brat, don't you?" he asks against your skin, his voice all velvety with amusement and something else, something dark.
"Only for you," you murmur into the air, pushing into his pressing heat, feeling the hard length of his against your aching core.
"Oh yeah?" he hums, cupping your face and kissing you once more, his mouth tasting like iron and blood. You roll against him as his hand wanders downwards, squeezing your breast.
He gives the nipple a little flick, sending a sharp, electric spark that has you arching against him and biting your lip.
"I need you, baby," you whine, hands scrambling under his jacket, palms flat against the hard, radiating furnace of his chest. "Wanna feel you inside me."
Clark growls at that, flashing his teeth, animalistic. His low register reverberates through your core.
His hand dives, plunging in between your thighs, fingers pressing against your soaked silk panties. You gasp, hitting your head on the wall behind you.
His fingers trace the damp fabric, unravelling you, and you whimper in his ear. “My my,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. “You’re fucking drenched.”
He moves the panty line aside, and drags his thumb down your slick cunt, collecting your leaking arousal. You moan his name— a broken, high-pitched plea— as he smears it back into you.
"That happen when you were dancing for me?" he murmurs against your skin, teeth raking along the length of your throat. "Shaking your ass in that sexy dress like a little slut? Thinking about exactly this?"
His words shoot a wave of heat flashing through your core. He presses his thumb hard against your clit, a blunt pressure that makes your vision white out.
"Answer me."
He doesn't move his hand; just keeps pushing on your clit, pinning you to the brick until you’re squirming, your hips stuttering instinctively against his palm.
"I asked you a question, baby," he murmurs, his lips brushing your earlobe, cold air biting at the wet trail he’s left on your neck. "Were you thinking about me taking you in the dirt?”
You try to nod, a broken sound catching in your throat, but he yanks your hair back— not enough to hurt, just enough to make you look at him in his burning eyes.
"Words, sweetheart," he grunts. "Want to hear how bad you want it."
"Yesyes. Yes. Please— fuck," you gasp, your fingers digging into the leather of his jacket.
He chuckles, a dark rumbling sound. He slides one finger inside you— the finger with that damned ring— hooking it against your wall and pulling. The ring brushes against your inside, the hot metal, searing. You nearly collapse, your knees turning to water.
"Please what?" he withdraws the finger entirely, leaving you cold and aching. He steps back just an inch, enough to let the freezing alley air hit your soaked thighs.
"I don't hear you begging yet."
"Clark, please please baby— nhngh—"
He watches you, his chest heaving, those red eyes scanning your desperate face. He knows you're balanced on a knife's edge.
"Tell me what you want me to do to you," he asks in a cruel, silken tone. "And maybe I’ll think about putting you out of your misery."
"Everything," you choke out, the word breaking into a sob. Your fingers claw at his jacket, desperate to pull that suffocating heat back against you. "I want you to ruin me. Right here."
His jaw sets, a muscle leaping in his cheek as he drinks in your ruined state. The red in his pupils flares and your legs almost give out under you.
"Good girl," he rasps, the words dark and final.
He flips you around then, the jagged wall cutting into your skin as his hips slot behind yours and your breath hitches. He buries his nose into your nape, biting hard.
"Gonna take it off," he warns, his voice a low rasp. He hooks his fingers into the lace of your underwear before ripping them right off. The sudden bite of the cool night air hits your wet, pulsing cunt, and you hiss through your teeth. Clark’s hand tangles deep into your hair, fisting the strands to yank your head back as he presses another bruising kiss to your neck.
"I could smell that sweet scent of your pretty pussy in the club, baby," he growls into your skin, hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Teasin' me, making me ache."
He lets go of your hair, dropping the hand lower to cup and squeeze your leaking core. You whimper uselessly against the gravelly, brick wall as his relentless fingers knead and pull at your slick folds.
Without warning, he drives himself inside, filling you up his length all at once. The bluntness of it makes you cry out, Clark's name echoing off the damp alleyway.
His fingers climb up the column of your neck, and clench around your pressure point, making you gasp.
"So fucking desperate for my attention," he grunts, his grip tightening— stealing your breath— as he begins to slam into you from behind with a relentless, unforgiving rhythm.
"Needy little thing," he grits out through clenched teeth. Every heavy thrust sends a jolt through your frame, making your vision swim and your eyes roll back.
"You love it like this, don't ya?"
Another heavy thrust and he bottoms out. You feel your senses beginning to fray at the edges, the world narrowing down to the friction between your thighs and the iron grip on your neck. You manage a broken whine, a sound of pure, helpless need.
"Can't even breathe but like making noise f'me," his voice, deep and low in your ear, as he ruts against you.
The pain is a sharp, electric blur that bleeds into agonising pleasure.
He abruptly releases your neck, and you choke in desperate lungfuls of air, your chest heaving. The sudden rush of oxygen sharpens the sensation of him—so fucking thick— as he continues to drive deep and pull back, the movement dizzying.
“So fucking tight,” he groans against you, thrusting deep, fucking you open. “You feel like heaven," he grits out, as his other thumb begins to circle your clit, while he continues to pound into you mercilessly.
"ClarkpleaseClarkplease—” you whine as you buck, feeling that familiar tug somewhere deep in your abdomen.
A dark, sinful chuckle vibrates against the sensitive spot behind your ear.
"That's it, baby," he moans, his movements turning into a hard, grinding friction that makes your knees buckle, building that sweet sensation. “Give it all to me.”
The orgasm ripples through you— white-hot and burning. You shudder violently under his heavy frame, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer just as he heaves against you, his own release hitting with a force that leaves you both gasping and cursing in the dark.
Clark pulls out, pushing off of you, already adjusting his clothes, the snap of his belt echoing off the brick. You stand there, legs trembling, the cold wind stinging the still leaking wetness on your thighs— a messy heat of his cum and your own ruined slick. You slowly turn around, not trusting yourself with fast movements.
His eyes are still dark, that lingering red glow seeming to have only strengthened in his eyes. Without a word, he reaches down and jerks your skirt back into place, the fabric snagging against your damp skin. He doesn’t even bother to wipe you down. Leaves his mark right there, soaking into your clothes.
Before you can even find your footing, he surges forward, scooping you into his arms. You let out a startled gasp, your arms instinctively hooking around his neck; it’s a mercy, because your knees were about to give.
"Where are we going?" you breathe, your voice a wrecked rasp.
He doesn't look at you as he starts to walk, and you feel a low flame ignite in your belly.
“Home," he murmurs, against your temple. "I'm in the mood for breaking some furniture.”
*
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