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Eye for an Eye l C.K & L.L.

w.c.: 12.2k

t.w.: Dark fic, Dub/non-con, cnc, Smut, handjobs, fingering (f!receiving), Oral (f! receiving), PinV, Anal play, Use of sex toys, idk what these kinks are tbh, fear kink?, Dom/Sub themes, Strength kink, Mentions of very serious topics such as: Rape, Online discourse, Domestic Violence, etc, Established Lex x Reader, Clark gives stalker/obsessive vibes

a/n: Please read all warnings before interacting with any of my works. 18+ Only!!! Thank you for your asks and I hope you all are satisfied with what I came up with lols. Again, do not read if you do not like!

Summary: Clark is tired of holding back. Lex Luthor pushes Superman's limits and his fiancée gets tangled in the conflict.

Based on these asks...

Lex hides himself in his lab, his computer screen illuminating his face as he codes through simulation after simulation. His eyes were bloodshot, hooded over as if they would permanently close if he were to blink a second too long.

You worry but he worries more than you. More than the world, in his opinion. He turns to see you in your pajamas, a thick blanket wrapped around you as you tread your way to his desk chair. You were sleepy, eyes threatening to close like his.

Your chin rests against his shoulder and he turns to nudge his nose against your cheek. The sound of your necklace shifting calms him. He leans back and closes his eyes at your warm embrace.

You wear your golden chain around your neck proudly. He had gotten the gem from the black market. It cost a fortune. But it glowed a bright green. The thought of at least you being protected made him sigh out in bliss.

It was kryptonite. Just as rare as you. The only one able to calm his nerves, his turmoil. He swears just your touch was able to pacify his inner thoughts. You drag him to bed, pulling on his arm softly as he pretended to be dragged away.

He watches you sleep. His fingers tracing over your shoulders. He lifts the stone and curls his thumb against it, almost as if in prayer. The hard edges of the kryptonite were rounded and cut, wrapped tightly in gold.

You thought it was an emerald. You were never really that interested in gems to notice the almost alien glow of it.

You never take it off, he told you never to. It was gold, it didn’t lose its shine or stain your skin like other metals would. He had to be there when you cleaned it gently with a cloth. You weren’t allowed to place it down for more than a couple seconds.

You rarely took it off as is, it was precious, the gem valuable. You’re scared you’d lose it if you ever let it out of your sight.

…

It was all over the news. A building had collapsed, near LuthorCorp’s own headquarters in Metropolis. It was scary, you had been there to have lunch with him hours before the attack. It frazzled Lex, to the point where he evacuated every employee from the building, relocating them to a smaller town near the outskirts of the city.

You watch as Lex speaks in a televised press conference. He spoke with conviction, his eyes shone brightly in irritation, then frustration and finally anger. Superman had fought a villain, he wasn’t quick enough to stop the building from losing its foundation, his punches caused quakes in the ground that lasted more than a minute.

Lex reads off the names of the ‘casualties’ and the missing, along with the people who had lost their property and homes due to carelessness. You watch with your breath held still, waiting for him to finish. It took him maybe two minutes, he read off their names, their ages. You could hear the reporters sitting nearby gasp at the names of the deceased, some were just barely months old.

Lex comes home late, his emergency squadron still working through the rubble. It was a quiet dinner, a quiet shower, his face buried where your shoulder and neck meet. He doesn’t sleep and neither do you.

Clark Kent sits in the bullpen, feeling his chest seize with each victim. He watches the news with the rest of the Daily Planet reporters, some staring into the screen in horror, others shaking their heads and going back to their own tasks to block the day away.

It was an accident. Clark goes home early.

It was an accident.

He refuses to turn on the TV. He wishes he couldn’t hear the cries and prayers. He wishes people trusted him to help look for survivors. He lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was new at this. Protecting a small town was much easier than protecting a city.

There were more people, more buildings to consider. Lois calls him, her words stuck in his head as he turns to his side and pulls the sheets over his body.

‘It’s not your fault, Clark.’

He had gotten quiet at her words of comfort. He felt as if some warmth had finally crept back into his chest knowing that he had at least one person in Metropolis not cursing his name. And from the most pessimistic woman in Metropolis at that.

…

You read over the final report. The impacts were made by the assaultant, now named a domestic terrorist and contained in a highly secured and monitored cell. Superman was liberated of blame. It was self defense, he had no choice but to fight back just as hard.

You place the folder on the kitchen island, your lip quirks in half a grimace as Lex paces in front of you.

He didn’t like that at all; he saw the conflict differently. Supervillains go to cities where superheroes reside. They want destruction and they want to be challenged. The most powerful man on earth is stationed in Metropolis. Therefore Metropolis now attracts danger.

The latest incident should have been the final straw. The city should have woken up, so Lex claims.

He’s on the phone now, ignoring the soft call of his name, purposely finding grifters with gullible audiences to have him talk on their show, their podcast, for interviews and discussion to gain a sense of following.

He hated feeling so small. So ignored. His need to be the loudest and right in the room was kept well-hidden. For the most part, he was always acknowledged, his presence appreciated and even praised.

Now everyone was looking to Superman to save them, when it used to be him. His egotistical tendencies were rearing closer to the forefront of his psyche each time he was contradicted.

The way he viewed you as his partner started to change as well.

You rip the phone out of his grip, hanging up and placing it face down on the counter. His jaw tightens and he looks down at you with narrowed eyes.

Your arms were crossed. You were never shy to call him out, or disagree with him. It was cute. He found it endearing. He sighs out the tension in his shoulders and your eyes soften. His lips quirk upwards as you gently smile at him.

You were so easy to please.

He downplays your concern. He grants you this one, for today. Maybe he never saw your opinions as any of his concern anyway, despite your own accolades.

You were smart, no doubt. But as intelligent as he was? He debated this frequently, always coming to the conclusion that no, you weren’t. He cups your face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. You melt into it.

He fights back a chuckle, as if he were watching a puppy bark at its own tail and fall over in defeat.

He doesn’t blame you. He’s not sure anyone could match his prowess. He would never tell you this, it would unnecessarily upset you.

He was getting in his head, digging deeper each time Superman came on the news or saved the day. It was almost like he wanted Superman to slip up again. He wanted people to get hurt so that he could prove his point.

Your hands glide over his arms and grip his shoulders, as if to reorient him.

“Just think about the people.”

Ego trumped compassion at times. He had to be right, he had to get people on his side. He nods complacently as you pull his head down, his forehead resting against yours. The one thing about Lex Luthor was that he was sporadic. He didn’t keep his promises very well.

…

Clark hears everything. He acknowledges his faults, he internalizes them to be better. But the way they spat out ‘alien’, as if it disgusted them, made his calm falter. He understands very well what the implications meant.

You did too. Despite your face of shocked disapproval whenever Lex had an interview and spewed out harsh anti-metahuman rhetoric, he kept going. You felt stuck between Lex and the general public. He was your fiancée, you had to support him in all of his actions. Right?

Everyone loved Superman. He learned from his mistakes and improved. One of Lex’s scientists had studied all of Superman’s incidents and discovered a 94% reduction rate of damage and casualties. All in the span of three months.

Lex couldn’t handle those numbers. He hated them. He was cooped up in his lab more often, the doors locked and not allowing you in until he cleaned up and left.

“Must have forgotten to give you access. You know they update the security systems every six months, sweetheart.”

He never fixed it, despite saying he would. You didn’t bother asking about it anymore.

The relationship was straining. You spent less time with Lex since he was too busy campaigning for the arrest or intervention of Superman.

Your own events, conventions, dinners, and humanitarian fundraisers were deleted off of his schedule by his assistant. COP27 in Egypt was characteristically missing a certain charismatic and financial incentivizing stakeholder. His lack of attendance was noted.

Lex speaking in COP26, in support of the Paris Agreement was his birthday gift to you, so he had joked, or you hoped he had. He had economic and social pull you didn’t. Unfortunately, you were starting to feel it whenever anyone asked where he was instead of what you were doing yourself.

Sometimes you didn’t wait for him at his penthouse anymore, instead opting to sleep in your own apartment at night.

You’re sure he didn’t even notice.

…

The hall was packed full of researchers, the conference was relatively popular amongst the geneticist community. You stay by Lex’s side as he flutters around the room, meeting new people, reconnecting with old faces.

He’s been taking a unique interest in genes and genetic copying. It was amusing to watch him head down in a textbook at night as if he were a grad student again.

Lex departs from you, kissing your head lightly as he shoos you away to a conference hall on the other end of the building. He wanted you to take notes on the speaker and the presented research. The panel was less important to him, he didn’t like discussions, he could figure things out himself. So he claimed.

He always thinks your notes were incoherent. He would rewatch the conference recording anyway. You sigh as you make your way towards the hall, taking out a notepad and pen from your bag.

Your mind wanders as a panel of scientists are shoved into the small stage. Their voices are too low and they lack confidence in their speech. They stutter too much, almost endearingly but not enough to make you excuse their lack of preparation. Communicating science effectively was key, something Lex Luthor excelled in and you appreciated.

Something prickles the back of your neck, making your skin pebble up with goose skin, the hairs on your arm rising. Your shoulders tense. Someone keeps on glancing at you. You ignore it. You get that a lot. Lex Luthor was popular among researchers.

Lex had funds. He took on crazy ideas. If you were here, that must mean he was nearby. You were well known for your kind disposition. A direct contrast to his direct and blunt words.

You were used to being asked to put a good word in for people.

You ignore the glancing man as everyone stands. You make your way out of your row in the hall and towards the other side of the conference to find Lex and give him the notes that were surely going to collect dust on his desk. Someone stops you before you could escape into the lobby.

“Mrs. Luthor.”

You grit your teeth. You turn slowly and present yourself with a smile, the hand with your engagement band hidden in the pocket of your slacks. He lifts his badge up, highlighted with PRESS.

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.”

You take him in. He was not how you expected him to be like. Tall, head full of dark curls and even bulky.

You didn’t bother to search up how he looked. His name had become popular. The only man to interview Superman. The first reporter to do it. You somehow imagined him being an old man. The way he writes was proper, borderline corny.

His puff pieces were a hard read for you. You think it might be because he was always sucking Superman’s dick in his articles. He could see your smile falter. Your eyes sharpen, ready for a question that he was surely going to twist for his narrative.

“Didn’t know you were a man of science,” you say slyly.

A diss. He knew he didn’t really write much with “substance”. Not yet. Most of the themes on his columns were about kittens stuck on tall trees. He wanted to change that. He had connections that helped him find people. He wanted to write something controversial.

At least that was what Lois encouraged him to do. A page describing his encounter with Lex Luther would be great for publicity. Especially since he writes all about Superman and his heroic endeavors.

Why not get to know other perspectives?

“I’m not afraid to try new things every once in a while, ma’am.”

You grimace at the honorific. Your thumb twists your engagement ring in your pocket. He steps forward but his back stiffens as if a hot rod had impaled his spine. He swears he feels his stomach turn nauseously as his body stiffens and threatens to keel over.

You push your notebook into your shoulder bag and grab a hold of the man in front of you, you attempt to steady him. He looks like he just got off of a roller coaster, his center of balance off.

“Hey, hey, you alright?” he hears you murmur in concern. You weren’t heartless, good to know at least.

The proximity makes his head spin. He notices a hint of green peeking above your shirt collar, your sweater vest and loose button down slightly open to reveal a charm and- he swallows thickly. Of course Luthor would have this.

The green ore almost hums, he could feel the heat of it, as if he could see the radiation it emits clearly. He takes a step back and straightens himself. Your hand slides off his shoulders and your look of genuine concern makes him blush.

You try to take a step closer but he backs away. He was embarrassed. He shakes his head.

“I’m fine.”

You open your mouth to retort. He shoots back bluntly.

“Really. I’m fine.”

You glance up at him as if he were crazy. You take a step back. Clark watches as you cross your arms over your chest, you eye him as if he were a freak. The pursing of your lip, the crease of your brows that signaled both concern and exasperation. He thinks that might have gotten under his skin more than he’d liked to.

He feels a burn in his chest. A sort of unbridled rage at the awkwardness you were making him feel.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says sharply. He watches your eyes widen, your shoulders tense. It was a one-sided aggression that he had to hone in. The kryptonite was making him lose his inhibitions, it was making him woozy, sick, his blood burning the longer he stayed near you.

Despite this, he’s confident you think the same way Lex does about Superman. His animosity must be deserved, right?

Firm hands cup your shoulders, pulling you back to a solid chest. Clark’s eyes flicker to Lex’s as he manhandles you to the side and slightly behind him. Their gaze holds firm, as if they were both actively trying to shoot laser beams into the other’s eye sockets.

“If you have questions to discuss, you address them to me.”

Clark watches your face contort in a flicker of annoyance at your fiancé's words. He can see your hands clench, your jaw tense. The hint of frustration is clear underneath your veil of passivity. You don’t like being pushed down to the side. Noted.

He watches you both leave, Lex holding a firm hand over your shoulder as he leads you out of the conference room.

…

Cracks were beginning to show in your relationship. Clark revels in it, he looks for the signs. Paps capturing images of you both in a heated discussion in a restaurant you used to frequent. Your engagement ring is missing in public events.

There are less and less pictures of the two of you together, now more of you leaving his penthouse with hands covering your face from the flashes of cameras.

He thinks he should feel like a creep, his google notifications set on any news or publication with your name on it. Lex has become more aggressive with his tactics, he was leading a supersoldier program, turning military vets into superhumans.

He can only imagine what homelife was like. Lex’s constant paranoia, his pessimistic predictions. The tendency he had to start tantrums now became more physical and violent. There were rumors, blind items as they called it on tik tok, speaking of how he threw a fit in a gala recently, pulling you to a room in the venue. Guests heard glass shatter inside, your muted yelp. Pieces of ceramic found near the wall once the event concluded.

Your sobs and Lex’s sudden quiet were also rumored to have occurred in that same room. He imagined Luthor held onto you like a vice after his explosive action, arms snaking around you and refusing to let you go as he mumbled sweet slickened apologies.

Shortly after, the public had seen you sporting a new car. It must have been an apology gift from him.

He shouldn’t feel such satisfaction at Lex’s broken relationship with the woman he used to say in interviews as being ‘the love of his life’.

Clark’s face breaks into a small smile at two in the morning as a new paparazzi picture is published on TMZ. His thumb presses on the notification at the top of his phone, the device held up above his face as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had been scrolling for the past hour, watching your tik toks and reposts, for research, of course.

You were at the club with a friend, sporting a v-cut top, exposing much of your cleavage and leaving your collarbones completely bare.

That “emerald” necklace even the public recognized as never being taken off, gone.

…

Lois peers over his shoulder, he can smell her perfume, fresh and sweet. He swallows thickly as she balances a completely full mug of coffee over his shoulder, threatening to spill over the printed draft of his article resting on his desk.

A faint blush rushes over his cheeks as she notices his almost hypnotized stare up at her face. Her lips fight back a smirk. She knew about his “crush”, she’s sure he knew about hers. They've been dancing around each other for weeks. His usual shy demeanor replaces itself with his witty and sharp confidence the moment she retorts back at him.

It was sweet, it was pure. They felt like equals. It scared the shit out of her. But his persistence was chipping away at it. He wanted this, he was working for it while respecting her boundaries. It was clear he wanted the relationship to evolve at a faster pace, but he reigned himself in.

It was reassuring.

She sips her coffee as she steps back. He turns his chair to face her. His mouth was open, a wry smile forming as he started his morning flirt.

“You know you should really tone down the sugar on that coffee-”

A sharp ping could be heard from his computer monitor. His eyes flicker to the side. She glances behind him and she purses her lips. Lois was extremely perceptive. One of the reasons she was the first to know about his secret identity and now his sudden plethora of knowledge on Lex Luthor’s fiancée as if he were a TMZ reporter designated to her and her only.

Given, he also keeps track of Lex Luthor, but his relationships, especially the one he has with his fiancée, or soon to be ex-fiancée from what she’s heard, were Clark’s main points of interest.

She was set to present at a seminar at a college, or so Clark's computer screen says, the popup hard to miss as it covers half his monitor.

It reminded her of a virus. Popup after popup appearing every other second. Loud, blaring, eye-catching. He imagines Clark as the color wheel of doom, endlessly spinning around the screen.

“Planning on asking her to be your source?”

His brows scrunch, glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose before he quickly adjusted them. She snorts. It was as if he never realized he could go further. He never wanted to push discomfort on others.

It must be innate due to his superhuman (alien more like) abilities, Lois thinks. She relates to that, although less so physically and more emotionally.

He was currently writing an article on Lex Luthor. It’s evolved to include a timeline on his campaign, ideologies, funds, programs, research. Luthor used to be considered an entrepreneur, someone who managed breakthrough over breakthrough. Now he was just an internet meme, a troll and oddly enough part of the red pill online community.

He turns to his screen, the pop up notification having a thumbnail of her face, clearly a professional photo for the upcoming talk. He swallows thickly.

“You think she’d agree?”

She was leading a seminar on urban conservation. His eyes narrow, he shakes his head. That was definitely so unlike Lex. At least the Lex of today. Lois shrugs and sips from her mug.

“I think so. Might be bitter. She must have some nasty stuff on him.”

He hums. She eyes him, swallowing thickly as she traces back the path of his eyes. He was staring into her picture, tracing the lines of her face, her soft smile and jawline.

Lois bites her cheek, something twisting her belly at the soft and almost admiring look in his eyes. She swipes the printed draft on his desk, his eyes widening at her action and refocusing back to her.

“Could make or break it..” she trails off, sucking in her teeth in exaggeration as she reads over what he has, as if it was missing something. She glances at him with a look. He takes back his stapled draft and purses his lips as he reads it over again.

He hated (loved) when she was right.

With an overdramatic sigh, he nods. She smiles.

“Great. I know someone that knows someone that could get you in contact with her.”

…

A meeting never came. It was never scheduled.

Who would have known that you’d be under rubble on a Tuesday afternoon. You had just wanted to get some lunch. You were halfway down the block before your ears rang from explosions.

Your head was pounding, eyes blurry, the world spinning so much you think you were going to puke. You didn’t know if the concrete slabs were on the verge of collapse, the air in the concrete pocket you were lucky enough to be in after the explosion was thin.

You could hear the concrete above shift, pieces of rock and dust blasting into your face and forcing you to close your eyes and sputter. Your eyes were met with a figure eclipsing the sun, beams of light spread around a broad chest and bulging arms as he raised the slab away from you and to the side.

His hair was perfect, smile soft and apologetic. For a second, Clark thought he would have had to quickly move away, the pain from your last encounter still in his mind, the sharp pain unforgettable.

You didn’t wear your necklace anymore, he feels it. Your hand reaches out automatically, not really caring who it was that was helping you. The delirious look on your face told him you may not have noticed he was in front of you.

His hand extends to you, your fingertips brush against each other and then he’s flung away. A blunt impact to his ribs makes him fly several blocks away from you.

Metallo’s punch, pumped full of straining energy of kryptonite, was enough to weaken him down a few levels. He stands weakly, the villain thankfully ignoring you and charging for him again.

You watch as Superman tackles and holds the cyborg tightly, clearly in pain from the crystal embedded on the villain's chest. They both struggle but Superman starts to fly up and up until they leave earth’s atmosphere. The edges of your vision darken as you attempt to stand, your voice coming out in painful wheezes as you call for help. You hear quick footsteps and a mumbled call. You feel yourself weaken, either your mind knowing help was nearby or your body finally failing

You watch as the two figures form a plume cloud as they reach outer space above you before you close your eyes. You don’t have the strength to open them back up again.

You wake up in a hospital, Lex nowhere to be seen. He sent his half woman, half nano-bot friend or lackey, whatever she was, to watch over you. The flowers he had left on the bedside table made you cringe. You had asked her to take them away and with an almost human-like look of pity, she did.

…

Lex always liked the saying “eye for an eye”. The week before, a new reporter had made her name known as the second person to ever interview Superman. Lois Lane. He’s been keeping tags on Lois, sending someone to watch her during the day. They had noted how she always catches Superman after battle, how they look at each other with warmth and something else they couldn’t quite show in public.

It was clear. At least very clear to Lex that this was someone special to him. He had watched your heart stop and then start over and over again. You had fractures all over your body. Punctured lungs. A concussion plus lacerations that required stitches.

They didn’t let him bring his own doctors at the hospital, they needed to work to keep you alive quickly, you’d most likely have scars for the rest of your life. It was common for most citizens to think they’d be the next victim of an attack on Metropolis. Most people were heavily insured because of the frequency.

This was never supposed to happen to you. He tried his best to protect you. You just kept on pushing away from him for the past few months. All because of Superman. Once you were stable he had you transferred to a hospital he owned and funded.

He left the engineer with you, guarding, as he turned to make a call. As he hung up, glancing inside your room once more, he felt an inkling of satisfaction, knowing that in weeks, he would get his retribution.

…

Clark had dropped everything when he was called as Lois’ emergency contact, notifying him that she had been brought into the emergency room for a stabbing. He watches as she lays in bed, drowsy and still just a little in pain. She defended herself as best as she could.

She slept the whole day from the medications. He could see the tears in her body as his eyes visualized her organs. There were so many stitches over her abdomen. She was lucky someone had found her quickly after the incident.

All Lois could remember was a masked man. The name George called out from his partner in warning before they fled the scene.

He was the strongest man alive and yet he couldn’t even protect her. One person. A person he cared about deeply.

It took some time but he had managed to track down every George in the city. Flying every which way when anyone so much as mentioned the name. He felt like a ping pong ball, flung from one corner to the next, until he had seen through thick metal walls near the ports, a transaction being made. Lois’ name being mentioned.

George parted ways from a Luthorcorp minivan after having gotten a bagful of cash.

For once in his life, he felt blinded by rage and started to let himself succumb to his negative emotions.

…

As he stands in his apartment, pacing, almost pulling the strands of his hair out, he thinks of Lex, he thinks of Lois and he thinks of you. He knew you were at the scene of the attack weeks ago, he was so close to taking you to safety.

He knew you were in the hospital, it was all over the news, his computer pinging non-stop for almost an hour. It was Lex’s new talking point. His fiancée was in the hospital because of Superman. So many people were in the hospital because of him. Superman this, Superman that.

He’s never wanted to hurt someone as much as he does now. Lex was a coward. Lex couldn’t find a way to hurt him so he went for someone close to him.

He looks up from where his head was between his knees, held up by the palms of his hands on his eyelids. The sharp ping from his laptop, a notification on you.

Lex was holding you close to him as you were guided out of a restaurant. You had been out of the hospital for a couple of weeks now, your healing was better. Clark could see by the missing bandage on your cheek, a thin scar in its place. Your smile was facetious, strained. Lex was gleaming. Genuine. The touch on your waist was borderline possessive, too tight, restraining.

You refused to speak about him in any capacity. Questions on Luthor were dodged, you didn’t even speak his name in public. Not like you used to with pride.

Clark scoffs. Luthor loved you so much he sent someone to hurt Lois. He glares at the screen. It was clear you didn’t even feel the same anymore. All of this violence to keep you by his side, just for you to be unwilling to love him as much.

What was so good about you? His mind snaps. He quickly shakes his head at the question.

He knew. He felt it encompass him more and more as he watched your every move. It was easy to lose oneself to you. Kindness, beauty, the sharp witted responses. You had a balance, a mission, a clear path of passion.

You were magnetizing. And so was Lois… His hands clench tightly as he contemplates. This was obviously Superman’s punishment for your indirect injury. As if he wasn’t beating himself up over it too.

Superman can hurt back. He wanted to so badly.

What was the thing that would hurt Lex the most? Deep down Clark knew It wasn’t losing money, or praise, or fame. It was losing you.

…

You press your arms over your chest as you stare at your window. The red and blue was sharp against the darkness of the sky. You felt exposed. No makeup, no heels, no bra. Just lounging in your cozy apartment with nothing but a large tee and some sweatpants. Oh, and fuzzy socks.

Your eyes were softer without the dark rim of your eyeliner. Your skin was fresher, plumpened by whatever skincare routine you had completed minutes before he knocked on the glass of your floor to ceiling windowpane.

“Hello,” he says softly as you push the pane open, your hand pulling back quickly as if he were a wild animal. His eyes narrow, smile bitter as he steps inside your room. Your heart was quick, you were shaking slightly.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

His voice was close to booming, overly confident, so unlike him. You were too nervous to notice.

It was also obvious by the crease of your brow and your frown that you did not understand him at all. The tilt of your head irritated him. He steps closer, his eyes darken, shoulders squared and hands fisted.

He could hear your heart pick up.

“Where is he?”

A hint of clarity in your irises. Your shoulders straighten and you take a cautious step back. Your eyes flutter around the room as if looking for an escape. His head follows where your eyes flicker, he is suddenly so much closer, head tilting, following with yours as he forces you to look up at him.

Superman looked upset, no– angry. You’ve never seen him like this. Not in any pictures or news footage at least.

“He doesn’t live here,” you respond with a thick swallow. Lex doesn’t. He rarely made his way to your place. He knew it was his cue to leave you alone when you went back to your apartment ‘for the night’.

Maybe Lex was right. Superman is dangerous. He looks it. You feel it radiating off of his body as he steps closer, his hand suddenly reaching out and making you react like a skittish animal. You step back, only to catch your foot against your fuzzy heart shaped rug.

Damn Lex for buying you cute decor and damn you for choosing the aesthetic. You fall on your side, your hip flaring in pain and shooting down your leg. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you attempt to scoot away.

You didn’t realize he had gotten down to your level, crouched down to watch you squirm, His hand shoots out and grabs at you. You freeze, elbows supporting your torso up. His hand was large, hot, and almost scalding against your skin.

For a moment you watch each other, his eyes flash with empathy, a question of if you were ok about to shoot out of his mouth before he stopped himself. His grip trails softly up your calf as he decides what to do. His eyes sharpen again before receding and gripping your ankle whole.

His quick moment of tenderness makes your breath hitch. His body casts a shadow over you. He makes you feel small, weak. Vulnerable. It looks as if he was holding himself back, or letting himself finally let go. You attempted to pull away but it felt like you were pulling your foot out of its socket. He doesn’t tighten his grip, it’s powerful enough to detain you, and he’s not even trying. Heat builds in the bottom of your belly and a faint whimper erupts from your lips.

You feel your body start to heat up, nipples tightening underneath your shirt. You really shouldn’t keep the AC so low. You tremble, a mix of fear, of the cold and the warmth of his proximity.

It’s been so long since you’ve been in this position. Someone above you, you below and at their mercy.

He holds your ankle firmly. Your chest rises and falls quickly. Your elbows are knocked out of balance and your back hits the floor as he pulls you forward, your body sliding underneath him from where he’s kneeled. For a moment all he feels is guilt.

His fingers flex, aching to release you, to be gentle like he’s been taught since his powers were first realized. Then he thinks of Lois; of what your fiancé did to her.

His eyes were intense, brows casting a shadow over them. You briefly wonder what Lex did. Why was Superman looking for him? Your breathing was fast, making your chest pump up and down quickly like a hummingbird. He could see the tears glimmer down the sides of your face, collecting in your earlobe.

You were so afraid. But you could feel something else develop near your lower stomach, your clit starting to throb as the thick black curl on his forehead falls further, making him look even more disheveled, as if he were on the verge of completely ruining you.

It’s been so long since you’ve been fucked.

He could hear your heartbeat, your body was aroused in heat, skin hot to the touch. It reminded him of his ex-girlfriend. The only woman he’d been with completely, Lana from Smallville, specifically comes to mind. Lana who he had to be incredibly gentle with at all times, who he was afraid to scare, hurt, break with his superhuman needs.

His stamina was otherworldly, dick so big it took some time to actually sheath himself completely, let alone build up to moving, which he always had to be mindful of.

You had that half dazed look, bodily functions dialed to 100. You didn’t make a move to escape his hold, he inhaled deeply and he swore there was a hint of your musk there. His pupils dilate, he swallows thickly. He could do whatever he wanted, he realized.

His hands squeeze at your plump flesh, first at your heel, then your calf. One reaches your hip, the other hand wanders up your waist, up your stomach, pressing, prodding all the way up to your breasts.

“What is it about you, hm?”

You felt like a mouse. Stuck in utter fear. Not scared enough to actually make a run for it. Not yet. He was a damn lion. He straddles you, his hand encompasses over your ribs, thumbs pressing your breasts up, watching them shift under your shirt.

“I- I don’t know,” you breathe out shakily.

He’s sure if he presses hard enough, he could fracture a rib. Effortlessly. The thought makes him cringe. He doesn’t want to do that. But maybe he was planning on it. Rough you up, give a warning to Lex to never mess with people close to him again.

Instead the roughness of his hand presses up your neck and to your jaw. His thumb and pointer squeeze your cheeks enough to make your lips pout and open. His eyes were stern, genuinely inquisitive. He wants to discover the answer to his question. Slowly, deeply. He wants to be buried in you, to feel you squirm, have those eyes roll back beneath fluttering lashes as he makes you cum.

He wants to see you at your most vulnerable state. To see what all this trouble was really worth.

His face lurks closer, his weight presses you down further, you could feel his breath flutter over your face, your lips, the side of your neck as he dips down. His mouth parts as he inhales your scent. You smelled sweet, like fruit. Musky from the sweat that drips from fear. Salty from your tears.

You don’t shake anymore, you breathe deeply, steady, waiting for him to make his next move.

His nose nudges the underside of your jaw and your eyes start to flutter closed, he feels you slacken further, boneless, eyes hooding over as his lips make contact with the thin skin of your throat, pressing, puckering ever so slightly but not enough to feel like a real kiss.

When he tilts your head back you finally snap out of your haze, the sudden headspace that blurred your thoughts into mush dissipating. Lex was your fiancé, Lex was his arch nemesis. Superman had you underneath him, trapped in your own damn apartment.

“Don’t-” you attempt to say through his grip. Stuttered, panicked and completely shocked.

His heart drops at the tone of your voice. He pulls back suddenly, his own mind clearing just as yours did. The realization of what he was doing finally caught up to him.

His body was slower to respond.

His hand jolts away from your face, shaking you before you could speak further. His mouth waters as your eyes refill with tears, his hold on you impossible to escape from.

His hips push further onto you, you could feel his bulge-

Your breath hitches the second the moan comes out of your mouth. He could feel the heat of you underneath him, steadily increasing. His own pressing against you too.

It shocked his body away from yours. A blink and he had already stood up, leaving a heaving, tearful mess of you on your fuzzy carpet. He’s gone as you sit up and scooch away on your butt quickly after, head also clarifying from the mist of whatever fog he had placed you both in.

…

Your hand shifts over his cock languidly, twisting ever so slightly as you reach his tip. The wet smack of your fist against his base makes you shift your hips needily as you kneel, completely bare, at his mercy on your couch. His arm was extended past you, his hand against the back of the couch curls further, making the wooden frame underneath fluff and expensive velvet creak and crackle behind you.

It makes you whimper. A spike of fear shooting up your spine at his show of power. The sound makes him throb.

One hand was cupping the back of your neck, always present, pressing, a warning.

You didn’t have to come back to your apartment. You could have gone back to Lex. You could have told him about last week’s encounter. The way you trembled and tears fell from your eyes as he left that night made him believe you would.

He found you waiting, sitting on your couch, glancing every so often out of the window. He told himself he wasn’t going to come back. The last time he was here was enough. To do what…? He wasn’t quite sure. He thinks he would have liked to scare you. He wanted you to feel his power. Go running back to Luthor and retell the story.

It was only a warning. He would never really hurt you.

But what if you liked the feeling? The thought had crossed his mind throughout the week.

Notifications on his computer echoed in his head. Each one a new event you were inhibited as a guest speaker. A donation you had made. A snarky, almost bitchy retort at some paps. You were such a strongheaded woman, almost stubborn in your dominance.

But the way you whimpered, slackened in his hold so easily was anything but. You were not like Lois at all he had found out.

Is that what Lex saw in you? Is that why he liked to have you around? To dominate a dominant woman?

He didn’t feel bad about exerting his strength with you. You found pleasure in it. It was an exhilarating, freeing feeling. His hand slides down your collarbone to your breast, the flesh indenting, bulging between his fingers as he squeezes.

You wince, he loosens his grip after another harsh squeeze. He would never hurt you. Not badly enough to make you feel it for more than a couple of days at least. His palm smooths over your cheek, his thumb so soft despite the ever tightening grip he had on the back of your couch. The fabric tears and the wood chips away.

His pre-cum was staining your neck as it shoots from his cock, sliding all the way between your breasts to cover your soft tummy. Each flick of your wrist, the thrust of his hips in reaction makes him paint your skin with more.

The final eruption was like a faucet. It makes you gasp, your face hit with sporadic globs of his thick white cum. Your couch finally breaks apart under his grip, he pulls himself away from your hand and pumps himself over your body.

Your body glistens with him. His spend accumulating on your belly button as it slid down your skin. You shiver, he could smell your arousal as you kept your eyes on him and stayed still. His fingers were gentle as he massages his cum into your skin like a salve. He kneels, hands pressing lower past your sternum, then belly, then hips to lift you by the thighs to have you fall back against the cushions.

He splays you out on your couch. His hands were rough, as if he were doing a full body deep massage. You’re sure he would leave bruises as he spreads your legs and you whimper. He made the apartment colder, having your body prick with goosebumps, nipples hard the second he stripped you of your underwear.

Your folds glistened and it was as if, for a moment, you realized what you were doing. A week since he first came in through your living room window, Superman was staring at your pussy, his cum covering your body. Your couch was ruined, fluff scattered, fabric torn and pieces of wood scattered over the back of the couch and floor. Your thighs close instinctively but his head doesn’t allow you to hide.

His hand presses against your belly, pushing you down on the soft cushion of your couch.

His tongue licks open your seam, pushing apart your folds to press into your hole. He holds you still against the couch cushions, his tongue as firm as possible as he flicks it in and out. The thick muscle was teasing you, his face burying between your legs as if he were licking clean out those single serving jelly packets from diners.

Your jaw hinges, hands tremble as you attempt to pull away from the sudden intense stimulation on your cunt, his nose pressing against your sensitive and hard clit harshly.

“Fuck- please-“ you gasp. His fingers press into you, not caring to make you feel pleasure. More so to explore. He feels you squeeze against one, so tight, hot, wet. He feels the ridges of your canal, the soft spongy area that makes your hips fidget against his forearm now pressing you down.

You’d have to get used to taking him, he realizes. You could barely handle one of his thick fingers. Lex must be small. He doesn’t stretch your cunt open enough. Of course he doesn’t.

Your pussy drools into the cushions as he nuzzles his face onto your mound, slick sliding down to your other hole. You were probably going to stain the fabric. His fingers trail down, his hand turns to palm your ass, squeezing at the flesh, his fingers parting your cheeks to glide down your crack.

You couldn’t move away to make him stop. His finger presses against your tight rim, pulsing and tracing there for a moment. He mouths at your clit as if to distract you as it starts to press in.

“Wait-”

He moans into your cunt as he presses the tip of his finger in, your hole wrapping tightly around the intrusion, pulsing, twitching. Your body warms, shivers and tenses. Goosebumps ride over your skin in waves.

Your hand tugs at his hair, his arm, anywhere you could, all while your eyes hood over. Who were you kidding? You prepped yourself for this tonight, douching. You rocked against his hand and mouth, absolutely stuffed, both fingers sliding in tandem inside of you. You had set a hard boundary with Lex on that. With anyone you had been with before.

His pointer and middle fingers thrust into you, each in a different hole, slickened and throbbing as he harshly sucked at your clit in patterned suckles. You feel your body throb with the need to release. You knew you were going to cum the hardest you’ve ever done in your life, your head falls back, mouth parting, hips moving towards him instead of away.

But his hands had pulled away too quickly.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hands and licks his fingers as he sits up. You whimper as he tugs up his suit. Without a word, he leaves you through the window, your pussy throbbing with a built up release he didn’t grant you.

…

His laptop pings.

Trouble in Paradise: Mrs. Luthor spotted with bruises.

There was a picture of you circulating all over the internet. You had bruises on your hips, stomach, one on your shoulder. You were clearly drunk, girls night. Your top was sliding off your shoulders.

He gets hard. Oh goodness he can’t help but get so hard he feels the zipper of his pants threaten to rip open. They were his marks, His fingerprints on you. The bloom of an undertone of purple underneath your skin makes his head spin.

Comments were unsure on the claims. It might be the lighting, a smudge of makeup, spilled drinks. He knew the truth and he may be the only one to know it. He feels his pre-cum spread over the head of his cock, collecting in the fabric of his boxers. He leaks as his hips adjust on his desk chair. He bites his lip and scrolls through more comments, each theory making him throb harder.

They had no idea.

The night before, he had you face down on your bed. His pelvis smacked heavily against your ass, a harsh plap louder than your half whiny, half panting moans. You took him so well, like you prepped for him.

Actually, he knew you did. You had practiced, opening yourself up as he watched with a dildo you hadn’t used before because of the size. It was an online purchase. Who knew nine inches looked like that…? You didn’t. Still, it didn't match his girth.

He considered it a warm up.

He had spread your ass that night, after catching a faint shine hidden beneath your flesh, showcasing a gemstone plug as you positioned yourself, ass up, face down, over your bed. Soft tugging made you tighten around him. His handprint was on your asscheeks as he slapped them to watch the pink gem’s reflection glimmer with the overhead light.

As he plunged into you, he pushed your face deeper into the mattress. Your back arched as for the first time, he finally plunged into the hilt. Your belly bulged, trembling with each harsh thrust. His cock pressed in deep, straining inside you, the ring of your hole so tight around him that he almost felt as if he couldn’t move.

Almost.

His movements were rough, fingers digging into your hip and lower back to make you arch into him. He didn’t let you move, doing all of the work as the loud squelch of your pussy took him over and over in rapid succession. Soft uh uhs escaped you, face skidding further against your pillow with each thrust.

A sharp slap to your ass made you yelp and the press of his chest against your back, his teeth nipping at the skin of your neck made you squeal.

He had left you boneless, pussy dripping with his cum, gaping and twitching as he spread your legs open to watch it drip down to your sheets.

He didn't think you would have gone out after that. But as he jerks his cock off in a bathroom stall, biting into his hand to keep quiet as he spewed creamy white heavily into the toilet bowl, watching clips of you walking drunkenly with your friends, exposed skin showing bruises fresh and blooming, he’s not upset you did.

…

He wants to see you. Sooner than usual. He felt an ache embed itself when he was speaking with Lois throughout the day. It started when he first came out of Perry’s office. Lois and Jimmy had been waiting by his desk, pretending to have a conversation about nothing in particular, their eyes wandering to the gold letters highlighting Chief Perry, the door Clark had been called into twenty minutes ago.

Jimmy had clapped his shoulder and put his fists up in glee. Clark’s piece was approved for the front page. The one he had been working on for little over a month. The one that would expose Lex Luthor. Lois knew Perry would want it published as soon as possible. Her confidence in Clark never wavered.

She had pulled him into a hug. His arms pulled her in by the waist, lifting her slightly as he chuckled in relief. He gripped her tight. So tight her face twisted with a gasp and she pulled away sharply.

He saw the twitch in her lip, the frown as he immediately let go and apologized. His eyes were wide, he took a step back. He hated the slight annoyance in her eyes, the hurt in the way her body instinctively pulled away and tensed. She was fragile. He couldn’t hold her as tightly as he wanted.

She pulled away from him and he had to stand there with an apologetic look, sorry for holding her. You wouldn’t have pulled away.

Now, the sun setting behind him, he watches you get ready from your balcony, your hands fiddling with your necklace. You adjust it over your chest, the green gemstone delicate between your breasts. Your hands smooth over the sides of your dress, simple, black, mid-length. You sigh out, motions slow and heavy as you fiddle with your clutch.

It was clear you were going somewhere and not with someone you particularly enjoyed being around at the moment. Lex. He rolls his eyes and steps forward to open your french doors.

You gasp the moment you hear the swish of your balcony opening, the city beneath loud with sirens and traffic and honking. His form blocks the entire frame. His eyes narrow at your necklace, heat radiating off of it. He feels the nausea start, his veins ache from the proximity.

His lips tick before he comes at you like a bullet. His fingers were quick, efficient as they tore the gold chain off and threw it out of your window. It hurt, the kryptonite lightly grazing over his wrist as he flung it away, his body on the verge of collapse before the pain receded, the last rays of sun for the day helping him stand taller, his grip tightening as you gazed up at him in complete shock.

His body embraces over yours as he catches your lips and presses his erection against your stomach. The stutters of your complaints and the loss of your invaluable jewelry are muffled against his lips, your tongue sucked into his mouth to stop you from speaking.

Your hands fist over his chest as he sucks harshly, teeth lightly tugging at your bottom lip. For once, you push him away, eyes wide. His eyes wander over your body as he takes a step back. Did he hurt you? He hates that sinking feeling, an apology at the tip of his tongue.

“Lex is coming. You need to leave.”

This was the first time you’ve ever mentioned him. He steps forward, his hands slide onto your elbows and he tightens his hold on you. He mouths at your neck when he cranes his head down. You shiver, eyes closing briefly at the sensation. Your fingers turn to grip his forearms. Thick corded muscle flexing underneath your touch. He pulls you flush against him.

He wasn’t scared of Luthor.

“I’ll be quick,” he mumbles against your jaw. Quiet yet firm. His eyes didn’t hold any mirth, they never did. His eyes were hooded over, a hint of relief at the fact that you didn’t pull away because you were hurt or didn't want him anymore. You were just worried about your fiancé seeing you beneath him.

He hears a soft electrical thrum in the room. His head turns slightly. His eyes find it immediately. The heat and hum from it in the corner of your room, one hidden in your vanity, another on your bed hidden in the headboard. This was new. Lex must have gotten some suspicion recently. It must have been the pictures all over the internet. He stares directly at one, eyes open, hooded over, words chosen carefully.

“Just the tip. He won’t even know I was here.”

You shake your head, his hand stills it, fingers digging into your jaw. He leaves a soft peck over your already kiss swollen lips. It pacifies you. He knew what you liked and what made you throb for him. He leads you to your bed, hand at the back of your neck, the other lifting a thigh up his waist to flip your skirt over your hips.

You nod as he drapes you over the mattress, as he pushes your legs up to spread your legs and pull your panties to the side. Quick. Just the tip. You bite your lip as he kneels, his mouth hot as his tongue parts your already sticky folds, his hand gripping at your breast harshly through the front of your dress.

His extremely cool breath makes you jerk away, he keeps you still, hands going to your hips and pulling you closer. Your body shivers, trembles as a wave of goosebumps so sharply glides through your body like a rush of adrenaline.

You’ve seen him use his powers in the news. An icy cold breath. He licks your folds as if he were savoring an ice cream cone. He sucks on your clit like a cherry. He groans.

“He can’t be smaller than my finger,” he says smugly, as if the thought of anyone's dick being smaller than his massive forefinger was funny to him. The thing is, you’re sure he knew that there were dicks smaller than his finger. His thumb circles over your clit as his fingers push into your hole. He watches as your hips shift, his other hand holds you still roughly, threatening to tear your dress apart if you didn’t stop squirming.

“Won’t even feel the way I stretched you tonight.”

The sudden loss of his fingers shocks you. He positions himself above you, his weight crushing you down. All you see is his chest, the curve of his neck. Your hands were pressed at the small of your back, held by his grip there.

You didn’t even realize he had pushed his suit down his hips, his cock springing free and smoothing over the apex of your thighs as its heavy weight presses between you. He presses his cockhead against your clit, watching as pre coats your folds and sensitive throbbing nub. It makes you clench, hole twitching.

He presses in gently, slowly. Too slow, enough to make you whimper against his suit. His grip on your wrists behind your back tighten as you instinctively try to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He groans into the pillow beside your head.

His tip notches in your hole, stretching it wide, making your breath stutter. He reaches for your hand, his tongue laving over your palm, his saliva coating it, dripping in excess.

It makes your chest tighten, eyes flutter at the sensation of the soft muscle against the sensitive skin. He presses your palm against his cock. A heady moan escaping his lips as you struggle beneath him, body in his complete control as he manually tightens your grip on his member.

He set a pace, back and forth against the velvety skin, slickened hand moving smoothly from where his tip pulses within your hole to the base.

He pulses, his tip burrowing further inside you as you hiss through your teeth. Your cunt lubes itself, adjusting to the size, attempting to help him slide in deeper.

“Just a little more–” he groans.

Your eyes widen, you feel his hips adjust, his abdomen flex as he pulls out just an inch.

“C’mon,” he says under his breath, pushing through your slickened walls.

“Wait—”

He presses completely forward, every inch pulsing inside of you. Your walls contract at the sudden intrusion, hips cramping as you attempt to spread your legs as far as possible to accommodate his size.

Your hand grips his side, pushing, weakening as his heavy breath glides up the column of your neck to softly suckle and lick.

“You said—“

“You can handle it. Take it for me. He won’t touch you tonight. He doesn’t reach the places I can.”

His thrusts shake the bed, rutting up into you wildly, unbothered by the tremors that passed through you as his cock pounds into your cervix.

You squeal as his hips increase pace, your soft body bouncing as his hips slammed into yours. The thick pubic hair at his pelvis rubbed against your clit.

He looks to the side, towards your vanity. He’s sure Lex could see him, or will see him soon. His hands wound around your back, his body completely over yours.

“You like taking this big cock?”

You gasp, he bullies into your cunt, keeping still against your cervix, pressing there enough to make you feel the weight of his length. His hand rises up your throat, flexing, wanting an answer. You stir as his warm breath tickles your ear.

“Tell me whose cock you love more?”

Your lip trembles, a broken gasp escapes you as his hips press deeper. You felt as if your uterus was about to burst. Your head falls back.

“Yours-” you groan out, repeating it over and over again as his hand pulses in strength against the sides of your throat.

He rewards you, pulling back slightly, only to thrust into you again once you took a shaky breath in. You moan out. A shot of pain and pleasure rolls up your spine.

“You’d prefer me over his puny dick. I know you do. He can’t make you feel as good as I can.”

He’s on his knees now, spreading them so that your thighs part further with them. His thumb rubs over your opening, tracing over where it strains against the girth of him. He chuckles at the sight. Your skin stretched thin, clit throbbing, pulsing red, almost purple.

“My pretty girl likes a big stretch.”

“Gonna make her cum all over this cock.”

“Look at you making a mess for me.”

Your makeup was ruined, your sweat dripping down your forehead and between your breasts. Lex will know. Anyone could see how ravaged you were. His hips start again, rapidly pounding into you, his teeth grit, eyes focused on yours as they roll back under fluttering lashes.

He doesn’t cum in you, he gives you that. He doesn’t let you cum either. He watches you try to slow your breathing, body tense in heat, a tiny frown as he wipes his forehead and buckles up his pants at the edge of the bed only to leave with an erection he would deal with at home.

He took one last glance at the headboard, knowing deep in his chest that Lex was watching him leave his fiancée’s bedroom. Your eyes were glazed over as you sat up, fixing the shoulder strap of your dress. He feels the bitterness in his chest soften as he turns and flies away.

But this was your punishment for attempting to push him away at first. For wearing that damn necklace.

…

A video was released.

It had brought the whole world to a stop. Superman’s feral groans, the force of each thrust into you. The way he held you down and straddled you, to the public eye, against your will.

Clark had felt Lois’ stare on him the second he walked into the bullpen that morning. They wouldn’t show the ‘film’ on the news. It was graphic, there was no way to sensor the way he had fucked you into your mattress.

Lois was an avid fan of Twitter, the commentary, the toxicity, the controversy. It was all in fun, it provided her a chance to let out her frustrations. Clark Kent didn’t have social media. He was Superman. He was critiqued endlessly every day for little things.

The color of his super suit, the way he did his hair that day. His sometimes awkward tone of voice when speaking to a crowd.

This was different. Lois glances at him. Her eyes were full of contempt. Full of anger and disgust. Questions swirl around her mind. She had never questioned his intentions before. She trusted him to be good.

But if what everyone was saying was true, that he had entered Lex Luthor’s fiancée's bedroom by force and violated her? She would never trust her intuition again.

Clark was confused by her avoidance, so he takes a step towards her desk. Jimmy practically runs over to him, as if he had the best gossip in town. He was holding back a grin. Lois caught it, it made her blood boil. She stood from her desk and bumped shoulders with them as she made her way to get coffee.

Jimmy barely acknowledges her discomfort. He was already scrolling through his phone, attempting to find the video that was being taken down but quickly reuploaded by creeps on the internet.

“Have you seen it?”

Jimmy arches a brow. He starts to lift his phone to Clark’s face, lowering the volume.

“Seen… what?”

Clark had just gotten out of bed, it seemed. He didn’t turn on the TV before he had to get dressed and rush to the Daily Planet. He hears a wet squelch, a deep groan, his deep groan, before his heart drops to his stomach.

…

You remember your phone blowing up. So many allegations, not against you, but against Superman. You had several missed calls. Friends, family and even coworkers, all worried, all concerned for your well being. None from Lex.

You don’t know how long it took for you to get out of bed. Your eyes were swollen, your body feeling heavy. You had watched the clip. It looks bad. So bad. Luckily your body was mostly concealed, your dress wasn’t taken off that night.

It was clipped, edited. To make it seem as if you didn’t enjoy it. Your emotions were already complicated about seeing Superman every other night. His presence did give you a sense of helplessness, of fear.

But you liked it. It makes your heart beat in your throat. Guilt, shame and embarrassment flood through your system, calcifying your bones and turning you into a fetal ball in the middle of your bed.

Save a man who has never once had an actual conversation with you but means so much to so many all over the world. Or side with your fiancé who records you without your permission, and releases footage as some sort of revenge porn.

He wasn’t trying to save you. He wanted to punish you. You lose in either situation. He knew that. All of your events have been cancelled. Event facilitators wishing you well and to take some time off to heal, most said in pity. Some have broken off ties because they didn’t want that image correlated with their institutions.

You have been contacted to comment. To clarify. It made you nauseous. You felt an obligation to clear up the allegations towards Superman. It was to reveal the truth. It was the only thing you felt was at least benefitting someone.

The world gets to keep a hero. A sexually active one at that.

This was the game you had consented to, you'd say. You puke into the toilet bowl the second you stand and make a decision. What could you even say to make this smooth over? To not ruin your reputation and his?

This would only amplify Lex. Make him seem like the victim of a cheating ‘wife’. Superman would then be the victim too, of seduction. Of your lies and deceit.

…

You watch him float into your new apartment. Social media, talk show hosts and many more the past week have reacted to your PR approved instagram apology, statement, clarification or whatever bullshit it was that you had posted. You keep yourself in your room, huddled in your comforter and refusing to get out of bed.

Your gaze trails over him as he softly closes your window. It was the first time Superman seemed normal. At least what he portrayed himself to be to the general public.

Only you knew the simmering heat beneath. The way his jaw tightened every night he came to you to let out his frustrations, his barely placated control. His hair was perfectly pushed back now, a curl loose at the front. His chest wasn’t heaving with pent up emotion.

He exuded calm and composure. Bitterness festers in your chest.

Lex’s and Superman’s petty feud had left you with nothing. You had deleted your social media apps after your last post. It wasn’t worth seeing all of those comments, the think pieces on your sexual behaviors as if everyone had to learn something from it.

Superman sits beside you. His hand shaky as they lay on his lap. He watches whatever tv show was on your laptop screen, the way the light splayed across your face, highlighting the swollen dark circles underneath your eyes.

He didn’t know what to say. Thank you? Sorry? I shouldn’t have done this to you? I should have never started this?

You looked so vulnerable now. As if your layers of strength and dignity have been stripped away from you. He’s seen your vulnerable self before, you’ve wanted him to bring you to that state then.

He bunches his cape, laying it over your lap and his. He inhales the sweat on your scalp, a mix of sweetness from your shampoo and musk from laying in bed all day.

“I didn’t think he’d do this.”

You turn and watch as his fingers twitch against each other. Like a scolded child. He’d ruined your career. At least stalled it gravely. His actions had turned into memes, appraisals from men and women alike.

“Superman fucks!”

“SuperDom!”

“I wish that were me…”

Superfans had pieced together the bruises from weeks prior. Some even make edits of him, the starting image before the beat drops to a hyperpop song being your pap pictures that blew up that one night out with friends. Bruises visible and speculated on.

Those had been depressing nights. Getting drunk, feeling like crap after being used by both fiancée and secret lover. Superman never noticed, you may have not either at the time.

You could only look at him with a mix of exasperation and fatigue. His words were irrelevant. His lie didn’t convince you. He knew, deep down. Lex always retaliated, especially when it came to him.

You focus back on your screen, bringing your blanket over your shoulders and up to your chin. You feel his arm come around you, pulling you close to his side.

Superman wanted someone to break. To squeeze and push until it was on the precipice of shattering. It felt like you were sand escaping through his fingers now. He didn’t know how to fix this.

“Have you spoken to him?”

You sigh, inevitably falling into his side fully. Whatever reality tv was at a dull plot point anyway. Lex had offered to ‘forgive you’. He wanted to start over, give you back your ring, another necklace with a green pendant on it.

He was so sure of himself, his hand holding yours and pressing it to his lips. It made you want to scream. You threw your ice water in his face after that ‘talk’.

“I told him to kill himself,” you respond softly.

He closes his eyes and sighs with a short nod.

“Yeah.”

His hand rises up your neck, thumb massaging into the meat of your shoulder. You melt into him, eyes closing in flutters at the feel of his hands holding you steady. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like you like this. Soft, drained mentally and physically enough to fall into him so easily.

He feels the guilt build in thrums, but it dissipates the more you lean into his warmth. He was the only person you had left. Your family was appalled, if they had a conversation with you, it always diverged to the video, to how disappointed they were.

Your friends thought you had changed. They didn’t like ‘liars’ and ‘cheaters’.

Superman lightly closes your laptop, the only lights coming from the open windows.

In a way Lex got what he wanted. Lois barely speaks with him, let alone looks in his direction. He lost her. Clark got what he wanted, he thinks as he slowly tilts your head up towards him. Someone malleable, who brings him comfort and was able to handle him at his most needy.

He took you from Lex.

You couldn’t say you weren’t addicted to the feeling as well you straddled him, or, really, he lifted you to sit over his lap. He nips your lips, his hand at your throat squeezing lightly enough to make you lightheaded, weak.

You don’t stop him as he lifts your shirt up, or when he pulls your sleep shorts down enough to push into you. You hold on tightly to his shoulders as his teeth dig into your shoulders, hips thrusting up into you as if you were a fleshlight.

Lex’s contact flickers on your phone on your bedside table.

You let your mind go blank. Maybe if he squeezed hard enough he could put you back together and take you apart all over again.

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I don't know about this one... but it was fun to write. I need to get my sexual frustrations out somehow.

-Alejandra 💋 🐇