#am i still posting jon smut like a heathen?

[uncouth-the-fifth]

not alot of jon love in these prompts so could u pretty pls do 214 w him and a soft catwoman reader? 🥺 maybe they're having a one night stand on a rooftop and they both kinda don't want it to end, even if they're enemies?

214. "Take it off slowly," with Jon Kent.

i just reread all of the unity saga, so you got me at the perfect time!! I'm obsessed w that one panel where Jon’s about to punch Zod in space... my king 👑 fuck it I'm putting it here

You never imagined that Superman would be this soft.

Being called the Man of Steel, along with being literally invulnerable, implied that his skin was like metal. You imagined it was callousless, and impossibly, terrifyingly still, like any moment his grip could tighten and crush you into powder. That’s how the cellmates across from you in Arkham had described it. You personally doubted that Superman was this gentle with them.

In reality, his skin was smooth and his hands did have callouses, floating over your sides and squeezing your hips with heaps of control. With that much strength you figured it would be impossible to be gentle (it was impossible for you to touch a bubble without popping it, and to him, you must’ve been a frail one), and yet Superman was nothing but. His nails stroked gently at your thighs. His thumbs pressed into your belly. His hips rolled up into yours, his whole body coiled with pleasure. The only time you glimpsed even a little of his strength was when he pulled you back onto him, filling you up with a satisfied moan.

“Fuck,” you mewled. He was the biggest you’d ever been with.

For all his superspeed, you went slow. Superman was spread out beneath you, gauntlets thrown aside with your catsuit, his cape the only layer between your bodies and the concrete. You bounced in his lap like you had plenty to take out on him, which you did. This was the third time he’d stopped one of your heists. His little gift to you was letting you off easy instead of turning you in, but you knew he wouldn’t waste another opportunity to arrest you. This was the last straw. You may be stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, but all his stupid Kryptonian ears heard was stealing.

You hated him. A part of you truly did. But he was gorgeous and forgiving and sweet, sweeter than anyone had ever been to you, and you knew in your heart that he only fought you because of the law. You hated him, but he felt so good.

Scowling, you sunk your nails into the padding of his chest and dragged, dragged, dragged across that stupid symbol until you felt his bare abs clench. Even with your claws on, you couldn’t hurt him. He always joked that you treated him like a scratching pole, but there was this air to his voice that made you feel like he enjoyed it. Like maybe he even craved it.

Superman scooped up your hands in one of his and lifted, sitting up with your arms around his neck. Looking at him in the eye flushed your sensitive core with shame, but you still had your mask to hide behind. He didn’t. His cheeks were rosy and his lips were shiny from all the aggressive kissing you’d done. Sweetly, he sunk you deeper, rooting you to the base of his cock, and kissing you warmly. Superman tasted like cream chapstick and love. The third time his nose bumped the edge of your goggles, he swore.

You didn’t tell him you were close, but he knew anyway. Superman slowed, your limbs numb with adrenaline and lust, and tried to meet eyes with you behind your mask.

“W-wait,” he panted. Brave as ever, Superman gestured to your mask, “Take it... take it off. Slowly. I-I want to see your face.”

He’d seen it before. Still, you snapped back at him, “Why?”

“You get to see mine,” Superman soothed. His big, welcoming palm cupped your cheek, stroking your face like you were a precious treasure - not the thief stealing it instead. As the moment went on, you felt less like you were sitting in his lap and more like you were being hugged. Embraced.

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied, bitter, “we don’t even know each other’s names.”

Superman laid back on his hands, offended, and twisted his fingers in the cape you were using as a blanket. He looked at you like he knew this was going to be over soon, and both of you would be back to fighting any minute. He looked at you like that wasn’t what he wanted.

Softly, he said, “My name is Jon.”

Really? Jon is all you could come up with? You wanted to spit in his face. But he sat there like he’d pried open his chest for you to see his heart, like he was telling the truth - and as much as you hated him, you knew Superman never lied. 

His real name really was Jon.

When it hit you that Superman’s secret identity was now in your possession, you paused. The filthiness of fucking him like this drained out of you, first until you were hollow, then again until you were brimming with the compulsion to kiss him as wildly and romantically as you could. You hated him. But no one had ever treated you like this before.

In one pull, you slipped off your lenses and your cowl.

“...Y/N.”

Jon tested the name in his mouth. “Y/N, huh... I like that. It’s beautiful.”

You ignored him. Fisting your hands in his hair, you dragged him into a desperate, lasting kiss. Jon woke up for whatever daydream he was in and swooped his arms around your middle, groaning as you both started to move again. His throbbing cock rolled perfectly into your slick, filling your every ridge like it was meant for him, like you were meant for him. Supe—Jon, helped you on and off him, slanting your lips together in a starved dance. Your pussy ached more and more with every thrust. Even if this was faster than before, you felt your belly surge with butterflies. This wasn’t fucking. You were making love.

Soon, those butterflies were replaced with a hot, filling liquid. Jon parted from your lips to shudder and moan through his orgasm, spurred by your own. Every clench of your cunt drew more of him inside you. Once his cum flowed, it didn’t seem to stop, filling you the womb and brimming over until your lap was caked. It drooled from your pussy and hung from your thighs in sticky heaps. You clutched the trail of your orgasm as you held him - like you never wanted it to end.

Jon collapsed backwards, catching the breath he didn’t need spread out on his cape. You followed, your nose flooded with the smell of his sex, your cunt sobbing with his seed, and your cheek pressed to that stupid symbol. You touched it, shamefully enamored.

Tender as ever, Jon wrapped you up in his arms and squeezed you against him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, nuzzling your hair, “could we...?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, relaxing against his chest. “Yeah, Jon, we can...”