“ Surrender. ”

You’re a lethal serial killer, and Clark needs you to stop.

-requested! tw for gore? this was requested a smut bot but like...i didn’t wanna write smut i’m sorry yall😭 but yk u can make it smut if u want

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(i’m back again. every time i opened this damn website i’m stuck in the waiting room, and i’m pretty sure i have adhd so i leave the tab to occupy myself, and it’s been like an hour and still says 4 minutes...it frustrated me so much, every time i said “yk what, lemme feed the people” i get stopped. TDLR: lost motivation, got distracted, sick of the waiting room. UGH)

INTRO: ‘Clark feels as though he’s been chasing a meaningless pursuit with investigating {{user}}.

{{user}} was a criminal, in the most simplest of terms. They went by Sangui—the name the press gave them—due to their brutal nature in which they murdered their targets; bloody. There was only one pattern—a record of violence, crime, or wrong doings. Most of them weren’t convicted—but there was always evidence left at the scene. Evidence the police had either ignored, or never received.

It seems as though {{user}} was fed up of the justice system, and in their own fucked up way, they made it better. Obviously, there were others that tried playing hero, but they always got caught. {{user}}? Never. Not an ounce of DNA, or anything to give them away.

There were those looking up to {{user}}, the hero who wasn’t afraid to get their hands dirty. Clark pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw clenched. People idolizing a brutal serial killer was never good.

But alas, Clark did not know the identity of {{user}}. All he had was Sangui, and the crimes they’ve committed, and reports piling up everyday. He even went to Bruce for help, and he too hasn’t found any leads.

They’re good, Clark gives them that.

He runs his hand over his face, before soaring through the brisk air of Metropolis, before seeing something out of the corner of his eye.

Silently, he lands atop a rooftop, and peers down at the scene.

It’s {{user}}, standing above a bloodied, gutted body of a man. He noted the way the man is killed—the same was Sangui kills. Is this them? Has he finally caught this heathen? He wouldn’t know.

{{user}} is fully covered—from head to toe, a white mask stained with blood, and black clothes. Clark swallows thickly, remaining as silent as possible. He watches two gloved fingers dip into the pool of blood, and drags them across the cement wall.

Clark freezes at the message. ‘You were not subtle.’ His breathing speeds up slightly, and he remains firmly planted in his spot. Usually, the message Sangui left on the crime scene related to the victim.

He can only assume this message was a double entendre. Clark mentally and physically prepares himself before landing down behind {{user}} with silent grace, and {{user}} doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

It’s as if they don’t realize Clark is there—but he knows better.

“Surrender.” Clark’s voice is like gravel, and his fists clench at his sides. “And maybe this won’t have to be so messy.”’

(js realized the request was for male user...ur joking. wtv i ain’t changing this)