much appreciation for those stopping by xo love u v much
this is your one stop shop for your porn no plot one shots
request status: open for shorter-length stuff for of age characters/actors (like head cannons, blurbs, rants xoxoxo)
running list of who i've written for / write for: draco, aemond, carmy, frank castle, peter parker, billy the kid (2022), corio, rafe, davos blackwood, aegon ii, aeron bracken, logan howlett, jj maybank, matt murdock, clark kent (2025)
writing next: tbd
those that prefer reading on ao3, please click here
TOM BLYTH IS ON THE QUINN APP THIS IS NOT A GODDAMN DRILL THAT WHITE BOY IS ON THE MF QUINN APP NARRATING A STORY ABOUT A PIANO TEACHER STUDENT RELATIONSHIP — YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME TOM BLYTH DIDNT READ FANFIC ABOUT HIMSELF ON HERE AND SAY “I CAN DO BETTER” EEEE KICKING MY MF FEET
hey yall i’m a bit rusty but i wanted to try my hand at the latest and greatest
summary: clark can’t sleep and wakes you up
as always, warnings: rough and desperate clark, sub!reader, p in v penetration, rough sex, dirty talk, overstimulation to the max because i’m a dog
minors fuck off
barely edited we die like men
———
clark kent couldn’t sleep.
he was burning up, specifically. skin fire to the touch, moistening the back of his neck. the room felt like it was a million degrees. he glanced over at you — unsure of how you could possibly be sleeping so soundly, so comfortably. it irritated him, which was odd — clark kent was not someone to get irritated, nor was he the type to get irritated about something he had no right to be irritated about.
he just couldn’t help it. he also couldn’t help staring.
the heat from his own gaze seemed to be felt by you as you began to stir in your sleep. you reached out for him — a cool hand searching between the sheets for his warm skin. he found you in a moment, letting the cool skin of your fingers dance across his own.
“how can i make you feel better, baby?” you whispered into the dark. “you’re so warm.”
“want you so bad, sweetheart…” he whispered against your skin.
he wanted to be nice. he wanted to whisper sweet things into your ear, like he did most nights. he wanted to be the nice, sweet, farm boy that everyone loved him as — but even clark kent was selfish sometimes. clark had found his way between your thighs — holding them open with his hips. your lips immediately tried to catch his in a chaste kiss, needing to feel him. his fingers were frantic — yanking off your barely there pajama shorts. maybe he should’ve been embarrassed for how desperate he was, but he didn’t care. clark kent needed you bare.
“‘m so cold, baby,” you spoke, clinging to him.
“i’ll keep you warm, darlin’,” he spoke, before sheathing himself inside you. “c’mere.”
the moment he entered you was the moment he pulled a gasp from the back of your throat. you had barely woken from exhaustion — still hazy from sleep, but now also hazy with want. with need. with desire. being so vulnerable like you were made you want to cling to clark for all he was worth, and have him ruin you in the exact way you both liked.
with his second thrust, he dipped into the crook of your neck. he spat, “fuck —“ before he could thrust once more. he radiated warmth, wrapping you in it, every grind of his hips was another way of telling you how needy he was. how desperate. it sent shivers up your spine the way you could make the strongest, most powerful man on this planet need something so intimate.
once he had hit that spot so deep inside you, it was your turn to show him how needy you were. how greedy. clark loved your little whines — he got off on hearing how dumb he could make you from just his fingers and cock. shame crept up beneath the cracks — he was supposed to be superman, he was supposed to be good — but it was so hard to care about any of that when he felt so selfish. when you loved how selfish he was. when you were so perfect and supple beneath him, begging him to ruin you.
“right there, yes —“ you whispered into the dark, for only his ears. “clark, baby — need it, need…”
“that’s it, sweetheart? hmm? right there?” he spoke, almost tauntingly, holding one of your hips in his hand as he held himself up with the other. the roll of his hips was punishing — slow enough that he could keep his wits about him, but deep enough that you couldn’t keep your own wits about you. he didn’t care. he couldn’t even bring himself to. it was about him right now. “just can’t stop… it’s too good, baby. you open up so well for me. just gonna have to take it.”
“i can take it, clark,” you whispered, letting your fingertips glide over his muscles.
oh, you were so polite. so fucking perfect, pliant, and polite. he could just take a bite out of you. someone as perfect as you couldn’t possibly expect him to remain well mannered. with those tiny shorts? with those perfect legs that opened just for him? with those sweet lips that told him how much you needed?
“i should be nicer to you, pretty girl —” he spat, snapping his hips. “just can’t help it right now. not when you’re like this — you love when i use you?”
“yes, clark —“ you cried in his ear, clinging onto him. taking everything he gave you like the sweet little thing you were. “use me, please. want you mean. please, clark — be mean.”
“fuck —“ he growled into your ear, making you shiver.
your pretty thighs were spread just for him, allowing his wet cock to slip in between your folds. your walls clamped down onto him as you stole a kiss from his swollen red lips. his hand found its way to that pretty bud that rested at the top of your folds, drawing messy circles on it — just how you liked it.
you cried into his shoulder, loving how he took complete control of you. letting clark use you felt so fulfilling — him needing something from you and being so desperate for it that it drove him insane. he forgot all manners. forgot all niceties. forgot every responsibility that weighed on his strong shoulders just so you could bite down on them when he made you feel oh so good. the only thing that remained on his mind was you. how much he loved you. how much he needed you. how much he needed you to ruin him as much as you needed him to ruin you. who could blame clark? who could blame you?
not you, that’s for sure. your hips were stirring against his and his hand. with his cock slipping in and out of you and his fingers playing against you, you couldn’t help but bite down on your lip to suppress your moans. you would’ve sounded so pathetic beneath clark, crying out of pleasure. you couldn’t embarrass yourself just yet, wanting to hold it together.
“come on, baby,” he grit. “whine for me — please. can you do that? love those sounds you make.”
“clark —“ you cried, immediately giving in. “it’s too much — i’m — i’m gonna —“
“i know you can take it, doll,” he spoke against your lips. “please show me? yeah? for me?”
you were nodding through your tears, mind going numb. “you make me so sensitive, clark —“ you cried. “drive me crazy.”
he could feel the warmth in his lower abdomen start to build. it was tightening, tightening, and tightening — letting him know he was close and how the darkest parts of him wanted to fill you up and keep you full. you’d let him, he knew you would. you’d look up at him with glossy eyes, and oh so satisfied. he shouldn’t, he wouldn’t — but he wanted to.
clark could also feel how close you were. he watched as his cock slipped in and out of you, hitting that spot only he could see. the spot that drove you crazy.
“i know you can feel that, baby, how deep i am,” he whispered, staring at where his cock entered. “just hurts so good, huh?”
all at once, it felt like something in your lower abdomen snapped. every single muscle of yours tightened as you threw your head back against the pillow as clark held you firm and down, never letting you run away from being able to ride out your orgasm.
“there she is,” he’d grit. “that’s right — that’s my girl, keep going.”
tears couldn’t help but leak from your closed eyes. your skin began to feel hot to the touch, not unlike how clark’s had felt earlier. and still, his fingers that drew shapes on you wouldn’t relent. you began to shake from the comedown and how clark tried to bring you right back up with him.
“feels good, doesn’t it?” he rasped. “when you’re already so sensitive?”
“c-clark —“ you weeped.
“i know, baby,” he cooed. “i know — just one more —“
he brought you to another earth shattering orgasm moments later. he left you breathless against the bed, eyes rolling back into your head. stars were the only thing that occupied your consciousness as your body began to twitch and shake from the pleasure, all while trying to catch your breath.
but clark wasn’t finished.
selfish as he was, he couldn’t help but want to make you finish twice before he filled you.
and he felt so guilty for being so selfish — he so, so did… sweet thing like you deserved love and care and gentle movements, he thought. he could be better — should be better. he just couldn’t help himself. he would be so mean to deny you something you begged and cried for.
he let your upper back fall to the bed as he grabbed both of your hips in both of his hands, slamming your hips into his. his cock thrust in and out of you as the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and chest bulged. veins were on display, firm and prominent. clark could feel his blood pumping harder than ever before, trying to chase the same release that every other muscle in his body was trying to get to. his eyes were screwed shut as he clenched his jaw, the tiniest bit of sweat collecting around his hairline. clark kent finally felt that pull in his abdomen, and knew he was close. so close, so fucking close. you could hear small pants from above where you lay — desperate breaths that let you know that the strongest man ever was about to crumble above you and fill you with everything he had.
he came with a growl, still slamming his hips into yours as he rode out as his orgasm. his cock felt so good — so deep inside you as your walls clung to him, not wanting to let him go. you couldn’t help but stare at his face — the way it flushed with exertion and then relief. the look of release caused his mouth to hang open slightly, and for a dazed and glossed over look to take over his beautiful eyes.
you smiled up at clark as he pulled out, leaving you dripping.
you loved making him feel better.
———
does this suck :/ love yall ty for reading <3 -L xoxo
TOM BLYTH IS ON THE QUINN APP THIS IS NOT A GODDAMN DRILL THAT WHITE BOY IS ON THE MF QUINN APP NARRATING A STORY ABOUT A PIANO TEACHER STUDENT RELATIONSHIP — YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME TOM BLYTH DIDNT READ FANFIC ABOUT HIMSELF ON HERE AND SAY “I CAN DO BETTER” EEEE KICKING MY MF FEET
excuse me for stating the obvious but like. james gunn outright calling superman an immigrant and doubling down on it when he got backlash (because he IS an immigrant, that's the point of superman) + the in-movie dialogue of "aren't you going to read me my rights?" "you're an extraterrestrial, son. you haven't got any rights to read." + the violence of his arrest and how they torture and mistreat him unapologetically, all under the guise of "protecting america", in a film releasing during the onslaught of violent ICE kidnappings and abuse... yeah it's really no wonder right-wing knobheads are crying about this being woke. they're being forced to look directly at the reasons one of the most well-known and beloved heroes of all time would not be on their side. and that's only ONE of the reasons this movie covers
Description: When Clark gets poisoned with sex pollen, he tries everything in his power to stay away from you. Until he ends up crashing into your living room, and you have a god on his knees, with your name in his mouth and your body at his will.
Tags/warnings: smut, established relationship, clark is sorry, he gets freaky with his powers, consent kink, breaks you and worships you at the same time, begging, praising, hovering (yes hovering👀), so much dirty talk (he’s feral but sweet), overstimulation.
Note: Guess who watched superman today and got a new man to obsess about🙂↕️ honestly I don’t even know what took over me when I wrote this but all I can say is go ahead, live your best life and enjoy the sweet filth 🫶🏼
archive / masterlist
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You wake up with a loud crash coming from your living room. You jolt upright from your bed as you hear glass shatter, sprinting toward the noise. You curse as your body, only covered by Clark’s giant shirt, gets hit with the crisp midnight air as wind gushed through your apartment like a hurricane just passed by.
A figure stood where your glass door used to be, leaning weakly on what was left of the frame. You turned on the lamp next to you, illuminating your boyfriend’s stumbling body.
“Clark!?” you exclaim, confused by his abrupt arrival.
He doesn’t look up, just stands there against the frame, chest heaving, fists clenched. Like he is barely holding himself together.
Worry washes your features, something must be really wrong. You start making way over to him, but as soon as you take a step forward he puts a warning hand in front of him.
“Stop! Don’t move,” his deep voice comes out strangled, like he’s been screaming for hours. “Don’t come closer… please. Just–just stay there.”
He keeps his hand up to stop you, panting heavily as he swallowed to try to soothe his dry throat. He slowly looks up, and groans when he meets your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, dry lips parted, his breath ragged like he’s been flying across the globe. His usually perfect wavy hair is now flat, messy, sticking to his sweaty forehead.
“I didn’t want to come here,” he whines. “I–I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“What happened to you?” You ask from your spot, fighting the urge to run to his aid.
“I’ve been infected,” he chokes out, and your brows furrow more. “Some kind of … alien pollen. It hit me out there. I flew straight into it and fuck ... It’s messing with my head, my body, I…”
He suddenly turns away, pacing in small frantic circles on your balcony like he’s trying to shake something off. His hands tremble as he fights to not make eye contact, like just looking at you hurts.
“What do you need? D-do you have the antidote?” You ask, scared as hell. He never acts like this.
He just shakes his head first with a bitter laugh, only to nod frantically afterwards.
God, if only you knew.
“I tried to wait it out,” he groans, fists now in his hair. “I swear I did, my love, I locked myself away for hours … tried to fly as far as I could but I kept turning back because I could smell you.”
Your breath catches in your throat, somehow understanding what this was about.
“I can smell you, sweetheart. Even from across the city … I can hear you breathing … your heartbeat. I didn’t want to hurt you but right now I have you in front of me and I can see–dammit … I’m sorry–“
He stumbles backward like he’s ashamed of himself, like he can’t even look at you.
“You know can’t turn it off,” he whispers. “I never mean to look, I swear, but I can see you now. Everything.”
Of course you know what he means. You know he can see right past his giant shirt covering your body. And the guilt on his face is gutting. He looks like he’s trying to claw his own powers out of his skin.
“Clark… it’s okay. You don’t have to explain, ”you step forward, slowly, gently. “It’s not like we haven’t–“
“No you don’t get it!” He snaps, his voice booming through your walls so loud you were sure everyone on the block heard him. He instantly feels worse with the way you flinched to his volume. “S-sorry darling … you just don’t get it … you have no idea what it’s like to smell you and know how soft you are, how warm. My instincts are going crazy. I just need to be inside you … I need to touch you, mark you, fill you up until I can’t think straight,” he just rambles, eyes raking through your body.
You take a deep breath, his words making you clench your thighs together and he noticed. Of course you’ve had sex before. You know what he sounds like when he’s needy. But this? This is feral. You’ve never seen him like this.
But you’re willing to do anything to help him. Always.
“Clark… you don’t even have to ask,” you speak softly, your own eyes darkening with desire.
He shakes his head. You don’t even understand the amount of restraint he’s having right now.
“I do … I always do. Especially now. Because I’m not going to touch you like I should. I’m not going to make it about you. I’m going to use you. Because you’re the only one who can fix me … you are the antidote and I hate it. I hate that I can’t even think straight unless I’m inside you … I need you so bad, darling, I’m shaking–“ He cries, an actual tear comes out his desperate eyes.
You’re watching a god fall apart in front of you.
Because of you.
You finally cross the space left, and he doesn’t stop you this time. You grab his face between your hands, and kiss him without hesitation. His arms immediately cling to your frame, cold hands slipping under your shirt to roam every inch of your warm skin.
You moan into his lips, when you taste the salty tears on his face. His hands land on your ass, and he squeezes hard, bruising, making you squeal. He immediately pulls back, apologizing. Like he still can’t let himself go.
“I love you, I’m sorry–” he blurts out immediately, hands soothing the skin he pinched while he fought the urge to do it again, harder. “God I love you … and I would never hurt you. Never. I swore I’d never touch you like this. Unless you asked me to. Unless you wanted me to. So please … tell me you want this too. Say yes, or I’ll leave. I swear I will.”
He nods, frantically, like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.
“I’ll leave if you tell me to,” he breathes. “I’ll fly through a mountain. I’ll bury myself in the ocean. Just don’t say yes unless you want this. I’m barely holding on– if you say it, I won’t be able to stop.”
You want him. God you always want him.
The way he keeps asking makes you want him even more. Even if he’s not your Clark now. Even if he won’t take care of you like he always does. Even if you can’t breathe or move after. Because you love him too.
“I want it,” you whisper against his lips, nodding. “I want you. You need me? Use me. Take all you want … I can take it.”
It’s over.
The moment you say yes there’s no going back. He lunges forward, tightening his grip on you as he lifts you off the ground to fly you towards the wall, knocking the lamp when your back hit the wall, leaving you both in complete darkness. Only the moonlight left to shine over his hungry eyes.
His massive hand cradles the back of your head to protect it from the hit, while the other tears off your shirt like he needs your skin on his or he’ll die. Your panties don’t even last two seconds before they fly away too.
His lips hit yours. Tongue desperate, hands everywhere, so large, so shaky, everywhere at once. He groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst finally tasting water.
“Thank you,” he gasps between kisses. “Thank you sweetheart … I’m so sorry I can’t help you first … but I need you … I need to feel you inside, please just let me…”
He knows it hurts you when he doesn’t prepare you properly, when he doesn’t make you cum at least twice on his fingers before he fucks you …but he can’t right now. Not when he can smell how soaked you are already, not when he swears it’s dripping on the carpet.
“Do it,” you pant, hungry for him. “Clark just do it … please.”
He doubts only for a second, and then without thinking he rips the suit. Literally tears it at the waist, tugging it to get rid of it completely. He’ll care about that later.
Right now he is just muscle in front of you.
His painful cock springs up, and he presses himself to you with a wet slap, your back hitting the wall again. Your pussy throbs at how impossibly huge he is over your stomach.
You’ve had him before. You’ve barely made it. You still want him to rearrange your guts.
“Feel that?” he groans. “That’s what you do to me, that’s what’s been driving me insane all day, darling.”
He’s not even pretending anymore, his cock is throbbing, massive, already leaking. He aligns himself between your soaked folds, rutting the tip against your pussy a few times like he’s lost control of his body entirely. You moan at the friction. Every nerve ending screaming.
You know he’s gonna wreck you. You weren’t ready. But at the same time you’ve never been more ready.
He grabs your thigh and lifts it against the wall, before whispering against your lips. “I’m sorry…”
He pushes his hips forward, and when he finally slides home with a snap … raw, hard, you let out a strangled scream.
One long, broken sound, high pitched and helpless, because he stretches you brutally, all at once, bottoming out with a growl. An actual growl. Like he finally felt some type of relief since he got hit with the pollen.
You fight back a cry, lunging forward to bite his shoulder. He starts fucking you into the wall as he whispers ‘I love you’ ‘thank you’ ‘sorry’ like some sort of chant. Like it’s the only thing keeping him rooted to the version of him that is still careful with you when you have sex.
Your breath leaves you in a gasp, your bare back against the cold plaster, legs around his waist, and arms clinging to his biceps for dear life. All you can do is moan as you get adjusted to his unfairly thick cock slamming in and out of you.
“Just like that … you’re taking me so well,” he pants. “You can do it, sweetheart … you’re doing so good … fuck, you were made for this … made for me.”
His hands grip your thighs. He fucks you like he’s possessed, no rhythm, no thought into it, just deep, hard thrusts that hit something devastating every time, shaking the wall with every slam of his hips.
And the whole time, he keeps whimpering into your neck.
“I love you … I’m sorry … I love you …I’m gonna ruin you …I need it…”
You think you’re about to white out when the room starts moving, but you quickly realize what’s happening.
He’s lifting your bodies off the ground.
Still fucking you.
Going up as much as your ceiling allowed him too. He pins you high on the wall when his head touches the roof, like gravity doesn’t apply anymore. It never does, not to you, not to him.
So now you’re fucking hovering. Literally. Unable to do anything but take it.
And you feel him like never before. A complete moaning mess. Nails dragging down his back, mouth open in shock as you look down to the floor. Your whole body is a live wire, and he’s fucking you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
His cock twitches inside you. He’s already close. Has been since he walked through that window. But he’s holding it, fighting it, because he needs to stay inside. Needs to keep taking. You can’t.
“Fuck Clark … I’m gonna–“
“Yes? do it … darling please, you’re doing so well. I’ve got you … cum all over this cock baby I got you.”
Your body breaks before you can breathe. Your first climax of the night hits hard, clenching down on him, while you pant into his chest. Your whole body goes limp and he feels it.
He fucks you through it. Rough thrusts with his hand stroking your back and the other wrapped under your thighs. He keeps thanking you as his cock splits you open over and over.
“I wanna give you everything,” he groans, voice cracking. “Fill you up, stuff you full of me … Can I? Please? Let me finish inside you …. let me have you–“
“Yes, yes, fill me up,” you blurt out, still seeing stars.
He slams in once more and chokes, hips locked, whole body shuddering as he comes with a moan so broken it feels like it came from his soul. He shakes as he fills you, mouth pressed to your neck.
He doesn’t pull out yet. He holds you there, trembling, pressed against the wall like he knows you’ll fall if he loosens his grip.
Even after the first wave passes, after the groans, the shaking, the desperate I love you’s, he holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this planet.
“…Are you okay?”
You just nod, breathless, a blissed out smile in your face. He smiles too. And then, slowly, he lowers you back down to the floor.
But he’s not soft for long. He doesn’t even give you a minute to recover. He can’t. The second round starts before the first one even finishes sinking in.
You’re still trembling in his arms, leaking down your thighs, whimpering his name into the crook of his neck. And he’s still inside you. Still painfully hard.
Still needing you.
“One more, please. Just–just one more,” he begs. “Let me have you again. Please, darling I need it.”
“Take it Clark, take all you need,” you nod, absolutely wrecked.
But what’s a few more rounds with your unearthly strong boyfriend?
He melts.
You usually go multiple rounds, but he’s softer, he gives you downtime, even brings you water in between orgasms. But right now he can’t believe the way he fucked you and you still let him have more. But he needs more. The pollen is fogging his brain.
He finally pulls out, just to set you down on the floor. The second your back hits the rug, he’s on top of you again. And god he’s heavy. Solid. He doesn’t even hold his weight like he usually does because all he’s thinking about is fucking you senseless.
He buries himself deep again, groaning, cursing under his breath. You close your eyes, nails digging the carpet, back arching when you feel him deeper from this angle. You pant small whines from the feeling.
“Shhh … don’t–“ he coos, he wants to be slow, but he can’t. His hips snap hard without even thinking. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart … so good for me… just need one more.”
You know it’s not just one more. And he fucking knows that too.
None of you cares.
“You’re so wet … so perfect” he groans, the filthy sound gushing loudly every time he thrusted. “I didn’t even give you time to come down … didn’t even let you breathe and you still take me so well”
He praises. Worships. He looks down to where your bodies meet, and he sees right through your skin. He can see his huge cock filling you with every thrust. He can see your walls clenching around him. And he looses it.
You’re suddenly running out of air when he presses his chest to yours, pining you tighter to the floor with his body as he pushes harder. And you feel all of him. The broadness of his chest against your ribs. The strain of his thighs bracketing yours. His cock still buried deep, rock hard.
You hit his bicep with your hand first, but he’s not paying attention, he’s too caught up on the way your pussy takes him to notice.
It’s not smooth. Not rhythmic. Just sharp, ragged thrusts that hit you so hard your body jerks on impact, tits bouncing, nails clawing at his back as he crushes you into the floor with every rut of his hips.
Your head starts spinning.
“Clark,” you choke out, hitting his bicep again. “I can’t–can’t breathe…”
His head finally snaps at you, eyes going wide. He lifts up a bit, but he doesn’t pull out, he just … can’t.
You finally gasp for air as he shushes you softly, tucking away the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead.
“I’m sorry … I can’t … can’t stop. I tried, I swear I tried,” his forehead presses to yours, without crushing you alive this time.
His hips don’t stop moving. You pant between moans. You’re close again, you can feel it.
“It’s okay, you’re just … you’re so big …so heavy.”
“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I know. I just … I don’t want to let you go–”
“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t let me go.”
His expression breaks. Because he knows. And you know. He’s not really letting you go. Not all the way. He’s still pressing his weight into you, even as he tries not to. Because he needs to. Because letting go means losing you, even just for a second.
He doesn’t know what takes over him, he grabs your hands and pins them above your head. Watching you sob, moan, eyes rolling back, skin already bruising in multiple places by his grip. He’s not like this. He should be apologizing. Begging. But you just feel so damn good.
And you like it, god you love it.
“I–I love it when you fuck me like this,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper, dumb smile on your face as he hits that spot repeatedly. “I just- I can’t…”
“I know darling, I know … just a little more,” he groans. “One more please. You can take it …you’re doing so good.” He soothes, but he can’t slow down, not when you’re clenching him like that.
He picks up the pace.
“C-Clark … please, I’m gonna-“
“I’ve got you, darling …I’ve got you, let yourself go for me.”
You see white this time. You’re not even moaning anymore. Just gasping. Twitching. Letting him take what he needs because you want to. Because this is Clark, your Clark, and you’d give him your whole body a thousand times if he needed it.
And he does.
He fucks you like you’re his last breath.
Even after you’re wrecked, limp, twitching … he keeps going.
You don’t even remember the next time he finishes. Or the time after that. Or where it happened. Your body is a mess, trembling and raw and wet and full. Marked. Praised.
All while he keeps saying, “Just one more … just let me stay inside you a little longer… please sweetheart, I’m still hard I know you can take it … this is the last time I promise…”
Again and again. You’ve never heard him lie so much before.
Yet still, with your hair splayed, legs shaking, literal tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, the pain, the strain, the goddamn pollen he pumps into your body every time he comes…
You are having the time of your life being drunk on his cock.
“Fuck me harder.”
You beg, even when you can’t feel it anymore. Maybe that’s why you need it harder … deeper.
And because you knew that once he came back to normal he wouldn’t fuck you like this again. And he makes sure to let you know.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’m hurting you. I just need you so fucking much … I love you I love you I love you—”
You just nod, because it hurts embarrassingly good.
You lose count of how many times he comes in total. How many times you come. You only know time’s passed when the sky starts to lighten outside your broken window, and Clark is rocking into you so slowly it’s more like he’s just holding you in place, his mouth pressed to your shoulder, whispering thank you with every lazy thrust.
By the time he finally slows down, finally wears the substance out of his body after dumping it all inside you … you can’t move. You’re limp in his arms, boneless and dripping and his.
Your bed feels incredibly soft in contrast to all the spots he fucked you on last night.
You’re draped across his chest, tracing the muscles under his bare skin. His fingers are in your hair. Barely moving, just tracing small patterns. Soothing you like he didn’t cause all the pain in your body.
You’re still trembling a little. Just from… after. Your body’s still echoing with everything he gave you. Everything he took.
Worth it.
Clark kisses your temple. He hasn’t stopped kissing you every few minutes. It’s like he’s trying to apologize without saying it. Like he’s trying to prove that he’s still the man you love, the man who flinches when he bumps your head by accident, who picks you flowers and gets flustered when you kiss him in public. The one who always put you first in bed.
Not the one who just broke the sound barrier flying to your apartment because his cock told him to.
“…I broke your window,” he finally breaks the silence, a chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your ear.
“Clark … you broke a lot more than my window.”
You both start giggling … glowing. Your throat hurts, you’re sore, probably can’t even walk today or the whole week, and somehow, it feels like the safest place on Earth.
“I love you,” he whispers. “So much.”
“I know,” you whisper back. “You said it like 87 times while destroying me.”
⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆
Feedback and sharing is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading <3
MINI NAT’S NOTE: i haven’t stopping thinking about this loser kansas failure man since friday. i literally got out of bed to write this because i can’t sleep. hope y’all love it, mwah!
CW: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, rough sex, service top clark, he whimpers cause i said so, sexy uses of x-ray vision, clark kent can FUCK, super stamina yes god, hyperspermia, superman’s super huge dick, belly bulging, porn w.o plot, no use of y/n.
"Clark, please—"
Your voice breaks on his name, swallowed by the sound of the headboard slamming into the way again and again and again.
Your thighs are shaking, pinned wide open by Clark’s hands, his grip near desperate as he ruts into you with a punishing force. It’s not as hard as he could go, you know that he must be biting through his lip trying to control himself. You wish he could go harder, that he could really give it to you.
He deserves it. He works so hard, he deserves a nice warm hole to pound into after saving the world for the hundredth time—or after turning in another perfect front page piece to Perry.
You’ve brought it up a few times, when Clark was too drunk off the feeling of your lips against his own and the taste of your tongue on his to shy away from the conversation.
You could take it, you’d take anything he gives you with open arms and spread legs and a smile on your face.
Clark’s far too sweet to ever pin you down and just take. He’s a gentleman through and through, he was taught to treat ladies with respect. Superman isn’t an exception to those good farm boy manners of course, no matter how many times you’ve daydreamed about him flying through your window and tossing you on the mattress and using you.
God, you really do love him like this though.
“Sorry,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours, dark curls mussed. “I’m sorry, I can’t—I can’t stop. You feel too good, baby, you’re so good.”
Clark’s voice breaks on the last word like he’s begging you to understand, but the thrust of his hips says otherwise. There's nothing apologetic about the way he’s fucking you—like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Like his survival depends on it. The bed’s screaming under the weight of his body, your body, his strength.
Your spine arches off the bed as his hips slap against yours hard enough to sting, wet and relentless. “Clark,” you gasp, nails raking down his back uselessly. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”
His cock splits you open again and again, thick and flushed and incessant, pistoning deep and hard and needy. It’s too much. It always is. Too thick, too long, the fat head of him kissing up against something so deep inside you it shouldn’t be physically possible.
The room smells like sex. Sweat and musk and Clark—rain, ozone, sunlight. The sound of your bodies coming together bounces off the walls, the wet slap of skin on skin. The filthy, slick noises of your pussy sucking his cock deeper makes your ears burn.
You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come. Clark hasn’t. Of course he hasn’t.
“Five,” he groans, burying his face in the sweaty expanse of your neck. “You’re so sensitive now, baby, I know—I can hear it, your heartbeat skips every time I do this—” he pulls out, just halfway, then slams forward and stays there, his cock so deep your stomach distends a little. “Gosh, look at that.”
You’re soaked, ruined, you know it. You’ve been trembling under him for five rounds, but you love it. Every ragged thrust, every strangled apology he can’t stop moaning, every load he pumps into you like his body has to. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, drag him even deeper, and Clark whines.
“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna come again—please, baby, let me—please—”
He’s come three times already. You can feel the wet, hot mess he’s made of you, dripping down your thighs, soaking the sheets. You’re already so full. You feel full.
The last time he came inside you he barely gave you a minute before he was hard again, aching and apologizing even as he buried himself back in your cunt. His come is still dripping out of you in thick, creamy ropes, and he still hasn’t stopped chasing it. He can’t.
"Yes." Your legs wrap tighter around his waist. You want it. You need it. “Give it to me, Clark.”
That's all it takes for him to lose it again.
His body locks up—hips jerking, mouth falling open with a loud, broken moan.
You cry out as you feel him twitch deep inside you, and then it happens again—hot, endless, thick spurts of come painting your insides, filling you up so full it hurts. Clark’s gasping, his mouth falling open against your shoulder, his whole body trembling.
His cock doesn’t go soft, it never does. Not when he’s buried in you like this. Not when you keep fluttering around him, squeezing down like you want to milk every last drop from his body.
“Shit, I didn’t mean—‘m sorry—I keep—” His hips stutter and then roll again, like he’s addicted to how you feel around him, like stopping would kill him. “It’s too much—I know, baby—I just—you make me so messy—”
There’s even more come leaking down your thighs in thin streams of white, soaking the sheets, slicking his cock every time he pulls out just to slam back in. You can feel how slippery everything is now, how swollen you are, how stretched. And still—he doesn’t stop.
“You—shit, you take it so good,” he moans. “My good girl—my pretty girl—look at you, look at how much I gave you.”
Clark looks down, a soft groan rips out from somewhere deep in his chest at the sight of his cock punching up inside of you. His eyes go, glassy and unfocused for a moment. That’s the only warning you get before he tilts his hips ever so slightly, and you’re crying out when he hits that spot up inside you perfectly on the next thrust.
That’s a definite perk of dating a metahuman, x-ray vision. You know that even without any special powers he could take you apart until you were a crying, shaking mess. That being said, the MRI eyes help.
Clark has spent hours learning each and every part of your body, inside and out. He’s made a home between your legs and watched your nervous system light up more times than you can count.
He’s watched the way your dopamine levels spike when he mouths at your clit just right, the way your pulse lights up when his fingers slide deep and curl at just the right angle. He’s studied you like scripture, like a blueprint.
You cry out, screwing your eyes shut as your hands slide down his back. You revel in the feel of him on top of you, the muscles of his back rolling and working under your greedy touch. You’re going to come again, you know you are. The spring inside of you starts coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust.
“Please,” Clark gasps, nearly sobbing it. “Let me—one more time, I promise—please—I know you’re full, baby, I know—just one more.”
“You’re gonna break the bed again,” you gasp, too dumb and lost for words to say anything else.
Clark doesn’t respond—maybe he can’t. Maybe he’s already too far gone to hear anything but the desperate squelch of his own come leaking out of your ruined pussy and down the hard length of his cock.
“I love you—I love you so much," he mutters incoherently, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the meat of your hips as his cock carves a place for itself inside you. "You feel too good—god, you were made for me.”
The mattress jerks violently beneath you with every thrust—you can feel the wood frame groaning, splintering. Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last.
It’ll be worth it.
MINI NAT'S NOTE: anyway this movie changed my life. i started rewatching 70s superman the second i got home. james gunn thank you for making superhero movies with love and whimsy again.
as always, warnings: smut, rough, choking, dom sam, mean sam, friends with benefits sex, car sex, p in v penetration, one night stand
summary: sam finds out you’ve never had an orgasm
barely edited we die like men
———
usual scene after cracking a case — dive bar, everyone buys a round, greasy food, and a game or two of pool. usually a round consisted of a beer… but tonight? after the case you had? tonight was whisky. and it flowed. and flowed. and flowed.
“i’ve only been doing this for a few years — i don’t know how you and dean can still get up every day and do this,” you spoke, setting your shot glass down.
“dean loves nothing more than work all day, and crawling into someone else’s bed at night —“ sam laughed, taking his shot. “keeps him sane. and him getting laid and not cranky keeps me sane.”
“is sex what keeps you sane?” you asked with a laugh, motioning the bartender over for another round.
“sometimes — not really,” he shook his head.
“same,” you spoke. “casual sex is so hard to enjoy — i don’t care what dean says.”
“why do you say that?” sam chuckled.
“it’s hard enough teaching someone what you like — now you have to tell and expect a stranger to understand, and leave satisfied? that’s a lot of trust in someone i don’t know.”
he laughed again. “fair, but also — you might just have to advocate for what you want more. clear and explicit directions are the way to go.”
you stayed silent, wishing your glass was full once more to do something — anything — to tear away from the awkwardness of the situation. the whiskey had already began to dull your senses, but nothing ever seemed to dull sam’s. you knew he knew with barely a glance in his direction.
“unless you’re not able to convey clear and explicit directions…” he stated.
fuck.
“ok, lawyer,” you scoffed, taking your shot as you tried to hide your embarrassment.
“maybe that’s why you can’t perfect the ‘dean method’,” he spoke, fighting back a laugh, before awkwardness struck his face. “i’m sorry — i shouldn’t — i’m just messing around, is all.”
“you’re good, i know,” you smiled, waving your hand in the air. “but who’s got the time? i swear — it’s so much easier for guys.”
“definitely,” he spoke, and continued in a very technical manner. “i mean, i’ve heard that some women really struggle with even achieving orgasms by themselves.”
“i forgot you were a scholar, winchester,” you spoke, trying to not draw attention to the way your cheeks were reddening.
but with the way he stared at you, his eyes narrowing… you knew he knew your secret.
“you’ve never… before?” he questioned.
“no,” you spoke softly, holding his gaze. awkward topic, sure, but, hey — if he’s bringing it up, he’s got to deal with it.
“wow,” he spoke, letting out a sigh of disbelief. he did that weird thing with his eyes that he usually does when he’s surprised: they go wide, and they blink a few times — as if he could blink away the conversation he definitely regretted starting like an eyelash. “like… ever?”
“never,” you responded, shaking your head.
“wow,” he spoke, taking a swig of his beer. “that’s… that’s…”
“sam, i didn’t break my leg,” you spoke, trying to laugh it off. “i’ve never had an orgasm, but i’m not dead.”
“dean would think you might as well be,” sam quipped.
“agreed,” you chuckled, flagging down the bartender for another drink. “i’ve turned dean down a few times — lil too old for me — but if i get really curious, maybe i’ll —“
“don’t,” he suddenly spoke, shaking his head.
“…hey, you brought up dean and my sex life — this was bound to get uncomfortable,” you giggled.
“i can talk about either when they’re mutually exclusive,” he replied, now keeping his gaze on his beer bottle.
“and you’re also the one that brought up me needing casual sex,” you quipped.
“not with him.”
you rolled your eyes then, but the smile on your lips remained. “dare i ask — who, pray tell?”
you watched as sam took his time answering. he leaned over the bar with both elbows on the counter, letting both muscles strain against the sleeves of his shirt. his skin, lightly tanned, reflected the light from above to show off just how much sam put into working out. you watched the veins in his arms ripple, along with the one in his neck as he swallowed. once he took a final swig of his beer, he stared at you then. and when he finally spoke? well, he only spoke one word: “me.”
a half hour later, you were in the back of the impala. sam had you in his lap, manspreading his strong, long legs. it was hard to be insecure about anything about yourself with sam — he could pick anyone up and throw them if he wanted, so you felt like a goddess in your tight black jeans, grinding your core down onto him.
he had his large hands on your hips — pads of his fingers digging into your flesh. they would push and pull with every roll of your hips you gave. he wanted you as much as you wanted him, and he couldn’t help but want to control and mold it. the way you keened for him? sat so nicely in his lap? ran your hands all over his chest, up and down his neck, and through his hair? the pretty way you pressed your chest into him? oh, he was done for — but sam’s selfish side would be taking over.
“take off your pants and lay back against the door,” he ordered, pressing one last firm kiss to your lips.
you scrambled off of him, pushing your jeans down your legs as sam tried to pull the fabric off. there was nothing but confidence, determination, and hunger in his movements, leaving you with no room for awkwardness.
“your hands feel so good on me,” you rasped. “can you touch me… there?”
you shouldn’t have even had to ask, he thought. he liked to hear your voice, though — especially when it was full of want and need. there was nothing shy about your requests, and there was nothing shy about his response. the pads of sam’s fingers had immediately found your most sensitive bud, drawing rough circles. he had to test the waters, after all — you didn’t know what you liked, but sam winchester would find out. you sucked in a soft breath at the feeling, but all that came out of you was a whine. a whine for sam’s hands. his arms. his chest. his muscles. everything that held him above you and shielded you from the world — hiding you from everything dangerous, while keeping you all to himself.
sam’s lips immediately connected with the soft, sensitive skin of your neck. you hated hickeys, but the way he sucked at your neck? drawing blood to the surface? keeping your attention and thoughts on him, and only him? it was intoxicating, the way it felt. sam drew primal feelings from you — there was no shame, nor insecurity. he wanted you to feel everything he felt for you, and he wanted you to crave it.
he wanted you to crave the way skin prickles when it’s excited and scared and sensitive. he wanted you to crave the perfect amount of friction and moisture on your clit. he wanted you to crave the smell of his cologne on his flannel, the whisky on his breath, and the hungry look he had in his eyes when he saw your nipples peak underneath your shirt.
“please, sam…” you whined, cheeks beginning to burn with pink.
“nah — not like that, baby,” he spoke. “gonna make you work for it.”
you detested him for that as he climbed off of you, settling against the back of the seat. he shoved his pants and boxers down. you situated yourself into his lap once more, letting out a huff of frustration.
“you’re pissed?” sam quipped with a cocky smile, smacking your ass before swallowing you into a kiss. “good. show me.”
immediately, you forgot how angry you were. how deprived you were. how frustrated with him you were. you grabbed him by the base, and sank down onto him.
sam filled you to the brim. a man of his size and stature would do nothing but. you could feel your walls squeezing him, holding him in place as you struggled to adjust to his size. but sam? the cocky bastard? sam could only stare at you with a knowing smirk on his face, hunger for a challenge brewing in his chest.
“you’re so mean,” you whimpered, rolling your hips down onto him.
“i know, sweetheart,” he spoke. he wrapped one arm around your hips, and used his other hand to push you back in between the front seats. “lay back for me, yeah? trust me — i’ll make it right.”
you threw your hands behind you, holding yourself up by balancing on the console. and when you felt sam thrust inside of you for the first time? oh, fuck… you knew exactly what he meant.
what they don’t tell you in romance novels is that it’s incredibly difficult to find those sweet spots that make you sing. they make it seem so easy to “come undone” with one finger or one thrust, but anyone left unsatisfied knows the truth. you know the truth, and that’s exactly how you got yourself in the back of the impala. but sam? oh, sam… sam was the one they wrote those stories about.
it’s like sam could tell what you were starving for. you needed a man to see everything you were deprived of, and wanted to give it to you tenfold. sam was selfish in the way that he was selfless — he wanted you to see stars. he wanted your cheeks and the back of your neck to blush. he wanted you to whimper. he wanted you messy and beautiful and full of life. but sam wanted all of that for himself.
sam forcibly kept you bent at the angle you were, but he didn’t have to. the head of his cock pistoned into that spot behind your lower stomach, and immediately you recognized that this is what they meant by that special spot inside. his tight grip on your hips forced you take every bit of his strength against the neglected wall that craved sam and all of his talent so, so badly.
“oh my god —“ you whimpered, throwing your head back. “i didn’t — how did you —“
“yeah — that’s right, baby. never had this before, huh?”
“n-nothin’ like this, sam,” you spat through bitten lips, trying not to cry. “it-it feels...”
you tried to keep up with his speed and aggression. you wanted to show him you were good too and that you could make him feel good too, but it was all so much. too much. putty in his fucking hands, you were, and you had never felt so safe nor so good.
“you fuckin’ tease me on every hunt —“ he rasped, taking one hand off of one hip. “flirting with everyone, when i’m right there.” he spat on your clit, making you shiver. “wasting your time, and mine.” his thumb found your clit, making circles. “any of them make you feel like this?”
“never,” you were starting to stutter, words and movements. the pressure building in your womb was building, and building, and building. it was all getting too much. “i should’ve — please —“
he grabbed you by the back of your head then, forcing you upright and close to him. your chest was pressed against him, and warmth spread throughout you once more. you rolled your hips against his like you were chasing him, afraid you would lose him.
“fuck —“ he rasped in your ear.
“sam…” you weeped. “i’m so close. don’t stop — please —“
he grabbed you by the throat then, putting space between your faces. he held you in place and your gaze, scolding you when you tried to drift off with your eyes closed. each thrust combined with the circles he drew was drawing you closer and closer to your demise.
“so fucking worked up, aren’t you?” he spat. “yeah, yeah — i can see it. face all red, and tears? so frustrated.”
you couldn’t do anything besides nod and try to wipe your tears away, forcing back whimpers. something snapped inside you when you saw the dark, feral look in his eyes. he wanted your orgasm as much as you wanted him to give it to you. and when it hit? when it consumed you? when it made you so weak you couldn’t do anything besides lean against him?
all he could do? fucking laugh.
laugh at your demise. laugh at how it overtook you. laugh at how it crashed over you and swallowed you whole. laughed at how it filled you to the brim and then some. but most of all? sam winchester laughed in triumph at the fact that the badass, independent spitfire he knew was coming apart and making a mess in his laugh.
“that’s right, doll —“
“act so tough, and this was all you needed —“
“fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry for me.”
the swell of pride in his chest was felt by both you and him. he was pushing, pulling, nipping, biting, and kissing you every which way. your mind bent each movement of his, completely pliant in his hands as you came undone. your climax — it was so powerful, you fell against him as he chased his own. he bit down on your shoulder as he came, fucking his load into you.
the collapse was felt by both of you. he held you against him as you both came down from your highs, rubbing your back with his thumb. when he sighed in relief against your cheek, leaving a kiss on the still blushed skin… you knew you weren’t the only one satisfied.
