what if clark holds you down while lois eats you out?
mdni 18+
you’re in his lap, back pressed tight to his chest. He hadn’t even bothered getting undressed, shirt buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows. You can feel him against your lower back, staining against his zipper.
Your legs are thrown over his thick thighs, large palms splayed over the insides of your legs, forcing them open. His arms arm snaked over yours, pinning your arms at your sides and leaving you completely immobilized.
Your skirt is bunched around your hips, underwear still hanging off your left ankle. They hadn’t bothered to undress you either.
they.
Lois is between your legs, hair pulled half off her face, giving you full access to her expression as she laps at your cunt. The way her lashes kiss her cheeks and how her brow furrows every time you gasp.
You’ve hardly come down from you last orgasm, heart still pounding with it. Lois is relentless, plump lips swallowing your clit as she pumps two manicured fingers inside of you.
You can see the light catch her hand, slick shining down to her wrist. A perfect curl of his fingers has your already racing towards that high again, stomach cramping as it pulls on that knot for the third time already.
You try to close your legs, useless against Clark’s strength and size. He holds firm, unflinching as he keeps you planted.
“Shhh it’s okay.” He coos, a soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head. “You know how thorough Lois is.”
You whine, high pitched and wet as you hips buck into her lips, nowhere to go but towards her.
“You can take it.” He assures you, giving your thighs a squeeze, “We’ve been waiting for you for so long-” Another kiss, just as tear falls down your cheek. “And I still haven’t gotten my turn.”
@unificsation told me to post this 🩷 thanks for reading my brain vomit ily
he could spend all day lying on top of you, his body between your thighs and his face pressed into the soft flesh of your chest. he doesn't even do anything at first, just nuzzling his face there, feeling your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin.
then, he barely lifts his head, his thumbs dragging over your nipples in a slow circles. soon enough, he's leaning closer again, mouth brushing over one of your buds, his warm breath making you tremble.
one hand squeezing your tit, while he starts sucking on the other one. mouth closing around it, cheeks hollowing, licking and sucking like he's desperate. he starts humping the mattress in needy, quick thrusts, trying to get some sort of relief.
a quiet whimper leaves your mouth when he gives a gentle pinch and a delicate nibble on your hard nipples. this sound making his cock twich, hips working faster against the softness of bed.
he's switching to the other side, giving the other nipple the same amount of attention. his tongue flicks and teases over your sensitive bud, and then he sucks slow and hard - like it's his favorite thing to do. your hips jerk when he strokes your other nipple between his big fingers, rolling it the way he knows you like.
a quiet moan escapes clark's mouth when he comes. his cock twitching one last time, splashing thick, hot ropes of cum all over his boxers and sweatpants. his mouth leaves your bud with a quiet pop and he looks down at the masterpiece he just made. your nipples throbbing and sensitive from his mouth and tongue, all red and wet. but he knows how much you love when he leaves you in a state like this.
Oh em gee, I barely see any Clois x reader 😭 Saw your dom!Clois x sub!reader post and the idea has taken up every part of my mind. Could we maybe get an expansion on that thought? Maybe a blurb or fic? Pretty, pretty pleaseeee 🤤
Yk what is hilarious i already have a draft of this so i'm gonna just post it since you want it 😩❤️
Warnings! —poly!dom!clois x sub!reader, mean!dom!lois, soft!dom!clark, three some M/F/F, everyone is so bisexual, LOIS IS A WORLD CLASS MUNCH, lowkey..puppy!reader vibes, rough sex, hair pulling, biting, soft choking, clark loves his girls so much he can just cum from how hot you two are together.
Lois has you on your back first, sharp nails biting into your thighs as she spreads you wide, her smirk wicked when you squirm. “Needy girl,” she purrs, voice low and cutting. “Already shaking and we haven’t even started. You’ll do exactly what we say, won’t you?” Her words burn, cruel and intoxicating, but then Clark is there—his huge body shadowing next to hers, his warm hand sliding up your belly. “Easy, honey,” he soothes, pressing a sweet kiss to your jaw while Lois pinches at your nipple just to make you gasp. “She’s only being mean because she knows you like it.”
Clark slides in behind you like he was made for it, his sheer size enveloping you until your back is pressed flush against his chest. His heat seeps into your skin, and then his palm comes up—broad, steady, cupping the front of your throat with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. “Shh, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear, his lips brushing your hairline, his voice syrup-sweet. “You’re safe with us. We've got you. Just let us take care of you.” His thumb strokes gently over your pulse as if to remind you he’s not here to hurt, just to hold.
Lois, on the other hand, is merciless. She kneels between your thighs, fingers spreading you open with no hesitation, smirk razor-sharp as she glances up at your flushed face. “Look at her, Clark,” Lois taunts, her tone mean but thick with hunger. “So wet just from being handled. She doesn’t even need my mouth yet—she’s begging without words.”
Clark hums low in his chest, the sound vibrating against your back. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make you gasp. “Gosh, Lois… she’s so beautiful like this.” Then, softer, to you: “You’re doing so well, honey. You trust us, don’t you? That’s our good girl.” You whimper, trapped between Lois’s sharp control and Clark’s tender dominance, every nerve in your body strung tight as they play their perfect good cop, bad cop routine on your body.
You jolt in Clark’s arms when Lois latches onto your clit, sucking hard. His free hand presses down over your belly, keeping you pinned when you try to buck. “Shh, honey, let her have you,” he murmurs, his hips pressing subtly against your back—his erection undeniable, straining hot and heavy. “She knows exactly how to make you feel good.” Lois proves him right, two fingers sliding into you with a ruthless curl that makes you gasp. “Hear that?” she says, her laugh dark as slick gushes around her hand. “So desperate she’s soaking my hand already.” She spreads you wider, thumb digging into your thigh to hold you open, her tongue and fingers working in perfect, merciless rhythm.
Clark presses a tender kiss to your temple, murmuring, “That’s it, darling. Just let go. You’re safe with us.” The sweet cadence of his voice nearly breaks you apart as Lois’s mouth drags you mercilessly toward climax. Clark’s hand at your throat trembles as you gasp and writhe against him, and then—slowly—his other hand slides down. Not to you, not yet, but to Lois. His massive fingers bury themselves in her dark hair, gripping tight as he groans low in your ear.
“Oh geez—…” His voice breaks on the words, half-moan, half-prayer. “Seeing you two like this—it’s… goodness, it’s almost too much.” He tugs her hair just enough to angle her mouth harder against you, and the cry that rips from your throat nearly tips you over the edge. Lois hums against your cunt, smug and cruel, loving the way you shudder helplessly between them. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Clark whispers sweetly, his lips brushing your temple, his breath hot as he moans again at the sight of Lois devouring you. “You’re almost there. Don’t hold back—come for us. Let go.”
The combination shatters you. Lois’s tongue and fingers push you past the edge, your whole body tightening before breaking apart in Clark’s arms. He holds you steady as your orgasm rips through you, his hand firm at your throat, his chest pressed solid against your back while Lois works you through every wave. “Good girl,” Clark murmurs, kissing the damp hair at your temple as Lois finally pulls back, her chin glistening, her smirk victorious. “You did so well. Gosh, you’re beautiful when you come.”
Lois wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes gleaming up at you. “Sweet, wrecked, and perfect for us as always.” she says smugly, before sliding her fingers out with a deliberate curl that makes you whimper all over again. Clark only moans softly at the sight, hand still tangled in Lois’s hair like he doesn’t want to let go. “Goodness,” he breathes, eyes blown wide, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of either of you.”
reader who’s got a real problem with Clark’s arms. Like he just rolls his sleeves up and she’s gnawing on him, no hesitation, lil teeth sunk in deep enough he’s walking around the daily planet with faint half-moon marks hidden under his shirt.
He’ll be writing something and feel that sharp sting again—“sweetheart…”—and she’s there, cheeks puffed, biting into muscle like she’s trying to brand him.
And in bed? she’s worse. Thighs spread wide, back arched, nails digging, and her mouth clamped around his bicep as he fucks her stupid. Muffled little “nnngh—!” sounds against his skin, drool slicking his arm while he drives into her over and over. He doesn’t even stop her anymore, just flexes harder, lets her teeth sink in while he groans, “gonna chew me up, huh? leave me covered in your marks?” and she whimpers around him, biting down harder as he pounds her until she’s glassy-eyed and trembling, teethprints etched into steel muscle like proof she owns him.
A/n: I'm working on your requests, I swear but i'm sure i wrote this in my sleep. Lets be clear, i didn't intend for this to be this long. I was meant to stop writing after the argument but obviously didn't
Summary: Three years in, petty arguments turn into foreplay and tonight, it’s about whether cockwarming really makes you moan. One teasing debate spirals into cockwarming, self-touch and the slowest, deepest sex of your life, until Clark's proven right in the messiest ways possible.
Classification: Smut +18 | Talks of cockwarming in a humoristic argumentative context, minimal brat taming, unprotected cockwarming, fingering, clit and g-spot stimulation, unprotected PIV intercourse, orgasm control/edging, female ejaculation/squirting, creampie, breeding implications, size kink, dirty talk/praise kink, possessive language, power imbalance themes, biting/gentle marking, mild pain play, intensity of overstimulation, use of superhuman strength for restraint, use of superspeed.
🔥 Need an encore? Good girls swallow has just the right amount of trouble.
Word count: 8k
Divider by me ;)
You and Clark didn’t argue often. When you did, it was rarely over anything serious—more often than not, it was over something ridiculous, something so trivial it was laughable. Tonight’s topic? The sounds you made while cockwarming, and somehow, as with most of your petty debates, it had all started because of your cat’s complete lack of boundaries.
Now you sat perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island, your chin propped in your hand as you watched Clark move around the kitchen with practiced ease. He was barefoot, sleeves rolled up, muscles shifting under the thin fabric of his shirt as he stirred a simmering pot. The smell of garlic and fresh herbs lingered in the air, the room warm and homey despite the fact that your current conversation was anything but calm.
“He has no boundaries and no sense of privacy, sweetheart,” Clark said with a dramatic sigh, ladle in hand as he pointed toward you like a prosecutor presenting evidence. “I swear, you could be halfway through giving me the best time of my life and in comes Alpine, ready to interrupt with his furry little face like he thinks it’s completely normal.” He shook his head, lowering his voice in exaggerated dismay. “…And you let him, too. You’re the one who lets him in and then starts cooing over him every time.”
You gasped, clutching your chest like you’d been personally attacked, your voice dripping with mock offense. “Well excuse you? We’re technically just laying there while I’m enjoying the fullness. Can’t I just pet the damn cat?”
Clark turned, brows furrowed in a mix of exasperation and disbelief, both hands lifted from his sides like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Oh, so now it’s just ‘laying there’?” His tone was incredulous but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a grin. “Last time it happened, you were moaning two seconds prior like I was doing the Lord’s work and suddenly it’s ‘we’re just laying there’?… With your legs wrapped around me? Your nails digging into my back? Your breath all shaky? … Yeah, okay, sure. Totally innocent.”
He turned back to the stove, shaking his head while giving the pot another stir, muttering like he was talking to himself but very much talking to you. “And fine, pet the cat but don’t act surprised when he sits on my head like he owns me and ruins the mood or when I whisper in his ear ‘This is not a group activity’ menacingly.”
You stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment, your mouth falling open before twisting into an incredulous grin. “Ummm, I don’t moan that much when we’re cockwarming.”
Clark grinned, practically rolling his eyes as he leaned against the counter, spatula in hand. “Oh please. Yes, you absolutely do. Don’t even…” He let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he had to explain this to you. “Once you get all soft and needy and I’m just lying there like I haven’t been craving you for hours while my other head does all the thinking… Honey, you moan plenty, and I won’t apologize for making that obvious.”
You chuckled in disbelief, folding your arms across your chest like you were preparing to defend yourself in court. “I do not.”
Clark responded by blowing a loud raspberry, dismissing your words as if they carried no weight. He gestured loosely with the spatula in his hand, animated as always when he got going. “You so do. Are you forgetting I have superhearing? The little sighs, the way you bury your face in my neck when you shift your hips just right? That breathy ‘Baby… stop it…’ when I move even an inch?” He pitched his voice higher in an attempt at mimicry but without an ounce of mockery, just earnestness, which somehow made it funnier. “Yeah. That’s moaning and don’t act like Alpine doesn’t pause pre-jump every time like he’s asking himself ‘Do I really want to walk into this again?’ And then he does! So he lacks common sense too.”
Your jaw dropped, half-indignant, half laughing at the absurdity of it. You jabbed a finger in his direction, trying to hold onto your composure. “Well if you fucking move then you know there’s gonna be friction. It’s not moaning, it’s telling you to stay still.”
Clark grinned, flashing you that smug farm-boy look that always made you want to smack him and kiss him at the same time. He leaned against the kitchen island, spatula still in hand like it doubled as his gavel.
“Ah, I see. So every time you gasp and go, ‘Clark, don’t move,’ it’s not because you’re overwhelmed with sensation? Nope! Totally just a ‘safety announcement’...When your nails dig into my back? Just ‘friendly reminders’. And that little whimper when I accidentally move? Not moaning, no, just…uh…‘corrective feedback’. Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”
You narrowed your eyes but your lips twitched into a smile as you tried to keep your voice steady. “You do that thing with your hips to readjust, forgive me if it feels far too much like a thrust.”
His eyes widened in mock triumph and he pointed the spatula at you like he’d just uncovered damning evidence. “So you admit it? You do moan when I adjust. You just like to lie about it and blame the cat for everything else. …And what, now you’re complaining about my hip movements? I could be perfectly still and you’d find a way to complain about it. If I’m too still, I’m being boring and cautious. If I make the slightest move, it’s because I’m out for intense and overwhelming. I just can’t win.”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “I didn’t admit to anything. What if it’s just air coming out at the movement? Even when we’re not moving much, it’s… it’s intense, you’re not exactly small, you know?”
Clark nodded sagely, like the case was already closed in his favor. “Right, right. Because now it’s just air. If I do the tiniest hip roll and it makes you sigh, it’s air. …And if a little moaning happens to come out, I guess that’s also just air, right?”
You gave a little shrug, tilting your head at him with faux innocence. “What do you define as moaning? Or should I just not breathe?”
Clark rolled his eyes again, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was even entertaining this debate. “The sounds you make,” he clarified, his voice taking on that calm-but-pointed tone he used whenever he was certain he was right. “You know, when you get comfortable and make those little gasps? All those small whines and whimpers that sneak out when you think I’m not paying attention? News flash, sweetheart! You’re all I can focus on! That’s what I consider moaning… Now you’re getting all picky about the word itself.”
Your eyes went wide, like you were scandalized by the accusation, even if the corner of your mouth twitched with a suppressed grin. “Are we forgetting that I’m the one with the dick inside of me?” you demanded, as if that single fact automatically won you the argument.
Clark pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, his chest shaking with the effort. “The amount of sassiness you have when we’re talking about your favorite activity is astounding,” he muttered, wagging a finger at you for emphasis. “…And no, I have not forgotten, thank you very much. I literally remember every detail about those moments, as well as the little sounds you make, in case you haven’t noticed.” His smirk deepened like he’d just played his trump card.
You tossed your hands up with exaggerated exasperation. “Okay, so let your girl exhale a little, damn.”
Clark only nodded, his expression softening even as his eyes sparkled with smug satisfaction. “I’ll let you exhale all day, sweetheart,” he promised. “As long as you don’t try to cover up all those perfect sounds as ‘air’ or ‘adjustments’ or anything else. I love hearing you get all happy and whimpery. The very least you can do is let me enjoy it without acting like you don’t moan when I stuff you… even when I know you do.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting back a laugh as you muttered, “Whatever,” but the playful lift of your lips gave you away.
He smiled at you with so much love in his eyes, his hand slipping down to discreetly readjust his hardening cock in his pants. “That’s my favorite response when you don’t have a rebuttal,” he said warmly, his grin growing smug. “I love it when you act like you’re annoyed after getting called out.” He pointed at your face, amused by the way your expression shifted. “That little pouting and all the feigned indifference…Then we do the thing for real and suddenly all that anger and irritation go away so fast… We should do this more often.”
You burst out laughing, leaning over the kitchen island just to get a better look at his lower body. “Yeah, cause it’s probably making you hard as a rock. Are we forgetting that you groan too?”
“Oh, I know I groan,” he admitted without hesitation, eyes sparkling. “But you? No. You just ‘exhale with intensity.’” His tone dripped with sarcasm but his smile softened at the end. “And yes, sweetheart, guilty as charged. You do make me hard just by being near me… and even harder when you argue with me. So stop being so difficult and go lay on the couch for me, I’ll be there in a minute.”
You grinned, your legs already going weak at the thought of what was coming next. “Same time next week?”
Clark chuckled, nodding with a grin of his own as he reached to turn off the stove before wiping his big hands on the dish rag, like he had all the time in the world. “Knowing you? Probably earlier than that.”
You were already halfway to the couch, tugging your shorts and underwear down in a clumsy shuffle, your excitement beating out any sense of patience. “Love doing business with you!” you teased over your shoulder, grinning wickedly.
It was almost comical how quickly your petty arguments withered into nothing. As Clark had asked, you stretched out on the couch, bare from the waist down, the cool air brushing your heated skin. The sight of him approaching, broad shoulders framed by the soft light of the kitchen, hunger burning in those blue eyes of his and the heavy strain of his cock outlined against his pants, made your body respond instantly, slick pooling between your thighs like you’d been waiting for this all day.
He paused just a step away, his gaze sweeping over you slowly, reverently, like you were some decadent offering placed before him on a silver platter. His throat bobbed with a quiet swallow before he leaned down, catching your lips in a kiss that was achingly tender for the heat behind his stare. The kiss deepened as he sank to his knees beside the couch, his hand cupping the line of your jaw with a gentle possessiveness, thumb stroking over your chin before it began its journey down, tracing over your collarbone and gliding over your stomach, until finally settling between your legs with a touch that felt both practiced and worshipful.
His fingers stroked you with care, first grazing lightly as if reacquainting himself with every curve and contour, then pressing with firmer confidence the moment he felt your hips lift in search of more. Your breathing quickened, small gasps slipping out before you could stop them and Clark’s gaze flicked up to watch your face, hanging on every shift and tremor.
“You’re so darn beautiful,” he murmured against your neck, his breath warm and steady as his lips skimmed the delicate skin there, pausing to taste. His voice dropped, carrying that familiar mix of affection and want. “Even when you’re trying to pick fights…So mouthy.”
His words vibrated against your throat, his lips moving in tandem with his fingers, the heat of his breath and the heat of his touch tangling until you couldn’t tell which one set you trembling more. He drank in every reaction, the way your chest rose and fell faster with each stroke, the way your thighs parted without hesitation and especially, the way your body arched subtly into his hand like instinct overrode every thought.
Clark loved this part. He loved coaxing sounds from you with nothing but his touch, giving you every ounce of his focus before taking anything for himself. This was his ritual, the way he worshipped you, slowly and entirely yours. Because once he finally penetrated you, once he slid home, he wanted the pace to be sweet, not rushed, filled with nothing but closeness. Deep and tender. The kind of intimacy where no space existed between you at all.
He kept his mouth locked to yours as his fingers moved with greater urgency, stroking you with the kind of practiced precision that made your body sing for him alone. He coaxed pleasure from the apex of your thighs with ease, dragging you higher and higher until your walls fluttered desperately around nothing, your clit swollen and sensitive under his relentless touch. You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled but not lost to him and he smiled against your lips. A smug, growing smirk that spoke of his satisfaction, though he never broke the kiss.
The first wave of release hit you sharp and sudden, quiet but intense, your body seizing around the bliss as heat rippled through you. Clark didn’t falter. He stayed with you through every shiver, every stuttering breath while his fingers slowed into a torturous rhythm that teased your clit gently, drawing the aftershocks out until you trembled beneath him. Only when your breathing had begun to steady did he finally ease back, withdrawing his hand with a reverence that made your pulse skip.
Rising, he pushed to his feet just long enough to shove his pants and underwear down, kicking them carelessly aside until nothing stood between you. His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, the tip slick with precum as it twitched in his fist. The sight alone stole your breath, your body clenching in anticipation. He sank onto the cushion between your thighs, his broad hands sliding up to cradle them, coaxing them open wider with the gentlest insistence.
The hunger in his eyes softened into something deeper as he lowered himself over you, his weight braced carefully so he didn’t crush you, every movement measured. With one hand steadying himself and the other guiding his length, he pressed against your entrance, eyes never leaving yours. The gaze felt like a vow in itself, a silent promise spoken without words.
Then, slowly, achingly so, he pushed inside. Your slick walls welcomed him without resistance, stretching to take him in with a heat that made both of you groan. The fullness overwhelmed you instantly, the thick weight of him filling you inch by inch until your breath hitched and your nails dug into the couch cushions. You moaned at the intrusion, unable to hold it back, the sound breaking free from your chest as your body adjusted around him, greedily accepting every part of him as if he belonged there.
He smiled at the sound of your moan as he eased deeper, the noise filling his ears like the sweetest music, proof of just how perfectly your body took him in. His head dropped into the curve of your neck and shoulder, his lips brushing your skin as a low, guttural groan tore from his chest, raw and unrestrained. The weight of being so completely joined with you, of being allowed this closeness, filled him with a mix of hunger and aching tenderness that nearly undid him.
“You okay, baby?” he whispered, his voice roughened with a need that went far beyond desire, scraping low in his throat. His hands settled on your hips, thumb stroking small, soothing circles against your skin as if he needed to remind you, remind himself, that you were safe, that this was love. “Still with me?” His tone carried both vulnerability and intensity, reverberating through the quiet room as though the question mattered more than anything else.
You managed a breathless “yes,” your voice barely more than a whisper and that was all it took. Clark released a shuddering exhale, his whole body trembling with the effort it took to stay still inside you. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes shut tight, as if by breathing you in he could ground himself against the storm inside him.
“God,” he murmured, his voice breaking into something raw and unfiltered, “I love being inside you. It feels like… like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
His hips shifted with the smallest, most careful roll, not even a thrust, just a subtle grind that sent sparks rushing through you. The motion was enough to draw a sharp gasp from your lips, the very sound you’d been teasingly denying minutes ago. Clark’s mouth curved into a half-smile against your skin as he gathered you tighter in his arms, holding you as if you were something precious he could never risk losing.
He kissed the slope of your temple, lingering there, before capturing your mouth again, slower this time, less of a claim and more of a vow, each brush of his lips carrying the weight of everything he felt for you.
“Are you comfortable?” you asked softly, fumbling with the blanket in an attempt to drape it over the both of you.
Clark lifted his head just enough to look at you, his chuckle low and warm, before shifting his weight a little to settle more fully against you. The movement pressed him into your body in a way that made your nails instinctively dig into his side, earning another amused rumble from his chest.
“Yeah, baby, I’m comfortable,” he reassured, voice laced with that easy affection that always managed to soothe you. With one big hand, he reached down and tugged the blanket higher, until you were both fully cocooned in its soft weight. “Besides,” he added, the corners of his mouth lifting into a playful grin, “I’ve got the best pillow in the world right underneath me. How could I not be comfortable?”
The teasing sparkle in his eyes made you laugh, the sound soft and genuine, your earlier tension slipping away. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, though your smile betrayed you as you finally let yourself relax back into the cushions.
Clark hummed in contentment, nuzzling into you as though he intended to stay there forever. You absentmindedly threaded your fingers through his hair, the silky strands sliding between them, while your gaze drifted toward the TV. The screen flickered with scenes you weren’t fully paying attention to, the hum of dialogue becoming little more than background noise.
With him sprawled over you, warm and heavy, his heartbeat steady against your ribs, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered.
He closed his eyes, a soft hum vibrating against your skin as your fingers continued their gentle path through his hair. The sensation lulled him, grounding him in the kind of quiet, effortless intimacy he cherished most, the kind that didn’t need words or heat to feel profound. Even with him still nestled inside you, there was no urgency, no pressure. Just closeness…just you.
His head rested where your neck met your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, while his hand traced idle, lazy patterns along your side as if he wanted to memorize every inch by touch alone.
“You’re gonna put me to sleep doing that,” he murmured, voice slurred with teasing fatigue. “Keep it up and I might just doze off right here…on top of you.”
“You can,” you whispered back, your tone soft and reassuring. “I feel okay. I’m comfortable.”
You felt the faint curve of his smile against your shoulder at your words before his arms tightened around you, drawing you even closer. His chest pressed to yours, syncing with the steady rise and fall of your breathing. The rhythm of your heartbeat drummed against him, each thrum sinking deeper into his awareness until it became the only thing he could hear.
It soothed him in ways nothing else could. Not the quiet of Smallville’s fields, not even the vast stillness of the night sky. This? your warmth, your softness, your heartbeat steady against his? was peace.
“Yeah?” he whispered back, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “You sure you’re okay with me sleeping like this? I don’t wanna crush you.”
Your nails began to trace gentle lines along his back, feather-light but enough to make him shiver under your touch. “We both know you won’t let that happen,” you murmured, your voice soft but certain. “And if you do, I’ll let you know. I promise.”
The reassurance made something in him loosen and he exhaled a long, quiet sigh, melting against you even more. His body, all warmth and weight and safety, molded perfectly to yours. “Okay,” he relented, his words slipping out with a lazy smile. “But don’t hesitate to push me off if I start snoring or something.” His lips brushed your skin as he added, half-teasing, half-serious, “I know I can be a dead weight sometimes.”
You chuckled, your fingers still moving slow and soothing on his back. “Okay, big guy.”
The sound of your laugh vibrated through his chest and he tucked you closer with a sleepy hum, as if the very idea of being parted from you, by sleep or anything else, was out of the question.
Clark let out a low, drowsy laugh at your response, his eyes still closed, lashes brushing faintly against his cheek. “Big guy,” he repeated under his breath, the words softened by sleep and affection, as if he wanted to tuck them away and keep them forever.
He sighed contentedly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he melted into you, his weight settling heavier without ever becoming uncomfortable, just enough to remind you that he wasn’t moving, that he wasn’t going anywhere. His breath fanned across your skin as he murmured, almost like a vow, “You’re stuck with me.”
“Best place to be,” you whispered back, your voice gentle but steady, a truth spoken without hesitation.
The simplicity of it hit him harder than anything else you could have said. Not because it meant you were bound to him, but because it meant that of all places, of all choices, you wanted this. You wanted him. A warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading outward until it ached and he hummed low in response, pressing his forehead into the crook of your neck. “Mm,” he breathed, voice rough with emotion. “Best thing that ever happened to me.”
The room seemed to fall even quieter after that, wrapped in the steady rhythm of your breaths. Still joined with you, cocooned in a blanket and the unshakable intimacy of the moment, Clark let himself surrender to it. His breathing evened, steady and deep, as he drifted off inside you, the weight of his body and his love enveloping you completely.
Without realizing it, you had drifted off to sleep too, only to wake about twenty minutes later with a small jolt, startled by the thought that Clark was moving off of you. A groan escaped your lips when you realized he wasn’t moving at all, he was just leaning over, watching you carefully. Your sudden movement beneath him made him immediately alert, his eyes widening with concern.
“Hey, baby, easy,” he murmured softly, his voice low and soothing, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “I was just checking on you… making sure I wasn’t squishing you or anything.” He reached out, his hand brushing your cheek in gentle strokes, tracing the curve of your face as if memorizing it in that quiet moment.
“I wasn’t getting off of you, I swear,” he continued, his eyes searching yours with a mix of reassurance and lingering worry. “Just wanted to make sure you were comfortable… you alright, baby?”
He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, the weight of his presence grounding you. The faintest smile tugged at his lips as he chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating through your chest. “You scared the hell outta me for a sec,” he added, nuzzling against you slightly. “Thought I might’ve hurt you or something.”
You let out a small laugh, your fingers curling against his side. “You scared me,” you admitted, your voice soft but teasing, eyes meeting his.
Clark smiled, that familiar warmth flooding his expression as he tightened his hold just slightly, letting you know in the quietest way that he wasn’t going anywhere.
He chuckled softly, the tension in his chest easing at the sight of your small, reassuring smile. It had a way of grounding him, calming that little storm of worry he carried around for you. “Sorry, baby,” he murmured, voice full of warmth. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just… I wanted to check on you, make sure you weren’t all squished.”
He then shifted slightly, easing back just enough to give you space, though his gaze lingered on the spot where he was still intimately nestled against you. “We’ve been like this for a while now… You sure you’re okay?” His hand hovered lightly near yours, hesitating, unsure if he should intervene or simply watch.
You let your fingers drift, circling your clit just enough to tease, your eyes fluttering closed as a quiet, breathy whine slipped past your lips. “…You?”
Clark’s hearing spiked in an instant, every subtle note of your voice amplified, every tiny sound of your movement crystal clear. His gaze flickered between your face and the motion of your hand, the sight of you touching yourself beneath him sending a surge of heat straight through him. His chest tightened, breath catching just a little and he let out a low, almost involuntary hiss.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice filled with an aching need that made his words tremble just slightly. He leaned down, brushing his lips against your neck, soft and lingering, then trailed lazy kisses along the curve of your shoulder and collarbone, savoring the warmth of your skin. “Yeah… I’m fine, baby. More than fine.”
He let his hands drift over your hips, fingers grazing lightly. Every small sound you made, every subtle shiver beneath him, only made him press closer, hold tighter and savor the way you felt beneath and around him.
You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck, while your fingers pressed slow circles over your clit. “You want to move a little?” you breathed, knowing it’d been a while and he probably needed to get hard again.
He groaned softly at your words, the sound low and rumbling, his body already responding. Even half-soft inside you, it felt like home, perfectly familiar and impossibly intimate. He pressed a slow, feather-light kiss to the column of your throat as you moved beneath him, your fingers circling just the right spot to draw out delicious tension.
“Mmm… yeah,” he rumbled against your skin, voice thick with need. “I could move for you.” His hips gave the faintest, testing glide forward, a tender motion that gauged the sensations you could both handle. His hands slid beneath you, lifting slightly to shift the angle, giving him deeper access. “Tell me how much,” he whispered, lips brushing against your collarbone, “I’ll go real slow… unless you want me not to.”
You let out a soft, sleepy whimper, “T-This is good,” your voice barely above a breath and kept circling your clit, teasing yourself with slow strokes.
Clark faltered at the sound, that soft, half-drowsy whine vibrating through him. It went straight to his dick, a delicious ache that made his jaw clench as he fought to keep his movements measured and slow. He could feel you teetering on the edge, drowsy yet exquisitely sensitive, your body reacting to every glide of his hips and the gentle pressure of your fingers.
“If that isn’t moaning, I don’t know what is,” he breathed against your neck, voice low and ragged with desire. A groan rose from deep within his chest as he rolled his hips again, this time a deeper, steadier glide that made you gasp quietly into the otherwise still room. “Keep doing that,” he urged, voice husky, “keep touching yourself… let me feel you come around me.”
His hands moved instinctively, bracing your hips just enough to hold you, feeling every subtle flex and shiver as your body pulsed around him. The intimacy between you both hung heavy in the room tenderly, every small movement amplifying the connection you shared.
Clark always encouraged you to orgasm several times while cockwarming, insisting it was so it wouldn’t hurt and you’d stay comfortable for longer. Your walls tightened around him at your hesitant question, “Right now? I can still hold on.”
He let out a low, rough groan, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as your walls pulsed around him once more. Just the thought of you holding back for him sent heat spiraling straight to his core. He lifted his head slightly, eyes dark and shimmering with quiet reverence, studying you as though memorizing every curve and shiver.
“Take it,” he murmured, his voice rough and wrapped in silk at once. “Don’t hold back on my account, baby. I want every drop… every shiver.” His hand slid between your bodies, not to take control but to gently press against your clit through your fingers, offering just the right amount of pressure. He stilled his hips completely as your fingers sped up, your moans spilling unabashedly into his shoulder.
The sensation of you, so raw and open, made him dizzy. He marveled at the way you trusted him to simply be present, how he could distinguish when it was a moment for sex and when it was purely yours, like this one. You whimpered softly, biting into his shoulder for leverage and the sound went straight to his core, making him ache in ways he hadn’t expected.
He listened, utterly mesmerized, as your fingers moved with a familiar, desperate rhythm. Your breath came in shallow, hot bursts against his skin, each one sending tiny shocks of want through him. Every muscle in his body screamed to move, to take over and bring you off himself but he knew this wasn’t about him. This was about you, about letting go in your own way.
So he held himself back, jaw tight, heart hammering. He let himself be consumed by the sight and sound of you, by the way your body moved and shivered beneath him. Every small sigh, every shiver, every whimper was a piece of the story he could watch unfold and he waited patiently, his restraint an act of devotion, until you reached your peak.
Your legs twitched around him, toes curling reflexively as your orgasm peaked, your walls clenching and pulsing around him until the knot finally loosened. You pressed your body into his, vision blurring to white as you whimpered and shivered against him. He felt every tense spasm, every quiver of your body, wrapping around him like a vise, your soft whines muffled against his shoulder. His own breath hitched, hot and ragged, each pulse of your release sending tiny shocks of need and ache through his body, tightening his control to its absolute limit.
He stayed perfectly still, letting you ride out each wave, arms locked around you as if holding you like this could somehow keep the world at bay. His lips pressed against your temple, trailing slowly down to your neck, his voice a low, hoarse whisper. “Beautiful…”
Only when he felt your muscles fully relax and go boneless beneath him did he press a lingering, tender kiss to your neck. “You okay?” he asked. “Still want me here?”
You nodded, drawing shuddering breaths, letting yourself melt entirely into him, feeling every inch of his weight and warmth pressing down like the safest place in the world.
“You sure?” he teased softly, though the concern threading through his tone was unmistakable. “I know you said you’re comfortable, but I don’t want you to get tired of me just laying here on top of you like a damn weighted blanket,” he added with a self-deprecating laugh, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, lips brushing his in a quiet, intimate confession. “I could never get tired of you. You make me feel so good… so sexy… so loved.”
His eyes softened at your words, warmth pooling in his chest, heart swelling with a deep, almost overwhelming affection. You always seemed to have this innate ability to strip away his doubts, to make him feel like he deserved every ounce of love and care you gave him. Being this loved, this cherished, was something he never took for granted and hearing you speak so openly against his lips, intimate and unguarded, it made him feel like the king of the goddamn world.
"You're gonna make me get sappy if you keep talking like that," he warned, his voice low, rough around the edges, carrying a mock seriousness that did nothing to hide the tenderness underneath.
You chuckled softly, the sound blending into a moan that made him groan in response. “Can you move… please?” you sighed and without hesitation, he started. His thrusts were slow, deep enough to press you into the couch but measured with a near-painful patience, each movement designed to draw out the moment as long as possible.
Your lips parted, eyes rolling back slightly, a soft moan escaping you as he shifted and a surge of desire rolled through him, electric and consuming. He couldn’t deny the pull, the hunger coursing through him, even if he wanted to.
“You sound so pretty,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse, lips brushing your collarbone. “And you look even more beautiful… makes me forget all we were arguing about.”
His hips moved in that familiar, intoxicating rhythm you had begged for earlier, slow and unrelenting, each motion calculated to keep you teetering on the edge. In that moment, he knew he’d give you anything, every desire or whim, just to see that exquisite mixture of pleasure and contentment painted across your face.
You gasped a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the measured pace, your head tilting back against the couch. “Y-you okay… like t-this?” you asked, voice trembling, part awe, part disbelief at how deeply it affected you.
God, he loved the way you sounded…so soft, broken and completely undone, and how his slow movements seemed to push you closer to the edge with every glide. Your question caught him slightly off guard; for a fleeting moment, a pang of worry flickered across his mind. But when he realized you were checking on him, making sure he was enjoying himself too, that worry melted away, leaving only heat and desire. A low huff of laughter escaped him, rough and ragged, vibrating against your ear.
"Better than okay, baby," he assured, voice husky, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck with a teasing, almost possessive bite. "Don’t worry about me; what I enjoy most is seeing you like this… completely lost in it. Doesn’t matter the pace, baby.” He pressed a lazy, lingering kiss to your neck, letting his lips trail lightly across your skin, tasting the warmth and tension there.
You frowned without meaning to, that unconscious little crease that always appeared when pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. “Didn’t—we… didn’t put anything…under us,” you whined, your voice catching on the words, half embarrassed, half needy.
Clark let out a soft, amused laugh, the sound low and rolling, never breaking his rhythm. He knew that look too well: the crease of your brow, the subtle bite of your lip, the way your hands clenched involuntarily, it meant you were feeling everything and he loved it.
"Shh," he murmured against your skin. "Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it up later." His hand slid down to cup your ass, pulling you slightly closer with each measured thrust, anchoring you against him. "You know I’ll handle everything. Right now?" He pressed a gentle, teasing kiss to the corner of your frown. "Just let go for me… I don’t care if we ruin every damn thing in this room as long as I’m inside you."
He lingered there, letting the words sink in, giving you permission to lose yourself completely, his body molding to yours with steady, controlling pressure. Each movement was a balance of tenderness and dominance, coaxing you further into pleasure while keeping an intentional pace.
“I think… ‘m gonna squirt,” you warned, voice breathy and uneven. The pleasure was almost unbearable, each push of his hips sending electric fire through your core. Even at this measured pace, his tip nudging against your G-spot with perfect timing, the sensation was building fast, coiling tighter with every roll of his hips.
Clark groaned low, the sound vibrating through his chest and down into his hard cock. Your warning, your soft whimpers, every small quiver of your body, it went straight to him, twisting him tighter with want. He could tell exactly how close you were, how every tiny movement of his was bringing you to the edge and he knew he’d never hear a sweeter sound than what was coming. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice thick with need.
When it happened, it wasn’t an overwhelming eruption but a slow, progressive release that had your muscles tightening around him and your hips pulsing in sync with his. Every time he sank deep and then eased back just enough, a soft whimper slipped out, accompanied by a little slick that coated both of you more with each pass. It was a rhythm that drove you wild, intense in its unrelenting persistence, yet gentle enough to make the experience feel intimate and controlled. You dug your fingers into his lower back with every pulse, grounding yourself while he guided you through it with the precision and care only he could provide.
Clark leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours as you wrapped your arms tightly around his broad shoulders, the warmth of your embrace making his chest tighten. Your nails traced lazy, teasing paths across his skin, sending shivers up his spine as a low hum escaped his lips. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, leaving soft, fleeting kisses along your skin, drinking in the scent and warmth of you. For a moment, he just stayed there, eyes soft and wandering over your features, utterly captivated.
“So wet and loud for someone who doesn’t moan,” he whispered against your skin, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips, his voice rough with awe and amusement.
“Shut up,” you managed, a tired chuckle slipping past your lips and Clark couldn’t help the satisfied grin spreading across his face, quiet yet full of pride. He pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, letting the warmth of his lips stay for a heartbeat longer, while his hips continued their deep rhythm, each movement more about connection and sensation than raw need.
He shifted ever so slightly, angling deeper with a single glide, just enough to make you gasp and arch instinctively into him and then held there. “Still good?” he asked, though the way your body reacted told him everything he needed to know.
Your legs instinctively parted wider, opening for him and the sight of you trembling beneath him made a low groan escape his chest. God, the way you took him, how sensitive you were, how you couldn’t even keep still, it sent shivers of raw need shooting straight through him. Every shiver, every quiver, every small gasp, was a symphony and he wanted to memorize every note.
“My good girl,” he whispered, nibbling at the shell of your ear in a mix of affection and desire. “Let me… let me show you how good you are to me.” His lips trailed down your neck, pressing soft, teasing kisses that left delicate, fleeting bruises in their path, each one a mark of his admiration for the way your body responded to him.
He paused at the hollow of your collarbone, letting the weight of his gaze and the heat of his touch linger. “Can you be good for me, baby… just keep still for a minute?”
“Y-yes…” you moaned, the word trembling against him, full of trust and desire, the sound like honey in his ears, urging him deeper into that perfect rhythm.
Clark let out a low, approving hum, the sound vibrating against your skin as his hands settled firmly yet gently on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Not rough, just deliberate, his grip a perfect balance of control and care. He pulled back slowly until only the tip of him remained inside, letting you feel the empty ache before pushing in again, agonizingly thick and deep. The way your face twisted with pleasure-pain made his chest tighten and he watched every claw of your fingers into his back, every tiny shiver that ran through your body.
“There you go,” he mumbled. “Just feel it… all of me.” His words were thick with desire, reverence and awe. “You’re so darn perfect like this… taking me so good.”
Another slow glide out, a deliberate pause to let the emptiness sting just enough, then back in, every inch pressing against your most sensitive spots, making your body quiver and your breath hitch. His eyes roamed over your face, drinking in every detail, the flutter of your eyelashes, the subtle twitch of your lips and the way your expression melted from tension into pure surrender. He wanted to memorize it all, store it away in the corners of his mind in case the world ever tried to make him forget just how breathtakingly vulnerable and exquisite you were to him.
“Hold on, baby,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “Just a little more… I want to feel you completely undone for me.”
You could feel it, the way his cock throbbed inside you, each pulse heavy and demanding, veins standing out like ropes leading him to heaven. It was painfully hard, a burning weight pressing into your slick walls and every tiny twitch of your inner muscles seemed to send shivers up his spine. He let out a shaky, ragged breath as your soft whimper vibrated against him, a sound that made his body clench involuntarily. He knew you felt it too, the subtle, almost imperceptible pulsing of his length as it sank deep into you, betraying how close he was even as he tried to restrain himself.
His hips stuttered forward on instinct, just a fraction and you gasped in response, fingers tightening against his shoulders. “You wanna make me come, baby? Gonna squeeze me like that and pull it out of me?” His voice dropped lower, gravelly, thick with need. “Or are you gonna come first… and let me follow right after?”
“I… don’t know if I can,” you breathed, voice soft, barely audible over the mingling of your heartbeats and ragged breaths.
He leaned closer, lips brushing against your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, his own breathing uneven. His voice was a low growl now, rough and possessive. “Try,” he murmured, fingers coming up to cup the side of your face. His touch was gentle, thumb brushing across your bottom lip, tracing the line with care, as if trying to memorize every tremor of your expression. “I wanna watch you… I wanna see you come for me.”
You nodded, giving him permission without words and he moved with purpose, letting his pace quicken just enough to push you both over the edge. His eyes never left yours, dark and burning with a desperate, primal need to bring you pleasure, to own this moment with you. Every tilt of his hips, every measured thrust, was in sync with your body’s responses, the way your pupils dilated, your cheeks flushed and the tiny whines that slipped past your lips. His hands stayed planted firmly on your hips, holding you close against the cushion, making sure no part of you slipped from him.
He rocked deeper, fingers and hips in perfect tandem, each stroke tapping gently against your cervix, coaxing another wave of sensation through you. Your walls clenched around him, every pulse and twitch drawing out more from him and your clit throbbed in heated rhythm as he guided you through another orgasm, your body shaking in ecstatic surrender. The moment he felt your muscles squeeze him so perfectly, it pushed him past the edge and his cock throbbed violently inside you.
You gasped, nails digging into his back as his warmth spilled into you, thick and unrelenting. He shuddered, letting out a guttural groan as the sting of your nails mingled with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body. His forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath ragged and hot against your skin, hips twitching through the waves of his release, riding out every pulse with you clamped tightly around him. He didn’t and couldn’t, pull away, even as his weight settled more fully atop you.
“…Worth the argument,” he whispered hoarsely to himself, “every second of it… just to hear you come undone with me and prove you wrong.”
You exhaled, still trembling, a faint smile teasing your lips. “Well,” you breathed, “I’ll let this one slide for today…but if I were going to reply to that, I’d argue we didn’t just cockwarm.”
Clark’s grin faltered slightly just as he was going to reply once his ears caught the sudden, panicked meowing.
“What?” you asked, noticing the shift in his expression.
“Alpine,” he murmured, carefully disentangling himself from you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. So sorry.”
You groaned softly at the loss of him, a moan that quickly turned into a chuckle as you watched him stand there in the middle of the living room, his still-hard cock cupped in his hand, body taut with a mix of frustration and focus. You opened your mouth to speak but he lifted a finger, signaling you to wait and his eyes flicked around the room, scanning, tuning and filtering. He was straining his hearing, honing in on the source of Alpine’s cries, tuning out everything else, the racing of your heart and the lingering thrum of your intimacy, until he found it.
With a soft, careful shuffle, Clark padded across the room, still cupping his softening cock in one hand like it was suddenly an inconvenience. You followed him with your eyes until he disappeared through the doorway, then, in the next instant, you heard it. A rush of air barreled down the hall, brushing across your skin and ruffling your hair like the ghost of a storm. The faint, telltale gust made you bite your lip to stifle a laugh. Moments later, he was back, moving at a perfectly normal pace as if nothing unusual had happened, except now Alpine was cradled securely in his other arm. The cat let out a plaintive little meow as Clark bent to set him gently on the carpet. Alpine wasted no time before hopping up and settling squarely on your chest, tail flicking smugly across your chin as you stroked his snowy fur.
You glanced up at Clark, bemused, mischief in your eyes. “Really?”
“I–I thought he’d finally learned about privacy,” Clark said flatly, lips pressed in a thin line. “Turns out he got locked out on the rooftop this whole time.”
You snorted, covering your mouth to hide your laugh. “And you… you went to get him like that?”
Clark’s gaze flicked down at himself, then back at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Super-speed,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.
“Right…” You burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the room and he stood there, waiting with that familiar mix of patience and amusement, for you to realize, while probably letting himself enjoy, that he was hard again. All because of you.
A/n: If you liked this piece, check out the archive for more and consider liking and sharing it! reblogs help others discover my writing and comments always brighten my day plus it encourages me to keep creating :) Thanks for reading, lovelies.
Next up: Eating for two! I can’t wait to share it with you!!
Just look at that smug smitten smile he knows exactly what he's getting dragged into when she brings him back there. We love our horny horny dirty couple. Romantic yes but horny.
Simon Riley with a user who's embarrassed of her sounds.
CW : PiV, restraining, overstimulation.
Simon was an observer. So of course he noticed it. How when his hands travelled south and touched you in the ways that he knew drove you to the edge, you would gasp quietly and make the smallest sound in his ear.
While yes, that definitely sent blood rushing down to chub up his cock, he wished you would be louder.
It became a challenge to Simon. He craved to make you scream under his touch.
He started to push down on your lower stomach when his fingers or cock were in you. A small keening sound coming from you before you stopped it from getting louder.
Simon was quickly becoming frustrated. He had tried everything. Scouring online forums to find any tidbits of information he didn't already have stored away.
Then one night, he made you come on his cock. His calloused thumb rubbing your clit. And then, when he usually stops, he kept going.
A surprised moan came from you. Your eyes widening slightly as your hips squirmed.
And then your moaning got louder.
You couldn't stop. You were mortified at the mewls and whines coming from your lips. Covering your mouth when you nearly screamed in pleasure.
Something dangerous flashed in Simons eyes at your action. Sending a shiver down your spine.
"No" Simon growled, grabbing your hand and pinning it beside your head. Doing the same with the other before you could think to bring it over your mouth.
"Who knew all i' took was to make you come on my cock a few times for you to finally star' making sound, huh?" Simon growled, angling his hips slightly.
He then moved your wrists above your head and pinned them with one hand.
His other hand moved down and pushed on your lower stomach, making you squirm and cry out. Your neck and chest going bright red from embarrassment.
"Fucking trying for months t'get you to sing for me birdie" Simon grunted, his hips snapping into yours at such a pace, your brain went dumb.
"'s e-em-embarrassing!" You whined, trying to writhe your wrists free from Simon's strong grasp.
"How is it embarrassing when you sing so pretty for me, hm? So good for me, baby" Simon groaned against your neck. Biting down for good measure.
You scream as you came again, entire body buzzing and trembling. Before you went limp under Simon. Too weak to beg for a break.
Simon was nowhere near finished with you. He finally had gotten what he craved. Albeit at the sacrifice of abusing your cunt in the process.
um men who are bigger than you and tower over you in every way possible but he's obsessed with the overwhelming intimacy of missionary sex. his whole entire body covers yours, and he loves the way it's almost like he's shielding you from the world, that the wanton expressions you're making and the way your body reacts is all for his eyes only. he can control how deep he fucks into you, can carefully watch the faces you make to see if he's hitting all the right spots. loves the way he can hold your hand as he thrusts into you; especially loves the feeling of every cell in his body going weak from how overwhelmed with his love for you he gets. the eye contact is the best and worst part for him; best because he loves looking at you, to know you feel the same, but worst because you always make him go weak in the knees. his arms can barely keep him upright, and he has to bury his face into the hollow of your neck and shoulder and-
size difference kink but in the “i grew up being made fun of for being chubby so now the idea of a giant of a man being able to toss me around and tower over me without making my weight a problem makes me really horny” way, you get what im saying?
God, baby, you look so fucking sleepy. Look at you with your pretty little eyes, half closed, half needy. Now’s the perfect time to teach you to cockwarm, isn’t it?
With my voice whispering into your ears in the darkness of your bedroom. With my fingers brushing you gently and the heat of my body on yours.
Just like that, princess. Just hold it. Can you feel my dick inside? Pulsing and twitching, throbbing and trembling inside you. Because of you. Because you make me so fucking hard.
No, sweetie. Don’t grind on my cock. Just lay there. Can you feel me fill you up? Complete you. This is what you were made for, my love. Gentle, sweet kisses under your lamp light and my hard cock buried into your depths as you drift off to bed.
Fuck, you're doing such a good job. I'm so proud of you. Warming up my cock like the pretty little thing you are. You're so fucking hot inside...
The second you fall asleep, I might get… a little excited. You don’t mind if I use you while you sleep, do you?
the sun's only just cresting over the horizon, and you're barely awake but you're so soft and pliant and smelling so good in his bed that he just has to have to you, doll, jus' let me--
it feels good to not have to think. to not have to move, to just let him take from you what he needs as he rumbles deliciously in your ear, his voice still hoarse with sleep. he slides in easy, and the stretch barely registers to your sleep-muddled brain when his arms band around your chest to clutch you against his own in a tight embrace, spooning you as he takes a moment to just enjoy being sheathed within you. sweet little thing you are, with a perfect cunt to match.
(he must still be dreaming. men like him don't get to have this. men like him don't deserve to have this. but then your cunt pulses around him, warm and welcoming, and he sends a thanks to the fucker upstairs before burying his face into the crook of your neck. he isn't religious, but a pussy this good would have anyone on their knees begging for salvation.)
you could almost drift off again like this, can feel sleep beckoning you once more. it's so snug and cozy with his burly body wrapped around your own, his breathing measured and steady. you can feel your eyes begin to droop, blinks getting heavier...
until he shifts his hips, the slow drag of his cock stoking the fire low in your tummy that'd been ignited when he slid in. it causes the last dregs of sleep to dissipate almost instantly, your body eager for him. always eager for him. you exhale dreamily, more awake and ready to play as he sets a slow pace, really savoring the moment.
when you grab his hand and slide it down between your legs, feel the huff of a chuckle against your neck, you know you're in for a rude awakening.
18+, afab, dubcon, mean johnny, basically just me rambling about perv soap eating you out against your will, smidgen of daddy kink (johnny referring to himself as daddy like once or twice), dropping this then going to bed 👍
he’s all thorough and deep and manhandling you - big hands digging into your plush thighs, squeezing the soft skin with an almost painful grip. keeping you right where he wants you, right where he needs you.
even better if you’re giving him some struggle and trying to squirm away, as if you could ever overpower his brute strength. even now, as he was wrapping his hairy arms around your hips to keep you still, you could see his muscles rippling beneath a good layer of fat. scars littered his broad, muscled body - you could only imagine what he’d endured to earn all of them. stabbed, shot, burned. all proof that he was stronger than you, mentally and especially physically.
tears pricked your eyes as the thought crossed your mind how easily he could kill you in five seconds flat if he wished. he could easily come up from between your legs and snap your neck if he got tired of your squirming.
his scruff was scratching your inner thighs as he bit at your sensitive skin, tugging your plush skin into his mouth and damn near growling into it.
“quit yer squirming, birdie. you’ll take what i give you.” is all he says before he’s diving into your pussy, tongue lapping at your folds.
a sob tore from your lips as his tongue pushes past the seam of your cunt.
he’s so fucking messy and mean, getting his fill of your cunt and taking every bit of you for himself. he was loud and obscene, growling and grunting into your pussy as he sucked your folds into his mouth one at a time.
you wish warmth wasn’t bubbling in your core from his ministrations between your thighs and the sounds of him slurping up your juices.
no matter how much you wriggled or tried to bat him away, swatting at where his head lay between your thighs - you couldn’t help the tightness that coiled in your stomach.
every time you tried to fight him off of you, his hands would move up to grab your wrists in an almost painful grip. he would growl into your cunt, a sound so solid and full of gravel that it sent chills up your spine.
your cunt would flutter around his tongue when he growled into it, betraying how sensitive you were no matter how much you cried big fat tears of protest.
“s-stop, st-ah!” your cries of protest, albeit weak, were interrupted by a choked out cry as he shoved two thick fingers in beside his tongue.
his mouth and tongue never stopped devouring you as his fingers started working you apart from the inside. he gave you no time to get accustomed to the intrusion of his fingers, just immediately set on taking up space inside your cunt. dead set on splitting you open, keeping your folds spread and coaxing more and more reluctant cries from your glossy lips.
his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked none too gently, his tongue flicking over the bud at the same time.
“never gonna stop, pup. ye’ can keep cryin’ though. sound even prettier when ye do that.” he talks into your cunt before shoving his tongue back in, his fingers never faltering or slowing.
ghost knows he’s too rough and impatient with sex. knows he won’t know how to please you properly. knows he can’t possibly do things right with you, knowing you’ve never done this before. but god, he wants to. he wants to treat you how you deserve. never thought he’d be so desperate to fuck someone good and slow like he does with you.
so he goes to price. the one man who will know all the right ways to please a lady properly. asks him to show him how to take care of you. tells him he doesn't know how to care for someone else's needs, at least with someone inexperienced like you. tells him he needs to be instructed. to see just how he should work you.
you’re nervous at first, thinking it’s an absolutely insane idea, but you can’t hide the wetness along your panties as you sit on ghost’s lap, back pressed against his chest, legs spread, his knuckle dragging down your warmth. price sits back in his chair, telling ghost exactly how to move his fingers, paying close attention to your body's minuscule movements, the way your brows furrow when ghost moves a certain way, or your eyelashes fluttering.
and this was supposed to be a strictly hands-off approach… but god, watching ghost fumble, unable to maintain the slow speed you need, keeping you from reaching your orgasm, has price on edge. he leans forward, rolling his chair with him, and tells ghost to stop. tells him to watch and to pay close attention. price tears your panties off and your eyes go wide at the contact. you swallow, expecting ghost to be furious, but his hands only settle around you and he takes notes as he watches his captain work.
price runs his thumb up your slit, circling your nub, and tells ghost to hold your thighs apart when you subconsciously try to clench them. then his finger is sinking into you and your head falls back against ghost's chest, eyes shut. you moan and you feel ghost harden beneath you. “how’s that feel, sweetheart?” price asks you. you babble out incoherently, price adding a second finger, and chuckling darkly at your response.
it becomes too much, his fingers thrusting in and out of you, his other hand rubbing your clit, ghost's fingers digging into the softness of your thighs as he forces them apart. “ohmygod,” you slur, “m’gonna—“ price smirks, his eyes darkening as he watches you orgasm, your body clenching around his fingers shoved deep in your heat. "talk her through it," price tells ghost. so ghost does. you're shaking still and ghost rubs his hands over your exposed skin. "that's it, baby. you're doin' s'good," he praises.
"whata fuckin' sight," price mumbles to himself, his fingers leaving you empty. you steady your breathing, coming down from your high, completely limp in ghost's arms. price can see the way ghost's eyes have gone dark, his pupils swallowing his irises whole. knows ghost doesn't know how to be soft. sees the feral need to ram himself into you overtaking his features. "gonna take it slow with her, yeah?" price asks.
ghost breaths rapidly out, his hips begging to buck up against you. he knows he wouldn't be able to control himself if you let him fuck you. so he answers honestly. "not sure I'd be able to."
price tsks, sitting back in thought, his eyes roving over your spent body. you suddenly feel shy, wanting to close your legs, but ghost's arms tighten on you. "need me t'break her in?" price finally asks after several long beats of silence.
ghost grinds up against you, his hand sliding into your hair and pulling your head to the side so he can kiss your neck. your eyes flutter at his attempts to be so delicate with you. "want the captain here to be your first time, love?" ghost asks against your skin. you stutter when you answer. "don't you want to be?" "course I do. but I won't go easy on ya. I'd hate to ruin you, sweet girl. price will take it nice n' slow. just like you need." and after, you'll be ready to take ghost. ready to adjust to his size.
you swallow hard, ghost's hands escaping and clawing at your clothed chest. you nod. "o-okay."
price stands from his chair and begins to undo his belt. "come sit on my desk, sweetheart."
prguitarman
dailybridgerton
discoholicmusic
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
baratheonpilled
