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Summary: The second the eclipse ends and the Yellow Sun slams back into him, a violent solar surge triggers a Kryptonian rut Clark's never felt before, rendering him incapable of controlling his powers... or the overwhelming biological imperative to breed you.
Warnings: established relationship, clark goes feral, clark babbles and whimpers, manhandling, size kink, belly bulge, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise, inappropriate use of x-ray vision, overstimulation, unprotected sex (unspecified so y/n might be on the pill), creampies, exhibitionism kink but not actually, plain filth i don't know what to tell you
A/N: *clears throat* so... the weather? x
Word Count: 2,720
...
Clark jolts awake with a sharp gasp, chest heaving, skin slick with a fresh sheen of sweat that has nothing to do with the mild spring temperature. The moment his eyes open, he feels it, the rush. Like every cell in his body just plugged straight into a live wire.
The sun hits the side of his face through the window and it's just too much, too fast. Heat blooms under his skin, veins glowing gold for a split second before he squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught.
''Fuck...'' The word slips out hoarse and broken.
His cock is painfully hard, throbbing against his thigh and leaking onto the sheets. His muscles twitch with barely-contained power, strength that had felt so wonderfully limited last night now flooding back in violent, uncontrollable surges. A low, involuntary groan rumbles in his throat as another wave crashes through him.
His hands fist the sheets so tightly the fabric tears with a sharp rip. The imperative hits him like a freight train: breed. Claim. Fill her up. The words pulse in his head, louder than any Kryptonian instinct he's ever fought before.
He needs to get out. Now. Before he loses the last thread of control and takes you while you're likely still sore from yesterday's activities.
Clark forces himself upright, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. The motion alone sends a fresh surge of solar power through his limbs. He stands too fast, dizzy with it, and reaches out blindly for the doorframe to steady himself. The wood splinters the second his fingers close around it. The entire frame cracks with a loud, violent snap, chunks of plaster and wood raining down as his grip punches straight through like it's tissue paper. The sound echoes through the quiet apartment.
''Shit!'' He yanks his hand back, staring at the destruction in wide-eyed horror. His palm isn't even scratched.
The solar surge is worse than he expected. A freak alignment, maybe. Or the sudden return after total deprivation. His cells are oversaturated, burning, screaming for an outlet. His cock twitches hard, a bead of pre-cum sliding down the thick length as his mind floods with images of you, spread open, belly swollen, leaking his come for days.
He can't stay here. He'll hurt you. He'll ruin you.
Clark stumbles toward the balcony doors on shaky legs, one hand braced against the wall. His palm leaves a crack in the drywall. Every step sends another pulse of raw need through him, pheromones thickening the air around his body, heady enough to make any human body react instantly.
He's halfway to the balcony, cape from last night still crumpled on the floor, suit half-unzipped and hanging off one shoulder, when the commotion finally reaches you.
You stir awake to the sound of cracking wood and a low, guttural groan that sounds nothing like the gentle Clark who fell asleep holding you last night.
Blinking against the bright morning light, you sit up slowly. Your body protests, and you groan softly at the delicious aches between your thighs, the faint bruises on your hips from where his hands had finally stopped holding back. You're wearing nothing but the white button-down Clark wore to work yesterday morning, the sleeves too long and hem barely skimming the tops of your thighs. Your hair is a tousled mess from sleep and sex, lips still slightly swollen, skin warm and flushed.
You look soft. Rumpled. Thoroughly claimed.
And completely fuckable.
Clark freezes the second he hears the sheets rustle.
The moment his eyes lock on you, standing in the doorway of the bedroom now, one hand resting lightly on the broken frame, the white shirt slipping off one shoulder to reveal the curve of your breast, bare legs shifting as you try to make sense of the scene, something in him snaps completely.
His pupils blow wide, irises flickering with that dangerous golden glow. A low, animalistic sound tears from his chest, half whimper, half groan.
''Baby...'' His voice is wrecked already, deep and trembling with restraint he's rapidly losing. ''You need to— fuck— you need to stay back.''
But even as he says it, his body betrays him.
He's across the room in a blur, not full super speed yet, but close enough that the air displaces with a whoosh. One second he's by the balcony. The next he's towering over you, chest heaving, hands hovering like he's terrified to touch you and even more terrified not to.
Up close the pheromones hit you like a drug, thick, intoxicating, making heat flood low in your belly instantly. Your thighs press together on instinct as fresh slick gathers between your legs.
Clark's gaze drops, X-ray vision flickering on without him meaning to. He can see straight through the white shirt, through your skin, watching the way your cunt clenches around nothing, already dripping for him.
A broken whimper escapes him.
''Look at you...'' he babbles, voice cracking. ''Gosh, you're already wet. I can see it, see how empty you are. How much you need me to fill you up. Gonna pump you so full, baby. Gonna breed you until it takes. Until you're leaking for days and still begging for more.''
His hands finally land on you, big, burning hot, strength barely leashed. He grips your waist and lifts you like you weigh nothing, slamming your back against the nearest wall hard enough to rattle the pictures.
His mouth crashes against yours in a messy, desperate kiss, teeth clashing. One hand slides up under the shirt, palming your breast roughly, thumb flicking your nipple while the other yanks your thigh up around his hip. He grinds his cock against your bare pussy, thick, scorching, smearing pre-cum all over your folds.
''I tried to leave,'' he pants against your mouth, hips rolling in shallow, frantic thrusts. ''Tried to get to the Fortress before I ruined you. But you look so pretty this morning. So, so pretty and so... fuck—'' A whimper tears from his throat as he notches the fat head of his cock against your entrance.
''Tell me to stop,'' he begs, even as his grip tightens and his muscles coil with the need to thrust. ''Please, baby. Tell me and I'll go. You know I'd do anything for you. But I need you. Need to fuck you, and... and fill you over and over. I need to see you swollen and dripping.''
His eyes are wild, glowing faintly, body trembling with the effort of holding back the surge, the sun blazing through the windows.
You're barely able to process his words while his pheromones slam into you.
The scent rolling off Clark's skin is thick, and impossibly potent, like a sugar high and raw sex. It floods your lungs, sinks straight into your bloodstream, and your body reacts before your brain can even catch up. Heat explodes low in your belly, and your pussy clenches hard around nothing, slick gushing down your thighs in a sudden, embarrassing rush. A needy little whimper slips out before you can stop it.
''Clark,'' you gasp, voice already wrecked, ''what's gotten into you?''
He's shaking, forehead pressed to yours, eyes wild. His cock is still notched at your entrance, the fat head stretching you open just enough to make you ache.
''Solar surge,'' he chokes out, the words tumbling out between broken whimpers. ''The Yellow Sun came back too fast after the eclipse, and— and my cells are overcharged. Fuck, baby, I can smell how wet you are.''
Your hips roll forward on instinct, taking another inch of him. The haze is making your head spin, turning every thought dirty. Yesterday he was soft and laughing and sore, now he's towering over you like he's about to lose all control, and you want it. You want it so badly it hurts.
You grab his face with both hands, nails digging into his jaw.
''Don't you dare fucking stop,'' you pant, the reassurance raw and filthy instead of sweet. ''I want this. I want you like this. Fuck me, Clark.''
A shattered moan rips out of him.
One second he's pinning you to the wall, the next he's thrusting up into you in one savage stroke, burying every thick inch to the hilt. The stretch burns so good you cry out, back arching hard. He feels bigger than yesterday, hotter, pulsing inside you like he's already close.
''Fuck— yes —take it,'' he gasps, voice cracking into a whimper as he starts pounding you against the wall. ''Gonna breed this tight cunt. Gonna pump you so full you swell with me. Look— golly, look at you.''
''I can see it,'' he whines, hips slamming harder. You realize he's using his X-ray vision to stare straight through your stomach, and Clark moans like he's in pain. ''See my cock stretching you out. Right here— right fucking here.'' He presses a big hand low on your belly, feeling the obscene ridge of himself moving deep. The pressure makes you clench, and he sobs out a broken, ''Gosh, you're squeezing me so good.''
He fucks you like that for what feels like forever, brutal, desperate thrusts that rattle the pictures on the wall. Your legs are wrapped tightly around his waist, but he doesn't need them; he holds you up one-handed, the other sliding up to wrap loosely around your throat, thumb stroking your pulse while he rails you.
''Tell me to stop and I will, baby, I swear,'' he pants against your neck, even as his teeth sink into your shoulder hard enough to leave a dark hickey. ''But fuck, you feel so good. So warm and wet and ready for my come.''
Your first orgasm takes your breath away, hard, fast, walls fluttering around his cock, but he doesn't slow down. He just keeps rutting through it, mumbling praise and filth right in your ear.
''Good girl. Milk me. Take every drop. Gonna give you so much you'll be dripping for hours.”
When he finally comes, it's with a broken cry, hips stuttering as he floods you. Thick, hot pulses, more than you've ever felt, spurt deep inside until you feel it leaking out around his cock, sliding down your thighs in messy rivulets. He doesn't pull out. He just keeps grinding, pushing it deeper, whimpering at the wet, obscene sounds.
And he's still hard. Still throbbing.
He pulls out only long enough to spin you around and bend you over the armrest of the couch, kicking your legs wider. One hand pins both of yours above your head, the other spreads your ass so he can watch his come drip out of you before he slams back in.
''Again,'' he begs, voice hoarse. ''Gonna breed you again. Keep you full until it takes.''
You squeeze your eyes shut as time blurs, Clark fucking you so hard the couch scoots across the floor. When he lifts you suddenly and carries you to the bed, you barely have time to breathe before he drops you on your back, throws your legs over his shoulders, and folds you in half.
The new angle lets him hit even deeper, and his hand presses on your belly again so he can feel the skin there bulge.
''Look at that,'' he whimpers, eyes glowing as X-ray vision kicks in once more. ''I'm so deep. Gonna fill you right here. Right where it counts.''
Your nails rake down his back, leaving faint red lines that heal instantly but make him moan like he actually feels the pain. He bites another hickey into your throat, then your breast, then lower, all while pounding you into the mattress. The headboard cracks loudly with every thrust.
He comes again, another endless flood that pushes the first load out in messy squelches. It's everywhere: your thighs, the sheets, dripping down your ass. You expect him to stop, but he just flips you onto all fours, yanks your hips back, and drives in again, one hand fisted in your hair, the other reaching around to rub your oversensitive clit.
''Too much?'' he checks in, voice trembling even as he rails you so good you start to cry. ''Tell me to stop and I swear, I'll pry myself off—''
''Don't you fucking stop,'' you sob, pushing back to meet every thrust. ''Fill me again. I want it all.''
He does.
Clark pulls out with a wet, obscene sound, his cum leaking down your thighs in thick rivulets. Before you can whimper at the loss, he spins you around and pushes you toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Metropolis. Your palms slap against the cool glass as he presses you front-first into it, your breasts flattening against the surface, the white shirt bunched up around your waist.
''Clark—'' you gasp in surprise. He's never behaved like this before.
''Shh,'' he smiles against your ear, voice trembling with barely leashed need. ''Look at the city, baby. All those people down there... and here you are, dripping with my come, and still begging to take more.''
He kicks your legs wider, one big hand pinning both of yours above your head against the glass while the other grabs a handful of your hip.
The height is dizzying. Clark's apartment is one of the tallest in the city, but the idea still sends a dark thrill through you. Anyone with binoculars, a camera, or, well... super vision would be able to see exactly what he's doing to you.
Clark seems to realize the same thing at the exact moment he notches his cock at your entrance again. A low, conflicted whimper escapes him.
''Fuck... they could see you like this,'' he pants, slowly pushing back inside, stretching your oversensitive walls around his thick length once more. ''See how well you take me. See how pretty you look when get fucked stupid by your boyfriend, hm?''
He bottoms out with a broken moan, hips flush against your ass. For a second he just grinds deep, letting you feel every inch while his hand slides around your hip to press low on your belly. ''Gonna fill you so much people could see your belly swell if they looked close enough.''
The thought makes him thrust harder, deep, punishing strokes that jolt your whole body against the glass with every snap of his hips. Your cheek presses to the cool surface, breath fogging it as you moan helplessly. The exhibitionist fantasy is filthy and intoxicating, but even mid-rut Clark angles his broad body to shield most of yours from view, his massive frame caging you in so only he can truly see how wrecked you are.
''No one gets to see you like this, I promise,'' he murmurs protectively, teeth sinking into the curve of your shoulder as he drives into you. ''Only me. Gonna keep you leaking my cum for days so every time you move you remember who fucked you so good.''
His hand tightens around your pinned wrists while the other rubs tight circles over your clit, pushing you toward another shattering orgasm. When you come again, clenching and fluttering around him, he follows with a broken whine of your name, flooding you with another heavy load. Hot pulses paint your insides until fresh cum forces its way out around his cock and drips down your thighs, joining the mess already there.
Still buried deep, he doesn't pull away. He just keeps grinding slow and deep, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck.
By the time the solar surge finally starts to ebb, you're a shaking, oversensitive mess on his bed, your thighs trembling, pussy swollen and dripping with load after load of his come. Clark collapses over you, still buried deep, chest heaving, arms wrapped around you.
''Baby...'' he whispers, voice raw and wrecked, pressing soft, apologetic kisses to every hickey he left. ''I— fuck, I didn't hurt you, did I? Tell me you're okay. Please, I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you.''
You're too blissed out to do more than smile, clenching around him just to hear him whimper again.
''I'm perfect,'' you murmur, voice hoarse. ''And you're still hard, Kent.''
He laughs, voice wrecked, and hides his flushed face in your neck.
The sun is still blazing outside.
And Clark Kent is nowhere near done with you.
...
thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕
Summary: The New Avengers start a full-on investigation when you and Bucky look a little too comfortable in your ''fake'' relationship.
Warnings: thunderbolts, fake dating trope (kinda), a lot of bickering and chaos, thunderbolts groupchat (!!!), a little suggestiveness, some russian (courtesy of google translate, so probably not 100% accurate)
A/N: this is definitely not my best work, it's just for fun :) nobody can stop me from carrying on the legacy of silly avengers tower fics. btw i giggled at how perfect that third photo is for this story. enjoy x
Word Count: 2,257
...
The assignment was supposed to be simple.
Valentina had announced her new idea like she'd been reading the weather report, strategically disguising her immorality with diplomacy. ''You have to appear to be dating to the public. It's good for optics.''
She doesn't add I don't care if it makes you uncomfortable, because that part is implied. She doesn't add do it or I'll make you regret the day you were born, because that part is implied too.
You and Bucky had stared at each other for a long beat, neither of you thrilled, sighing in synchrony before begrudgingly agreeing. You knew better than to argue with Valentina when she has her mind set.
You spent the last few weeks performing the part like soldiers on cue, sharing calculated smiles during press conferences, Bucky subtly but effectively leaning into you in front of the photographers, the choreography of a relationship that only exists on paper.
The change was easy to miss, at first. A fleeting look that held too much meaning, relentless teasing during sparring sessions, Bucky's hand lingering on your back just a second too long while guiding you through the Watchtower. Both of you had noticed it, of course, but refused to admit it aloud, too stubborn to face the truth.
The team noticed, too. You knew they did, even without peeking into their phones, because certain actions carried certain questions.
John, especially, had been watching a little too closely, catching your laughter echoing down the hall or the moments when Bucky's hand landed on your knee while you told a story. Bob had been quiet but observant, the corners of his mouth twitching in delight when your interactions strayed from strictly professional. Alexei… well, he lacked Bob's subtlety, his gaze often piercing through you with that wide-eyed curiosity that made Bucky stiffen in irritation.
Weeks have passed, the small moments having grown, imperceptibly but unmistakably, into an obvious pattern. Inside jokes on the Quinjet. Protective touches when navigating unstable terrain. A proximity Bucky usually doesn't allow anyone.
It was during one of the peaceful evenings, when the team had retreated to their quarters after a long day of training exercises, that it all began to stir. You and Bucky had gone to your room again, ostensibly to ''review mission intel'', though the way he had guided you to the door with a brush of his hand suggested otherwise.
''They are absolutely doing it.''
''That is not confirmed.''
''It is confirmed. I am confirming it.''
You don't turn around. Bucky definitely hears it too, but he keeps walking, the picture of stoicism.
From the hallway, you can hear the faint buzzing of phones, the unmistakable notification chime of a new groupchat message.
Mission Shipwatch they had called it, the team's space to dissect, speculate, and overanalyze every small interaction between the two of you. Obviously, you and Bucky weren't in it.
Messages flow in quick succession, each member contributing observations and suspicions.
Mission Shipwatch 🕵️♀️ (PRIVATE DO NOT ADD BARNES)
Captain Discount: Did you see the way he touched her arm?
RED GUARDIAN: YES!!!!! he touch her like… lover 💦
former child assassin: DAD PLEASE STOP USING THAT EMOJI.
Captain Discount: He opened the door for Y/N earlier.
former child assassin: Okay?
Captain Discount: And HELD IT.
former child assassin: That is a simple act of chivalry, Walker. You do not do this?
former child assassin: This is why your family left you.
RED GUARDIAN: i ship them.
Ghost: I am not a willing participant of this groupchat, but I did see this earlier today. 🔗[Photo]
RED GUARDIAN: CAUGHT RED-HANDED HAHAHAHAH.
Captain Discount: Well... That is pretty damning evidence.
former child assassin: THEY HOLD HANDS NOW???
bob: They look lovely together :)
...
Bucky hates when you patch him up.
Not because he doesn't trust you, but because he doesn't know where to look when you're right in front of him, his skin crawling with a bashfulness he hasn't felt since 1943.
Right now is no different. He's sitting on the edge of your bed, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, a deep gash across his stomach that you're carefully disinfecting. He smiles sheepishly when you give him a look that says don't you dare downplay this. His breathing is shallow, but it's not because of the wound. You're kneeling between his legs, cotton pad in one hand, needle kit open beside you.
''Hold still,'' you mutter, even though he already is, ridiculously so. It's almost suspicious how obedient he becomes around you.
His voice is low. ''You're mad.''
''I should be mad,'' you say, threading the needle. ''You let a guy with a boning knife get close enough to do this.''
''He wasn't supposed to have a boning knife.''
You roll your eyes. ''Shocking twist.''
His mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but the door suddenly bursts open with all the grace of a landslide.
Your heads snap up.
John Walker stands frozen in the doorway like he's just walked in on a murder. Or something much, much worse.
You're kneeling in front of Bucky, your hands on his bare stomach. His chest is flushed, his breathing heavy. It… looks bad.
Very bad.
John blinks. ''Oh my god. Okay. Wow.''
You immediately lift your hands like you're being arrested. ''Walker, this is not what it looks like. I'm just patching him up.''
Bucky closes his eyes like he's praying for death to come take him.
John is already backing away, scrambling for his phone. ''This is not what Val meant when she said to pretend to be dating.''
''Jonathan, get your ass back in here. Don't you dare take—'' You stare at him, betrayed, after being temporarily blinded by the flash of his phone. ''I know you did not just take a picture.''
He's already halfway down the hall, sprinting toward the elevator. ''It's for evidence! The people need to know!''
''What people? Hey, who's ''people''? Walker!'' You step into the hallway just in time to see him frantically pressing the button to the 91st floor, and the elevator doors closing pitifully slow.
''I hate this team,'' Bucky announces, deadpan.
Mission Shipwatch 🕵️♀️ (PRIVATE DO NOT ADD BARNES)
Captain Discount: EMERGENCY. CODE RED.
Captain Discount: LOOK WHAT I JUST SAW.
Captain Discount: 🔗[Photo]
former child assassin: OH. I NEED TO BLEACH MY EYES.
Ghost: The one time I open this groupchat, Bucky and Y/N are fornicating on my screen.
RED GUARDIAN: YA ZNAL ETO!!! I KNEW IT!!! THEY ARE DOING THE BOOMBAYAH.
former child assassin: Oh my god.
Captain Discount: Y/N SAID SHE WAS ''JUST PATCHING HIM UP''.
bob: Oh no! Is Bucky okay? :(
former child assassin: I would never have believed you if you had not caught this on camera.
bob: Maybe Y/N really was patching Bucky up.
bob: He does look like he's in pain in the picture.
Ghost: Oh wow. Who's going to tell him?
Captain Discount: Not it.
RED GUARDIAN: HAHAHAH NEVINOVNYY. INNOCENT BOY.
former child assassin: Bob, it's not pain that Bucky was feeling.
bob: Huh?
bob: Oh.
bob: o_o
Ghost: Here's an idea. Maybe you guys shouldn't jump to conclusions.
RED GUARDIAN: NO! WE JUMP. WE LEAP. LIKE SIBERIAN MOUNTAIN GOAT.
Captain Discount: Uh oh.
Captain Discount: I can hear Y/N and Bucky.
Captain Discount: They're coming after me.
Captain Discount: GUYS HELP.
Captain Discount: GUYS???
Captain Discount: pls senf helpdhksbpppppppppp
...
Mission Shipwatch 🕵️♀️ (PRIVATE DO NOT ADD BARNES)
Captain Discount: They're doing it again. Door closed. That's like the fifth time this week.
bob: Y/N said they were just going to prep for the next mission.
former child assassin: They are either kissing or plotting murder. Maybe both.
RED GUARDIAN: i tell you, barnes is smitten like little puppy. he follows her with eyes like lovesick idiot 😍
Captain Discount: Pics or it didn't happen.
Ghost: We are not spying on them like creeps.
former child assassin: No, we are not. John is.
Captain Discount: No thanks. Not after last time.
Captain Discount: Thanks for backing me up, by the way.
Captain Discount: I enjoyed being put into an armlock by Y/N.
former child assassin: Eh. Most action you've gotten in months.
bob: Maybe they just became friends?
Ghost: No one likes being around Bucky that much.
Captain Discount: THAT'S WHAT I'M SAYING.
RED GUARDIAN: he smiled at her yesterday. ZIMNIY SOLDAT. THE WINTER SOLDIER SMILED.
former child assassin: And she brushed hair out of his face.
Captain Discount: She WHAT?
bob: It was cute :)
Captain Discount: Adding this to the spreadsheet.
Ghost: You have a spreadsheet?
Captain Discount: Don't judge me.
Ghost: Too late.
...
It's 2:17 a.m. The tower is silent. The only movement is you and Bucky, swaying in the dim kitchen light like two idiots who forgot they're supposed to be emotionally repressed.
There's no music to guide you, but Bucky has one hand on your waist, the other loosely holding your hand. His hair is a mess, your shirt is wrinkled, and he's smiling. Actually smiling.
He twirls you lazily, and you bump into the counter and laugh quietly. ''The kitchen's small,'' he mutters, rubbing your hip soothingly.
You jump and whip your heads around when you hear a loud crunch.
John Walker is standing there, barely hidden behind a pillar like a man who has never stalked anyone convincingly in his life. He's holding your bag of chips under one arm and his phone in the other. His eyes are wide like he's witnessed yet another homicide.
''Jonathan,'' you say sternly, putting on your best don't you dare face.
''Don't you 'Jonathan' me,'' John whisper-yells. ''Bucky doesn't dance. You don't smile. This is unprecedented. This is history.''
''You're being a tad dramatic,'' you laugh nervously.
''Oh, am I?'' John says, holding up his phone. ''Because I have visual evidence of emotion.'' You all stare at each other blankly for a long moment, and then John bolts out of the kitchen like a toddler about to tell the teacher someone said a bad word.
You groan. ''He's sending it to the groupchat, isn't he?''
Bucky sighs. ''Yep.''
Mission Shipwatch 🕵️♀️ (PRIVATE DO NOT ADD BARNES)
Captain Discount: WAKE UP. WAKE UP.
Captain Discount: THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Captain Discount: THE PROPHECY HAS COME TRUE.
Captain Discount: 🔗[Photo]
RED GUARDIAN: HOLY MOTHER OF BABUSHKA.
former child assassin: IS BARNES SMILING??? I DIDN'T KNOW HE HAD THIS MANY TEETH.
Ghost: I don't know why or how I've become invested in this, but I just spit out my water.
bob: I feel guilty. They probably kept it quiet for a reason :(
RED GUARDIAN: INTERVENTION.
RED GUARDIAN: SEYCHAS.
RED GUARDIAN: NOW.
Captain Discount: EVERYBODY TO THE LIVING ROOM.
Captain Discount: YOU BETTER NOT LEAVE ME STRANDED AGAIN.
Ghost: I'm bringing popcorn.
RED GUARDIAN: i'm bringing camera, cuz i am historian first and foremost 😎
bob: I'm bringing good vibes :D
former child assassin: Bob, we're all waiting for you.
bob: WAIT YOU'RE ALL THERE ALREADY???
bob: DON'T START WITHOUT ME PLSPLSPLS.
bob: THIS ELEVATOR IS TAKING SO LONG.
Five minutes later, you and Bucky walk into the living room to the New Avengers arranged in a semicircle like a very poorly organized intervention.
Yelena clears her throat. ''Sit.''
You don't sit.
John scoffs. ''Fine. Have it your way.'' He points dramatically at the screen where the team has projected the photo he took mere moments ago like crime evidence. ''Explain this.''
''Y'know, we were there. The photo is unnecessary,'' Bucky grumbles.
''Right. This happened five minutes ago,'' you point out.
Alexei slams his fist over his heart. ''But this is love! I know love when I see it!''
John points at you like he's pointing at a war criminal (he is, by the way). ''You two brood. You don't giggle or dance.''
''I was not giggling,'' you protest, offended.
''Don't gaslight me, woman. You were. You're hiding something.''
Everyone nods like this is an airtight, scientific conclusion.
You exchange a look with Bucky that says ''do we tell them?''.
He sighs in resignation.
You take a deep breath.
''Okay, fine,'' you say. ''We're dating.''
For a moment, the room goes completely still like the air has been punched out of it, before the entire team erupts at once. It's a tidal wave of gasps, accusations, triumphant ''I knew it!''s, and stunned disbelief, every voice overlapping and getting louder by the second.
When the team finally calms, Yelena is the first to speak up. ''Real dating disguised as fake dating disguised as real dating— My head hurts,'' she mutters, rubbing her temples.
Bucky clears his throat, reluctantly clarifying the situation. ''It started out fake. Then it became real. A few weeks ago.''
''A few weeks— And you didn't tell us?'' Yelena gasps.
You gesture broadly. ''No, we didn't. This. This is why.''
''I'm really happy for you guys,'' Bob says cheerfully.
Alexei wipes a, likely imaginary, tear from his cheek. ''My children... they grow up so fast.''
''Dad, Bucky is significantly older than you.''
John blows air out of his mouth. ''Wow. Didn't see this coming.''
You squint. ''We literally caught you all stalking us.''
Ava snorts. ''Not successfully.''
Alexei claps his hands together, energized. ''We have to celebrate!''
''No, we don't,'' Bucky groans, but they're already fighting over the champagne Valentina keeps in the fridge for ''special occasions''.
Bucky bumps his shoulder into yours when the others aren't looking. ''Told you they'd lose their minds.''
You smile. ''Are we going to tell them they accidentally added you to the groupchat and we've been reading along this whole time?''
You hear a scandalized gasp behind you.
''WHAT?''
...
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@buckysgirl-12
thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕
just curious about your #4 in your "about me". You're the only writer I've come across that's mentioned updating settings to see mature content, it reads as encouraging those under 18 to change their settings so smut is readily available. Thats...not good.
valid question anon! it's actually two separate things, i'm:
reminding people to update their settings to be able to see mature content; upon creation of a tumblr account, that feature is toggled off, and most don't know it's there, thus have never changed it.
stating that if you have an age under 18 in your account settings, you're not able to read the smut, so i don't get the question why can't i see some of your posts? in my inbox constantly.
i understand why you'd interpret it that way, but if you look a little closer, you can see they're not related (for example, the different layouts). they're both mentioned in #4 of the ''about me'' because they're both related to account settings x
i’m stuck on how to resize pictures for a post, could you help with that please?
you probably have figured it out by now, but in case you haven't:
it's best to change the measurements of a photo on the device you're writing on, not on tumblr, so in your camera roll if you're writing on your phone, or in downloads if you're on your laptop or computer.
for my posts, i pick and resize three photos to squares (1:1), then upload them to the tumblr draft. my inbox is always open for other questions x
if you're open to it- either clark or bucky with partner who's only ever really done missionary. it's never done anything for her, so when he finally flips her- head in the pillows- she's drooling and lost in it for the first time 🤭 sorry this is so specific, i have an itch in my brain here
this got me giggling, i love it anon!!! it's next on my to-write list after part two for powerless. it's going to be so difficult to choose between clark and bucky, but i can't wait to write it x
Summary: During the rare total solar eclipse over Metropolis, Clark's solar reserves run dry. For the first time in years he's just Clark: mortal, vulnerable, and aching to feel what it's like to fuck you without holding back.
Warnings: established relationship, clark temporarily loses his powers, a bunch of manhandling, size kink (obviously), belly bulge, light overstimulation, praise, missionary and doggy, light hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie
A/N: fuckkk i love weak pathetic men. there will be a part two to this x
Word Count: 2,454
...
The city feels suspended in time, the late afternoon light filtering through the Metropolis skyline having taken on an eerie, coppery hue. You're curled on the living room couch with a half-finished article on your laptop when the familiar whoosh of displaced air hits the open balcony doors, followed immediately by a heavy, uneven thud.
You look up just in time to see Clark stagger through the sliding glass, one hand braced against the frame. His cape hangs limp behind him, the red fabric dragging across the concrete.
''Clark?'' You're on your feet in an instant. ''Are you hurt?''
He manages a crooked, breathless smile when he sees you, but it doesn't reach his eyes the way it usually does.
''Hey,'' he rasps, voice rougher than you've heard it in years. He pushes off the doorframe and takes two unsteady steps inside, then stops like gravity is pinning him to the floor. ''I made it. Barely.''
You reach him before he can say anything else, hands sliding up his arms. His biceps feel the same, warm, thick, impossibly solid, but when you squeeze, there's no flex of superhuman muscle pushing you back.
''You're shaking,'' you say, almost an accusation.
He lets out a low, surprised laugh that turns into a pained groan. ''Yeah. Turns out flying without a full charge is... well, exhausting.''
You guide him toward the couch, but he doesn't sit right away. Instead he leans back against the wall, head tipping until it thumps against the plaster. His suit is still pristine, but sweat beads at his temples and darkens the collar. You've seen him come home bruised and bleeding after fights with gods, but he's never looked this... mortal.
''Talk to me,'' you demand, voice kind but insistent. Journalist habit. You cup his jaw, thumb brushing the freshly shaven skin. ''What's happening?''
Clark exhales through his nose, eyes sliding shut for a second like even that small motion takes effort.
''The solar eclipse,'' he says finally. ''The moon's blocking the sun completely. Has been for almost two hours. I didn't have enough left to fly to space, so I burned through my solar reserves getting back here.''
He opens his eyes again, meeting yours with a dopey (and slightly delirious, you're assuming) smile.
''I wanted to be home with you,'' he admits, quieter. ''Before I couldn't fly anymore. Before I couldn't... do anything anymore.''
Your pulse kicks up. ''And now?''
''Without the Yellow Sun, my powers deplete until I'm functionally identical to an ordinary human. A normal, mortal Kryptonian without powers. I'm just... me. Six-foot-four, two-hundred-thirty pounds of farm muscle, and a really inconvenient hard-on because—'' He stops, cheeks flushing. ''Because I haven't felt this... equal to you in a long time.''
You stare at him. He stares back. The apartment is quiet except for the distant sounds of the city and the soft, uneven rhythm of his breathing.
''Equal,'' you echo, testing the word. Your fingers slide down his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart under the S-shield. It's not the slow, steady metronome you're used to. It's fast. Human. ''You mean... you wouldn't have to hold back?''
His throat works. ''There's not much to hold back when I'm this...'' He gestures vaguely at himself. ''...depleted. I wouldn't have to worry about breaking your pelvis if I thrust too hard, or leaving bruises on your skin. I wouldn't accidentally snap the headboard in half when I—'' He cuts himself off again, jaw tightening. ''Gosh. I sound like an animal.''
''You sound like a man who's been fucking his girlfriend like she's made of glass for years,'' you correct him, voice dropping low. ''And now doesn't have to.''
Clark's eyes darken. You step closer until your body presses against his, feeling every inch of him, still towering, still broad, still so much bigger than you, but without that effortless power coiled underneath.
''Tell me,'' you murmur, fingers tracing the line of his jaw down to the pulse hammering in his throat. ''What do you want to do right now, Clark?''
He swallows hard. His hands, big, calloused, trembling, settle on your waist.
''I want to make love to you until you can't think straight,'' he admits, voice rough. ''I want to feel every flutter and clench without having to listen for your heartbeat to make sure I'm not hurting you.''
A slow, wicked smile curves your lips.
''Then do it,'' you whisper. ''Show me what Clark Kent feels like when he finally lets go.''
His control snaps like a frayed rope.
One second you're standing, the next he has you lifted, still strong enough to do it easily, and your back hits the wall with a solid thump that rattles the framed photos of you, Clark and Krypto.
His mouth crashes into yours like a man starved, messy and desperate and tasting faintly of ozone and sweat.
You laugh breathlessly against his lips when his hands fumble with the hem of your shirt, fingers clumsy from fatigue.
''Need help, Kent?'' you tease.
''Shut up,'' he groans against your lips, but there's laughter in it too, bright and surprised. You help him yank the shirt over your head. Then his hands are on your bare skin, warm, rough, greedy, and he groans like the contact alone is enough to short-circuit him.
''Golly,'' he breathes against your neck. ''You feel so good. Always do. But like this—'' He bites down on the sensitive skin, your back arching with a sharp moan.
''Like this,'' he continues, voice wrecked, ''I can feel every shiver. Every goosebump. Every time your pulse jumps under my tongue.''
His hips rock forward, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against you through the suit. You hook a leg around his waist, pulling him closer.
''Then stop talking,'' you say, nipping his lower lip. ''And fuck me like you've always wanted to.''
Clark doesn't need to be told twice.
He scoops you up again, carrying you toward the bedroom with long, determined strides, the heavy thud of boots on hardwood and the ragged sound of his breathing filling the apartment.
He kicks the bedroom door shut behind him, wood rattling in the frame, and drops you onto the mattress with enough force that the springs groan in protest. You bounce once, twice, laughing breathlessly as you prop yourself up on your elbows. He's already tearing at the clasps of his cape, fingers fumbling for the first time because there's no super-speed to make it effortless and quick.
''Gosh darn it,'' he mutters before finally ripping the cape free and flinging the red fabric across the room. It lands in a heap against the dresser.
You're already shimmying out of your sweatpants, watching Clark with hungry eyes. He looks... wrecked, in the best way. Hair mussed from the wind of his labored flight home, suit clinging to sweat-damp skin, chest heaving like he just ran a marathon, and so fucking hard the outline of his cock strains obscenely against the red fabric.
He catches you staring and gives a crooked, almost shy grin that doesn't match the feral glint in his eyes.
He's on you in two strides, knees sinking into the mattress, caging you beneath him. His hands, still trembling faintly from the lack of solar energy, grip your hips and yank you down the bed until your ass is right at the edge, and you moan at how easily he manhandles you.
''Gosh,'' he breathes, staring down at where your legs wrap around his waist. He drags one palm up your inner thigh, spreading you wider, and groans when he sees how wet you already are. No super-hearing to tell him exactly how soaked, but he doesn't need it. The slick shine on your folds is obvious, obscene.
''Tell me if it's too much,'' he says suddenly, voice cracking with lust and worry even as his thumb brushes your clit and makes you arch. ''I can't— I can't hear your heart. Can't tell when your pulse is spiking because you love it or because I'm hurting you.''
You reach up, cupping his face, forcing him to meet your eyes.
''Clark,'' you say firmly. ''I'll tell you. I promise. But right now, I just want you to fuck me like you've been dying to.''
His pupils blow wide.
He doesn't bother stripping the suit all the way, just yanks the crotch open with a sharp rip of fabric that makes you gasp. His cock springs free, thick and flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. He's bigger than most men could dream of being, and it looks absolutely obscene.
He notches himself at your entrance, drags the head through your slick once, twice, coating himself. ''You feel incredible. No one makes me feel the way you do,'' he mumbles absentmindedly.
He slams home in one brutal stroke, bottoming out so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Your back bows off the bed with a choked cry, nails digging into his shoulders. He's huge, always has been, but without his powers tempering the force, the stretch burns in the best way, filling you so completely you can barely breathe.
''Oh, wow,'' he pants against your neck, hips stuttering like he's fighting not to come already. ''So tight. So, so tight around me. I can feel you fluttering. Gosh, I can actually feel it without having to focus—''
His hips snap forward again, harder this time, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. The bed creaks ominously, but he doesn't stop. He can't. He fucks you like a man possessed, each thrust driving the air from your lungs, his big hands pinning your wrists above your head so you can't do anything but take it.
''Look at you,'' he rasps, eyes raking down your body. ''Taking all of me. Every inch. Look how your stomach—'' He presses one palm low on your belly, right where he can feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you. The pressure makes you clench hard around him, and he whines. ''Yeah. Right there. Feel that? That's me.''
You're already close, overstimulated from the relentless pace, the size of him, the way he's finally letting go. Your thighs tremble around his hips.
''Clark, I'm gonna—''
''Come,'' he orders, voice rough. ''Let me feel it. Let me feel you soak me.''
Your orgasm hits like a freight train, sharp, blinding, your walls clamping down so hard he nearly loses it right then. He talks you through it, whispering praises and dragging it out, making you shake and whimper as aftershocks ripple through you.
But he doesn't stop.
He flips you onto your stomach, yanks your hips up, and drives back in from behind. One hand fists your hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to arch your back perfectly for him.
''Again,'' he pants. ''Give me another one. I want to feel you come while I fill you.''
You're oversensitive, clit throbbing, every stroke too much and not enough. You sob into the sheets, pushing back against him anyway.
''Clark—''
''You can take it,'' he interrupts, more of a desperate plea than a command, but then guilt floods him. ''Tell me to stop if—''
''Don't you dare stop,'' you gasp. ''Fill me. Please.''
He slams in one last time and comes with a broken moan that vibrates through your whole body. Pulse after pulse floods you until you feel it leaking out around his cock, dripping down your thighs even as he keeps grinding, trying to push it deeper into you.
He collapses over you, careful even now not to crush you completely, chest heaving against your back. His cock is still twitching inside, still leaking the last of it.
''I didn't hurt you, did I?'' he whispers after a long minute, voice wrecked.
''Never.'' You turn your head, catch his mouth in a messy, sated kiss.
Clark stays buried inside you for a moment, hips twitching with aftershocks, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades. His breathing is ragged, and you can feel every uneven exhale against your skin as his weight pins you to the mattress in the most delicious way.
Eventually he rolls to the side so he doesn't crush you completely. You feel the hot rush of his come immediately when his cock slips out of you, leaking out of you and onto the sheets. He watches it with something like dazed fascination, one big hand sliding down to cup your pussy possessively, thumb smearing the mess over your swollen clit.
''Golly,'' he mutters, voice hoarse. ''I... that's a lot.''
You laugh softly, still catching your breath, and turn to face him. His cheeks are flushed, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, eyes heavy-lidded and tired in a way you rarely get to see post-sex.
You reach out, trace a lazy finger down the center of his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart slowing gradually.
''Feeling mortal yet, Kent?''
He huffs a laugh that turns into a groan when he tries to shift closer and his thigh muscles protest. ''Yeah. Very.'' He winces as he stretches one leg out. ''My quads are burning. And my back— For gosh sake, did I pull something?''
''Clark,'' you laugh, propping yourself up on one elbow so you can look down at him properly. ''You're just sore.''
He shoots you a mock-glare, but the corner of his mouth twitches. ''Laugh it up. I haven't had to deal with lactic acid buildup since... ever.''
You trail your fingers lower, over the defined ridges of his abs, then lower still until you're brushing his softening cock, still impressive even at half-mast, slick with both of you. He twitches under your touch, sensitive, but doesn't get hard again. Not instantly. Not like usual.
''Look at you,'' you tease, voice dropping to that soft, filthy murmur he loves. ''No super-speed recovery. No round two in three seconds flat.''
Clark's eyes darken at the words, even as his cheeks flush deeper. He catches your wrist, squeezing gently.
''Keep talking like that,'' he warns, voice rough, ''and I'll find a second wind whether my body likes it or not.''
You grin, leaning down to brush a slow kiss against his jaw. ''Promise?''
He groans again, but it sounds more like a laugh this time. His arms wrap around you, still big and strong enough to make you feel small and safe.
''I'm gonna need a minute,'' he admits, nuzzling into your hair. ''Maybe ten. Possibly a nap. Is this how tired normal people get after sex?''
You hum happily, tucking your face against his throat where his pulse is still racing.
''Take all the minutes you need,'' you murmur.
...
thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕
This was so good oh my god I’m such a sucker for powerless Clark Kent nevermind how much I love yearned Clark Kent call me Hannah Montana the way this is the best of both worlds
same question from the bruce wayne girl, how do i set up an about me post for my tumblr account? i want to start writing fanfictions!
hi again!
so exciting that you've decided to start writing fanfics!!! your about me post depends on how much you're willing to reveal about yourself (and be careful, this is the internet). for example, i use a nickname instead of my actual name, and generally don't mention my age or nationality.
i've never done an about me post (i like a little mystery), but if i would, i'd include a short introduction— name, pronouns, what fandoms you're in, etc.— and specify what kind of fanfics you'll write.
it's also a good idea to clarify whether you're open to requests and how your followers can be added to potential tag lists. if you've got any more questions, just drop me an ask and i'd be more than happy to help x
Summary: During the rare total solar eclipse over Metropolis, Clark's solar reserves run dry. For the first time in years he's just Clark: mortal, vulnerable, and aching to feel what it's like to fuck you without holding back.
Warnings: established relationship, clark temporarily loses his powers, a bunch of manhandling, size kink (obviously), belly bulge, light overstimulation, praise, missionary and doggy, light hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie
A/N: fuckkk i love weak pathetic men. there will be a part two to this x
Word Count: 2,454
...
The city feels suspended in time, the late afternoon light filtering through the Metropolis skyline having taken on an eerie, coppery hue. You're curled on the living room couch with a half-finished article on your laptop when the familiar whoosh of displaced air hits the open balcony doors, followed immediately by a heavy, uneven thud.
You look up just in time to see Clark stagger through the sliding glass, one hand braced against the frame. His cape hangs limp behind him, the red fabric dragging across the concrete.
''Clark?'' You're on your feet in an instant. ''Are you hurt?''
He manages a crooked, breathless smile when he sees you, but it doesn't reach his eyes the way it usually does.
''Hey,'' he rasps, voice rougher than you've heard it in years. He pushes off the doorframe and takes two unsteady steps inside, then stops like gravity is pinning him to the floor. ''I made it. Barely.''
You reach him before he can say anything else, hands sliding up his arms. His biceps feel the same, warm, thick, impossibly solid, but when you squeeze, there's no flex of superhuman muscle pushing you back.
''You're shaking,'' you say, almost an accusation.
He lets out a low, surprised laugh that turns into a pained groan. ''Yeah. Turns out flying without a full charge is... well, exhausting.''
You guide him toward the couch, but he doesn't sit right away. Instead he leans back against the wall, head tipping until it thumps against the plaster. His suit is still pristine, but sweat beads at his temples and darkens the collar. You've seen him come home bruised and bleeding after fights with gods, but he's never looked this... mortal.
''Talk to me,'' you demand, voice kind but insistent. Journalist habit. You cup his jaw, thumb brushing the freshly shaven skin. ''What's happening?''
Clark exhales through his nose, eyes sliding shut for a second like even that small motion takes effort.
''The solar eclipse,'' he says finally. ''The moon's blocking the sun completely. Has been for almost two hours. I didn't have enough left to fly to space, so I burned through my solar reserves getting back here.''
He opens his eyes again, meeting yours with a dopey (and slightly delirious, you're assuming) smile.
''I wanted to be home with you,'' he admits, quieter. ''Before I couldn't fly anymore. Before I couldn't... do anything anymore.''
Your pulse kicks up. ''And now?''
''Without the Yellow Sun, my powers deplete until I'm functionally identical to an ordinary human. A normal, mortal Kryptonian without powers. I'm just... me. Six-foot-four, two-hundred-thirty pounds of farm muscle, and a really inconvenient hard-on because—'' He stops, cheeks flushing. ''Because I haven't felt this... equal to you in a long time.''
You stare at him. He stares back. The apartment is quiet except for the distant sounds of the city and the soft, uneven rhythm of his breathing.
''Equal,'' you echo, testing the word. Your fingers slide down his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart under the S-shield. It's not the slow, steady metronome you're used to. It's fast. Human. ''You mean... you wouldn't have to hold back?''
His throat works. ''There's not much to hold back when I'm this...'' He gestures vaguely at himself. ''...depleted. I wouldn't have to worry about breaking your pelvis if I thrust too hard, or leaving bruises on your skin. I wouldn't accidentally snap the headboard in half when I—'' He cuts himself off again, jaw tightening. ''Gosh. I sound like an animal.''
''You sound like a man who's been fucking his girlfriend like she's made of glass for years,'' you correct him, voice dropping low. ''And now doesn't have to.''
Clark's eyes darken. You step closer until your body presses against his, feeling every inch of him, still towering, still broad, still so much bigger than you, but without that effortless power coiled underneath.
''Tell me,'' you murmur, fingers tracing the line of his jaw down to the pulse hammering in his throat. ''What do you want to do right now, Clark?''
He swallows hard. His hands, big, calloused, trembling, settle on your waist.
''I want to make love to you until you can't think straight,'' he admits, voice rough. ''I want to feel every flutter and clench without having to listen for your heartbeat to make sure I'm not hurting you.''
A slow, wicked smile curves your lips.
''Then do it,'' you whisper. ''Show me what Clark Kent feels like when he finally lets go.''
His control snaps like a frayed rope.
One second you're standing, the next he has you lifted, still strong enough to do it easily, and your back hits the wall with a solid thump that rattles the framed photos of you, Clark and Krypto.
His mouth crashes into yours like a man starved, messy and desperate and tasting faintly of ozone and sweat.
You laugh breathlessly against his lips when his hands fumble with the hem of your shirt, fingers clumsy from fatigue.
''Need help, Kent?'' you tease.
''Shut up,'' he groans against your lips, but there's laughter in it too, bright and surprised. You help him yank the shirt over your head. Then his hands are on your bare skin, warm, rough, greedy, and he groans like the contact alone is enough to short-circuit him.
''Golly,'' he breathes against your neck. ''You feel so good. Always do. But like this—'' He bites down on the sensitive skin, your back arching with a sharp moan.
''Like this,'' he continues, voice wrecked, ''I can feel every shiver. Every goosebump. Every time your pulse jumps under my tongue.''
His hips rock forward, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against you through the suit. You hook a leg around his waist, pulling him closer.
''Then stop talking,'' you say, nipping his lower lip. ''And fuck me like you've always wanted to.''
Clark doesn't need to be told twice.
He scoops you up again, carrying you toward the bedroom with long, determined strides, the heavy thud of boots on hardwood and the ragged sound of his breathing filling the apartment.
He kicks the bedroom door shut behind him, wood rattling in the frame, and drops you onto the mattress with enough force that the springs groan in protest. You bounce once, twice, laughing breathlessly as you prop yourself up on your elbows. He's already tearing at the clasps of his cape, fingers fumbling for the first time because there's no super-speed to make it effortless and quick.
''Gosh darn it,'' he mutters before finally ripping the cape free and flinging the red fabric across the room. It lands in a heap against the dresser.
You're already shimmying out of your sweatpants, watching Clark with hungry eyes. He looks... wrecked, in the best way. Hair mussed from the wind of his labored flight home, suit clinging to sweat-damp skin, chest heaving like he just ran a marathon, and so fucking hard the outline of his cock strains obscenely against the red fabric.
He catches you staring and gives a crooked, almost shy grin that doesn't match the feral glint in his eyes.
He's on you in two strides, knees sinking into the mattress, caging you beneath him. His hands, still trembling faintly from the lack of solar energy, grip your hips and yank you down the bed until your ass is right at the edge, and you moan at how easily he manhandles you.
''Gosh,'' he breathes, staring down at where your legs wrap around his waist. He drags one palm up your inner thigh, spreading you wider, and groans when he sees how wet you already are. No super-hearing to tell him exactly how soaked, but he doesn't need it. The slick shine on your folds is obvious, obscene.
''Tell me if it's too much,'' he says suddenly, voice cracking with lust and worry even as his thumb brushes your clit and makes you arch. ''I can't— I can't hear your heart. Can't tell when your pulse is spiking because you love it or because I'm hurting you.''
You reach up, cupping his face, forcing him to meet your eyes.
''Clark,'' you say firmly. ''I'll tell you. I promise. But right now, I just want you to fuck me like you've been dying to.''
His pupils blow wide.
He doesn't bother stripping the suit all the way, just yanks the crotch open with a sharp rip of fabric that makes you gasp. His cock springs free, thick and flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. He's bigger than most men could dream of being, and it looks absolutely obscene.
He notches himself at your entrance, drags the head through your slick once, twice, coating himself. ''You feel incredible. No one makes me feel the way you do,'' he mumbles absentmindedly.
He slams home in one brutal stroke, bottoming out so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Your back bows off the bed with a choked cry, nails digging into his shoulders. He's huge, always has been, but without his powers tempering the force, the stretch burns in the best way, filling you so completely you can barely breathe.
''Oh, wow,'' he pants against your neck, hips stuttering like he's fighting not to come already. ''So tight. So, so tight around me. I can feel you fluttering. Gosh, I can actually feel it without having to focus—''
His hips snap forward again, harder this time, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. The bed creaks ominously, but he doesn't stop. He can't. He fucks you like a man possessed, each thrust driving the air from your lungs, his big hands pinning your wrists above your head so you can't do anything but take it.
''Look at you,'' he rasps, eyes raking down your body. ''Taking all of me. Every inch. Look how your stomach—'' He presses one palm low on your belly, right where he can feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you. The pressure makes you clench hard around him, and he whines. ''Yeah. Right there. Feel that? That's me.''
You're already close, overstimulated from the relentless pace, the size of him, the way he's finally letting go. Your thighs tremble around his hips.
''Clark, I'm gonna—''
''Come,'' he orders, voice rough. ''Let me feel it. Let me feel you soak me.''
Your orgasm hits like a freight train, sharp, blinding, your walls clamping down so hard he nearly loses it right then. He talks you through it, whispering praises and dragging it out, making you shake and whimper as aftershocks ripple through you.
But he doesn't stop.
He flips you onto your stomach, yanks your hips up, and drives back in from behind. One hand fists your hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to arch your back perfectly for him.
''Again,'' he pants. ''Give me another one. I want to feel you come while I fill you.''
You're oversensitive, clit throbbing, every stroke too much and not enough. You sob into the sheets, pushing back against him anyway.
''Clark—''
''You can take it,'' he interrupts, more of a desperate plea than a command, but then guilt floods him. ''Tell me to stop if—''
''Don't you dare stop,'' you gasp. ''Fill me. Please.''
He slams in one last time and comes with a broken moan that vibrates through your whole body. Pulse after pulse floods you until you feel it leaking out around his cock, dripping down your thighs even as he keeps grinding, trying to push it deeper into you.
He collapses over you, careful even now not to crush you completely, chest heaving against your back. His cock is still twitching inside, still leaking the last of it.
''I didn't hurt you, did I?'' he whispers after a long minute, voice wrecked.
''Never.'' You turn your head, catch his mouth in a messy, sated kiss.
Clark stays buried inside you for a moment, hips twitching with aftershocks, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades. His breathing is ragged, and you can feel every uneven exhale against your skin as his weight pins you to the mattress in the most delicious way.
Eventually he rolls to the side so he doesn't crush you completely. You feel the hot rush of his come immediately when his cock slips out of you, leaking out of you and onto the sheets. He watches it with something like dazed fascination, one big hand sliding down to cup your pussy possessively, thumb smearing the mess over your swollen clit.
''Golly,'' he mutters, voice hoarse. ''I... that's a lot.''
You laugh softly, still catching your breath, and turn to face him. His cheeks are flushed, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, eyes heavy-lidded and tired in a way you rarely get to see post-sex.
You reach out, trace a lazy finger down the center of his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart slowing gradually.
''Feeling mortal yet, Kent?''
He huffs a laugh that turns into a groan when he tries to shift closer and his thigh muscles protest. ''Yeah. Very.'' He winces as he stretches one leg out. ''My quads are burning. And my back— For gosh sake, did I pull something?''
''Clark,'' you laugh, propping yourself up on one elbow so you can look down at him properly. ''You're just sore.''
He shoots you a mock-glare, but the corner of his mouth twitches. ''Laugh it up. I haven't had to deal with lactic acid buildup since... ever.''
You trail your fingers lower, over the defined ridges of his abs, then lower still until you're brushing his softening cock, still impressive even at half-mast, slick with both of you. He twitches under your touch, sensitive, but doesn't get hard again. Not instantly. Not like usual.
''Look at you,'' you tease, voice dropping to that soft, filthy murmur he loves. ''No super-speed recovery. No round two in three seconds flat.''
Clark's eyes darken at the words, even as his cheeks flush deeper. He catches your wrist, squeezing gently.
''Keep talking like that,'' he warns, voice rough, ''and I'll find a second wind whether my body likes it or not.''
You grin, leaning down to brush a slow kiss against his jaw. ''Promise?''
He groans again, but it sounds more like a laugh this time. His arms wrap around you, still big and strong enough to make you feel small and safe.
''I'm gonna need a minute,'' he admits, nuzzling into your hair. ''Maybe ten. Possibly a nap. Is this how tired normal people get after sex?''
You hum happily, tucking your face against his throat where his pulse is still racing.
''Take all the minutes you need,'' you murmur.
...
thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕
if you'd like to be added to my tag list for either a specific series i'm writing or to my general tag list, i'd prefer it if you let me know in the comment section of this post. you can be added to as little or as many as you'd like. i'll also link this post in my main masterlist post so you'll always be able to find and come back to it!
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these are the fics you can currently be added to a tag list for (this will be updated as i post more):
-bucky barnes general tag list; this means you'll be tagged in all bucky barnes fics.
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-window watching (bucky barnes, three-part short series)
fics with mature content will be marked with a star (*)!
One Shots & Blurbs
overcharged*
Overfed by the sun and half out of his mind, Clark crashes into your apartment, delirious with need and a burning hunger for you.
powerless*
During the rare total solar eclipse over Metropolis, Clark's solar reserves run dry. For the first time in years he's just Clark: mortal, vulnerable, and aching to feel what it's like to fuck you without holding back.
overdrive* (pt.2 to powerless)
The second the eclipse ends and the Yellow Sun slams back into him, a violent solar surge triggers a Kryptonian rut Clark's never felt before, rendering him incapable of controlling his powers... or the overwhelming biological imperative to breed you.
...
thank you so much for being here! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕
its not a request but i just wanted to express my love for 'broken arm, broken man'. its amazing!! i loved it seriously. you have such a talent babe, i'm serious. loveeee<33 byeeee
hi lovely!!! this is so incredibly kind of you to say and genuinely made my day :,) thank you for reading, lots of love x
Summary: Overfed by the sun and half out of his mind, Clark crashes into your apartment, delirious with need and a burning hunger for you.
Warnings: feral clark kent, established relationship, superman suit, smut, consent kink, so much size kink, belly bulge, manhandling (he kinda throws you around), praise, a lot of dirty talk, overstimulation, clark's delirious and babbling
A/N: i hate that tumblr made me put a content label on this because it's going to be hidden from so many users. then again, this is obscene. seriously. enjoy x
Word Count: 3,339
...
Clark knew something was terribly wrong the moment he stumbled out of the regeneration chair in the Fortress, knees hitting the floor, his breath coming in tight, stuttering gasps.
Not wrong like a headache or a bruise or even Kryptonite poisoning. Wrong in the way his heart punched against his ribs like it was trying to escape and the Yellow Sun that usually felt like a warm summer afternoon in Smallville was suddenly a roaring wildfire, a scorching flood of heat surging through his every nerve.
The world feels too bright, too loud, every sound in the Fortress ricochets inside his skull like thunder. His suit feels too tight, too heavy, every seam pressing against hypersensitive skin.
Gary is immediately at his side, metal arms bracketing Clark's waist with a firmness that would bruise a human. ''Superman! Your solar intake exceeded recommended parameters significantly.''
Clark tries to answer, to reassure Gary that he's fine, that he just needs a minute, but the words dissolve before they reach his tongue. All he can manage is a low, strangled noise as another wave of heat rolls through him, pounding inside his veins like a second heartbeat. He feels overfull, like his skin can't possible hold what's inside him.
Gary steadies him again, voice chiming with nervous urgency. ''You cannot fly. Your cells are at hazardous charge levels. You need to rest. We need to rebalance your solar input before—''
Before Gary can finish, another pulse of heat erupts from inside of Clark, dizzying, unbearably intense, and it suddenly snaps into brutal clarity what his body is starving for.
Your scent threads into his memory without warning, like the universe dropping a match in gasoline. Your warm skin. You sweet perfume. The steady thrum of your pulse that he can hear from miles away even on a normal day. Right now, it's deafening.
He staggers to his feet, almost slipping, grabbing onto one of the Sunstone crystals for balance as his chest rises and falls in frantic, shallow pulls. ''I need to go,'' he pants, voice hoarse, pupils blown wide. ''I need— oh goodness— I need to get to her.''
He's in the air a second later, despite Gary's protests and Krypto's concerned bark, flying unevenly, almost drunkenly, heat rippling off him in waves. Every beat of his heart sends another burst of energy through him, and by the time he reaches Metropolis he's trembling with the effort it takes to hold himself together.
He lands on your fire escape harder than he means to, metal groaning under his boots. His hands shake as he lifts one to your window, but he stops short; he doesn't feel in control of his powers and he'd feel terrible if he shattered the glass (again).
Inside, you look up at the sudden noise.
The moment your eyes meet his through the glass, his breath stutters. Your pulse jumps, he feels it, hears it, can practically taste the way it kicks up in your throat, and he lets out another soft, broken sound, something between a moan and a whine.
You rush to the window without hesitation, unlatching it, pushing it open. The cool night air spills in, but he's burning too hot to notice.
''Clark?'' you whisper-yell. ''What happened?''
He steps inside so fast he almost stumbles again, catching himself on the wall, chest heaving, sweat beading at his temples. His suit is still on, the crest across his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath, his cape skewed. The fabric is stretched tight across his shoulders, outlining every tense muscle.
''Stay back,'' he rasps, though he's the one stumbling closer, voice breaking under the strain. ''Please, I— I can't— I don't want to hurt you. I'm not myself, something went wrong, I—''
He sucks in a shuddering breath, eyes flicking to your neck, your parted lips, the beat of your heart. ''Gosh, you smell so sweet,'' he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, utterly undone.
His suit, cobalt blue and clinging to his skin, is scorched in places from the overload, the emblem on his chest glowing faintly like a coal in a dying fire. His curls are plastered to his forehead, sweat running down the column of his throat in trembling lines.
Clark starts pacing like he's fighting his own body, shoulders tight, movements too clumsy, too fast. Every few steps he catches himself on the edge of your kitchen counter or the back of a chair, digging in so hard the material warps beneath his fingers.
You take a cautious step toward him, and a soft, broken sound slips from his throat. His pupils are blown wide, swallowing almost all the blue. His breaths keep stuttering out of him, ragged, uneven, like he can't quite pull air into his lungs anymore.
''Don't.'' He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching hard enough that a muscle jumps. ''Don't come closer. Please. I can't—'' He swallows, his throat bobbing. ''I can't shut it out. I can hear everything. Your heart, your breathing, every darn part of you.''
''Clark.'' The glow of the city outside catches his eyes, wide and glazed with need, pupils blown wide with the fire of overcharged solar energy. ''What happened to you?''
He braces both hands on his knees, body shuddering with another surge of heat. ''Overcharged,'' he forces out. ''There's too much sun in my system. I can't burn it off. I can't—'' He whines. ''I can't think.''
''Clark,'' you whisper, and your hand lifts before you can stop it, palm hovering over the glowing crest on his chest.
His eyes track your fingers like he can feel your touch before it lands. You press your palm flat against the center of his chest, and his whole body jolts like you've shocked him. His head tips back, jaw clenching, a guttural, strangled groan torn from deep inside him.
''I— I'm begging you,'' he stammers, grasp slipping as his hands grab at your waist, your hips, anything he can hold without doing damage. ''I'm not safe right now. I don't know what I'll do.''
''It's okay,'' you breathe. ''I'm here.''
His mouth crashes to yours, hot and starving, like he's been held underwater for hours and you're the first breath of fresh air. His large hands frame your face, then your jaw, then your throat, like he can't decide where to hold you first. He whispers broken little apologies against your lips that don't match the way he's devouring you.
''I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,'' he rasps out. ''I don't mean to be rough. I just— I can't stop thinking about you, your body, what you feel like...''
He crowds you back until your spine hits the wall, his forearm braced beside your head while his other hand grips your waist so tightly that your skin aches, sweeping you up into his arms and practically smashing you against the wall. The impact makes a lamp topple to the ground, glass shattering onto the carpet, and he pauses briefly.
''Clark,'' you murmur, cupping his face, guiding him back in when he tries to pull away like he's ashamed. ''It's okay. You're not hurting me.''
He screws his eyes shut like he can't bear witness to the way he's treating you, so unlike the reverence he usually shows you.
''I don't know how to be gentle right now,'' he breathes against your mouth, shaking with the effort to hold back. His hands slide down, gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him so you can feel the hard, twitching length of him straining against the suit.
''It's okay. Take what you need,'' you say soothingly.
Clark's eyes snap open at your words. His entire body screams at him to give in, the solar energy radiating through him amplifying the way his blood roars in his veins.
''I— I don't want you to give in because you feel like you have to, because I'm like this,'' he rasps, voice breaking. ''If you don't want this, I'll— I'll lock myself in a Kryptonite cage, I... anything. I'll do anything.'' His pupils are blown, glowing faintly golden, and his chest heaves against your own. ''I won't be able to stop once I start.''
You frown at the sheer heat radiating from him, the way his body trembles under its own intensity. ''I want this,'' you whisper, your voice low. ''Take me. Use me, Clark. Make yourself feel better.''
The moment you give him permission, Clark is uncontainable. He lunges forward, and you gasp as he lifts you from the floor, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he hoists you like you weigh nothing at all. His mouth finds yours in a desperate, consuming kiss, his teeth pulling on your bottom lip. He tries to pull back, tries to apologize again, but you feel the way it hurts him to stop touching you, like peeling himself away is physically painful.
He carries you to the bedroom, one arm locked under your thighs, his other hand cupping the back of your head, shielding you from bumping into the head jamb of the door frame.
Once he throws you onto the mattress, his hands are everywhere, quivering, insistent, ripping at your clothes as though your bare skin is the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity.
The silk of your blouse tears easily under his grip, falling in shreds to the floor, and your panties don't last a second longer; they're gone in one vicious tug, leaving you completely exposed. His lips crash onto yours, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, a frantic, desperate dance of need that leaves your head spinning. He groans into your mouth, a sound that would be unbearable if it weren't so arousing.
''Thank you,'' he whimpers against your lips, teeth grazing your lips, and his body shudders against yours as he tries to contain the storm inside him. 'I have to be inside of you. You— you understand, right?''
You know he's aware of the hurt he's causing by skipping the slow, teasing prelude he usually loves to give, the careful preparation and worship of your body. Normally he would make you come at least twice on his fingers, drawing you out until your walls are trembling, until your breath is ragged and your skin is flushed.
But he can't. He's already delirious from the overcharge, hyperaware of your scent, your pulse, the wetness gathering between your thighs, and he is absolutely frantic for more.
''Do it,'' you gasp, tilting your head back, chest rising and falling. ''Clark, just do it. Please.''
He hesitates only for a second, then rips at the remaining fabric of his suit, tearing it at the waist and dragging it down until he's bare below, save for the last stubborn remnants of material around his legs.
The tip of Clark's thick cock nudges your entrance, and he rubs it through your folds in slow, maddening circles before popping it inside, making you cry out. Your nails dig into his broad back, letting him anchor you. He grunts at the resistance, the first inch already makes your knees quiver, and you fear how the rest of him will feel.
He doesn't give you time to adjust before he pulls back again, then snapping his hips forward, bullying himself into your poor pussy that struggles to accommodate to his girth. The stretch is punishing, and every nerve ending in your pussy ignites with delicious pain. He hovers there for a moment, halfway in, before burying the rest of his cock into you in one long, ruthless motion.
Your nails claw at his biceps, toes curling at the overwhelming fullness of him, your pussy fluttering helplessly around his dick. He buries his face into your neck, biting, sucking, kissing anywhere his lips can find. The almost primitive sounds of need he lets out only make your breath hitch and your walls clench tighter around him.
Clark's hips snap forward in short, spasmodic thrusts, your pussy stretching impossibly wide around him as he groans low, almost broken, babbling apologies against your lips.
He buries himself deeper still, lifting your legs up, thighs bracketing him, and you whine at the new angle. He presses one hand flat against your belly as if to ground himself, fingers splaying over your skin, and he lets out an almost pained groan when he feels the curve of your stomach shift under the stretch. ''I— I'm all the way there? Golly.''
The sensation of his length inside you, the fullness, the way his cock presses against your sweet spot with each slam, is overwhelming, every muscle in your body straining to take him in. You moan his name like a prayer as he grunts and whines with each deep thrust.
''Oh, wow. Gosh, y— you feel so good,'' Clark whispers, voice cracking as his fingers press against your belly, rubbing the taut curve, tracing the way your body clamps around him. ''So, so good.''
His lips find your neck, nipping and licking, teeth dragging lightly over the soft skin, leaving little fiery marks that resemble the heat he's burying inside you. When he can't kiss your mouth, he kisses down your collarbone, your chest, sucking your tits, murmuring incoherent praises that make your head spin.
''You're so tight, so full of me... So full,'' he rasps, voice breaking, his chest heaving against yours. He's losing control, whimpering quietly as his hips rut into you with unrelenting need, each stroke testing the limits of your walls, driving himself deeper with every thrust.
''Gosh, you're— you're unbelievable...'' he whines, teeth grazing your shoulder, fingers tangling in your hair as he rams into you again, reveling in the way your body molds to his size. ''T— taking me so well. I— I can't stop. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.''
''I— It's okay, Clark, it's okay,'' you attempt to reassure him, barely able to breathe under the weight of his body, his thick cock making you see stars. ''I want it... I want all of you.''
His hands are everywhere, cupping your thighs, gripping your hips, pressing into your belly to feel you struggle to take him. He pulls out so only the head is still inside before shoving it back in, letting you feel every inch, dragging it in a way that makes your body quiver.
You shiver, arching into him as he relentlessly bottoms out, over and over, his body heat setting your nerves alight. His fingers brush over your clit as he murmurs your name in short, broken bursts, groaning and whimpering as though he's being torn apart from the inside out.
You wrap your arms around his neck, nails digging into the broad planes of his back, and Clark kisses you again, desperate, sloppy, hungry, the headboard slamming against the wall behind you loudly, the wood splintering under the force of his thrusts.
''I— I'm so sorry. I'll pay for that, I promise... I promise,'' he murmurs, low and broken, voice barely audible over the ragged rhythm of your breathing. ''You're just so wet... so... so soft.''
He swivels his hips and you feel every vein, every ridge, your entire body shuddering under the overstimulation. ''Golly,'' he breathes, teeth grazing your shoulder as he babbles. ''I can't hold it... I need— I need to cum inside of you. Can I? Please. Please. I— I'll do anything.''
You're overwhelmed, overstimulated and delirious, but manage a shaky nod. He whimpers, desperately ramming into you, letting you feel the full spread of his cock against your sore walls, whispering praise and filthy babbles, ''You're so... so tight... T— taking all of me so well. Such a brave girl. Thank you. Thank you, I'm so sorry.''
The first wave of your climax hits hard, your cunt clenching as your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, nails digging into his back. Clark whimpers, the sound frenzied, his hand pressing into your stomach to feel every inch of him buried inside, and his own release builds quickly as he fucks you through yours.
''Oh— Oh gosh. I can't... I can't hold on,'' he whines out, thrusts growing erratic, entirely possessed by desire. ''I'm gonna— I need to cum inside of you. I'm so sorry. Please— please forgive me.''
He buries himself to the hilt and his warm cum fills you without warning, your walls clenching reflexively. ''I just need... I need one more,'' he pants, continuing to rock into you, breath ragged, chest slick with sweat against yours. His hand is braced against your stomach, thumb pressing into the curve in the soft flesh of your belly.
Your hands cling to the broad expanse of his chest, nails raking lightly across muscle, whining in overstimulation. Clark whines at the sting, his head thrown back, teeth biting into his lower lip as he thrusts into you without pause. He doesn't stop. He can't.
Each thrust is fevered, splintering the headboard, and you can feel his seed pulsing inside you as he cums once more, your shaking and spasming body only driving him further into delirium, his hands gripping you as though you are the only thing tethering him to Earth.
''I love you so much... so, so much... I'm so sorry— I can't stop,'' he moans, shaking as he pounds into you, his hands grabbing at your thighs, your hips, your tits, anywhere he can reach.
''You're taking my cock so well. Such a good girl... squeezing me so tight...'' His cock twitches, leaking pre-cum again, and your pussy flutters around him as his thrusts grow erratic, uncoordinated, whispering filthy, desperate things you never thought would come from your sweet, dorky boyfriend.
You moan into his neck, slick coating him, and he doesn't hesitate, tearing a gasp from your throat as Clark hammers into you harder, his hips jerking uncontrollably, face buried in your shoulder. ''Yes— yes, just like that. G— golly, it's like you were made for me...''
He leans down, mouth capturing your nipple, flicking his tongue, while his cock burrows deeper, stretching you to the edge of your sanity. Even when another orgasm crashes over you, he doesn't pause, thrusting with a frenzy that has you seeing stars, gasping for air as his hips snap against yours with raw, animalistic need.
''I— I'm sorry... so sorry... I just can't stop. You feel so good... too good,'' he chants, voice cracking, coaxing your body to take him again. His fingers dig into your skin, and he cums inside you with a shuddering cry, a mess of moans and whimpers, but even that isn't enough. He's too desperate, too overcharged, as every inch of him inside you is worshipped by your walls. You're lost entirely in the heat, overstimulation, and delirious need, utterly consumed by him.
Your body can barely take it, shaking, overstimulated beyond reason, and still Clark drives into you, desperate for more, for release, for connection, for the exquisite agony of cumming inside of you again. He lifts your legs higher, hips tilting with each desperate movement, and you revel in the delicious fullness that only he can give you.
Your walls clench around him again and again, your cunt dripping, your legs shaking around him, and Clark groans, mouth pressed to your shoulder, whispering prayers and filthy promises to stop soon.
But you know he won't, he's delirious, solar-fueled, and you are taking every inch, every obscene praise, letting him ruin you entirely while keeping you suspended between pain and bliss, the Clark Kent you know having melted into something feral and unrecognizable.
He cums inside you again, painting your gummy, sore walls, lips pressing to your neck, chest flush against yours, every muscle quivering. Your body trembles with overstimulation, your pussy leaking around his fat girth as he fucks you through it.
He groans, low and broken, whispering your name, praise, filthy promises, broken whimpers of ''I love you.'' and ''I'm sorry.'' until finally he slows just enough to hold you against his chest, hips rocking gently, both of you drenched, spent, and utterly wrecked.
...
thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕
Welcome to my November reading list! As always please check the warnings and tags on each fic before reading. If you enjoyed a fic please let the writer know with a comment, gif or reblog ❤️
Happy reading!
Adrian Chase
Adrian's Birthday by @kuromi-but-evil 🔥
Animal Facts by @hailmary-yramliah 🔥
Deception, Dear by @quickiesgirl 🔥
Masturbation by @scouting-through-fics 🔥
NAIVE by @maplecoffees 🔥
Pebbling by @ofstarsandvibranium
secondhand smoke by @vigilantexreader
Something new by @moonlight-presence 🔥
you’re different with me by @grantspectortrash
Bob Reynolds
Faultlines by @lilyswritings
Fuck I need you by @bonzirell3 🔥
"in my room." By @54nboo
𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 by @thought-you-knew
LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION! By @avastarred 🔥
Somnophilia and Oral Fixations by @em1i2a3 🔥
Bob Reynolds/Joaquín Torres
Baby - AO3 🔥
Secret Relationship by @kmartkiddieisle
Bucky Barnes
Alpine the All-Knowing by @sunday-bug
broken arm, broken man by @ellebarnesx
Bucky Just Got Done Working Out by @/sunday-bug
Bucky Purring by @1000plants
Corner Pocket by @sleepypanda27
Cuddle with Bucky by @heldbybarnes
Cryptic Pregnancy by @/heldbybarnes
: ̗̀➛ Do I look good, Mr Congressman? By @bluetimeombre 🔥
House Tour by @superbassbuck 🔥
I'd let you put a baby or two in me by @/heldbybarnes
if your man wanna get buck wild. By @superbassbuck 🔥
Interrogation Tactics by @/heldbybarnes 🔥
Killing him softly by @late-to-the-party-81 🔥
knock knock... housekeeping! @spdrveil 🔥
Morning Service by @vunblr 🔥
novelty by @writingunderneathawillow 🔥
Priorities by @thezombieprostitute
Shots! Shots! Sho—! Daddy? By @wildflowersandvibranium
Tip Included by @/heldbybarnes 🔥
VITAMIN BUCKY by @buckyscaptain
Weakness by @marvelstoriesepic
Bucky Barnes/Joaquín Torres
Adam's Apple by @spinachgarden
Clark Kent
Big Dick Energy by @meowabunga 🔥
imaginary girlfriend by @satellite-evans
MESSY by @maiamore
Shut Me Up by @jobean12-blog
So, no ring? By @orobaxis
#SUPERDICK by @mcumorningstar
Joaquín Torres
Fears by @emeraldserenade
How I missed you by @sunsburns 🔥
lending a helping hand by @love-chx 🔥
Stay in Bed by @everydaydreamer
Wind It Up by @an-abysma1-0bserver 🔥
Loki
Silken Secrets by @societyfolklore 🔥
Nick Fowler
One Night Only by @buckets-and-trees 🔥
Poly/Multiple Partners
Lock. Shock. Barrel. By @rainymitskicain (Bob x Clark x Reader)
sharing is caring by @/avastarred 🔥(Bob x Reader x Joaquín)
Rocco Gauthier
Car Sex by @rainymitskicain 🔥
remnants of pain by @lewmagoo 🔥
Steve Rogers
Wait by @/late-to-the-party-81
kindness is the real punk rock @ellebarnesx - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
