Napoleon solo cream pie professor trope please thanks
Hello again nonnie! Hope you enjoy the second drabble for our lovely Napoleon <3 Thank you again for participating in my 200 Follower Writing Challenge it means the world! Now, on to the show 'class'!
Pairing: FakeProfessor!Napoleon Solo x Student!Reader
W/C: 1.9k
Prompt(s): Professor AU, creampie
*Napoleon is undercover! Peep the alias name 👀
*also included/TW: MINORS DNI; THIS IS 18+, p in v sex, assumed foreplay, forbidden aspect to relationship, inappropriate relationship between professor/student, reader is in her early 20's, napoleon is undercover/fake identity.
This took a different, and more romantic, turn than I thought that it would lol. Some intense/serious fluff goin' on btwn these two, and tbh, I'm kinda here for it.
One Foot Forward
A muted voice could be heard as you crept closer to Professor Walker’s office. You frowned as the voice became louder in tone, it sounded like he was scolding someone.
“Listen, Peril. It’s not long now that I’ll have what we came for. I’d appreciate a little faith if you could find that in you somewhere in that body of yours.”
“Peril? Who could that be?” You thought with a frown. You couldn’t hear the response of the person on the other line but you figured they must be a real heap for the professor to respond in such a way.
Instantly feeling guilty, you straightened up and knocked on the door twice and called out, “Professor Walker? Are you busy?”
You heard him hastily rush a goodbye and heard a casual “come in.” Hearing the permission, you entered the room and immediately flushed at the first sight of him sitting at his desk.
Professor August Walker. He’s a real looker for a college professor. When you decided to take Linguistics 101, you definitely didn’t expect for the Professor to be such a distraction. Once news got around campus about the new hot professor who spoke different tongues of what appeals to a woman’s heart, it seemed like only female students came to take the course.
You really tried to not embarrass yourself like the other girls were (you could hear half of them giggle and swoon in every class), but he was just so handsome. A strong chin defined his angular face, his features cunningly charming enough where a small smirk looked like his natural resting expression. The man didn’t have a fleck nor did he have a blemish on his smooth and cut jawline. A true tall, dark and handsome kinda guy.
You never questioned his teaching methods, nor did you question his style (even if he would wink at some of the swooning girls or when he would be naturally flirty with some of them if they asked a question). Was it inappropriate? Absolutely. But instead of feeling indignant about it actually happening, you were more upset with the fact that he gave you a D- on the last quiz.
You were just slightly bitter that his attention was on the other students. They were throwing themselves onto him, sure, but you? You never dared to cross that line, even if he went there first (whether it was a wink or a cunning smile that would make the other girls become frantic). Every flirty attempt, you flushed and brushed it off because you were trying to be a good student.
You were majoring in linguistics to travel abroad and took him, and his class seriously – overlooked all of these immature discrepancies. So, here you were, actually trying, and he gave you a D-?!
That’s why you decided to go to his office hours to seriously ask him what he was thinking with this grade. Looking the test over, you could see that the answers that were marked incorrectly were actually right. Unsure of his intentions surrounding the marking of his grades, you decided to find out exactly what his problem was.
You explained your plight to the professor now as you sat across his desk. You tried to gauge the facial expressions that he was giving you, an eyebrow quirk here, a twitch of a smirk there. Confusion bloomed as a headache as you watched his reactive ‘non-reactions’.
After he lets out a lasting hum of what sounded like curiosity, you couldn’t hold back your scoff.
Now, that, he had an actual reaction towards.
“Is there another problem, Miss…?” Professor Walker pondered with his perfectly plucked eyebrow raised again.
A pause filled the space for a brief moment as you realized that he forgot your name. You exclaimed your name at him with wide eyes filled with an outraged disbelief. You couldn’t hold back the following words, “What kind of a professor are you?! First, you marked my correct answers wrongfully. Second, you forget one of your students’ names! I understand that you may be taken aback that you have a student who finally doesn’t swoon over your every breath, but that doesn’t mean that you get to treat me this unfairly!”
You sat back in your chair in a huff as you tried to desperately catch your breath. His silence was palpable as he just sat there with his hands crossed on the desk. As the wind in your breath came back to you, you felt yourself flush again but this time, in embarrassment and shame.
You just yelled at your professor– you definitely were going to fail the class now.
Your eyes gravitated towards the cracked tile on the floor as you panicked on what to say, how to apologize for your outburst. But then he said your name so softly that it made you raise your head with regret.
“You’re right. I did mark your answers incorrectly and I do notice that you don’t swoon over me like the other students in class. I have treated you unfairly, and I’m sorry.” He said, his tone casually filled with a mystery of elusiveness despite the explicitness of his words.
“But I didn’t, in fact, forget your name.”
You squinted over at him suspiciously, any traces of shame or guilt gone from your chest. “Then, what happened just now?”
He cleared his throat as he looked down at his paper covered wooden desk before getting up from his desk chair to straighten his pristine and pressed suit. His veiny hands, that looked uncharacteristically calloused for a professor, were tucked into his trousers in a way that made him look even more charmingly intimidating. He leaned on the desk in front of you now, the proximity of his position allowed you to inhale the intoxicating scent of his cologne.
“I attempted to cover up my ridiculous cover since I know that I’d never be able to see you again after this.” He responded derisively, almost to himself.
Your brows furrowed in confusion as you tried to dissect the meaning behind his words, only coming up empty handed. Your breath stilted suddenly and the confusion melted into a shy desire as he reached out to tuck a wayward hair behind your ear.
“Tried to make it seem like I didn’t know you, to tempt me less,” he continued as he caressed your cheek. He abruptly chuckled, “but you scolding me, losing your temper, that lovely flush on that radiant complexion drives me crazy.”
His gaze and touch titled down your neck sensually. In an unconscious daze just at his touch, your head moved with his touch to give him access to your supple and exposed skin. It was only a hint of skin showing between the strap of your dress and your cardigan, but as he stroked it, it felt so forbidden and daring.
Before you realized, his face was leaning into yours. Any thoughts about what was happening completely escaped you as his lips touched yours. All you could think was that his lips were so soft. You whimpered into his mouth as his tongue expertly caressed yours languidly.
Next thing you knew, he was carrying you over to the loveseat by the window and you were moaning on top of him with him already inside you. His lips were kissing and sucking along the same spots that his fingers innocently traced earlier in a manner that was far from innocent, but still so devoting.
Napoleon Solo was a doting lover. Your pleasure was his pleasure. Usually, he’d take his time. But with you, he was more feral. Greedy. Because he knew that if he couldn’t have you, then he’d ruin you.
Your moans started to echo in the small office space as he started grinding into you as you bounced on his cock, which prompted Napoleon to brush a rough hand over your swollen lips to reluctantly muffle your sounds of pleasure.
“Shhh, be good for me, my little secret.” He muttered into your ear with his own strained groans escaping his lips. His eyes rolled back as he allowed you to grind down on him even deeper as he relaxed his body on the back of the couch. Taking control was his usual forte, naturally. Even sometimes, a role. But with you, in this moment, he didn’t have to be.
He would allow himself this one luxury of authenticity as everything else in his life was a well-told lie.
“Professor, please.” You whined against his palm and licked it in wanton desperation. You clenched tighter around his girthy cock and he grunted into your neck as the sensation.
“Fuck, gripping me so tight. You’re my good little student, aren’t you?” He moaned against your ear once more as he nipped at your earlobe seductively. The hand that wasn’t groping at your curvaceous hips stroked along your skin and in between your tightly-pressed bodies to circle your swollen clit.
“Yes, I’ll be a good student for you, Professor! Please let me cum, please!” You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you in for another forbidden kiss. He started to thrust into you wildly at hearing the eagerness in your voice, his caresses on your bundle of nerves rubbing faster.
You cried out your ecstasy as you felt that knot in your tummy unravel so deliciously. The combination of his grunts in your ear, your clit being stimulated as he drove his fat cock into your wet pussy was just too much to comprehend at once. You couldn’t believe a man as beautiful as he would even want you, would desire you. The way that you were the one to unravel him beyond what others perceived. It was the danger of getting caught that finally drove you to the edge.
Cumming around his cock that was still driving into you deep and slow, your whole body intensely shook as your orgasm seemed to last long enough for Napoleon to loudly groan out his own release against your open lips.
The feeling of your Professor’s cock throbbing out his spend inside of you felt oddly filling, you bit your lip at the pleasure-filled sensation. Napoleon felt your pussy clench around him one more time and he captured your bottom lip into his own nip as he licked into your panting mouth. The taste of you was too intoxicating, and he wanted this moment to last.
You left his office with a kiss filled with longing and a promise to see him at the next class. But he didn’t show up for the next class. He was out sick, the office reported. You waited anxiously, no other way to contact him. By the following week though, they replaced him with a new professor.
You had no idea that that would be the last of your romance with the spy. Never found out the reasons behind his words or his sudden departure. You ended up graduating with your degree and traveling the world.
The spy never forgot about you though as he fulfilled his mission. Never forgot how captivated he was by you. He glanced over his newspaper at you as you sat at the little cafe overlooking the Seine. Seeing you so confident and flitting about Paris filled him with an unconscious delight.
The passion filled experience in his fake office shined over his mind once more as he placed one foot forward towards you.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading this weird-subtle angst Napoleon. I know his character in the movie is depicted to be quite mischievous and daring, but I thought it would be a cool spin to the inner conflicts that a spy would probs feel under the mask.
being so much older and experienced Logan would definitely talks you through it if you know what i mean 👀
“relax, peach. take it slow. i’m not going anywhere.”
“yeah, i’m right here. i’m all yours take your time.” his breath fanned against your neck while you’re dry humping his strong abs
and when it’s time he goes in… you’re a bit nervous because you’re afraid you’d mess the whole thing up, being a little bit inexperienced on top
he grunts while his right hand stroking his big cock a bit furiously while his left hand is holding your hips
“i don’t know if i could take it, Lo- it looks so big will it fit?” you whimper, looking down from the bottom to his eyes which already is looking at you.
“we’ll make it fit.”
“see fits like a glove. like it’s made for me.”
“lift your hips slowly.. up and down.. up and down..”
“yeah that’s it, that’s right just like that. ooh you’re being such a good girl.”
“ground down, and grind on me back and forth baby.”
“yesss… peach keep going. so good. doesn’t it feel good peaches?”
“now bounce back up and down like before… yes there you go.. you got it.. uh-huh fuck look at the way your tits bounce.”
and his wolverine grunts spilled
“rrggh… fuck so good, peach.”
“make a mess on my cock, baby. come on.”
“grhh… i wanna fill you up with my cum, yeah?”
“yeah… you’d like that wouldn’t you?” he kept taunting you on and on spilling all the dirty words to help you reach your climax
“i’m cumming Lo!”
“yeah, yeah come on, faster baby.”
“there she goes.. such a good girl. let me fuck you now.”
and there he goes, grabbing your hips with both hands before he proceed to drill his thick cock inside your shuddering cunt
Pairing: Thor x F!Reader
Wordcount: 1.58K
Warning: smut. wounds. rough. a smidge of pain kink. grief. trauma. sex to feel better.
Summary: "I like fucking after battle."
It started after Ultron.
Not like anything formal - not like anything you actually suspected would happen. You - of course - flirted with Thor. Who fucking wouldn’t? He was too much - all gold and power emanating off of those bulging muscles. The beard. The stride. The almost clean swagger that didn’t mean arrogance, but simply was part of him like his own coloring.
He was also nice in a way that actually seemed like he meant it. He didn’t need to try. How are you? You’re looking quite well. How’s that arm?
Even though your wrist had snapped years ago during New York. Long-healed. He still hadn’t forgotten.
After Ultron, he stays by you. The others go back to their rooms or their apartments or cobwebs or corners. Natasha is visibly upset at Banner’s disappearance. Wanda is in utter mourning - torment. She howls off and on. Steve trying to still lead despite the fact that no one can hear it.
Thor seems unsure where to go - what to do. He didn’t live in the tower and so he drops down next to you - his voice low and rough.
“You’re hurt,” he remarks as he motions to the deep cut across your knee. The blood is dried and smudged around the torn nylon fabric.
“Nothing vital,” you shrug. “I’ll live.”
“Can I...,” he tapers off - frowning before he finds his words again. “May I tend to you?”
You inhale sharply. Tend feels so intimate - so erotic as it slips out of his mouth. His accent - his thick drawl - husky as you've ever heard it.
“Sure,” you smile.
***
What really ends up happening is Thor bandages your knee - fingertips gently tracing your hot skin. The air turns - grows sticky as honey and you lean forward just as he meets you in the middle - capturing your lips in a kiss that breaks your ribs open. It’s fucking hungry - insistent and hard as he holds your jaw and licks the roof of your mouth.
He pushes you onto the couch and fucks you right there. First with his tongue and then his cock. He yanks your hips to the edge of the seat and literally eats you messily - tossing your knees over his shoulders - circling your clit until you soak his beard. It’s another round of movements and gestures and he lifts himself to his knees - hovering over your body - bracing his arm against the top of the couch before he pushes his thick cock into you and makes you squirm and whimper and clutch at him like you’ve been struck blind.
It’s intense - mixed with the pain of your knee as Thor slams into you - pounds you into the cushions. No words. Just sounds. Just grunts and the wet slap of his pelvis smacking against yours again and again with his hand between your legs - rubbing your cunt and the place it’s stretched around him.
Afterward, he slips down your body and tastes his own seed from your gaping pussy. It’s sore and puffy - fluttering with post-orgasm - probably pearly with him. He watches you as he does it - eyes dark and you’d never seen him look that feral before. You’d never seen him this dangerous - like sex somehow has flown true and banked right at the center of him. He’s almost glowing.
“I like fucking after a battle,” he mutters in between the loud lapping of your folds. You are screaming beneath your skin - gut clenching at the sight of him - at the new pleasure now winding back and ready to spring - strike.
He grins and it’s gorgeous. “I like fucking you,” he clarifies.
You cum.
***
You follow him. You follow him on his travels because he asks and what else do you have to do? Nothing. You’re not particularly hooked into this planet - Earth. You do love your team to an extent, but it’s all young training and lessons and you’re honestly bored.
I’ll come back, Rogers. If you need me, I’ll come back.
Really?
Cross my heart.
Be careful.
Always.
***
You guess that you’re Thor’s girlfriend. He doesn’t really use the term girlfriend, but he calls you all sorts of names like sweetheart and darling and love.
Sometimes he’ll call you little bird or little one or gorgeous girl.
You call him babe or baby, which makes his brow furrow before his lips split into an effusive smile. It’s all very midgardian.
I like that. Weirdly.
You’re a weird guy.
You’re not sure if he loves you. You’re not sure if you love him. You might.
He still fucks you after a fight. He fucks you almost every day. Morning or night or afternoon when both of you have nothing to do except each other. You go to all sorts of planets and lands and eat strange foods. You bite into purple fruit that bursts on your tongue and tastes like mangoes. He knows you inside and out. He knows every piece of your body - every patch that makes you writhe and sob. He’ll plant himself behind you - muscular body flush to your back in some club or tavern or desert outpost because they got some random tip about stones.
He’ll drop his head and bite the skin behind your earlobe, making you jerk - lurching right into the bar or table. He chuckles.
Asshole.
You love it.
You don’t respond, but he knows you’re probably wet - probably dripping - your underwear already uncomfortable and sticky between your thighs. He’ll no doubt fuck you somewhere near-public because you won’t be able to wait. You’ll want it. You like it.
You’re sort of happy.
***
It’s a torment - now especially. He’s not in a good place - barely holding himself together. He needs you though - needs this.
“Go to him,” Loki says softly.
Loki who had tormented you - teased you - tried to prod at you until you’d snap at him with gnashing jaws. Oh i like that - i see what my brother must - i couldn’t before but now? - now i do -
Your head hurts - throbs from the beating you took. You step into Thor’s room and he stands - that black, bloody space where his eye used to be. You think of the hole in the galaxy that Asgard left - the broken tear in the fold and how you could actually taste the destruction through the ship’s window. Chemicals. Flames. Scorched rubble. Thousands and thousands of eternities scratched to the stars.
“Thor,” you murmur and something broken and low sounds from his chest - the thick of his throat. If he cries, you’ll fall. You can’t. You can’t.
You’re surprised when he moves so quickly - striding towards the door - arms already outstretched.
He wraps you in them - shoving his ripped apart face into your neck. “Are you hurt?” he gasps. The skin of your throat feels wet and you’re not sure if it’s blood or tears. You dig your fingers into his shoulders - stroking the back of his head - his shorn hair.
I hate it.
I like it.
I don’t believe you.
Thor - I’d love you even if you were totally bald.
You love me, do you?
Don’t tell anyone.
“I’m okay,” you reassure him. “I’m fine.”
But - you’re not.
“Okay,” he echoes.
It doesn’t require words. He’s tugging at your pants - rucking them down your legs that are still shaking from battle. He kisses the inside of your thighs - dragging his tongue right next to your cunt. You’re sweaty from fighting - slick and dirty - and Thor could care less. He traces the bruises with his kiss - the cuts and your own blood. He likes it. He likes it so much that you know he’s probably near to bursting.
You want to ask him if he’s sure - if he can do this right now because he’s certainly in worse shape than you. You don’t think he’d hear you even if you did.
He’s very forward about it. He circles your clit with calloused fingers - still tingling with blue-electricity. You try and concentrate on him and not the holes in his armor - not the areas you know are black-purple with bruises and shattered bone. You will force him into bed after this - you will put him back together.
You shouldn’t come with me. It’s going to be dangerous.
I’m coming.
You shouldn’t. I’d never forgive myself.
Thor. I said I’d stay with you - be with you. I’m coming.
He lifts you up like you weigh nothing and you worry. You worry that he’s overexerting himself - that something will tear or crack inside the husk of him. He seems so empty.
You grip him gently - pumping him slow. He drops his brow to your chest and it’s clammy. “Harder,” he pleads. “Harder, my love.”
You do as he says, but you’re quick to urge him inside you. He groans as he sinks to the hilt - as he breaches you open and pushes his entire length into your cunt until he can’t push any further. You tighten around him - clench and spasm. You seal your lips to his brow - your voice soothing and sweet: yeah - thor - like that - right there - oh fuck - fuck - you feel so good -
“I love you,” he returns - whispering it into the swell of your breast. He is suffering now - he is so shattered - and you need him better. You want him to be better.
You don’t know what to tell him. You don’t know what to confess. This sex is shaded in pain and his own grief and yet he clings to you - looking so young despite his unnatural age - looking for answers - for support - for your body and your heart and your care.
“I’ve got you,” you remind him. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
period sex with pope? or jax? or anyone really,, you could write it for jesus christ and i’d eat it up lol
A/N: Jax Teller x F!Reader. Reader's dad is SAMCRO Period sex.
"You don't care?"
"Fuck no."
You're hot underneath your blankets. Navy sheets and white linen bedding and Jax is already naked. The full length of his body stretched against yours. Golden-hair and berry-pink lips and you'd find him in a greek myth - a legend or a story.
He's a prince.
He's not.
This whole affair is forbidden. Your dad would wreck Jax - cut off his damn head if he walked in and caught them. You can't think though - not clearly or fully or with any bright-white light at all. When Jax slides thick fingers between your thighs and pushes them all gentle into your pussy, you whine against his jaw.
"Aw baby," he coos. "So fucking sensitive, huh?"
Yes. Obviously.
You'd told him as soon as he'd slipped into your bedroom. Can't tonight and when you explained to him the reason - Jax had given you the most bewildered expression.
"So?"
Jax twists his fingers inside you - slipping in a third as he stretches you open. Your cunt is puffy and sore and it's wet so when Jax thrusts to the knuckles over and over again - your body echoes that slick, obscene squelch.
You protest - shoving at his chest because your face is burning, but he hushes you. "It's hot," he murmurs as he dips his tongue into your mouth - kissing you hungry and fierce. "It's hot, baby. I love hearing your pussy."
You glance down and there's red - visible slick and your blood - and Jax grins at you like it's all so wrong, but he's drunk off the feel of your desperate sex that grips his fingers like it has a mind of its own. He drags a soft climax from you - his thumb nudging over your clit and you dig your nails into his shoulders - his muscles bunching beneath your touch.
"Gonna fuck you," He nips your throat - smears his slippery palms over your inner thighs as he spreads you open. It's all deliberate - strategic - the way he angles his hips against your pelvis - his cock thick and pointed against your flesh. He rubs it over your folds - the slow roll of his body as he pins you to the mattress. He presses and presses - the blunt head of his dick snagging at your entrance before he finally slides to the hilt. It's a little too fast and you gasp - arching into him as the pressure of his length stretches you apart - fills you to burst. "Shit" he grunts - his hair tickling your forehead - bearing his weight above you. "Didn't - fuck - didn't mean to do that."
He grits his jaw and you can tell that he's holding himself back - giving you time to get used to it, but it's fine - you're not a doll - not made of glass - and so you buck your hips up so that he slides deeper - as far as he possibly can.
"Fuck me," you plead because Jax is acting as a perfect distraction - the cramping in your belly has subsided - blotted out to a distant ache as he begins to fuck you. The strokes of his perfect cock sends pleasure rocketing through your veins. He eases out before driving forward and rough, knocking you up the bed until you whimper like it hurts. It doesn't - it doesn't - but it's just too fucking much and Jax smooths your hair - knuckles running across your cheek - still smelling faintly of your sore, dripping cunt.
"Jax," you cry into his mouth as he tries to hush you.
"I know, baby," he husks into your ear. "I know. I know."
Your dad is downstairs - maybe even in his room down the hall and your sheets are rustling with the occasional creak of the bed frame - but there's also the blessed hum and click of the air conditioning - the tick of pipes through the walls.
Each spear of his cock is a sting - an overwhelming punch to your womb and you're thick with it - clutching at his biceps like you're dying and maybe you are because you're lost to it. The sensations - the fullness - the way he's splitting you open and filling you up and still kissing you like this whole thing between them is tender and means more than just a quick fuck.
you only let out a soft whine as your response. your whine is muffled with the way you refuse to lift your head off the bed. there’s drool on the bedsheets, but still you don’t care, too preoccupied with Logan.
he’s everywhere. he’s hands on your body, gripping your hips, slipping between your thighs to rub your sensitive clit. his lips are pressed against your back, and occasionally press on your shoulders. his thighs slap against the back of yours with each thrust.
“how’s it feel, princess?”
his voice is taunting.
he knows.
he sees the drool, he feels the way your ass squeezes him. he hears your moans, he sees the way you grip the bedsheets at every thrust. all the while, the wetness between your thighs lets him know he’s doing a good job.
“feels good huh?”
“so good”
with the pillow beneath your pelvis, you have the pleasure of relaxing, letting the pillow arch your back for you. something logan even commented on, ‘it’s okay, princess, don’t have to worry bout a thing.’
a part of you was giddy when he whispered for you to lay on your tummy.
with your cheek resting on the bed, you couldn’t see much of logan, but you didn’t need to. you knew his eyes were filled with lust as he tugged off your underwear, lifting each leg one by one, not letting you help him one bit. whispering, “don’t have to move a single muscle.”
and that’s you found yourself, gripping the sheets, not bothering to push back and meet logan’s thrusts.
true to his words, logan did all the work. his cock stood tall against his belly, waiting patiently as he prepped you.
“such pretty holes, princess,” he groans spreading your cheeks apart before continuing, “want me to fill em?”
lazily, you nod against the sheets. you barely pick on up on the shuffling he does when he grab a small bottle of lube. you only feel him press his thumb against your ass, pushing til you finally give.
“let me fill you up like last time,” he groaned when you took his thumb with ease. “won’t have to do a thing, just lay there and look pretty.”
you only moan his name.
“how does that sound?”
“sounds good, lo” after a couple minutes, his finger replaced his thumb, then a second finger joined, then a third.
and that’s how you found yourself moaning his name over and over. his cock replaced his fingers and you’ve never felt so full.
every thrust deeper than the last.
everything’s too much and he knows it.
“you’re close princess?”
you’re overwhelmed with his smell, his moans, his cock, his everything.
“can feel you squeezing me so tight,” he fucks you harder.
“come on, let go. i’m almost there,” he reassures.
with his hand sneaking beneath your hips and between your thighs, he finds your clit. his deep thrusts paired with his fingers rubbing your clit have you falling over the edge.
it’s intense, but it doesn’t stop.
“almost there, princess.”
there’s almost a whine in his voice, so you let him. not like you have a choice, twitching beneath him, trapped by his weight. his fingers still rubbing your clit, it’s not long until you’re overstimulated.
so you start to beg with a sob.
“please plea-”
tears have now join the stains on the bedsheets.
“want my cum that bad?”
so close to another orgasm you beg harder, “yes, yes, please.”
“so close lo”
“need your cum so bad.”
with a final thrust, the both of you fall over the edge.
with a loud curse, logan empties himself inside you, groaning as he feels his cock twitch inside you. the hand between your thighs is gone and now spreading you open once more. you whine softly when you feel logan pull out.
you feel filthy under his gaze.
you can only sit there as he watches your hole clench around nothing, already missing his cock. he groans when his cum leaks out of you, reaching to shove it back inside with his thumb.
“ah logan-”
“sorry princess, didn’t want it to hit the sheets.”
you only roll your eyes, sighing softly when his thumb works as a plug. you need a shower. your skin is sticky with sweat, your inner thighs soaked-
“princess?”
“mmm”
“gonna make me do all the work in the shower too?”
- not edited - reblogs and comments are appreciated !
pairing: (big dick!) clark kent x f!reader | genre: smut | wc: 1.9k
summary: just clark and his HUGE cock ego, among other things.
warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), size kink, overstimulation, praise kink, light power-play, unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, nsfw themes + language, reader called “baby” (what’s new).
a/n: i woke up out of a dead sleep at 3 am and wrote this. #dreamingofbigdick!clark. inspired by “ego” - beyoncé.
“It's too big. It's too wide. It's too strong. It won't fit. It's too much. It's too tough.” // “He got a big ego. Such a huge ego. I love his big ego."
It’s no secret that Clark Kent is a big man. Six-four. Broad everywhere. Big biceps, bigger thighs, and the kind of build that makes people do a double take before he even says a word. He’s thick in all the places that matter, built solid in a way that should feel impossible on someone who spends half his life pretending to be harmless.
Most of the time, he walks around with his head tipped down, eyes dropping even lower the second attention lands on him. His shoulders stay folded in like that could possibly hide the fact that his suits strain across his back and chest every time he moves. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes the contrast worse. All that size wrapped up in soft manners, quiet apologies, and that small, almost sheepish smile like he doesn’t know exactly what he looks like. During the workday, he’s all careful steps, mumbled replies, and glasses pushed up his nose, moving through the world like he’s trying not to take up too much space.
But with you?
It’s different with you.
The second he comes through the door, it’s practically routine. His suit jacket is gone in record time, hung up by the door already out of his mind. His hand moves with the same speed, straight to his tie, then to his glasses, removing each piece like they were never really supposed to be there in the first place. Then he's moving.
He walks through the apartment differently here. No softened steps. No careful, almost clumsy rhythm. Just something heavier. Something measured in a way that makes it obvious he’s looking for you and nothing else.
No matter where you are, no matter what you’re doing, he always approaches you the same way. Shoulders no longer folded in, but squared. Full height on display. Head lifted just enough to carry the remnants of the man who might’ve saved the world once or twice before coming home to you.
And the moment your eyes land on him, there it is.
That look.
It’s become familiar enough to feel like a signature by now. Each step he takes toward you only makes it worse, all the things he never bothers to hide with you coming into sharper focus. The way his shirt pulls tight across his arms when he moves. The way his slacks fit too well through his thighs. The way the fabric gives up entirely in certain places and simply clings. Everything about him looks just a little too solid, too broad, too much for the clothes trying to contain him.
Not that he seems to notice.
But you do.
Your eyes linger exactly where wrinkles could never form even if they tried, caught on the tension of fabric pulled too smooth over muscle and size. That, he notices. Never misses it.
And then there's that damn smile. The one that pulled just right at the corners, the one bracketed by dimples he clearly didn’t care to subdue. It always hits the same. Soft enough to look innocent at first, knowing enough to ruin that illusion almost immediately.
With him, there was never really a pause. No stopping point where one moment ended and the next had to be considered. Just step after step until those strong hands wrapped around you and drew you into him like that had been the plan from the second he walked through the door. His posture always shifted right after, dipping down without hesitation so he could press his lips to yours.
His mouth was just as intentional, lips moving against yours like one kiss was only permission for the next to go deeper. There were murmurs of a greeting, something brief about his day, and, without fail, a question about yours somewhere in the middle. But none of it stopped the way he pressed you into his frame. None of it changed the fact that the rest of his body spoke for him, making sure you felt exactly what kind of conversation it wanted to have.
In between breaths, his voice stayed low, deep, and warm, present in a way that carried its own weight. The same way it did when he finally had you exactly where he wanted you—here, on your back beneath him, your spine arching off the sheets as he lined himself up.
The first push made your breath catch, quick and shallow through your nose, your brows drawing together as your body tried to take him, tried to adjust to just the tip alone.
It was always like this.
No matter how many times you’d been wrapped around him, no matter how many times you’d taken him, it never started easy. Each time, your body had to work around the same thing: his size, his girth, the way his cock got wider from the tip to base, stretching you open instead of letting you settle into it.
Clark pushed in again, no more than an inch, but it hit just as hard as the first. Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers pressing in as another gasp slipped out of you, your body tightening around him like it couldn’t decide whether to take him or push him out.
He felt it immediately.
His hands settled firmer on you, grounding, steadying, keeping you from pulling away. His head dipped slightly, close enough that his voice didn’t have to travel far when he spoke.
“You’re doing so good for me,” he said, the words rough with praise. “That’s it… you can take it. I know you can.”
Clark’s words were meant to help, you knew that, but it didn’t stop the thoughts from hitting right where the stretch burned the most. Maybe this time he really wouldn’t fit. Maybe he was just too big. Maybe every other time had been luck, some small miracle you’d gotten used to treating like normal.
He kept pushing in, inch by inch, never really stopping, never giving any of it back, just that steady pressure that kept building no matter how tight the stretch got. You bit down on your lip, nails digging into his shoulders while your body worked to take him, to open around something that still felt like too much.
His mouth found your neck and stayed there, kissing, sucking, working at the same spot like he knew exactly what it took to pull you through this part and was doing it without letting you think too hard about anything else.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your skin, the words slipping out even as he kept going. “I’m almost there… you’re taking me just right, just like that…”
Another inch. Then finally—
He sank all the way in.
The stretch peaked, settled, and the sound that came out of you both followed it, yours sharp and breathless, his deeper, rougher, pulled straight from his chest as he filled you completely.
Clark moved slow at first, barely pulling out before pushing back in, like he was letting you feel it, letting your body adjust around him while he stayed deep, heavy, right there. But it didn’t last. His rhythm picked up, each thrust coming a little harder, a little faster, his hips driving into yours with more force, more intent.
He was too big for it to be anything else.
Every push drove all the way in, and every time he pulled back, you felt the loss of it right away, that sudden emptiness too abrupt, too noticeable, your body drawing in like it didn’t want to give any of him up. Then he was in you again, deep enough to make the ache start all over. It never stopped. Just that constant cycle of being stretched full, then left aching from the brief absence, only to have him sink back in before you could recover from the last time.
His body moved over yours with nothing but heat and weight, the motions pressing you deeper into the sheets every time he thrusted into you. The force of it never eased, each movement landing hard enough to keep your breath catching, breaking, while the sharp sound of it filled the room right alongside you.
You were a mess under him.
Always were.
The stretch still burned, the fullness still hit too hard, your body taking every inch of him like it didn’t know how to handle it.
And still—
He felt so fucking good.
The sounds coming out of you didn’t even try to make sense anymore. They came out strangled and uneven, catching somewhere between his name and something rougher, more broken, something that got dragged out of you all over again every time he pushed into you.
Clark heard it.
Felt it.
“That’s it,” he said, voice low and strained, slipping between breaths as he watched you come apart under him. “Feels so good… you feel so good for me.”
He shifted onto one forearm, bringing himself closer, angling just enough to reach for your hand. His fingers closed around it before guiding it down, lower, pressing your palm against your stomach, right where every push of him landed.
In.
Out.
Over and over.
“Feel that?” he asked, the words rougher now, hotter.
You did. Way too much. Far too deep.
Your body tightened around him without warning, the response instant as the pressure kept building and building, your breath catching again when it turned sharper, heavier, too much to ignore.
Clark pressed your hand harder into it, another deep thrust landing as he held you right against it.
“Perfect for me.”
The words sent you over fast, your body giving way around them, loud and unsteady, your voice breaking as it tore out of you. Clark grunted low at the feel of it, his rhythm faltering for half a second before he pushed through, kept moving, kept driving into you as you came apart under him.
Clark’s mouth found yours again as he leaned down into it. He kissed you through every sound and every aftershock that ripped through you, his own breathing rough against your lips while his body chased after it.
Everything about him felt so thick and heavy.
His cock. His arms. His frame.
His cum.
It hit all at once, a deep pulse that forced him further into you, filling you from the inside out, the warmth immediate.
You felt every bit of it.
The heat. The weight of it. The way it stayed, and the way he stayed there with it.
He kept kissing you, his mouth moving against yours while his voice came low and steady again.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your lips, brushing another kiss there like he meant it. “Always so good for me…”
His body pressed closer as he said it, his arm tightening around you, pulling you in even more, like there was still space to close, like he wanted you as close as possible while he stayed like this.
“You take me so well, baby,” he added, quieter now, the words settling between you the same way everything else had—heavy and certain, leaving no room to question it. No room to question him.
The rest of the world got variations of Clark Kent. The shy journalist. The confident hero.
But you got the man in between.
The one who pressed his weight into you, who talked you through every stretch, every inch. You got the version of him who knew exactly what he did to you and never wasted time pretending otherwise.
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his dick is heavy in his hand, flushed and leaking, the head slick as he runs it slowly through the slippery mess between your thighs. your folds are swollen, twitching with every brush of his tip.
his voice is rough when he whispers, “gonna ease it in, baby… s’gonna feel big. you tell me if it’s too much, alright?”
but you’re already nodding, legs spread wide, cunt stretched open and aching for him. the first inch pushes past your entrance and your body clenches around him immediately, sucking him in with a wet, squelching noise that makes his whole body jolt.
“oh—oh, sweetheart…”
his dick is so fat it forces your walls to stretch around him, snug and slippery and tight, and he’s biting his lip hard to keep himself from rutting deeper too fast. the air’s full of heat and moans, your gasps high and breathy while his are low, cracked, almost desperate.
he’s panting into your neck, trembling from restraint as he feeds you more. your pussy gives a sticky noise each time his hips nudge forward, and you can feel the drag of every vein along your inner walls, your muscles fluttering like you’re trying to spit him out but pull him deeper at the same time.
by the time he’s halfway in, your nails are digging into his back and your thighs are starting to shake. there’s a thick pressure deep in your belly, like your body’s being filled too full, and when you glance down, you can see the faint outline of him under your skin, stretching you out from the inside.
“just a lil’ more,” he groans, voice cracked. “you’re taking it—so good, baby, so soft down there, you’re squeezing me real tight…”
you whimper as he finally bottoms out, dick buried to the base, the thick root of it pressed firm against your overstretched entrance. he doesn’t move, breathing hard against your cheek, both of you dizzy from how deep he is.
your cunt pulses around him, dripping mess down onto the hairy base of his cock.
his hand finds your lower belly, palm spreading over that swollen spot where his dick bulges inside you.
“look at that,” he murmurs, in awe. “my sweet girl’s stuffed so full.”
he doesn’t even need to move. just the feeling of being buried inside you for the first time, the sight of your pussy stretched wide around him, your gasping mouth, your fluttering lashes, your slick dripping onto his thighs—it’s all too much.
he grinds in once—just to feel the way you tremble—and you both moan at the same time, breath tangled, filthy and flushed and soaking the bed.
and when he finally pulls back to push in again slow and deep, your whole body arches.
“there you go,” he groans, voice ruined. “that’s it, baby. open up f’me.”
Description: When Clark gets poisoned with sex pollen, he tries everything in his power to stay away from you. Until he ends up crashing into your living room, and you have a god on his knees, with your name in his mouth and your body at his will.
Tags/warnings: smut, established relationship, clark is sorry, he gets freaky with his powers, consent kink, breaks you and worships you at the same time, begging, praising, hovering (yes hovering👀), so much dirty talk (he’s feral but sweet), overstimulation.
Note: Guess who watched superman today and got a new man to obsess about🙂↕️ honestly I don’t even know what took over me when I wrote this but all I can say is go ahead, live your best life and enjoy the sweet filth 🫶🏼
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You wake up with a loud crash coming from your living room. You jolt upright from your bed as you hear glass shatter, sprinting toward the noise. You curse as your body, only covered by Clark’s giant shirt, gets hit with the crisp midnight air as wind gushed through your apartment like a hurricane just passed by.
A figure stood where your glass door used to be, leaning weakly on what was left of the frame. You turned on the lamp next to you, illuminating your boyfriend’s stumbling body.
“Clark!?” you exclaim, confused by his abrupt arrival.
He doesn’t look up, just stands there against the frame, chest heaving, fists clenched. Like he is barely holding himself together.
Worry washes your features, something must be really wrong. You start making way over to him, but as soon as you take a step forward he puts a warning hand in front of him.
“Stop! Don’t move,” his deep voice comes out strangled, like he’s been screaming for hours. “Don’t come closer… please. Just–just stay there.”
He keeps his hand up to stop you, panting heavily as he swallowed to try to soothe his dry throat. He slowly looks up, and groans when he meets your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, dry lips parted, his breath ragged like he’s been flying across the globe. His usually perfect wavy hair is now flat, messy, sticking to his sweaty forehead.
“I didn’t want to come here,” he whines. “I–I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“What happened to you?” You ask from your spot, fighting the urge to run to his aid.
“I’ve been infected,” he chokes out, and your brows furrow more. “Some kind of … alien pollen. It hit me out there. I flew straight into it and fuck ... It’s messing with my head, my body, I…”
He suddenly turns away, pacing in small frantic circles on your balcony like he’s trying to shake something off. His hands tremble as he fights to not make eye contact, like just looking at you hurts.
“What do you need? D-do you have the antidote?” You ask, scared as hell. He never acts like this.
He just shakes his head first with a bitter laugh, only to nod frantically afterwards.
God, if only you knew.
“I tried to wait it out,” he groans, fists now in his hair. “I swear I did, my love, I locked myself away for hours …tried to fly as far as I could but I kept turning back because I could smell you.”
“I can smell you, sweetheart. Even from across the city …I can hear you breathing…your heartbeat. I didn’t want to hurt you but right now I have you in front of me and I can see–dammit…I’m sorry–“
He stumbles backwards like he’s ashamed of himself, like he can’t even look at you.
“You know I can’t turn it off,” he whispers. “I never mean to look, I swear, but I can see you now. Everything.”
Of course you know what he means. You know he can see right past his giant shirt covering your body. And the guilt on his face is gutting. He looks like he’s trying to claw his own powers out of his skin.
“Clark… it’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” You step forward slowly. “It’s not like we haven’t–“
“No–you don’t get it!” He snaps, his voice booming through your walls so loud you were sure everyone on the building heard him. He instantly feels worse with the way you flinched to his volume. “S-sorry darling… you just don’t get it…you have no idea what it’s like to smell you and know how soft you are, how warm. My instincts are going crazy. I just need to be inside you…I need to touch you, mark you, fill you up until I can’t think straight,” he just rambles, eyes raking through your body.
You take a deep breath, his words making you clench your thighs together and he noticed. Of course you’ve had sex before. You know what he sounds like when he’s needy. But this? This is feral. You’ve never seen him like this.
But you’re willing to do anything to help him.
Always.
“Clark…you don’t even have to ask,” you speak softly, your own eyes darkening with desire.
He shakes his head. You don’t even understand the amount of restraint he’s having right now.
“I do…I always do. Especially now. Because I’m not going to touch you like I should. I’m not going to make it about you. I’m going to use you. Because you’re the only one who can fix me…you are the antidote and I hate it. I hate that I can’t even think straight unless I’m inside you…I need you so bad, darling, I’m shaking–” He cries, actual tears come out of his desperate eyes.
You’re watching a god fall apart in front of you.
Because of you.
You finally cross the space left, and he doesn’t stop you this time. You grab his face between your hands, and kiss him without hesitation. His arms immediately cling to your frame, cold hands slipping under your shirt to roam every inch of your warm skin.
You moan into his lips, when you taste the salty tears on his face. His hands land on your ass, and he squeezes hard, bruising, making you squeal. He immediately pulls back, apologizing. Like he still can’t let himself go.
“I’m sorry–” He blurts out immediately, hands soothing the skin he pinched as he fought the urge to do it again, harder. “God I love you…and I would never hurt you. Never. I swore I’d never touch you like this–unless you asked me to. Unless you wanted me to. So please … tell me you want this too. Say yes, or I’ll leave. I swear I will.”
He nods frantically, like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.
“I’ll leave if you tell me to.” He swears. “I’ll fly through a mountain. I’ll bury myself in the ocean. Just don’t say yes unless you want this. I’m barely holding on– if you say it, I won’t be able to stop.”
You want him. God you always want him.
The way he keeps asking makes you want him even more. Even if he’s not your Clark now. Even if he won’t take care of you like he always does. Even if you can’t breathe or move after. Because you love him too.
“I want it,” you whisper against his lips, nodding. “I want you. You need me? Use me. Take all you want…I can take it.”
It’s over.
The moment you say yes there’s no going back. He lunges forward, tightening his grip on you as he lifts you off the ground to fly you towards the wall, knocking the lamp when your back hit the wall, leaving you both in complete darkness. Only the moonlight left to shine over his hungry eyes.
His massive hand cradles the back of your head to protect it from the hit, while the other tears off your shirt like he needs to see your skin on his or he’ll die. Your panties don’t even last two seconds before they he rips them away too.
His lips crash yours. Tongues are desperate, hands everywhere, so large, so shaky, everywhere at once. He groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst finally tasting water.
“Thank you,” he gasps between kisses. “Thank you sweetheart…I’m so sorry I can’t help you first…but I need you…I need to feel you inside, please just let me…”
He knows it hurts you when he doesn’t prepare you properly, when he doesn’t make you cum at least twice on his fingers before he fucks you…but he can’t right now. Not when he can smell how soaked you are already, not when he swears it’s dripping on the carpet.
“Do it,” you pant, hungry for him. “Clark just do it… please.”
He doubts only for a second, and then without thinking he rips the suit. Literally tears it at the waist, tugging it to get rid of it completely. He’ll give a damn about that later.
Right now he is just muscle in front of you.
His painful cock springs up, and he presses himself to you with a wet slap, your back hitting the wall again. Your pussy throbs at how impossibly huge he is over your stomach.
You’ve had him before. You’ve barely made it.
You still want him to rearrange your guts.
“Feel that?” he groans. “That’s what you do to me, that’s what’s been driving me insane all day, darling.”
He’s not even pretending anymore, his cock is throbbing, massive, already leaking. He aligns himself between your soaked folds, rutting the tip against your pussy a few times like he’s lost control of his body entirely. You moan at the friction. Every nerve ending screaming. You know he’s gonna wreck you. You weren’t ready. But at the same time you’ve never been more ready.
He grabs your thigh and lifts it against the wall, before whispering against your lips. “I’m sorry…”
He pushes his hips forward, and when he finally slides home with a snap…raw, hard, you let out a strangled moan.
One long, broken sound, high pitched and helpless, because he stretches you brutally, all at once, bottoming out with a growl. An actual growl. Like he finally felt some type of relief since he got hit with the pollen.
You fight back a cry, lunging forward to bite his shoulder. He starts fucking you into the wall as he whispers ‘I love you’ ‘Thank you’ ‘Sorry’ like some sort of chant. A prayer. Like it’s the only thing keeping him rooted to the version of him that is still careful with you when you make love.
Right now it’s just sex. Dirty, rough, unfiltered sex.
Your breath leaves you in gasps, your bare back against the cold plaster, one leg around his waist, the other held away by him, arms clinging to his biceps for dear life. All you can do is moan as you get adjusted to his unfairly thick cock slamming in and out of you.
“Just like that…you’re taking me so well,” he pants. “You can do it, sweetheart…you’re doing so good… fuck, you were made for this…made for me.”
His hands grip your thighs. He fucks you like he’s possessed, no rhythm, no thought into it, just deep, hard thrusts that hit something devastating every time, shaking the wall with every slam of his hips.
And the whole time, he keeps whimpering into your neck.
“I love you…I’m sorry…I love you…I’m gonna ruin you …I need it…”
You think you’re about to white out when the room starts moving, but you quickly realize what’s happening. He’s lifting your bodies off the ground.
Still fucking you.
Going up as much as your ceiling allowed him too. He pins you high on the wall when his head touches the roof, like gravity doesn’t apply anymore. It never does anyway, not to you, not to him.
So now you’re fucking hovering. Literally. Unable to do anything but take it.
And you feel him like never before. A complete moaning mess. Nails dragging down his back, mouth open in shock as you look down to the floor. Your whole body is a live wire, and he’s fucking you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
It literally is.
His cock twitches inside you. He’s already close. Has been since he walked through that window. But he’s holding it, fighting it, because he needs to stay inside. Needs to keep taking. You can’t keep giving all night.
“Fuck Clark…I’m gonna–“
“Yes? Do it. Darling please, you’re doing so well. I’ve got you…cum all over my cock, I got you.”
Your body breaks before you can even breathe. Your first climax of the night hits hard, walls clenching around him, as you pant into his chest. Your whole body goes limp and he feels it.
He fucks you through it. Rough thrusts with his hand stroking your back and the other wrapped under your thighs. He keeps thanking you as his cock splits you open over and over.
“I wanna give you everything,” he groans, voice cracking. “Fill you up, stuff you full of me…Can I? Please? Let me finish inside you….let me have you–“
“Yes, yes, fill me up,” you blurt out, still seeing stars.
He slams in once more and chokes, hips locked, whole body shuddering as he comes with a moan so broken it feels like it came from his soul. He shakes as he fills you, mouth pressed to your neck.
He doesn’t pull out yet. He holds you there, trembling, pressed against the wall like he knows you’ll fall if he loosens his grip.
Even after the first wave passes, after the groans, the shaking, the desperate I love you’s, he holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this planet.
“…Are you okay?”
You just nod, breathless, a blissed out smile in your face. He smiles too. And then, slowly, he lowers you back down to the floor.
But he’s not soft for long. He doesn’t even give you a minute to recover. He can’t. The second round starts before the first one even finishes sinking in.
You’re still trembling in his arms, leaking down your thighs, whimpering his name into the crook of his neck. And he’s still inside you. Still painfully hard.
Still needing you.
“One more, please. Just–just one more,” he begs. “Let me have you again. Please, darling I need it.”
“Take it Clark, take all you need,” you nod, absolutely wrecked.
But what’s a few more rounds with your unearthly strong boyfriend?
He melts.
You usually go multiple rounds, but he’s softer, he gives you downtime, even brings you water in between orgasms. But right now he can’t believe the way he fucked you and you still let him have more. But he needs more. The pollen is fogging his brain.
He finally pulls out, just to set you down on the floor. The second your back hits the rug, he’s on top of you again. And god he’s heavy. Solid. He doesn’t even hold his weight like he usually does because all he’s thinking about is fucking you senseless.
He buries himself deep again, groaning, cursing under his breath. You close your eyes, nails digging the carpet, back arching when you feel him deeper from this angle. You pant small whines from the feeling.
“Shhh…don’t–“ he coos, he wants to be slow, but he can’t. His hips snap hard without even thinking. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart…so good for me… just need one more.”
You know it’s not just one more. And he fucking knows that too.
None of you cares.
“You’re so wet…so perfect” he groans, the filthy sound gushing loudly every time he thrusted. “I didn’t even give you time to come down…didn’t even let you breathe and you still take me so well”
He praises. Worships. He looks down to where your bodies meet, and he sees right through your skin. He can see his huge cock filling you with every thrust. He can see your walls clenching around him. And he loses it.
You’re suddenly running out of air when he presses his chest to yours, pining you tighter to the floor with his body as he pushes harder. And you feel all of him. The broadness of his chest against your ribs. The strain of his thighs bracketing yours. His cock still buried deep, rock hard.
You hit his bicep with your hand first, but he’s not paying attention, he’s too caught up on the way your pussy takes him to notice.
It’s not smooth. Not rhythmic. Just sharp, ragged thrusts that hit you so hard your body jerks on impact, tits bouncing, nails clawing at his back as he crushes you into the floor with every rut of his hips.
Your head starts spinning.
“Clark,” you choke out, hitting his bicep again. “I can’t–can’t breathe…”
His head finally snaps at you, eyes going wide. He lifts up a bit, but he doesn’t pull out, he just … can’t.
You finally gasp for air as he shushes you softly, tucking away the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead.
“I’m sorry…I can’t…can’t stop. I tried, I swear I tried,” his forehead presses to yours, without crushing you alive this time.
His hips don’t stop moving. You pant between moans. You’re close again, you can feel it.
“It’s okay, you’re just…you’re so big…so heavy.”
“I know,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I know. I just…I don’t want to let you go–”
“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t let me go.”
His expression breaks. Because he knows. And you know. He’s not really letting you go. Not all the way. He’s still pressing his weight into you, even as he tries not to. Because he needs to. Because letting go means losing you, even just for a second.
He doesn’t know what takes over him, he grabs your hands and pins them above your head. Watching you sob, moan, eyes rolling back, skin already bruising in multiple places by his grip. He’s not like this. He should be apologizing. Begging. But you just feel so damn good.
And you like it, god you love it.
“I–I love it when you fuck me like this,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper, dumb smile on your face as he hits that spot repeatedly. “I just–I can’t…”
“I know darling, I know…just a little more,” he groans. “One more please. You can take it…you’re doing so good.” He coos, but he can’t slow down, not when you’re clenching him like that.
He picks up the pace.
“C-Clark…please, I’m gonna-“
“I’ve got you, darling…I’ve got you, let yourself go for me.”
You see white this time. You’re not even moaning anymore. Just gasping. Twitching. Letting him take what he needs because you want to. Because this is Clark, your Clark, and you’d give him your whole body a thousand times if he needed it.
And he does.
He fucks you like you’re his last breath.
Even after you’re wrecked, limp, twitching…he keeps going.
You don’t even remember the next time he finishes. Or the time after that. Or where it happened. Your body is a mess, trembling and raw and wet and full. Marked. Praised.
All while he keeps saying, “Just one more…just let me stay inside you a little longer…please sweetheart, I’m still hard I know you can take it…this is the last time I promise…”
Again and again. You’ve never heard him lie so much before.
Yet still, with your hair splayed, legs shaking, literal tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, the pain, the strain, the goddamn pollen he pumps into your body every time he comes…
You are having the time of your life being drunk on his cock.
“Fuck me harder.”
You beg, even when you can’t feel it that much anymore. Maybe that’s why you need it harder…deeper. And because you knew that once he came back to normal he wouldn’t fuck you like this again. And he makes sure to let you know.
“I’m sorry. I just need you so fucking much…I love you I love you I love you—”
You just nod, because it hurts embarrassingly good.
You lose count of how many times he comes in total. How many times you come. You only know time’s passed when the sky starts to lighten outside your broken window, and Clark is rocking into you so slowly it’s more like he’s just holding you in place, his mouth pressed to your shoulder, whispering thank you with every lazy thrust.
By the time he finally slows down, finally wears the substance out of his body after dumping it all inside you…you can’t move. You’re limp in his arms, boneless and dripping and his.
Your bed feels incredibly soft in contrast to all the spots he fucked you on last night.
You’re draped across his chest, tracing the muscles under his bare skin. His fingers are in your hair. Barely moving, just tracing small patterns. Soothing you like he didn’t cause all the pain in your body.
You’re still trembling a little. Just from…after. Your body’s still echoing with everything he gave you. Everything he took.
Worth it.
Clark kisses your temple. He hasn’t stopped kissing you every few minutes. It’s like he’s trying to apologize without saying it. Like he’s trying to prove that he’s still the man you love, the man who flinches when he bumps your head by accident, who picks you flowers and gets flustered when you kiss him in public. The one who always put you first in bed.
Not the one who just broke the sound barrier flying to your apartment because his cock told him to.
“…I broke your window,” he finally breaks the silence, a chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your ear.
“Clark…you broke a lot more than my window.”
You both start giggling…somehow glowing. Your throat hurts, you’re sore, probably can’t even walk today or the whole week, and somehow, it feels like the safest place on Earth.
“I love you,” he whispers. “So much.”
“I know,” you whisper back. “You said it like 87 times while destroying me.”
⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆
I created a blog dedicated to Superman, where I’ll be posting my writing for him from now on 🫶🏼 so if you wanna check it out, go to -> @404superman
Feedback and sharing is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading <3
@xaterdeusx asked: Hello! Can i get a really rough wall sex with Thor!, where hes all over dirty talk and denying the reader to come? This would be so amazing? + Anon asked:Can you please write something (anything tbh) with Thor having a kink for cumming in the reader (I’m sorry it’s so dirty you’re the best Thor writer )
Warnings: Smut!!!! Dom!Thor. Filth! This is just filthy. Porn with no plot. 1.6k words
Authors Note: I decided to add both requests together because I felt it’d work better that way. I need to cleanse myself after writing this.
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