Reminder that just because somebody's got skills and fame doesn't mean they're not capable of dogshit opinions and NOBODY DESERVES YOUR LOYALTY IF THEY DON'T CONSTANTLY FUCKING EARN IT
you're obsessed with the fact that clark kent is your husband.
tags: smut, husband!clark, tons of 'wife' and 'husband' mentions, marital kink, unprotected p-in-v, mean dom!clark, teasing, big dick!clark, pussy pronouns, reader 'rides' clark (900+ wc)
—
there’s something so natural about having a man like clark kent as your husband.
you didn't think the prospect of marriage — or well, the legality mattered to you that much until he was yours to call officially — the utter triumph every time you'd see the golden wedding band sitting snug on his ring finger. warding off women who dared to think they had a chance.
he was yours. your husband, and you were his wife. the thought itself made you so giddy. at every inconsequential mention — "…just me & my wife," "oh — it's my wife's."
the culmination of pent-up feelings regarding it, somehow displaced over the months, turned to a wildly potent feeling of arousal. wetness that lends familiarity between your thighs whenever you let that thought fester in your mind for a second too long.
clark knew his wife, through and through. so this fact wasn't foreign to him, and it was something he'd used for both your benefits unapologetically.
"thas' it. ah — like that."
the situation at present was entirely motivated by the torturous teasing your husband had subjected you to. quiet affirmations to your combined reflections on the mirror before leaving for date night, paired with foolishly-transparent attempts of his to rile you up.
it worked, nonetheless.
your thighs were spread, impossibly apart above his wide, meatier ones that tenses beneath your grip — he's steadying you with gentle nudges of his hips. but it does nothing to ease the sheer stretch of his cock, discouraging you from sinking down any further.
though you'd think you might've had enough preparation, considering the less than appropriate pre-game in the of the limousine ride back home, where he'd eased your pussy on his thick digits.
not to say clark actively partook in public improprieties, but it'd gotten increasingly difficult to turn you down when you'd been rubbing his bulge needily the second you had 'privacy'. plus, in fairness — he had instigated you relentlessly.
"m'sorry, i-i can't, any…more…"
he tuts at your visible struggle, in the manner your trembling hips have halted when he barely had his length halfway notched in you.
"now…that can't be right," he begins, "not when this pussy's creaming 'round me when she takes it to the hilt every other night."
a visible shudder runs right down your spine, at his tone that bordered on a mocking cruelty, but served to only make you pulse in arousal, eliciting a deep rumble from his chest.
"that's…mean," you try.
clark involuntarily lets out a huff of laughter as he points out, "not what I felt."
before you're able to call him out for his behaviour all damn day, you feel his hands steady around your hips. stuttered, broken protests leave you when you're pulled back down by gravity, forcing your cunt to swallow at least an inch more of his length.
instantly, you go rigid, fingers knotted around the softer, tuft of hair on his chest. "a-ah, fuck! s-slower," you manage, all pitchy.
clark hums thoughtfully, tightening his glutes to counter your weight. most of the work was being done by him, at this rate, but he doesn't point it out.
you're trying your best to remain upright, a simple task that becomes impossible when he'd managed to slide halfway into you.
deep, shaky pants are pressed against his skin when you finally slump forward. hips tilted upward like a skittish cat, as you refuse to take him all the way in.
clark's heavy palm comes to rest at the back of your head, soothing at first, before you feel yourself tilt back a tad. there's no pain when his fisted hand interlock in your hair.
he leans in to press gentle kisses by the edge of your jawline, to your pulse, nipping at it just so he could hear your whiny hiss. beneath, you don't realise that his gestures have allowed you to loosen up your pelvic muscles, tremble in your thighs, easing off.
"deep breath f'me. hm?"
you blink hazily at his quick, muttered warning, not entirely registering it until the one swift thrust of his hips has you nearly electrocuted in shock. the feeling of his throbbing, hard cock is buried in you to the hilt. any fear of the sting quickly dissipated by the firm grip to the gloves of your ass.
he squeezes the fat there, as if to let your pussy marinate the slick arousal that had built for hours, before his slamming you down.
gurgled, incoherent words spill from you relentlessly at his blatant overtaking in fucking you for real this time. it was a foreign feeling to have felt so powerless while quite literally being on top, but the thoughts have far strayed.
clark's jaw is clenched, grinding on his molars in a futile effort to not spill and fill your womb deep with his spend. it's paired with his innate need to get you off first, which by the feel of it, wasn't too far off with how the base of his cock was slick and creamy from your arousal.
his hands then slide upward your ribs, thumbs skirting past the neglected tits he'd make a mental note to suck on plenty, later on in the tub.
"can feel it, pulsin' around me. gonna cum f'me?"
you tilt your head to whine into his ears, breathless string of yes-yes-yes's making sure he'd kept the same pace to roll his hips into you.
he tugs you, rough but decisive the moment you teeter on the precipice of your orgasm, welcoming the long, wanton pitchy gasps. clark grits, only speeding up more despite you attempting to pull back from overstimulation.
your pussy, now achy, and far too sensitive, is quickly quenched by the jet of hot, viscous cum spurting deep inside you. warmth coating your insides in steady, stuttered thrusts.
by then, you've rolled off him, cunt twitching from the aftermath as it expels the pearlescent overflow. he tugs you back to his sweaty chest.
You groan when another shooting pain is sent through your abdomen. The second day of being practically bedridden due to what feels like the worst period pain of your life is torture. To make it worse, there’s not a heating pad in sight since yours broke. On the bright side, no one was bothering you to do a whole bunch of things… except Paul. He kept checking on you to see if you were alright, bringing you up food and whatnot. But there would always be a bite taken out of it already anyway.
“Party’s here.” Paul flops next to you on the bed, kissing your shoulder and taking a pillow. “How’s my pretty girl?”
You grunt in response.
“Okay then.” His arm slinks under your chest and holds you securely.
“You just come here to sleep?” You raise an eyebrow at him.
“Next to you, yeah.”
You lay there for a moment, feeling an engulfing warmth from his body. It feels amazing on your aching body.
“Paul?”
“Mmm?”
“Lay on me.”
He rolls over without a word, his hot muscles already doing the job to ease your cramps.
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