summary : he had a humiliating cramp during sex . . .
content : NSFW — 12y age gap — missionary sex position — established relationship / married couple — use of y/n — can be a little ooc — a little bit of humor — characters are 30+
wc : 1.2K
He was fifty-one. Officially old. The kind of old where mornings started with inventory: left knee clicking like a cheap lighter, lower back reminding him he once took a Tyrant’s fist to the ribs, right shoulder still bitching about Raccoon City even though that was thirty goddamn years ago. Salt-and-pepper hair had finally surrendered to mostly pepper. The beard he kept because shaving felt like surrender. Blue eyes still sharp, still seeing too much, but the skin around them had begun to crease in ways that no amount of sunscreen or your gentle nagging could prevent.
Seven years retired.
Seven years of no more government black-site debriefs, no more “Kennedy, we need you one last time”. Just...Thailand. Just a sleepy beach town two hours south of Phuket where the worst crisis was the mango vendor shortchanging tourists and the occasional monitor lizard raiding garbage bins. Just him, a small stucco house with too many plants, and you.
You, who at thirty-nine still moved like you were made of water. Hair you usually tied up in a messy knot when you taught pilates on the resort patio six mornings a week. You still laughed at his jokes (most of them, anyway) and you still looked at him like he was worth the trouble.
They’d been married eleven years. Eleven years of you calling him “old man” in that teasing lilt that somehow never felt cruel. Eleven years of him pretending the nickname didn’t land like a small-caliber round sometimes.
Tonight had started ordinary.
A late-afternoon walk along the beachfront promenade, hands linked. Dinner at the little open-air place with the red lanterns; grilled squid, green papaya salad that made his sinuses burn in the best way, cold Singha beers followed by two glasses of cheap Shiraz because you liked the way it stained your lips darker. They talked about everything: the german couple who kept trying to haggle over coconut water, the new strain of dengue the news wouldn’t shut up about, how you’d caught one of your students filming you downward-dog ass for Instagram without asking. Leon had muttered something about breaking the kid’s phone and then his nose too. You had laughed and squeezed his thigh under the table until he forgot why he was angry.
Back home the air smelled like jasmine and sea salt. Lights off. Ceiling fan clicking. Clothes on the floor in a careless trail from door to bed.
He still wanted you the way he had at thirty-five. Maybe more. Age had sharpened the hunger instead of dulling it. Your skin still felt like the only clean thing left in the world when he put his mouth on your throat. You still arched exactly the right way when he dragged his teeth along your collarbone. Your legs still wrapped around his waist like they belonged there.
Leon braced one forearm beside your head, the other hand gripping your hip, guiding himself in slow. The kind of slow that made your breath hitch and your nails dig half-moons into his shoulders. He rolled his hips, felt you clench around him, heard the soft sound you made against his ear.
“Fuck, bae,” you whispered in a moaning-laughing tone. “You still got it.”
He smirked against your mouth. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
You kissed him hard, tongue sliding against his. He thrust again—deeper this time, chasing that little gasp you always gave when he hit just right.
And then his left calf decided it had suffered enough.
The cramp came like a gunshot. Sudden. Violent. A white-hot wire yanking every muscle from ankle to knee into a rigid knot. His leg locked straight. His hips froze mid-thrust. He made a sound that sounds like a wounded animal.
“Shit! Fuck! Goddamn it!”
Your eyes snapped open. For one heartbeat you looked alarmed; then you realized. Your lips twitched. Then you laughed. Not a giggle. A full, bright, can’t-breathe laugh that shook your whole body and made everything clench around him in ways that were frankly unfair.
“Oh my god,” you wheezed, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “Leon. Baby. Are you—did you just cramp?”
“Shut up,” he gritted out, trying and failing to shift his weight. His calf was screaming. His dignity was in the corner crying. “Not. Funny. Princess.”
“It’s a little funny.” You were still laughing, but you reached down, gentle and sliding your palms along the back of his locked leg. “Hold still, old man. I got you.”
“Don’t call me that right now, woman.”
“Too late.” Your fingers found the knot, dug in with exactly the right pressure; the kind of pressure only someone who spent her life teaching people how to move their bodies could manage. You kneaded, slow circles, coaxing the muscle to let go. “Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like I taught you. Pilates 101."
“Fuck pilates,” Leon whined, but there was no real heat behind it. He braced one forearm beside your head and tried to shift his weight without making the cramp worse. The muscle screamed in protest. “Fuck my leg. Fuck gravity. Fuck being fifty-one.”
You laughed again, softer this time, and the sound vibrated through your chest into his. “You’re so adorable when you’re dramatic.”
“I’m in literal agony, baby. Some respect, please.”
The cramp finally began to loosen; grudgingly, like it knew it had already embarrassed him enough. Leon exhaled hard through his nose, dropped his forehead to yours.
“Better?” you asked, voice softer now.
“Marginal.”
You hummed, fingers still working the muscle. “You know what this means, right?”
“That I’m ancient and should be put out to pasture?”
“That pilates is good for you.” You grinned, wicked. “But you keep skipping my classes.”
“I don’t skip. I strategically avoid.”
“Same thing.”
He finally managed to ease his leg straight. The pain dulled to a dull throb. He stayed inside you, though. You felt too good, too warm, too alive for him to come out of you now. He rocked gently, testing the waters. No new screams from his body. Just the slow, syrupy drag of you around him. Thank God.
He fucked you slow after that—every thrust measured so his calf wouldn’t revolt again. He couldn't risk a second embarrassment. You wrapped your legs higher around his waist, ankles crossed at the small of his back, pulling him deeper. Your hands roamed his chest, his shoulders, nails scraping through the hair there. When you came it was quiet, almost surprised; like you hadn’t expected it to hit so hard. Your whole body shuddered under him, thighs trembling, a broken little “fuck” slipping out of your mouth. His favorite sound in the world.
Leon followed maybe thirty seconds later, burying his face in your neck, whimpering low as he spilled inside you. His arms shook. His back protested. But he didn’t care. 'Cause he had finally reaching his climax.
They lay there afterward, sweaty bodies with tangled members, fan pushing warm air across their skin. You traced idle patterns on his chest, following the scar that ran from his left pec almost to his navel—Umbrella’s parting gift.
“You okay?” you asked quietly.
“Physically? Debatable. Emotionally? Still traumatized.”
You laughed again, softer this time and kissed the underside of his jaw. “I love you, cramp and all.”
He turned his head, and caugh your mouth in a lazy kiss. “Love you too, yoga princess.”
“Pilates,” you corrected.
“Same difference.”
ׄ ۪ 𓂃 final notes : due to leon kennedy's new look, and because at 51 he still looks soo hot, here's something i think would happen more often than desired (sorry leon 😭) taglist : @chloeee20 , @mayanqueenxx , @cassieforu | if you want to join my taglist or don't wanna be tagged anymore , click ( here ) ♥︎ 2026 , dolcefloral 𓂃 ۪ ׄ
summary : he's sooo big , but he would make it fit . . .💭
content : NSFW — established relationship — size difference kink / big dick — gentle dominance / controlled pacing — praise — emotional intimacy during sex — porn with feelings — legs on shoulders sex position — characters are 20+
wc : 1.4K
Clark had never quite figured out how to stop feeling like he was taking up too much space.
Even now, stretched out on his back across the king-size mattress in their loft apartment in Midtown Metropolis, he kept his elbows tucked close to his ribs, shoulders rounded just enough so he wouldn’t accidentally crowd you while you straddled his hips. The bedside lamp on your side spilled warm amber across the sheets, catching on the faint sheen of sweat between your collarbones and turning your skin almost luminous. Your long hair hung forward in heavy curtains, brushing his chest every time you rocked. Bright eyes—darkened to near-black with pupils blown wide—locked on his face like you were trying to memorize every flicker of expression he made.
He was trying very hard not to break.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word slipping out low and rough. His hands flexed on your waist, thumbs digging into the soft dip above your hipbones. “You’re killing me, baby.”
Your lips curved; the little half-smile you only ever wore when you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him. “You’re the one who’s huge,” you murmured, voice husky from earlier cries. “I’m just… trying to keep up.”
You rolled your hips again, and Clark’s head dropped back against the pillow with a muffled groan. Jesus Christ. Every inch you took felt like the first time all over again. Tight. Hot. Slick. Your inner walls fluttered around him, still fluttering even after the third (or was it fourth? ) orgasm he’d already pulled out of you tonight. He could feel the way your body had to stretch, the way you had to breathe through it, little shivery exhales every time you sank down another fraction.
Eight-point-six inches wasn’t a number he’d ever measured for bragging rights. It was just anatomy. His anatomy, at least. The same way his shoulders were too broad for most doorframes and his boots were impossible to find in regular stores. But the way you reacted to it—like it was simultaneously the best and most unfair thing that had ever happened to you—made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with physical strain.
“Easy,” he rasped when you tried to take more too fast. One big hand slid up your spine, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades, urging you to lean forward instead of forcing yourself down. “C’mere. Let me help you, babe.”
You obeyed, because you always did when he used that coaxing tone, and folded yourself against his chest. Your breasts pressed soft and warm to his pecs; your nipples were still peaked and sensitive from his mouth earlier. Clark wrapped both arms around you, one hand cradling the nape of your neck, the other sliding down to cup the perfect curve of your ass. He held you there, bodies flush, his cock buried only about two-thirds of the way inside you.
You whimpered into the crook of his throat. The sound went straight to his balls.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your temple, pressing kiss after slow kiss along your hairline. “Just breathe for me, sweetheart. You’re doing so fucking good.”
You shivered, nails bit into the meat of his shoulders. And he just groaned softly and rocked up into you, tiny little movements, barely an inch at a time, letting you adjust around him.
“God, Clark…” Your voice cracked on his name. “Why does it still feel like the first time?”
“Because you’re tiny,” he answered, tone full of teasing but also solidarity for you. Your cause. “And I’m—”
“Fucking massive,” you finished for him, then laughed breathlessly when he flexed inside you on purpose. The laugh turned into a moan halfway through. “Fucking asshole.”
“Your asshole, though” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Lucky me.”
He felt you smile against his neck. Felt the way your thighs trembled on either side of his hips. Felt the slow, syrupy clench of your cunt as you started to relax around the rest of him.
“There you go,” he praised, voice dropping even lower. “That’s my girl. Take it slow. We’ve got all night. Don't need to rush, uh.”
You exhaled a shaky breath and pushed yourself up on straight arms so you could look down at him again. Your hair fell around them like a private curtain; the city lights leaking through the half-open blinds painted thin silver stripes across your cheekbones. You looked wrecked already, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, and Clark still hadn’t let himself really move yet. He always preferred to savor the moment calmly.
You rocked experimentally. Just a shallow roll. Then another. Each one dragged a low sound out of his throat.
“Better?” you asked, voice small and hopeful.
“Fuck yes.” His hands slid to your thighs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin on the inside where you were shaking. “You feel so goddamn perfect. Always do.”
You bit your lip, clearly trying not to whimper again, and failed spectacularly when he tilted his hips just enough to nudge against that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back.
“Clark—”
“I know, baby. I know.” He kept the rhythm slow. Every upward thrust was measured. Controlled. He watched your face the whole time; the way your brows pinched, the way your mouth fell open on silent gasps, the way your pupils were so wide he could barely see the iris anymore. “Tell me when you want more.”
“I want more now,” you panted. Even though you were basically torn apart by his monstrous cock, you still wanted more, until there was nothing left behind.
He chuckled. “Greedy.”
“Your fault,” you shot back, but there was no heat in it—just raw need. “You and your stupid huge cock.”
Clark groaned and pulled you down for a kiss. It started gentle but turned filthy fast. Tongues sliding, teeth catching, your little mewling noises swallowed by his mouth. When they broke apart both of them were breathing hard.
“Legs up,” he said, voice gravel. Hands caressing your thighs now, making you feel more at ease. “Over my shoulders. I wanna go deeper.”
Your eyes flared with heat. You didn’t argue. Just planted your palms on his chest for leverage and carefully lifted one leg, then the other, until the backs of your knees were hooked over the broad caps of his shoulders. The new angle folded you nearly in half. Exposed you completely. Let him sink another inch on the very next slow roll.
Your head dropped backward. Hair spilled across your back. “Oh fuck—Clark—”
“Yeah,” he rasped, hands clamping around your hips to hold you steady on his lap. “There it is.”
He gave you a moment to adjust then started fucking up into you in shallow, deliberate strokes. Just deep, relentless pressure. Every time he bottomed out you made this broken, needy sound that shot straight through him like lightning.
“Goddamn, you take it so well,” he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes were glued to the junction between you and him, especially to the way you were taking his entire cock inside you now. “Look at you. Taking every fucking inch like you were made for it.”
He felt the telltale flutter start low in your belly, felt the way your thighs clamped tight around his ears, felt the sudden gush of wet heat coating him.
“That’s it,” he crooned, never breaking rhythm. “Come on my cock, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”
You shattered. Head thrown back, mouth open on a silent scream that quickly turned audible—his name, over and over. Your cunt clamped down so hard it dragged a choked curse out of him. He had to grit his teeth and force himself to keep the strokes even, had to fight every instinct to pound up into you and chase his own release.
But he wasn't going to do that. Not until you’d ridden it out.
When the worst of the spasms finally eased, you collapsed forward, trembling, forehead pressed to his. Tears streaked your cheeks. Your breathing was wrecked.
Clark wrapped both arms around you, one hand stroking up and down your spine in long, soothing passes.
“Shh... i’ve got you,” he whispered again, kissing your forehead tenderly. “I’ve got you, baby.”
ׄ ۪ 𓂃 final notes : slight based off on 'jonas 22' from bbb12 🙂↕️ ( sorry if you can't get the tip ) and the position ?? In my head, it made some sense. 🤨
taglist : @coochiemama3000 , @strkycrnswt , @pittsick , @ravens-writing-corner , @blaineandergel , @kild4re | if you want to join my taglist or don't wanna be tagged anymore click ( here ) ♥︎ 2026 , dolcefloral 𓂃 ۪ ׄ
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