explicit 18+ clark having hyperspermia and his girl creaming all over his dick makes their sex a messy messy affair…. the first time they fuck he had to force himself to pull out and warn her it’s always too much coming out. ends up nutting on her mound instead of the inside, drowning her with it, covering her pussy and her inner thighs in stringy thick white that just wouldn’t stop coming out. it was embarrassing for poor clark, wanting to just. stop. cumming already but every load kept pouring out stronger than the next, almost electrocuting him. he’s so shy about his body cumming for nearly two whole minutes, cock just violently whipping around while it spurts like it’s got a mind and agenda of its own. ridiculously throbbing and spitting out ropes like a hose.
after the first time she sees how much her boy really cums, how he was not exaggerating or lying when he said he had a rare benign condition she’d start begging him to creampie her. give her pussy his all. at a certain point early in midst of their raw fuck he looks down and sees rings and rings of her pussy cream staining up and down his length. soaking his member with every thrust. audibly wet and sticky.
‘we’re making a mess.’
he’s cheeky while he’s laughing still pounding her pussy but she just demands he starts pumping faster, more cum sloshing between their bodies while he obeys and speeds himself up. the pouring coming out never seems to stop, drips landing on the couch in nasty stains, even splashing to the floor.
‘it’s… it’s getting everywhere baby.’
‘shut up and don’t stop, don’t stop until you’re cumming in me.’
‘y—yes ma’am, I promise I won’t stop,’ he swears. smile wiped off his face and replaced with concentration while he watches their shared cum stream down his balls and on her cute pair of pj’s. it would be disgusting if it weren’t so fucking delectable to stare at.
he’s so shaky when he tries to grab the blanket in preparation for when he cums inside her, flustered while spreading the blanket out beneath where their bodies join. it wasn’t much but it was something.
the blanket and her pussy get stupid soaked when clark starts cumming another long load nonstop and she adores it. doesn’t matter if she thinks his cum overflows so much it might start going out of her eyes and ears and her belly button, she’s just so happy to feel the thick gooey warmth he always provides 🥛🏹🥛
clark’s arms lock around your waist like steel bands and he hauls you straight off the floor, your feet kicking uselessly in the air while your hands scramble for the edge of the counter.
the kitchen tiles are cold under nothing but his bare feet and the slap of your bodies, but you don’t feel any of it because he’s already slamming back into you, thick cock stretching you open so wide your mouth drops on a shaky cry.
“did you seriously think you could get away?” his voice is low and rough against your ear, that farm-boy drawl gone dark and filthy.
sweat rolls down the carved lines of his chest and back, muscles flexing huge under your palms as he lifts and drops you onto every inch like you’re nothing but a toy for his cock. he’s taller, stronger, faster than anyone you’ve ever had, and he knows it. every thrust punches the air out of your lungs, the wet smack of his hips meeting your ass loud and obscene in the quiet room.
your legs dangle, toes barely brushing the floor before he yanks you higher and drives in again, cock so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach.
“sweet girls like you were made to be bred, y’know that?” he growls, teeth scraping your shoulder as he fucks into you a whole lot deeper, faster, the wet sound of your pussy taking him echoing off the walls. you’re dripping down his thighs already, slick running messy between you while he rearranges everything inside you with every brutal stroke.
he shifts his grip, one big hand sliding up to squeeze your tit, thumb flicking your nipple until it’s aching, the other arm banded under your ass so he can bounce you on his cock like he’s got all the time in the world. your back arches, head falling against his shoulder, and he just laughs again, low and smug, hips snapping up so sharp your vision whites out for a second.
“that’s it, baby… feel how deep i am? no running now. this cunt’s mine.”
you try to answer but it comes out a broken moan, your walls fluttering tight around the heavy length splitting you open. clark groans at the squeeze, pace turning mean, pounding up into you so hard the counter creaks under your gripping fingers.
sweat slicks your skin where you’re pressed together, his chest hot and solid against your back, cock dragging perfect over that spot inside you again and again until your thighs shake and your voice cracks on his name.
he doesn’t slow down. just keeps lifting you, dropping you, fucking you full with every thick inch while his breath fans hot against your neck. “gonna fill you up,” he promises, voice wrecked and hungry, “gonna breed this pretty pussy till it’s dripping my cum for days. you’re not going anywhere till i’m done with you.” his hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that make your whole body jerk in his hold.
the pressure builds fast, overwhelming, and when you come it’s with a sob, pussy clamping down around him so hard he curses under his breath. clark fucks you through it, relentless, hips stuttering only when his own orgasm hits. he buries himself to the hilt and stays there, pulsing hot and deep while thick ropes of cum flood you, so much it leaks out around his cock and runs down your thighs. he keeps you suspended, rocking slow and lazy now, milking every last drop into you like he really means to breed you full.
only when you’re limp and panting does he finally lower you, but he doesn’t let go, just keeps you pinned against the counter with his cock still buried inside, lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “told you you couldn’t get away.”
i’m a firm believer that jason todd lovesssss period sex.
you’re warmer and wetter than usual from the blood, not to mention more horny. he’ll also keep reminding you that orgasms help with pain. he genuinely just wants to make you feel better, improve your pain and your mood.
maybe at first you were apprehensive — after all, you were grumpy and in pain — but when you finally let him talk you into it, he got this feral look in his eyes. in his mind, you were finally letting him see all of you. that look alone, that look of desperate devotion was enough to fully convince you.
—
his large palm is flat on your lower stomach as he swirls his hips against yours, mushroom tip grinding into that perfect spot inside. he’s soft and sweet and gentle, even if he won’t shut up.
“y’think i’m scared of a little blood, ma?” he murmurs. his eyes are fixated on where you’re connected, that deep red coating his shaft every time he pulls out. “like i don’t see it every day? think it’s fuckin’ amateur hour over here?”
there’s a shit-eating grin on his face as you get closer and closer to the edge. “see? feels good, right? knew it, baby — it’s good for you. you just need to cum and then you’ll feel better. y’see now? i want you any day of the month. ‘m fuckin’ obsessed with you.”
GIRLLUHHHHHH i NEEEED another installation of jason “don’t run from the dick” todd 😭🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽
like oh mah gah i need him saurrrr badddddd
literally about to go to sleep but just the thought of him having you laid out on the bed, legs over his shoulders while his drilling your shit. you’re writhing, whining, and almost in tears from the stretch, it hurts so good.
“i know,” he hums as you keen, “i know, daddy has a big fuckin’ dick, i know.” you mewl, covering your face and he’s prying your hands from your head to see you, “takin’ it so well, though, mama. let me see you. let me— fuck— let me see you when i stretch you out.”
there’s something so delicious about the way jason seems to grow everywhere when you both are bulking, the extra calories lending themselves towards growing his muscles, yes; but also the healthy layer of pudge that settles over his stomach. his cheeks fill out too, just a little. he looks happy.
there’s something scrumptious in the way jason cooks calorie dense meals for the two of you; his stupid little “kiss the cook” apron sinfully stretching over his pecs like an invitation. there’s something even better about the way he beckons you to the kitchen, his deep voice rumbling out a resounding, “come eat, mama.”
but the best part about bulking with jason is how handsy he gets when he sees the hard work you’ve been putting in at the gym.
“fillin’ out pretty nice, mama,” he’ll say, his hands cupping the fat of your ass through your leggings with a lewd squeeze, “those squats an’ extra calories are gettin’ you right.”
“hmm,” you’d smile, wrinkling your nose as you poke his chest, “seems like someone’s tryin’ to fatten me up.”
“yeah,” he chuckles at that, his big hand swatting the fat of your rear and watching with low, almost hungry eyes, “tryin’ ta fatten somethin’ up for sure.”
summary: it’s moments before your ceremony and clark gets his first look at you
pairing: husband!clark kent x female!reader
word count: 1.0k
content: first look before the wedding!!! reader is wearing a wedding dress and a veil. sweet kisses and clark unable to stop crying
a/n: clark is so baby girl and i love him
“You good, buddy?”
Ears with static ringing, Clark looked up from his freshly polished shoes that Pa Kent had shone for him. Blue eyes out of focus, Clark blinked the distant fog away to stare at his co-worker, and most importantly, his best friend; Jimmy Olsen.
Shoulders broadened, Clark swallowed to try rid of the sandpaper scratch in his throat that he had felt since the sun rose over the horizon. He tried to maintain a composure that spoke a story of stoicism whilst his insides became battered mush.
“I’m good.” Clark responded in an octave higher than his usual deep tone. To reaffirm it, he spread a smile across his face, “I’m good. Is she ready?”
It had been decided months prior, with heads pressed together, looking at a memory book with empty pages to fill, that you and Clark would do a ‘first look’ before the wedding ceremony began. You had put out the point that it would shake any leftover nerves out, because you were both a focal point of soothing for each other.
Plus, Clark had spent a gruelling twelve-hours without your presence. He’d wait a lifetime for you, but was grateful that it hadn’t come to that drastic of an outcome.
There were thirty-minutes to spare before you both stood beneath the infamous Willow tree on the Kent Farm in Smallville, Kansas. An ideal location with a tie so deep to Clark Kent’s roots, it was a no-brainer to marry the love of his life in the very spot he was taught how to love so unconditionally.
Clark had been shuffling from foot to foot, nervously scratching at his stubbled jawline, fixing his red bow-tie — borrowed from Pa — and then fixing it once more whilst he waited patiently for his future wife.
Jimmy Olsen had been there for moral support. He had never seen Clark Kent so strained from raw nerves.
Maybe he’d find a love like that in his lifetime.
“She’s ready.” Jimmy confirmed to Clark with a thumbs up, “She looks beautiful.”
Clark side-eyed Jimmy, “I’m aware of that.”
“Knock your socks off kind of beautiful.”
Clark suddenly became anxious about the colour of socks he wore, now that Jimmy mentioned it. Hot pink. Ridiculous. But, he wanted to make you laugh.
“Alright.” Clark shook his body, “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
He turned his back, hands clasped at his front, his shoulders rising momentarily as he took a deep inhale before letting it go with the gentle breeze. You appeared, Lois Lane tottering behind you, bent at the waist to fluff out the train of your dress when you made it within reaching distance of your soon to be husband.
Thumbs up in approval, Lois snatched Jimmy by the arm to prevent any half-appearances in the photos that were about to be taken for your memory book.
“You smell great.” Clark mumbled with his eyes closed, “That’s the perfume I bought.”
You let out a small laugh, “Yes. Do you want to turn around now?”
There was no repeating your question. Clark spun on his heel, eyes peeled open slowly to take in the sight of you, basking in the glow of the Kansas sun. Immediately, his face crumpled, shoulders rounded as he began to weep.
He dragged a hand down his face, tilting his head back to look at the clear skies above to silently thank the universe for sending an angel like you to the doorstep of his heart.
“Honey—” He quivered, “You look…so incredibly beautiful. My gosh, look at you.”
Clark took you in his arms, hands smoothed across your waist as you reached up to wipe away the tears that were cascading down his flushed face.
Without hesitating, he pressed a soft kiss to your plush lips, careful enough to not ruin the makeup — although the tears forming in your eyes would require a touch-up.
Clark huffed, “How did I get so lucky?”
“Because you’re you.” You responded honestly.
This had Clark scrunch his face up again.
“Honey.” He sniffed, “I love you. Golly—” A laugh elicited from the back of his throat as he blinked through the tears, “I love your dress, pretty. And your veil, and—and the way you’ve done your hair. You know I love it when you style it like that.”
You nodded, eyes set on his face whilst you massaged the nape of his neck in the embrace he had enveloped you in.
“And the bouquet. Is—Is that Ma and Pa’s rings?”
“Yes. Something borrowed.”
Clark pressed the heel of his hand into his tearful eye, “How am I supposed to make it through the ceremony? You’re so thoughtful. I think your vows might kill me.”
“You wrote vows?” You teased to ease the emotions, “I’m kidding. You look so handsome.”
Clark shrugged. He went for a burgundy red bow tie and a navy velvet suit. A little close to the bone on the Superman colours, but you enjoyed the thrill of the Easter eggs so encouraged him to wear the colours.
None of it mattered to him when you stood in front of him.
“Golly.” Clark repeated again, laughter bubbling from his chest when you wiped at his wet cheeks, “I’m a mess.”
“A handsome mess.” You noted whilst Clark brushed the veil from your bare shoulder to press a kiss there.
“Hm. You’re gorgeous…My wife.”
You lifted his heavy arm up to check the watch on his wrist, “Your wife in ten minutes. There’s still time.”
“For what?” Clark grinned at your sarcastic tone, “Cold feet, honey?”
“Never been warmer.”
You lifted your skirts to proudly show off your powder blue heels.
“Something blue.” Clark noted before lifting his dress pants to show off the hot pink, eye-sore socks he had purchased for the big day.
You laughed. Just what he wanted.
“I like your version of the tradition more.” You pointed to the socks, “Hot pink feet.”
Clark nodded with pride swelling in his chest at your reaction, “To let you know my feet are burning to marry you.”
You kissed him. Hard.
“Alright, loverboy.” Clark kissed your mouth as you spoke, “Get to the Willow tree. Give Ma a handkerchief.”
