#dc fluff

jason isn't stupid—he knows there's rules that define whether or not two people are dating. but he is just a bit dense.

you'd met on a rooftop about a year ago, a classic vigilante encounter. instant tension, instant bickering between you and jason. he hadn't been entirely smitten. he simply thought you were beautiful, but that didn't mean anything.

not until you two start working together. bruce sends the two of you out on a mission, and you say something along the lines of, "let's make it a date, then." you said it with such an arrogant, cheeky grin.

and because that mission had gone so well, you and jason are consistently sent out together. alone.

because you'd said "let's make it a date!" he began to say it back. just a little joke. he'd say something like, "save the date..." quite bashfully. and you'd snicker and agree.

and that consistency is what makes jason think the two of you have started dating.

every single time the two of you are dispatched on a mission, it's always "save the date" or "let's make it a date" with you.

it happened so effortlessly, in his mind. so seamlessly. he doesn't feel like he needs to perform around you. he's not a blushing mess, he doesn't stutter or even treat you very differently, hence why you don't notice that he thinks the two of you are together.

except for when he stops by and gets little trinkets. maybe a stick of chocolate for valentines day. not flowers, because he wasn't able to gauge whether or not you'd want some.

for your birthday, he got you a small gift. something that reminded him of a childhood story you'd once babbled on about.

he's just a little bit sweeter and a little bit softer around you, compared to when he's conversing with other teammates.

this you notice, and you begin to consider that maybe he has feelings for you. a little crush. but you'd never in a million years consider that he thought you guys were fully dating.

his strange acts of kindness spark a tiny crush inside of you. you're spending more time with him. enjoying your missions with him just a bit more. laughing, smiling. and he begins to feel like home.

you wonder—should you ask him out? he doesn't seem like he's going to make a move any time soon. and, after all, he's been picking up so many small gifts for you here and there. maybe he's waiting for you to do something.

so, one night, you consult his brothers.

"jason likes you. i can tell," dick reassures. "he likes being around you, whether that's as friends or because he likes likes you, i dunno."

"definitely," tim had said. "jason with chocolates in his hand? never seen before. until you."

damian rolled his eyes when you asked. he scoffed and said, "i've been waiting for you to catch on. why don't you just ask each other out already?"

they act like jason is acting so differently. perhaps you just don't know him as well as they do.

one night, on a mission, you gather enough courage to turn to him and ask. "hey..."

"yeah?" he says, tipping his head towards the starless sky.

"i...um...i know we do a lot together. and i don't want to ruin our friendship."

"friendship?"

you nod. did jason even consider you a friend? why did he seem so confused? "yeah. i just...i really like having you around. so don't make it weird, okay?"

he dips his head. "okay...?"

"do you...want to go on a date with me?"

he blinks. once, twice. "are we not on one right now?"

you shrug. "i mean, i would hardly consider this a date." you gesture to the honking cars below, to your feet swinging off the edge of the roof.

"why are you asking me out?" he says, leaning forward.

you're a little stunned. a bit hurt. "because...i like you? because we spend a lot of time together and i think you're fun to be around? i don't know."

jason waves his hands in the air. "yeah, i know. but...why? i mean, we're already dating. if you wanted to go for a date and not have to go on a mission at the same time, you could've just said—"

"i'm sorry, what?"

"you...could've just said you wanted to do something different for our dates?"

you shake your head frantically. "no, no, no. you said that...you just said that we're dating?"

he stares at you like you're the one not making sense. "yeah...?"

"we're not dating, jason."

his mask hisses as he pries it off his face. his brows furrow and his cheeks redden with embarrassment. "we're...not?" he says it so softly, so painfully that you almost want to convince him that you are dating him.

"jason...oh, jason. did you think that all our talk about dates made this a date?" you can barely stifle your laughter. "jason, oh jason...you're so sweet. darling, it's an expression."

"so we're...not dating?"

"how long have you thought that?"

"about a year now." bashfully, jason's shoulders sink. "i thought we were, since you never turned down any of my gifts."

"i just thought that was you being nice. i'm sorry, i never thought to give you anything back. i just...thought you were being nice."

"of course i was just being nice. i...liked having you around."

it sounds silly saying it all aloud, but now that you think of it, jason's loyalty to you was plain as day. he was a reserved person, so it was easy to think he was just being a loner, like usual.

there was time the two of you went undercover. two girls had been ruthlessly vying for his attention. both infinitely attractive. some men, too. and he hadn't even blinked. you assumed he was just playing his part when he scooped you into his arms and wouldn't let go of you the entire night.

the way he listened to you—that gift he'd bought you for your birthday. reminiscent of some stupid childhood story you'd told him on some meaningless, random night. yet he'd remembered.

because that night hadn't been meaningless to him. no night with you had been meaningless.

perhaps he wasn't dense or stupid for thinking the two of you were already dating. perhaps you were in fact the dense one, for not seeing the signs. for not seeing how sweet he was sooner, for how silently loyal he was.

"jason." you loop his hand in yours. his pulse beats steadily. he's not nervous around you. neither are you anymore. "how long did you say we were dating?"

"we're not—"

"how long did you say we were dating for?"

he bites his lip. "tomorrow would've been...uh, our one year anniversary. i didn't know if you wanted me to plan something. you didn't seem to care very much, like the people do in the movies." because you hadn't even known. "i did want to plan something, though. you just never seemed like an 'event' sorta person." he chuckles. "i guess...i guess i know why, now."

"i love surprises," you mutter. "you can still plan something. there's still time."

"but we're not...you said we're not dating." he just seems so damn sad about it.

you shake your head. "what're you talking about?" you grin and rest your head on his shoulder. you can't believe he thought you just didn't like events, you didn't want to cuddle. you just hadn't known.

so you smile, allowing the stench of gotham celebrate the countdown to your first anniversary. the moon hangs high in the sky, and you check your watch. midnight strikes, and you snuggle into jason.

Damian had been blunt, rude, and relentlessly critical of every suggestion. He’d rejected three different movies, called your popcorn “sadly inadequate,” and spent twenty minutes lecturing Jason on proper sword maintenance techniques even though no swords were involved.

But somewhere around the fourth movie — an old action flick you’d picked because it had swords and explosions — something shifted.

Damian had started yawning. Then his head had drooped. Then, slowly, he’d leaned sideways until he was curled up against Jason’s side on the massive couch.

Jason had frozen for half a second, green eyes wide with something like panic. Then, carefully, like he was handling something fragile, he’d wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled him closer.

You watched from the other end of the couch, heart melting. Damian’s face was pressed against Jason’s chest, one small hand fisted in his shirt, breathing slow and even. The scowl he usually wore had softened into something peaceful, almost innocent.

Jason looked down at him, expression unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed, gently adjusting the blanket over Damian’s shoulders.

“Little shit,” he muttered fondly, voice barely above a whisper. “Acts like he’s thirty but still falls asleep like a kid.”

You smiled, scooting closer. “He trusts you. Even if he’d rather die than admit it.”

Jason’s arm came around your shoulders too, pulling you against his other side. You rested your head on his chest, right above where Damian was curled up. The three of you fit together like puzzle pieces — Damian small and fierce even in sleep, Jason solid and warm, you tucked safely next to him.

“He’s going to deny this so hard when he wakes up,” you whispered, grinning.

Jason chuckled softly, the sound rumbling under your ear. “Oh yeah. He’ll call us liars and threaten to feed us to the dog. But we’ll have pictures.”

You laughed quietly, careful not to wake the boy. “Blackmail material for life.”

Jason pressed a kiss to the top of your head, then another to Damian’s messy hair. “He’s a pain in the ass. But he’s family. And he’s… soft when he thinks no one’s looking.”

You tilted your head up, kissing Jason’s jaw. “Like someone else I know.”

He huffed, but his arm tightened around you. “Shut up.”

You stayed like that for a long time — the three of you tangled on the couch, the movie playing quietly in the background, the city humming far below. Damian slept soundly, face relaxed in a way it rarely was when he was awake. Jason’s hand stroked slow circles on your shoulder, his other arm curled protectively around his little brother.

When Damian finally stirred hours later, blinking sleepily, he froze the second he realized where he was — curled up against Jason’s chest, your head on Jason’s other shoulder, the blanket tucked around all three of you.

He sat up abruptly, cheeks pink, expression stormy. “This is ridiculous. I was not sleeping. I was merely resting my eyes.”

Jason smirked, not moving. “Sure, demon spawn. Whatever you say.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “You were out cold. Snoring a little, even.”

Damian’s ears went red. “I do not snore. And I certainly do not cuddle.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You were literally using my chest as a pillow. Drooled on me and everything.”

Damian looked horrified. “I did not!”

You pulled out your phone, showing him the picture you’d taken earlier — Damian curled up against Jason, face peaceful, one hand fisted in his shirt. Jason looked down at him with the softest expression you’d ever seen on him.

Damian stared at the photo for a long moment. Then he crossed his arms, scowling. “Delete that immediately. Or I will feed your phone to Titus.”

Jason laughed — low, warm, genuine. “No chance. This is going in the family album.”

You leaned over and kissed Damian’s forehead before he could protest. “It’s cute. You’re cute when you’re asleep.”

He grumbled, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into you just a little, letting you wrap an arm around his shoulders.

Jason watched the two of you, eyes soft. “We’ve got you, kid. Both of us. Even when you’re being a little shit.”

Damian huffed, but there was the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose that is… acceptable.”

You smiled, pulling both of them closer. The city lights twinkled far below, the night stretching on, but in your little corner of the world, everything felt right.

Damian would deny it in the morning.

But for now, he stayed curled against you both, safe and loved and exactly where he belonged.

And Jason?

He held you both like you were the only things worth protecting in the entire world.

it takes a minute for his words to register in your brain, slowly blinking back to his attention, humming absently, "hm?"

his eyes narrow slightly and you can read his expression. he's using his damn super vision to determine if anything was biologically wrong with you. therefore, he'll be quick to know that–

"you're staring," he says, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"no, i'm not," you lie. plain as day.

clark's brow lifts, playing along. "no? you've said nothing for two whole minutes."

"i'm allowed to enjoy the view in my own home," you shoot back, tone pitched too high. too innocent. or, at least, a poor attempt at sounding innocent.

clark chuckles, walking closer to the foot of the bed. he still hasn't bothered to put on a shirt – he knows exactly what he does to you. "you, mrs. kent, are insatiable," he murmurs.

"excuse me," you scoff, trying to appear nonchalant but you know the pounding of your heart betrays you. "you're the one walking around looking like that. shirtless. muscles out. like i'm not supposed to be drooling."

"you're married to me," he reminds you, all calm, climbing up onto the bed. "you've seen it a thousand times."

"and it never gets less rude."

he laughs again and then he leans in to kiss you.

it's supposed to be a sweet kiss to your lips, but the second his mouth brushes yours, you surge forward, grabbing his jaw and pulling him closer.

and clark, the most attentive lover there can be, adapts to your eagerness, allowing you to guide him to lean back against the headboard.

"baby," he murmurs against your lips when you climb into his lap.

"you're literally obscene," you mumble, trailing kissing along his jaw and down his neck. "looking like that everyday," you add, grounding your hips against his lap, already feeling the stirring within his slacks.

clark groans, soft and choked, as his grip tightens around your hips, instinctively squeezing the flesh there. "i was just trying to talk to you about work," he manages, his voice raspier now.

"you can tell me after," you breathe, "i need you right now."

clark kisses you like he's trying to be patient, but you feel the way his hands grip tighter, his breathing grows heavier, like he's holding back because he knows what happens when he doesn't.

and honestly, you're waiting for that patience to snap.

you grind down once in his lap, just to test him. just to see.

he groans, low and rough like you lit a match in his chest.

"jesus, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips, hands gripping your hips to still you. "what's gotten into you tonight?"

"you," you breathe, rocking once more to make sure he feels your neediness. "just you."

he huffs a laugh, though it comes out strained, like he's working harder than usual to keep his composure. "just me, huh?"

"always you," you whisper, eyes wide and desperate when they meet his. "but-" you bite your lip, hesitant for only a moment before it all rushes out. "i don't know, clark. lately it's like i can't think about anything else. you, your hands, your mouth... the way you feel inside me."

he stills beneath you, chest rising in a deeper breath as his blue eyes search your face. whatever he finds there – probably sheer desperation – makes his jaw tighten, something tender sparking behind his gaze.

"sweetheart..." his thumb brushes your cheek, his voice low, coaxing. "you've been wound up all day, haven't you?"

heat flares in your chest, down to your stomach, pooling between your thighs. you nod, breath shuddering. "it's worse than usual. i-" your voice breaks as you cling tighter to his shoulders, confessing in a rush, "i keep thinking about... about babies. about you giving me one."

it's true that you'd been thinking about this for a while now. it's only natural, after all! you and clark have been married for two years now, building a home, creating a rhythm that feels so solid it sometimes makes your chest ache with how much you love and adore him.

lately, though, it's been impossible to ignore the way your friends keep announcing pregnancies, showing off ultrasound pictures, or casually dropping that they're "trying." each time, a flicker of longing sparks in your chest – one you usually try to dismiss as typical baby fever. until times like this. when it roars up and consumes you whole when clark is right there in front of you, or in this case, beneath you.

maybe its hormones, maybe its timing – hell, you know you'er ovulating right now, your body practically begging for it – but it doesn't feel shallow. it feels like a need. deep, bone-deep need. and clark is the center of all of it: the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way you know without a doubt he'd be the most incredible father.

and now, you can't stop fantasizing the face of a child with his matching smile. maybe his deep ocean eyes, if you're lucky.

your words hang in the air, hot and heavier than anything you've ever blurted mid-makeout. but clark doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. if anything, his expression softens, though his body underneath you goes taut with a different kind of tension.

"baby..." he breathes, this time not in playful endearment toward you but as if the word itself is sacred on his tongue with its other meaning. his hands steady on your hips, grounding you, even as you feel him hardening beneath you. "is that what you want? really?"

your answer is a quiet, desperate "yes," before you can think better of it. "i've been thinking about it for weeks... months even. all our friends, pregnant or trying... it just- clark, it makes me realize how much i want that with you. with our family. i already know you'd be a great father."

his gaze melts, a mixture of awe and something more primal flickering under his long lashes. "yeah, sweetheart? months?" he murmurs, almost to himself. then he swallows hard, voice dropping to a husky growl. "'ve thought it about it, too. more than i probably should."

you suck in a short breath, brows raising at the lowness of his tone and his words. "you have?"

he hums in confirmation, the sound bubbling in his throat. "yeah," he rasps. his hands, once firm on your hips, glide to your belly, fingers dancing over the fabric of your t-shirt. "thought about you swelled up in here," he murmurs, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to gently caress the skin there.

you shiver at his touch, hips pressing involuntarily into his lap. "clark..." your voice cracks, low and needy, betraying just how much this is all affecting you. your mind is already muddled with a lust-filled haze from ovulation and his words aren't making it any better. the warmth of his hands against your stomach, the idea of him imagining you like this, it makes you ache.

he leans down, brushing his lips over your collarbone, just above the collar of your shirt. each of his kisses are deliberate, teasing. "you want me to make you a mommy?" he murmurs, low against your skin.

his gaze is heated, the grip of your waist nearly bruising from the sheer amount of restraint he's holding inside. he's truly so considerate, gentle in the way he always holds you, despite holding the amount of strength that can easily harm you. but he never does.

to this day, you wonder how he manages it – how someone with the power to move mountains can touch you like you're the most fragile thing in the universe.

but tonight, there's a crack in his usual control, and you can feel it in the way his dingers dig deeper into your waist, the way his breath comes ragged against your collarbone.

he lifts his head and his eyes flicker down to your lips, and then your stomach. you can read his mind clear as day behind his eyes. he's picturing it. you. swollen with his baby, carrying his family. it's as if the image makes something primal twist inside him – and you, too – and when his gaze meets yours again, it's darker. hungrier.

"sweetheart..." his voice is a rasp, reverent and rough at the same time. "i'm trying... trying to be careful." his words are emphasized by the way his hands glides up and down your sides, perhaps in a way that prevents him from squeezing you too roughly.

you cup his jaw, forcing him to look at you, grounding him as much as you're urging him on. "you don't have to be careful," you whisper, lips barely grazing his as you speak. "not tonight."

he exhales sharply with a slight groan. his grip tightens, dragging you flush against him until you can feel the full length of his cock straining between you.

"i need you, clark," you insistent, desperation clear in your tone as you rock against him. "i want all of you. everything. no protection."

your words are basically gas to the fire already brewing simmering within him. his head dips, lips crashing against yours, the kiss much rougher now, full of teeth and need. his hands roam with more urgency, no longer holding back as he palms your ass, dragging you against him.

the kiss grows messy, your breaths tangling together and his tongue hot and insistent against yours. he groans deep in his chest when you grind down against him harder and then, all of a sudden, you're no longer in his lap.

with one fluid motion, clark flips you on your back, the mattress dipping under his weight as he cages you in. your gasp breaks the kiss, but his mouth is persistent, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and throat.

"clark–" you manage, breathless and clutching his shoulders.

"sorry, sweetheart," he murmurs against your skin, his voice raw. his hands slide beneath your shirt, dragging it upward to your neck, palms warm as they roam up your stomach, ribs, cupping your breasts. "needed you spread out f'me... needed to see you."

he groans as his hands shower attention to your breasts. his thumbs graze your nipples until they pebble beneath his touch. "so pretty," he murmurs, reverent as he rolls the hardened peaks between his thumbs and forefingers. "these'll get so big," he adds, groaning to himself as if imagining it – the growth your breasts will have all to do with the eventual pregnancy hormones.

your breath hitches at the idea, arching into his touch as a shiver runs down your spine. "yeah," you agree with a whisper, nodding.

his lips brush against the curve of one breast, feather-light at first, then harder, trailing wet and teasing kisses down to your nipple. he groans against your skin as he swirls his tongue around the pebble, flicking it with practiced precision, all while keeping his gaze locked on yours.

you whine when he gets rougher, biting and nipping at your breast with more fervor, the sharp pleasure making your fingers tangle in his curls.

"so, so perfect," he says, lips leaving a wet trail of saliva down your chest to circle the other nipple with his tongue with equal reverence. his thumb rolls the previous peak, puffy and wet from stimulation.

you writhe beneath him, the need too much between your thighs. you're sure you're soaked through your panties and pants and it's taking all of you to not rip them off yourself. "clark," you whine impatiently, hips bucking upward against the bulge in his slacks.

"alright, alright," he murmurs, his voice bordering a deep growl. his hands drift from your breasts, gliding down your bare sides, sending shivers down your spine, until they reach the waistband of your leggings. with a quick force, he tugs the material down your thighs and calves, pulling them off your feet and tossing it behind him.

in the meantime, you tug the rest of your shirt up above your head and toss it aside.

he growls low in his throat as he slides his hands up the bare skin of your thighs, reaching the apex. one hand dips between your thighs, making contact with the heat of your core through your panties.

his fingers press lightly at first, teasing over the soaked fabric with slow, deliberate strokes. the friction has you gasping and arching, hips lifting into his hand.

he hums, low and rough as he presses harder, the pad of his finger pushing right against your clit through the cotton of your panties. "oh, sweetheart. you're absolutely drenched," he growls, fingers finally tugging aside the material to expose your core to the air. "all dripping for me already... just thinking about carrying my baby, and you're soaking like this for me?"

you moan, the sound raw and needy as you nod, fingers clutching the sheets as he begins teasing you, brushing over your clit with precise, yet slowly agonizing strokes. "mhm, 'm so wet, clark. i want more," you beg, hips bucking into his hand, desperate for more.

he hums in acknowledgment, but even you can tell his patience is fraying. he makes quick movement in tugging your panties down your thighs, also discarding them somewhere on the floor behind him.

with massive hands, he spreads your legs apart, watching as you core clenches around nothing. his hand returns back to your heat, gathering some of your slick with a drag of his hand.

his fingers slide inside you just enough to tease, pressing against your folds while he drags the pad of his thumb over your clit again and again. each motion is deliberate, savoring your wetness. "don't think 've ever felt you this wet before," he muses, voice a mixture of awe and desire. "feel like i could slide right in without prepping you."

"you can!" you're quick to point out, hips twitching eagerly.

you hear him chuckle lowly before dipping a finger past your entrance. "maybe, but that wouldn't make me a gentleman, would it?"

you whine, arching your back restlessly, fingers clutching the sheets. "please... don't tease me. i'm ready," you insist. "want all of you. now."

his laugh is low, vibrating through your as he leans down, lips brushing against your in a fleeting kiss. "my insatiable wife," he murmurs, teeth grazing your lower lip. "so eager..."

you can't help but whimper, nodding when he leans back to look at you. your eyes round with pure want, and your teeth trap your bottom lip.

"who am i to deny my wife when she's asking – begging me to put a baby in her?" he asks rhetorically, leaning back to finally unbutton his slacks. it's a shock how he'd managed to keep his pants on this long with the way his cock is straining against the slim fabric.

he slides his slacks down, freeing himself at last. the head of his cock glints in the dim light of your bedroom, twitching with need, and you breath hitches.

"all this time..." he rasps, voice rough and low as he wraps a hand around himself, stroking himself lazily. "always careful... condoms, always... and now, i get to have you raw."

you gasp as he leans forward, sliding his fat cock between your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. he groans, biting his lower lip as he lines himself up with your welcoming center.

you nearly choke on a moan a the swollen head nudges against your entrance, the sensation sending a shockwave through you without that thin barrier you've alway had between you.

your thighs fall apart even more – if that's even possible – welcoming him in, your hands reaching up to clutch at his broad shoulders.

with a low guttural groan, he sinks the head of his cock past your entrance, stretching you inch by inch. the burn is immediate, overwhelming, but so is the delicious flow of pleasure seeping into you at the feeling of him bare inside you for the very first time.

"oh my," he whines, feeling your heat engulf him in a way he never felt before.

your mouth falls open on a broken moan, nails digging into his shoulders and carving crescents into his skin. every inch feels different, raw and unfiltered, his skin dragging against yours with no barrier between you.

clark shudders above you, arms trembling as he braces himself. "sweetheart..." he breathes, almost reverent, forehead pressed to yours. "you're... wow, you're squeezing me so tight. feels like i'm inside you for the first time all over again."

his voice trembles and your walls flutter at his words, clenching around the thick intrusion as your body adjusts.

he groans low, jaw tight, and you can tell he's fighting the urge to slam the rest of the way inside you.

"clark–" you gasp, voice shaking beneath him. "it's so – ah– s'much!"

"i know, i know, baby." he peppers kisses across your cheeks, the corner of your mouth, your jaw, his hips rocking into you just enough to sink another inch inside you. "just breathe, sweetheart."

the stretch makes your thighs quake, toes curling into the sheets as he pushes deeper, inch by inch. when he finally bottoms out, your whimper turns into a cry, arms winding tight around his neck and pulling him closer to you.

your whines have barely has the chance to fade before clark pulls back, his hips grinding slowly, savoring every bare inch of you.

but, through bleary eyes, you notice something shift within him. something in his face changes; his pupils blown wide, lips parted, breath ragged as if your heat alone snapped some final tether insied you.

"gosh," he groans, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in to the hilt, making the headboard slam against the wall. your cry is loud, broken and desperate, and it only spurs him on. "you're... jesus... you'll take every drop i give you, yeah?"

your nails rake down his back, but the words are stolen from your throat when he suddenly hooks your knees, folding you in half with shocking ease. your thighs press against your chest, body bent open beneath him and you're utterly helpless under the strength of his body.

"clark-!" you gasp, eyes flying wide at the intensity of the position.

"mating press," he rasps, rutting into you hard enough to make the mattress squeal beneath your bodies. "that's what you want, isn't it? me breeding you like this?"

the sound you let out is more a sob than a moan and his grin is feral, sweat dripping down his temples as his hips piston into you, faster, deeper, filling you to the brink every time. the slap of skin against skin fills the room as he finds his rhythm, mingling with your cries and his low growls.

"you're gonna get so full of me... my seed inside you, making you a mom... your belly all swollen. oh, you'll be such a good mom," he rambles between grunts, pushing his cock back and forth into your core.

every thrust drags his cock deeper against your sweet spot inside you, your gummy walls fluttering around him, tightening as though your body is begging to be thoroughly bred.

"i'll take of you so well. y'wouldn't lift a finger at all. leave it to me," he continues, lost in his own words, no doubt playing the image of you both with your little family of your own.

your cries break into a scream – your poor neighbors – when his thrusts turn brutal, his cock slamming into you with single-minded desperation. the angle, the force, the sheer intensity of him above you has your body spiraling too fast to keep up.

"clark– wait! 'm going to-"

"cum for me," he grits out, voice rough. "want you to cum 'round my cock for the first time."

the command tears through you, and you tip over the edge, cleching down around him so hard he chokes on a moan. your release gushes hot against his cock, coating him as you tremble beneath him.

"atta girl, sweetheart. you're doin' so well," he pants, his pace going erratic as he chases his own high. "you were made to be bred by me," he rasps.

when you clamp down again against him, your pussy quivering from the stimulation, his hips stutter.

he gasps, slamming himself all the way to the hilt, holding you down in the mating press as his cock pulses deep inside you. the first hot spill makes you moan, the sensation unlike anything before – thick, raw, flooding you in heavy spurts that seems endless.

clark's head tips back with a low moan as he ruts through it, fucking his cum as deep as he can push it. "take it," he pants, breath shuddering. "take every drop, baby. don't waste a single bit."

you whine at the stretch of him, and you feel the sticky warmth that leaks out around his length, only for him to push it back inside you with another sharp thrust.

he stays locked inside you, while he catches his breath, still holding your thighs up. when he looks back down at you, he's met with your fucked-out expression: lashes fluttering, eyes glazed over with unshed tears, and flushed cheeks.

he lets go of your thighs and gently hoists them back down on the bed, making you hiss from the soreness. one of his hands reach up to cradle your jaw, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "was i too hard, sweetheart? 'm sorry."

you shake your head firmly, despite your desirousness. "no, you were perfect," you croon softly, your chest heaving as you catch your bearings.

"you took me so well," he murmurs, voice reverent. "so good f'me," he praises.

you reel from the praise, a soft smile lifting your cheeks. you feel his cock twitch inside you, still half-hard within your walls. as if remembering what this was all about, you glance down at your stomach, noting the belly bulge you sport from his cock nestled deep inside you. you hum softly, reaching to pat your belly.

"we're going to be parents," you coo warmly, glowing at the image of you cradling a little baby in your arms.

"yeah," he agrees, his voice a low rasp. with a cheeky grin, he adds, "as long as my seed takes, that is."

you chuckle softly. "given how much you cum, i'd be surprised if it didn't."

he laughs lowly, leaning down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss, one that's much less rough than the prior ones you shared in the past half hour.

when he leans back, you feel his hands rub up and down the skin of your thighs, gently soothing the aching muscles. "we can never be too sure," he rumbles smoothly, eyes glinting mischievously.

i have a feeling i'm not leaving this bed anytime soon.

"not if i can help it," he murmurs. you hadn't realized you said your thought out loud.

he spreads your thighs out, glancing at the your shared juices coating and gathered at the base of his cock. "think you could go a few more rounds, sweetheart?"

despite your exhaustion, your gaze hardens, more determined than anything. "i said i wanted a baby, didn't i?"

clark grins, slow and boyish, leaning back on his knees, letting his gaze rake over you like he's re-memorizing every curve, every line, every inch of your spent body.

then, you notice it – the way his gaze drifts down and stays there, locked on your navel. your stomach tenses instinctively.

"oh my god," you gasp, eyes widening in realization. "don't tell me you're using your x-ray vision to see through me right now."

he smirks, utterly shameless. "gotta make sure i made it into your womb," he murmurs. his casual confidence makes your already trembling knees go weaker.

you laugh breathlessly, a mixture of disbelief and want, and you press your palms against his chest. "clark kent, you are so full of yourself."

"only when it comes to my wife, mrs. kent," he counter, leaning down to nip at your jaw, fingers tracing lazy circles over your belly again. "ready for round two?"

you swallow, heat pooling between your thighs again despite you fatigue, and nod eagerly. "always," you whisper, voice soft but steady.

"good," he rasps, rolling his hips enough to make your breath hitch. "because i'm not stopping until you're stuffed full of me, sweetheart."