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summary// you ended up realizing that making clark your lab rat would simultaneously be the best and worst decision of your relationship.
content warning// conditioning, mating press, doggy style, nasty filthy sex, creampie, clark is feral, clark has an alien dick, clark swears, improper use of x-ray vision, kryptonian breeding kink, squirting, clark is pathetic
2k words whew
with clark kent fucking you like that, you don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
.
on monday, on the evening, you decided that you could begin your sick little experiment of conditioning on clark. after reading an article about it online, you wanted your alien boyfriend to be your lab-rat for it, and saw no apparent downsides to the experiment, so you went on with it.
starting with the trigger, you decided for it to be a duck emoji. weird enough for clark to be confused, not too weird for it to have him worrying like the sweetheart he is. ten minutes before you arrived home after work, you had sent him a singular duck emoji with no context or follow-up to it, which, as expected, had your poor clarkie as confused as ever. you smiled when he immediately texted back with ‘???’—success. as soon as you arrived home, you barely let him finish his questioning before pouncing on him, interrupting his sentence with a kiss he welcomed with open arms.
that night, you rode the man to the moon and back—gave him such mind-numbing pleasure that he couldn’t even bother to remember his previous confusion about the duck emoji.
and so, with the first day being a success, you repeated the process.
every day following that one, you would do the same thing—no texts or news all day, a duck emoji ten minutes before coming home, mind-blowing sex.
after a few days of repeating the process, you began to space out these encounters, opting to send the duck emoji every two to three days—a great way to keep the man on his toes, anticipating, waiting for the next time you'd send him that emoji.
then came the most awaited experiment—your greatest mistake.
it was on a friday night that you had decided tonight was the night. you had sent clark the usual duck emoji, smirking as he had immediately seen the text. however, when you arrived home, it wasn't like usual. usually, upon sending the emoji, you'd pounce on him and drag him to the bedroom. tonight, however? radio silence. well, not quite, but that's it felt to clark. you didn't give him those bedroom eyes you usually did on nights you were feeling particularly needy, you insisted on taking a shower all by yourself (he almost crumbled at that) and after dinner, you lounged on the couch to watch a tv show without even asking him to follow you! you just did!
the thing about clark kent is, he's a gentleman through and through. his ma had raised him to be one, and for christ's sake, he was superman! how could he not be a gentleman? but, he sympathizes with himself, you can't spell gentlemna without man, and clark was a man before he was anything else. a very aroused and hopelssly in love man, at that.
he stands awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at you. you noticed, of course, but this wasn't unusual. clark has always had sort of weird quirks—you had always found them endearing. "is something the matter, honey?" your sirupy voice cut through his stream of thought, and suddenly his eyes focus again, gaze meeting yours.
clark has his phone in hand, and he brings it up to look back at the duck emoji you had sent. duck meant sex. you wanted this. he can indulge. you want this.
he knows you do. you sent the text, and he feels like he can almost smell your arousal and it's driving him fucking insane because he just wants to dive in it and taste it and fuck you everywhere so the entire place smells like you and-
in the blink of an eye, his phone is abandonned and he's on you, lips smashed against yours. you barely have the time to react but you do, arms now hanging around his thick neck. his hand latches itself onto your cheeks, fingers pressing into both of them, urging you to open your mouth. as soon as you do, his tongue, which was inhumanely long, snaked into your cavern, exploring its depths. he moaned at the taste of your saliva, almost melting into you as if the flavor of you was his ultimate salvation.
noticing the lack of air filling your lungs, he pulled away, his eyes softening at the sight of you catching your breath. "c-clark... what's... whta's gotten into you?" you licked your lips, face flushed. he looks at you like a puppy begging for its treat. "the emoji... you sent the emoji but you didn't... i thought..." his mind is a rush, moving at a thousand miles per hour as his entire body is begging him to rip your clothes off and take you.
he gives up, his head falling into the crook of your neck. "i just... i really need to fuck you, sweetheart." and as he's confessing this, his hand is gliding towards the waistband of your bottoms, sliding swiftly underneath it.
you think you could ascend.
you bite your lip, rendered mute at the sheer tension of the moment. "i know you want it, baby..." he scoffs, eyes closed. "can smell it."
curse him for being such a dangerously hot and multi-abled alien.
his hand makes its way underneath your panties, finger running through your slit, collecting the slick you've been trying to keep to yourself for the past hour. "ah..." you let out a low sound, almost imperceptible but clark was so hyper-focused on you that the little moan made him shudder.
he uses his forearm to push himself upwards, his hand escaping your bottoms to rush up to his mouth, and when you look at him, you gasp, feeling your walls clench.
because clark has never looked this feral.
his eyes were half-lidded and impossibly dark, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows your juices, eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. he moans, his cock twitching and growing inside his sweatpants.
"you're gonna give it t'me, right sweetie?" he asks in that low, sultry voice that he only allows himself to use when he'd rather die than not touch you.
the eager nod you gave him marked the moment you knew you were done for.
.
how long has it been? you don't know. you don't know anything, actually. your brain is fogged with how clark was pounding you into the fuzzy carpet, your eyes crossing when the buds running along his dick grazed against the ridges of your walls, the added sensation making you spasm. "f-ffuck-! clark- oh my god, ohmygod—" you can barely form a sentence, let alone link two words together when he knocks at your cervix, your tits bouncing in rhythm with every thrust.
and clark isn't even listening to you, his eyes laser-focused on the sight of his cock splitting you open repeatedly, a vein bulging on his forehead at his intense use of his x-ray vision. "look at that, b-baby... look..." and you don't even bother, too lost in the ecstasy. he sees it all though, the strings of your arousal clinging to his tip every time he pulls away, the ridged of your pussy hooking onto his buds, the contractions of your muscles.
he finally manages to pull his eyes away from the sight, only to be met with the even prettier, albeit messier sight of your fucked out face. tears and drool glossed your skin, your eyes rolled back nearly to the back of your skull, throwing your head back when clark's hips stutter against yours, a white-hot wave washing over him over the sight.
he stilled when his buds hardened and hooked onto your walls, pulling him impossibly deep as he shoots buckets worth of cum deep into your womb. "a-ah! holy sh- hmm, fffuck, baby- i- fuck!" he sobs, jerking down towards you and you moan at the feeling of him filling you up once more, droplets of his sweat dripping onto your buzzing skin.
despite his orgasm, he doesn't stop, "n-need m-moree- needa fill you up-! ah, fuck!" his voice jumps up an octave when his buds finally relax again, allowing him to keep pistoning into you. "d-don't stop, clark! please dont- oh-!" he suddenly grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders before beeending down, succesfully folding you in half. his face is now slotted right in front of yours, and the eye contact is so intense you almost feel shy under his gaze.
a mating press. clark kent had you in a fucking mating press.
you get lost in his ocean blue eyes, barely able to keep the eye conatct when he fucks you almost like he hated you, digging in your pussy. "you're... you're so beautiful, honey... so fucking pretty- all f'me, yeah? all f'me?" you nod, hands pressing against the back of his head to bring him impossiby closer to you, "all for you, clarkie," you confirmed being hastily pressing his against you, imprisoning him in a feverish kiss. clark moans into your mouth, eyes closing. you jolt slightly when you feel a tear drip down on your cheek, peeling your eyes open to see clark crying.
he pulls away, gasping for air as his throat restricts. "i l-love you, love you s'much— need you so, ngh, so bad... wanna breed ya'..." he sobs, whimpering for you. seeing clark become such a slave to his love for you had an inescapable effect on you, and your orgasm was almost immediate. you came with a gasp, the pleasure being so heavy that your eyes had given up on their function, unfocusing and leaving you with the blurry image of clark's flushed expression. your back arched as cream dribbled out of your hole, creating a white ring around clark's base.
in the midst of your orgasm, he pulls out, making you whine for the few seconds your face isn't smushed against the carpet because in a matter of moments, your world tilted before you found yourself face down ass up for your boyfriend. he pressed a hand on your back, urging a deeper arch. "m'sorry baby, m'so sorry..." he apologizes for the his unceremonial behavior but his apologies fall on deaf ears as you couldn't be happier.
your hands clutch the fluff of the carpet when he slams back into you, kneading the flesh of your ass. "just... just need this. s'your fault for making me wait... so long.. to have you- ngh, gosh..." he's hypnotized by the rippling of your ass, and the way your back bends impossibly for a second each time he rams back inside you, pressing you further into the carpet.
with clark kent fucking you like that, you really don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
your moans are rhythmic, matching the pace of his hips. leaning in, he wraps an arm around you to squeeze your tits, massaging them and rubbing your hardened nipples. "so obedient..." his comment makes your walls flutter around his fat cock. he begins to roll his hips, not quite thrusting. he presses against you, making you drool. "nghhh... fffuuuck... love you... so much.. c-clark-!" you slurred, going crazy at the sensation of his buds hardening slowly again, hooking onto your insides.
"w-want your cum-! want you to b-breed me!" you egged him on, "yeah? y'want it, baby? oh gosh, i'm cumming, m'cummingm'cumming-" he gritted, spilling into you once more. "oh my god! oh god, sweetheart!" he whined, your name escaping him as his hips bucked again, releasing rope upon rope inside you. his orgasm triggered yours, drops of your release trickled down onto the carpet before his hand snaked down to your clit, rubbing furiously and suddenly an intense stream released itself onto the now soaked carpet, the intensity of both of your orgasms making the two of you collaspe in a heap.
he layed on top of you, both of you catching your breaths. "i feel so... sticky." he remarked, "shit... i ruined the carpet." you groaned, knitting your eyebrows together.
a silence settled in, before you broke it. "i'm glad my experiment worked." a beat passes before he reacts, "experiment?"
"i tried conditioning you into associating sex with the duck emoji. it worked."
clarks hums, choosing not to react any further.
a few days later, minutes after the end of your shift, you receive a text from clark.
cw: bicep biting, teasing, male whimpering, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, talking you through it, hair pulling, he's described as big, back scratching, creampies, not proofread.
ⓘ Featuring how sexy Dick Grayson is for his pretty girl.
boyfriend!dick who muffles your moans with his bicep whenever you're staying over at his father's, cooing, "You need to be quiet" so his family won't find out how dirty you are, as if he isn't the one fucking into you so hard the headboard's slamming against the wall.
+ Bonus points: Whenever you finish, and he pulls back to see drool on his arm along with the teeth marks, he knows he did well.
boyfriend!dick who can spend hours teasing you before getting to work, with light brushes of his fingers up your thigh, light kisses to your lips, and rubbing the tip along your slit, but pulling back once you start begging him to just fuck you already.
Eventually, you wear each other down; you're moaning out his name & he's struggling not to finish in two minutes.
boyfriend!dick loves when you go down on him, fists clenching against the sheets as he struggles not to guide your head, biting down the sweetest moan every time you swirl your tongue around his blushing tip.
After he finishes in your mouth, he'll always wipe your lips clean & whisper how pretty you are in the shakiest, hottest tone known to man.
boyfriend!dick who tends to get a little needy & sometimes ends up dry humping you till he's creamed his boxers instead of just fucking you like he'd originally planned. Noting "it felt too good to stop" while letting out a choked laugh & burying his face in your throat.
He'll always joke about it afterwards. But it's kind of obvious at the moment how embarrassed he feels about it.
boyfriend!dick likes to finger you after a blowjob, scissoring you open on long fingers so he can stare at the wetness pooling on your skin while telling you just how sexy it looks to him & licks you clean after each orgasm.
He likes to give you at least two orgasms per one of his.
boyfriend!dick has grown used to your nails sinking into his back every time he bottoms out; he's even grown to like how every few thrusts bring the sweet sting of your nails scratching at him in sync with sharp moans.
boyfriend!dick who is well aware just how endowed he is & always takes it slow to let you adjust, making sure to whisper sweet little praises in your ear.
boyfriend!dick who has made himself well acquainted with your clit, happily goes down on you every time you're being bratty or not in a good mood, knowing his tongue can be an instant mood booster.
He always moans at the feeling of your nails scratching at his scalp, pulling & begging for more, loving the sensation of feeling your pleasure through the sharp tugs.
boyfriend!dick who has a bad pullout game & ends up accidentally filling you up more often than he'd like to admit. He's so embarrassed when he pulls out and sees his seed spilling out, but your fucked-out expression always makes him feel better about it.
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 gasp, confused by his abrupt arrival.
He doesn’t look up, just stands there against the frame, chest heaving and fists clenched. His usually perfect wavy hair is now flat, messy, sticking to his sweaty forehead.
Worry washes your features, something must be really wrong if he looks like he’s barely holding himself together. You start making way over to him, but as soon as you take a step forward he lifts a shaking hand in front of him.
“Stop! Don’t move,” his deep voice comes out strangled, raw as if 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 swallows to try to soothe his dry throat. He slowly looks up, and groans when he meets your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, as he breaths raggedly through chapped lips.
“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 turns away, pacing in small frantic circles on your balcony trying to shake something off. His hands tremble as he fights to not make eye contact.
“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 messing 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.”
He finally turns again, but just the sight of you hurts.
“I can smell you, sweetheart. Even from across the country…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, ashamed of himself, feeling undeserving of even looking 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. You’ve never seen him wanting 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 are sure everyone on the building heard him. He instantly feels worse with the way you flinched to his volume. “S-sorry love… 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, trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.
“I’ll leave if you tell me to,” he insists. “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.
“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, needing to see your skin 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. Over and over.
“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. 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. Finally feeling some sort 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. 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 up by him. Your 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. 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 that came from his soul. He shakes as he fills you, mouth pressing wet kisses to your neck.
He doesn’t pull out yet. He holds you there, trembling, pressed against the wall because 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 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 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.
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, love…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 all over.
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.
“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 all the strain he caused 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, trying to apologize without saying it. 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 says, finally breaking the silence.
“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
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summary : nobody could disturb jason peter todd when he was knee deep in a dostoevsky. except you, of course, his hot neighbour who liked making his lips bruise up and brain fall out as a friday night hobby.
contains : heavy making out, well read!jason, post Lazarus pit!jay, whipped!jay, thighs man!jay, grinding, basically dry humping, forearm tattoo!jason, but he’s actually a softie, reader wears warm sweaters, bookish!reader but that means she’s a lil freaky, neighbour!jason, booksmart!jason, streetsmart!jason, he’s a moaner I’m calling it, baddie!reader
inspiration : she’s my collar (g + k.u)
It started with a smile.
He'd been carrying boxes from the moving van Bruce had hired, in the middle of the rare heatwave in Gotham. His luck really was something.
He’d been hauling boxes in, wiping his forehead with the hem of his tee, dropping the wet fabric to hang by his waist. Your figure framed in the light of the hallway, like some sort of halo.
He blinked. “Uh, hey?”
You just smiled. Like you knew something he didn’t. “Hey, neighbour.” You disappeared into your apartment, slamming the door shut. With a mutter of “people”, he kicked open his door, resting the box of all his childhood photos on his new dining table. The thing was made of fucking MDF.
He’d failed to notice the copy of Twisted Love tucked in your elbow.
You’d done it, somehow. Ripped through his defences, your will a fist in his wet sheet of paper.
The copy of Twisted Love should’ve been a sign. It should’ve told him that you’d show up at his door after a few weeks of knowing him with a rain cloud over your head and an irrational desire to turn him on like a fucking switch every Friday since.
He’d pull a Glock 19 on whoever disturbed him when he was reading Crime and Punishment, but the annotated copy lay open beside him, his brain was engrossed in something else. Kissing you.
His hands gripped your thighs, sleeve of his plush hoodie sliding up and over the ink on his forearm, tugging you closer. Your lips burned his, nape of his neck stimulated by the drag of your nails.
“Bad day, ma?” His words were muffled by your mouth, tilting his head back into the gentle pressure of your fingers. You took and you took, sucking oxygen from his lungs, rolling your hips down so you dragged across his dick.
He couldn’t suppress a moan at that.
You hummed in agreement, dragging his bottom lip down with your thumb. He should’ve read the signs. Now he scheduled make out sessions with you in avoidance of admitting he liked the way you used him. He ached to be your boy toy whenever you saw fit. He wanted you to push him down, tint his lips with kisses and gloss.
Your teeth snagged at his lip, tugging, moulding him to you. His hands sliding up your back made your sweater drag up, bunching, cold of his apartment pricking at your skin. “Dostoevsky?” You mumbled, between wet, obscene smacks, pornographic moans and following the string of saliva that connected your mouths.
“Mhm,” He nodded dumbly, hips jerking up to catch his dick on your clit, the slow grind in response melted his brain. “Crime and Punishment.”
You chuckled, kisses burning down his jaw till your teeth pressed against his pulse. Nipping, latching, sucking a bruise. Maybe you got how to do that from Twisted Love, cause his toes fucking curled. He’d come, no joke. Right here, fully clothed, he’d do it. “Great book. Read Atonement, I still wanna watch it.”
He would, but he was a little tied up right now. “Later, ma.” He breathed, hand slipping in your jeans’ back pocket to squeeze your ass. Jesus, maybe that thing owed him rent. “Later.” He kissed back up to your mouth, allowing you to siphon his thoughts again.
He was 6’ 2”, 225 pounds and you had him like this. If anyone thought he’d been taken hostage, fuck no, he was right where he was supposed to be. Yes, he had patrol in ten minutes. Yes, he’d texted Dick to take his place while he dealt with a personal matter. Yes, he gave no fucks.
you slide your card toward the register like it’s nothing, like you didn’t spend the last hour watching dick grayson smile at you across dinner and pretending your knees weren’t weak.
he notices immediately. of course he does. this man has the reflexes of a cat and the dramatic instincts of a theatre kid raised by ninjas.
“hey— hey, hey, hold on.” he’s already halfway out of his chair, eyes wide, voice half-laughing like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “what do you think you’re doing?”
you blink. “...paying?”
dick presses a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him. “paying? you? for me?” he shakes his head slowly, lips twitching. “that’s cute. wrong, but cute.”
you try not to smile, because he’s being ridiculous, standing there in his leather jacket, hair falling into his eyes like he was crafted to be your weakness. “i just thought I could take this one.”
“no, no, sweetheart.” he steps closer, resting his palms on the counter beside your hand. you can feel the warmth of him, the way he crowds in without being pushy. “that’s my job.”
you raise a brow. “your job?”
his grin softens just enough to make your heart stutter. “yeah. my job. i asked you out. i pay. that’s the rule.”
“that’s not a real rule.” you argue.
“it is in the dick grayson handbook,” he counters, tapping the imaginary badge on his chest. “chapter one: be a gentleman. chapter two: do unnecessary flips. chapter three: pay for dates.”
you snort. “i swear you make half of this up.”
he leans in, lowering his voice like it’s a secret just for you. “only the parts meant to make you smile.”
your cheeks warm and he definitely catches it. His eyes flicker in that smug soft boy way, not arrogant, just unbearably fond.
dick nudges your card back toward you with two fingers, slow and deliberate. “look… i know you can pay. you’re capable, you’re independent, you scare the hell out of me in the best way.” he pauses, blue eyes bright, honest. “but let me treat you tonight. i want to.”
you swallow. “you really don’t like when i try to pay, huh?”
he huffs a laugh, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “i like that you try. i like that you’re thoughtful. but it also makes me wanna wrap you up in my arms and say ‘nope, not happening’ every single time.”
“possessive much?” you tease.
“only when it comes to you,” he shoots back, grinning like it’s the most natural truth in the world.
he takes your card, sets it back in your bag, and presses the tiniest kiss to your forehead before you can argue. “let me do this one. consider it… an investment in more nights like this.”
you look up at him, fighting a smile. “and what do i owe in return?”
dick shrugs lightly, looping his fingers with yours as he hands his card to the cashier. “just keep showing up.”
and the way he says it. Soft, earnest, like you’re the best thing to happen to his week...yeah.
