To Clark’s credit, there’s something about seeing your sweet little self up at that hour, the little bags under your eyes; your soft, noodle-like arms trying to wave at him; and god, that little slur in your voice, where you almost sound drunk, but it’s something more sugary sweet, meek, innocent and gentle, and he loves it. He wishes he could just bottle up the sound.

He’ll go shower, clean himself up. Sometimes he takes his time with it, because a long day doesn’t always just take a minute to fade away. But he’ll always end up right next to you, under those lush covers, holding you so close to his chest. You always wait for him, so patient, snuggling into him.

The best nights, though, are the ones where you can’t seem to just turn your brain off and fall asleep. When you just need a little coaxing, and a little loving on.

You tend to get really aroused at night, some nights more than others. Sometimes he can smell it on you, because it’s so potent. He loves that smell. It’s like rain over jasmine. Maybe it’s out of routine, because you’ve come to expect him to come home late and give you some sugar, and he’s inadvertently got you trained like a little love bunny.

“Clark?” you’ll say meekly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t fall asleep, Clark.”

He’ll smirk into your back, knowing that was coming. “Oh yeah, sleepy girl? Why don’t you just try?”

“Oh, but Clark…” you’ll pout, shifting to face him. “I really can’t sleep.”

“Oh, honey,” he’ll tut, giving you a baby-blue eyed look drenched in mock-pity. “Do you need me to get you down?”

You’ll bite your lip, and that’s enough confirmation for him.

Soon enough he’ll be stretching you out on his fingers, cooing about what a sweet girl you are until your body succumbs to the stimulating sensation. It never takes much—usually your imagination’s gotten you to the precipice, and he merely has to take you over the edge.

He likes to tease you then. “That was a big one, huh. Maybe it’s time for bed..?”

“Nooo,” you’ll pout, and then register his stupid smirk. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“I know, I know. I’m so mean, sweetness. Just terrible, huh,” he’ll play along, lining up with your wet, welcoming entrance.

“Yeah—yeahhhhhhhh,” your protest’ll fade into a delicious moan, one he swallows with his lips because fuck. You’re just too cute.

“You like that, honey? Being so full of me? Bet you’re not even thinking straight, huh, sleepy girl. Just taking whatever I have to give. Good girl,” he’ll say, spurring you on, making you feel just so damn good—

Needless to say, the second orgasm usually gets you down, syrupy and dopey with a lovestruck “I love you Clark” as you drift off to the comfort of him cleaning you up and tucking in, whispering back “I love you.”

Your soul left your body.

“Simon?” you gasped, throwing your hands up in horror as adrenaline shot through you so fast your fingers trembled.

He staggered inside, a duffel bag slipping from one shoulder and thudding to the floor. One hand braced against the wall, the other pressed to the side of his head.

“Are you okay?!” you gasped.

“I got smashed with a plate. What ya think?” he muttered, eyes shut tight.

“You were supposed to be back in a week!”

“Mission ended early,” he said with a pained groan.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wanted t’ surprise ya.”

You stared at him.

Then gestured wildly at the ceramic graveyard on the floor.

"That is objectively the worst possible strategy for someone who constantly tells me to be careful because of all the enemies you've made."

He gave you a flat look. “Nice. Blame the victim.”

"The victim broke into the house like a raccoon with military training."

He huffed "rude."

“Just go sit down,” you said, already ushering him toward the sofa. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He kicked off his boots with a grunt and dropped onto the couch like all the bones in his body had collectively decided to quit. By the time you returned, kit in hand, he looked tired in that deeply worn-out way that made your chest ache, guilt gnawed at you like a tiny feral creature.

"Si, I'm so sorry," you blurted the second you sat beside him. "I genuinely thought someone was breaking in and then the door opened and I panicked and my body moved before my brain did and I hit you and—"

"It's alright, swee’heart," his voice came soft, steady.

You worked carefully, cleaning the scratches on his forehead and the small cuts along his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch much, though he did keep staring at you with that quiet, warm look that always made you feel like you were the only light in the room.

“Been through a dangerous mission,” he said, “an’ get home to get clocked by me wife.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” you said, glaring at the cotton pad like it had personally offended you.

“Never said it was.”

“You are being very smug for a man who got ambushed by dinnerware.”

He huffed a laugh. “Usually wives greet their husbands with kisses and hugs. Not ceramic warfare.”

“I was trying out a new greeting method.”

He raised one brow. “Next time, how about a pan to the face?”

You let out a helpless laugh. “Shut up.”

“You hit me.”

“I thought you were breaking in!”

“Still counts as domestic violence, luv.”

You snorted despite yourself, and he looked absurdly pleased with that.

Once you finished, he leaned back into the couch with a long sigh, still horrified and still trying not to laugh at the stupidity of this entire situation. He tilted his head toward you.

You always get a specific glint in your eye when you see him in his suit. Of love, of lust, of adoration and awe. He never knows which one is causing the glint; he just knows he loves it more than words can ever hope to explain. To be wanted, needed, and loved by the world's prettiest woman?

That's what he's here for.

"I love your suit," you whisper. Soft. Sweet. Slow. A little drowsy. And yet, despite that, despite the yawn you're pushing out and the way you're rubbing your eyes, he knows what you want.

He could smell it on you as soon as your gaze landed on and registered him walking through that balcony door. He could hear the hitch in your breath and your heart hammering in your chest.

You want him. Already. That glint in your eyes pops up when you flash them his way and confirms it further.

"Yeah, honey," Clark softly replies. Punctuates it with a soft laugh as he slowly walks over to your bed and sinks down on the edge of it.

"I know you do. You're looking at me like I'm a piece of meat."

"You are a piece of meat, though. My favorite cut."

That's got him laughing again. He bends down to take his boots off while you're steadily rustling around in the sheets. Pushing yourself up, weight shifting and dipping the bed behind him.

"I think you're still half asleep," he mutters when you wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind. He sits back up to keep you from slipping off of him.

"Put me back to sleep, then," you whisper into his ear. Your breath fans out over his ear and, even though he never gets cold, he shudders.

"Haven't seen you all day. Missed you. Missed these bright colors and how good they look on you."

His jaw tightens as your lips brush over his skin. When he leans into you, the kisses you press on the shell of his ear and down the side of his neck get slower. They linger more. Your tongue and teeth make brief appearances, reminding him of just how much he missed you, too.

He had been so lost in your touch that he didn't realize your fingers began playing with the zipper at his side. The hidden one that releases him from the suit he knows you'd rather him leave on.

If you love it so much, why would you want him out of it?

With one lightning quick movement, he engulfs your hand in his. The frown you pressed against his jawbone riddles him with guilt, but he laughs it off and turns to look at you instead. When your eyes finally meet, and the moonlight bounces off of your face, he has to stop himself from swooning. Even like this - hair a mess, eyes heavy from recent sleep, adorned in one of his old beat up t-shirts from high school - you're drop dead gorgeous.

He swallows down that swoon and instead clears his throat. Shoots you his best sweet grin, the one he knows always gets you going. The one that pops his dimples out for you and steals the breath right out of your chest. The one that makes that glint in your eye resurface.

"I've got a better idea."

"You're doing so well for me, aren't you, sweet thing?" Clark coos. He's got the biggest grin on his face. Whether it's from pride or love for you, he doesn't know. But he can't wipe it off. How could he?

You've been humping his left boot for the last 10 minutes, hips pathetically rutting against him like you're some sort of heat-ridden, desperate little dog. The embarrassingly loud schlick sound that follows each shift of your body tells him everything he needs to know. Not only do you like this, but you've probably been wanting it.

He's never been happier than he is right now. Never been prouder.

He beams down at you. Drops his voice down just a hint deeper - deep enough that he knows your pussy's clenching around nothing - and purrs, "My good girl."

"Feels s'fucking good," you slur while your fingers claw at his thighs and you speed up your hips. If he didn't have anything on, you'd probably cut through his skin from how harsh your grip is. You hum out a breathy moan. The gentle bump of your forehead against his knee pulls a disappointed click of his tongue from him.

"Hey," he firmly calls out, reaching down so he can force your head up. He raises a brow. Gives your cheeks a squeeze when his fingers curl around your chin then winks at you.

"Eyes on me. You know better. Wanna see my pretty baby's face when she's going dumb from humping my boot."

That one almost gets you. The moan you belt out when he feeds you that insulting - or, rather, insulting to him - comment tells him that. He felt your hips stutter, and the way that your body tightened up, and the way that your thighs started to quiver.

"M'sorry, sir," you mumble. It was hard to hear it from how he's got your face squished, so he loosens his grip.

"Don't say you're sorry. Just don't do it again," he warns. He swipes his thumb over your bottom lip for a moment. When you take it upon yourself to open your mouth and suck his thumb into it, he's the one struggling to keep it together. He was already hard. Achingly so.

But when he sees his beautiful girl sucking on his thumb, when he feels her tongue circling around the digit and hears the soft moan she rumbles out against it? He thinks he might die. Might skip right over the orgasm and just die right here and right now.

"Goodness," he huffs, "you're gonna kill me, baby."

You giggle. Somehow, you always have the upper hand.

One of those hands sneakily travels up to the front of his trunks. You get a measly two seconds of palming his hardened cock and one rough jolt from Clark before he uses his free hand to pull you off of him.

"I don't think so," he hisses. He starts bouncing his leg that you're perched on up and down. When you drop your mouth open, moan, and your eyes roll back into your head, he finds that grin from earlier and displays it on his face once more.

"I think you should stay down there a little longer. Get a good look at this suit you love so much."

“Daddy…” he whines, a drawn-out and pitiful noise from where he lay beneath Steve with his cheek smashed into the mattress. The arch of his back is deep, impressive even, and being face down with his hole on display always makes him come faster. 

He feels like a bit of a slut when he takes Daddy’s cock from behind. 

The smack on his ass, the tight squeeze of Steve’s handful, makes his whine turn nasally. 

“You always hand it over easy when I bend you over and give it to you deep,” Steve tells him, voice gruff and low as he fucks into Bucky at a steady pace. “Always let Daddy have it faster when you’re feeling slutty.”

Damn him, how is he also inside of Bucky's head?

Bucky’s tummy swims then, swirls and swoops alongside his core and his balls, and he gives in to the desire to squeeze his hole tight around Daddy’s girth, to be greedy with it. He almost shivers it feels so good, in and out and in and out, instead choosing to bring his fingers closest to his face up to his mouth to suck on. 

When Steve spits out a curse and then groans, when he presses in tight and digs his grip into the arch of Bucky’s back for better leverage, Bucky mewls around his fingers. 

He’s can’t stop his eyes from crossing. 

God, but he is going to come. 

“A perfect fuckin’ baby, my God— look at you. Pussy hungry, mouth hungry. Gotta stuff all’a your holes, don’t we, Buck? Gotta keep ‘em all full right, sugar?” 

He nods his head stupidly, whines and whimpers and sucks. 

“Full,” he cries messily around his fingers. “Keep me full, Daddy!” 

"That right. Pussy’s meant to stay full. Pussy’s made for big Daddy loads, isn’t it?”

Bucky’s moan is guttural this time, rakes against the front of his throat as his body’s relentlessly knocked around and fucked into the mattress. God, he loves Daddy’s big loads, loves being used to receive them in every which way. 

He tells Steve just that.

All Bucky can slur out around his digits is, “Love Daddy’s big loads. Make me come on it, Daddy…”, and all Daddy can respond with is a low, “Jesus fuckin' Christ…”.

Bucky’s dick throbs in delicious shame. He sucks around his fingers and moans, his hole milks at Daddy’s cock hungrily. Daddy’s heavy balls begin to smack lewdly against his taint and that’s—

Fuck, but that’s good. 

Daddy’s big balls are full of all the hot cum he gets once he’s a good boy and comes for Daddy. 

Bucky’s breath hitches, stutters. 

“Uh-huh, that’s right. Follow through— gimme what I want, what I’ve worked so hard for. Go on and bust for Daddy, honey. Lemme watch you come from just havin’ your little hole stuffed full. Your pretty…hungry little pussy that stretches out just enough for Daddy to fit inside. Your tiny—“

Bucky announces his climax in a garbled wail around a mouthful of his own fingers. And when Steve’s big hand lands on his nape to hold him down, to hold him in place while Daddy roughly uses his hole, he all but screams. 

His balls pull in tight, his dick just reaches a painful point of hardness, and then it’s damn near violently shooting cum into the sheets beneath him.

There are times Daddy fucks him through his orgasms, while other times he stuffs him full of cock and holds him there while he shakes around it, like he does tonight.

He holds Bucky in place while his body fights to thrash, while he shakes and sputters and whines while full to the brim with Daddy's big cock, his own dick continuing to twitch between his legs.

"Come on, Buck— show me how hungry that pussy is. Milk it outta me. Fuckin’ milk it outta your Daddy."

Bucky may think he doesn’t have a climax sign, a dead giveaway that he’s about to come, but he knows Steve’s— his erratic breathing and his desperate Daddy voice. And hearing that pair not only prolongs his orgasm, but forces him to think of the only thing that matters anymore—

Make Daddy come.

Sticky in the sheets, brain buzzing, mouth slick from his own spit, and hole still pulsing, even he himself is surprised when he starts to fuck up and back onto Daddy’s cock. It doesn’t matter if shoving himself back into Steve’s grip makes his skin ache, doesn’t matter if he’s still riding his orgasm.

He’s going to make that big cock bust.

“Want it deep,” he slurs, a messy smile pulling at the corners of his lips when Steve groans out his name. “Give it to me deep if you’re gonna make me work for it, Daddy.”

“Fuck, holy shit, Buck. I’m—“

“Mine.”

“I’m…take it then, take it— take Daddy’s load.”

Bucky squeals loudly when Steve shoves in deep with a roar and tests the limits of his body, rim stretched and aching as Daddy rides his orgasm out loudly. Bucky swears he feels his own dick spit out a few dribbles of cum at the feel of it, of Steve’s much larger body rutting into him, his body finding a specific kind of satisfaction in being used for Daddy’s cum.

Bucky closes his eyes with a sigh and squeezes his pussy all around Daddy’s cock, listening like a good boy and milking it for everything it’s worth.

The hand on his nape goes tight again.

“Atta boy— More. Squeeze me more.”

Bucky moans and listens like a good boy.

He loves being a good boy.

“Fuck, I love you bein’ a good boy too, sugar.”

Oh. Had he said that out loud?

“You wanna keep bein’ Daddy’s good boy while he goes another round? Huh? Just can’t seem to get soft tonight.”

she gasps when he licks her clit through the fabric. clark aches when he feels how swollen, how ready she tastes.

he can’t hold back his cheeky laugh when a pointer finger of his reaches up the bottom hem of her panties and wiggles, snapping the band against her skin with a raised brow. “think it’s time to take these off yet? sounds like you’re ready to act out your first lesson.”

she gulps and it’s so innocent and cute his dick pulses even more just witnessing it. her feet graze his back and it felt like heaven to even get to be touched by her.

he takes her clawing at his hair as an enthusiastic yes and he obeys with a long, slow drag of her panties down both of her legs splayed up and bent in the air. when her pussy is out and open it is mouthwatering to look at. he swears he’s hypnotized by her pussy when he goes in a trance to saying nothing more before diving face first in. hums with his first lick. tickles her clit with the tip of his tongue, and it’s got its own little heartbeat that he needs to salvage it.

her whimpers sing in his ears, telling him he’s off to a great start.

“that’s—that’s—“

“feel good?” he grins. “don’t stress yourself out talking baby. just sit back, sit back and enjoy it,” he coos. paws so softly up her hip bones. obediently, her head lies back down with a shaky sigh. “good girl. good.”

she may have been meek, reserved to reveal any direct details about her virginity. says she’s maybe kissed a boy or two, left the rest to the imagination to fill in the gaps. clark knows it had to be code for Never Been Satisfied. possibly even Never Been Touched.

“taste perfect,” he whispers after a long, self indulging lick. ducks his nose down to breathe her in. her legs react with a tremble, her breathing stuttered while she mutters a shy th…thank you.

“mm, what’re you thanking me for,” he mumbles, boyish laugh stuck on his tongue. “I’ve been dying to be here. knew you’d taste like a peach even when I first met you.”

“really? when we were that young?”

that’s without a doubt.

“of course.”

he kitten licks the hood of her clit, making a pattern of dragging his tongue up and down to gather everything she drips. savors it and swallows it, hoping the taste will never leave his tongue. his dick is beating so hard it could pulse and explode, but it wasn’t about him right now. he had priorities first.

she clamps down in rhythmic beats as he sucks down the button of her clit, writhing with helplessness. clark continues his licks while hearing his name being uttered over and over. peers his head up and rubs her slit with his finger to check on her.

“you getting ready to have the first one?”

“ye…yes. clark, that feels really really good…”

“mmhm. I know it does. go ahead and give it to me. give me our first. don’t hold back, only two more to go after this,” he breathes. beckons her off the edge with a squeeze of her thighs. “almost there, beautiful.”

a gasp, a shudder, and a tight squeeze of her hand on his hair later and she’s cumming on his tongue so hard he takes her through every wave. praises her while she’s coming down, still clenching every muscle and clawing his hair into a tangled mess.

clark laps it up like someone who’s been hungry for days, licking and sucking her pussy down while she practically sprayed him in the face.

he can’t help wiping his face and licking what comes off his fingers, eating up every drop of evidence left on him. “best orgasm I’ve ever gotten to taste, baby. you did incredible.”

she’s wildly overstimulated even after the first one, pink and swollen everywhere all from him. it comes as a shock when his fingers add into the mix, scooping up the river she’s left between her lips as she’s closed her eyes and drifted off. she whimpers like it hurt when he gently thrusted his middle finger in barely past the fingertip. he doesn’t go as far as the knuckle and she’s already whining.

“shhshhshh, we aren’t done yet. don’t tap out on me now,” he giggles. smirk slapped on his face when he dips more of his finger in and curls it upwards, gentle with every tiniest gesture. she’s so sensitive and wet. a river pools out onto his fingers to make them shiny with every pull out, making him clench his jaw and grip his dick. it sits uncomfortably up against his thigh and throbs with every move, every sound she makes.

“we’re going for three, remember?”

“I remember, I remember,” she hurries. “it’s just all so much— feeling too much.”

clark could cum in his pants just from the sound of her raspy, fucked out voice, but that wouldn’t do either of them any good. “I’m so happy you felt good ‘cause of me, baby, but you need more. you aren’t satisfied yet, but I promise you will be.”

it almost sounded like a threat, but she can’t decipher anything while his fingers slide in deeper, pulling all the way out to move side to side on her clit before going back inside her again.

“I’m gonna make you feel even better.”

she groans with her mouth wide open, eyes closed with her twitchy legs sprawled out for him. clark can’t resist leaning in to give her a warm kiss. feeling how she’s so lazy she couldn’t even get her mouth closed while he kisses her. laughing against her mouth, he keeps fingering her pussy and rubbing on the hood of her clit until she’s crying out to him again like he’s God.

his fingers get drenched from all her helpless clenching with every pointed angle up. it fills the room with sloppy noise as he penetrated her with a few of his long fingers, palm finding her clit to rub the hood of her bud.

“mmmhm. that’s it. you’re making that face again. you’re about to give me another aren’t you?”

she mumbles some gibberish that he thinks translates to yes mixed with his name and she grabs onto his wrist. so big she can barely wrap around the entirety of it with her own hand.

her eyes open only to roll back while he digs his fingers in and slides them against her weeping walls. it’s his pleasure to feel the same gushing around his digits that he tasted flowing up against his tongue, knowing she’s been such a strong, good girl by giving him her second one.

he litters her face and collarbones with kisses while she weeps, holding onto him for dear life while the crushing weight of her second orgasm succumbs her.

tender moments of coming down roll by, with clark massaging her hips with soothing pinches of her skin and kissing everywhere between her ribcage to her hairline. he lets her think they’re done, allowing her a breather before he started on act three.

her body’s as good as jelly as her limbs flop about and can’t even stay upright longer than a second. she looks positively fucked out and tired from getting off on his mouth and his hand. but this won’t be the end.

finally, clark’s dick sprung out of his pants, as stiff and solid as it was when he’d even knocked on her door. has precum dripping like a running faucet when it slaps up his belly, his hand coming down to soothe it with a couple teasing strokes.

wincing at his own touch, his heavy lidded eyes don’t know where to land on her body while he strokes. he can’t stop staring. ogling at the mess between her thighs, at her stretched open pussy that still has his spit dribbling down her opening. he keeps slicking his cock up and down in silence before reaching a gentle hand down to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear so it’s not in her face. pets her cheek, grabs her jaw. firm but light when he wakes her up from the dreamy daze.

“c’mon. not finished yet princess. I know you’ve got another one in you. she’s still wet from wanting more,” he raises a brow. pulls a long swipe of his fingers from the bottom of her slit to the top at her bud. demonstrates the slick webbing between his fingers as if he’s showing off the evidence.

she paws at his abdomen and leans her head up as much as she could muster, puckering up and closing her eyes for a lazy kiss. a lazy kiss that he graciously accepts, leaning down with a heavy lidded smirk on his face when she swirls her tongue in his mouth.

“tasting your cum?”

“uh-uh. taste you.”

he snorts a laugh. “why? your cum tastes better than me. here,” clark takes his dick and drags it through all along her pussy folds, wetting up every fat inch of himself and then nodding his head down. “taste it straight off of me for yourself.”

she shivers when his cock barely first made contact, then outright mewls when he slides and rubs it around her hole. with her face stained beat red, she gets up to grab a hold of the v-line of his hips and timidly leans in to take a long inviting lick. doesn’t even have to wrap her lips around it to taste what he was talking about, feeling the warm slick gathering up on her tongue right off his veiny length.

clark’s eyes scrunch closed, tight, with his fists clenched at his sides before she takes it upon herself to keep licking like he’d given her a bowl of cream to lap up. her name is stuttered from his lips, stopping her greedy mouth with a rough hand on the strands of her hair to yank her back.

“don’t keep licking, don’t—I need to be in you before anything happens, don’t make me—“

she’s off him and back to her place with her legs spread out for him like she knows her place. clark huffs out of his nose and gets in position, wrapping each leg around himself for her to stay latched on while his tip finds her hole. doesn’t breach inside, not yet, but circles it. taunts it. waits until she’s as big of a disaster as he’s become. with more wet gliding movements and the wettest clark thinks he’s ever in his life made a woman get, he lines his tip up and lets her swollen pussy feel its weight before it even tries to go in.

“how will it fit?”

clark shakes his head.

“we’ll go slow until it feels good,” he says. her eyes get so wide when she sees how huge he looks pressed up against her. “don’t look down at it, don’t look down. it’s okay — just breathe with me.”

he meets her eyes and doesn’t start pushing in until she’s lax. when he gets to slide even just the tip in it’s the most excruciating pleasure he’s had in a long time, and he knew it. virgin.

“I’ll teach you how it can feel ‘cause really baby, it can feel so good.”

her pussy welcomes him in so soft and warm as he’s kissing her cheekbones and shushing her. eases his hips from side to side to feel her walls out, feeling for what angle made her twitch. when he finds it she makes it obvious, stuttering a groan and ending it with a long hum when he presses up against there again and again. even feels more slippery as he pulls all the way back out just to creep back into that spot again.

“see? doesn’t that feel nice?” he breathes. felt her clenching and raising her legs up higher behind him.

“mm. my good girl, my best friend,” clark taunts as he picks up the pace, still thrusting the head in and out to not overwhelm her and shove it up to her guts yet. he knows he has to wait for that. “you’re gonna love it when I show you more positions.”

“oh god… please, yes—”

“but you like this one, don’t you? me on top of you,” he mumbles as he takes a bold lick up her neck stopping near her chin. he was getting possessive, primal over the thought of being her first. staking his claim, showing her the ropes to the endless adventures of what highs pleasure could take her. “just wait until you take more, you’ll want to get on top of me.”

clark slowly eases in more of his dick this time, achingly slow to feed her more of the girth he had been holding back. wants to make sure she isn’t getting too split open on him, he watches her face and only sees mild annoyance at the snail like pace he’d adopted.

“I like when it goes in faster,” she whines. clark doesn’t hold back his laugh at how easy it was to get her cock hungry already.

“you already wanna go fast? you gotta get used to it first,” clark advised. if he sank in as deep as he could go and as fast as she wanted it, she’d be bleeding all over the sheets. “let’s get used to an inch at a time. that’s it, stay relaxed for me.”

clark lets his hips swivel left and right to wiggle in some more for her, feeling his cock nudge unexplored territory and swallowing him whole. his pace gets quick but he doesn’t allow himself to go balls deep yet, still teasing her g-spot with every drag out and glide back in. his eyes roll back while she whimpers beneath him, the combination of her sounds and her warmth sheathed around him begging for more quickly tearing him apart.

his tolerance is running low as he pressed in more on a particularly rough thrust, knowing she had to be feeling the brunt of it now. when he finds the strength he looks down again at their togetherness, at how his cock and her pussy meet perfectly in the middle, how she’s so stretched open she’s leaving rings of cream all around the width of his cock, with minor drops of blood in the mix.

clark winces and kisses her forehead, verbally checking in on her with a softness only reserved for her.

“am I hurting you, baby? you can tell me if I am, please,” he pleads.

she shook her head, vigorously curling in on him to lift her hips and guide him inside even more.

“not—not hurting anymore, just feels so big, but all’s I want is more of you. keep putting it in, go faster,” she begs.

“you want fast, I’ll give you fast,” he pants. sweat building up on his temples, slowly drifting down his forehead. he holds her in place by her thighs and fucks into her with quick precision, feeling her wetness slathering his cock the deeper it goes. she holds her breath and grabs with one hand onto the wall and the other on his shoulder for support, mouth gargling as it remains wide open.

the bed makes noise every single thrust in, hard creaking and loud squelching while he pounds into her with every ounce of willpower being steadily let go, rug ripped out from him from hearing his name jumbled in with her cries.

“you sound so pretty, look so pretty taking it too, gosh—you take it good. knew you had it in you— mmmm, gonna cum on me next? huh? cum on me, cum on this dick baby, you can do it. you’ve got it,” he encourages. has to halt his movements when she clenches so hard he thinks she’ll suck him in and keep him buried deep forever.

she can’t say anything back, voice only useful for humming and moaning while she fucks back on his dick, meets him for every thrust until her legs clamp up together, lazily holding him in while she cries out one last time to cream on his dick.

and clark has really done it. he’s found heaven.

“I’m cumming in you baby, I’m about to fill you up… don’t fight it, don’t fight it—take it all like I know you can, mmmmm….”

he honest to god squeals while she drains his balls and lets him empty every hot spurt of his load inside of her, clenching on him and dripping all of his cum back out on his dick while it’s still lodged in.

every cell in his body was singing with shock, never wanting to leave her body, never wanting to let her go. he could skip all his classes tomorrow and just stay right here in her bed and fuck. see if they could already beat their record of 3’s if he ate her out longer, fingered her harder. fucked and teased her slower.

their breathing is in sync as their sweaty bodies collide while he collapsed to the side right next to her, nuzzling his face in her hair while his cock selfishly stays crammed into her milked out pussy. she teases him by moving her hips ever so slightly, the angle from the side surely new for her. clark hisses and grabs onto her hip for leverage, more sensitive than he’s felt after a fuck in ages.

clark’s speech is muddled, slurring his words with a sloppy kiss to her neck. “I’ll… I’ll fuck you again, we’ll go again, don’t worry. I just need— d’you have any Gatorade?”

. . . .

the next time they fuck, clark realizes he’s created a monster.

they’re in his dorm this time. tv blaring to muffle any of the noise they make. clark’s roommate was out of town for the week, leaving his room open for more of their steamy encounters.

today they barely bothered to get into any foreplay, far too amped up and excited to get naked and go again. he kisses her as he’s undressing and feels her start to take more charge, getting on top, controlling their pace. she cums on his cock once after riding him fast, hips working harder than he’s ever seen to swirl around and find every spot that pleasured her. clark doesn’t find it in him to stay quiet, eagerly praising her progress and moaning while he does nothing except hold on as he’s getting used.

he cums so hard he thinks he blacks out for a second, mouth wide open and palms squeezing her sides while she rides the cum out of him like he’s nothing but a doll underneath her.

while clark is hardly half conscious she stays on top of him and starts swirling her hips in dangerous circles on him yet again, whispering in his ear, “what, falling asleep already? you taught me we’re supposed to go for three.”

clark takes a deep breath, rubbing her lower back while his other arm is planted over his face to hide his pink cheeks.

“I… I said that ‘cause I wanted to see how far I could take you and keep going. we don’t actually have to cum that many times—“

“well I want to,” she interjects. pulls his arm away from his face and squeezes down his bicep. “didn’t you say not to settle? that I should kick any boys out that don’t live up to my standard wasn’t it?”

clark is wide eyed when he swallows the lump in his throat, nodding his head vigorously. “y—yeah. I did say that. you’re right. let’s go again, take me however you want,” he quickly agrees with a deep breath out. her grin is wide, snarky, like it’s saying to him that’s what I thought. clark knows he’s in deep now. can only hold on for the ride while she turns around to fuck him in reversed cowgirl, lining him back up with ease while he shivers and yelps as if he was the one getting fully stuffed.

he’s reminded of his own lesson while her cum soaks his dick to not ever make a promise that he couldn’t regularly keep.

. . . . . . . .

I got carried away but this is delicious I love it. roles getting reversed is yummy clark is a sub even when he’s a dom he’s a subby dom

Clark was a brother in Alpha Gamma Rho. He was a backwards-hat, cut-off tank kind of guy. The legend of AGR keggers because he never seemed to get drunk. The very same legend who held doors for everyone, even if it made him late. You could see Clark mowing down brothers on the frat lawn in a game of tackle football, or studying with a pair of crooked, taped glasses in the library. Sometimes he was pulling senior pranks, parking cars on roofs or wrapping an office in Christmas paper. Other times he was exercising his secret duty of negotiating with campus police when a party was coming up, bringing them donuts and promising no problems, if they’ll only let it run its course. Needless to say, the farmboy wore many hats– but he had a core that was simple. Warm, thoughtful, passionate love. Intentional care. Remarkable intelligence. Those were just a few things that you loved about Clark. 

And you– well, who could ever figure you out? The girl with no solid shtick. President of the literature club, occasional peer tutor through the university library, who could often be found committing drunken karaoke offenses at the off-campus bar with your friend and roommate Lois. Nobody would be shocked to see you in fishnets and lacy black everything one day, and mary janes and a denim skirt the next. You walked with your head down and iPod blasting on school sidewalks, but you managed robust debates in class. You even put on the bulldog mascot suit and rushed the field during your sophomore-year homecoming game, because your public speaking professor (assistant coach of the MetU team, coincidentally) offered anyone a pass on the final presentation if they had the guts. When your peers would walk by and see you either hiding in a novel or handing out bookmarks for your club, no one batted an eye – because you were just that girl who did anything. Knowing everyone, yet knowing no one. 

It seemed every expectation of you both was subverted by another facet. Multi-dimensional in a one-note world. College isn’t always the place for fully-formed people like that, but perhaps it can be good for finding each other… can’t it?

You and Clark worked from the beginning.

He liked you when he found you standing in the corner of one of his frat parties, cradling a vodka cranberry (heavy on the vodka) with glazed eyes, staring over the sea of bodies like someone had personally offended you. He thought your dopey frown was sweet. You both remembered that night like it was yesterday.

—͙͘͡★—

“What’s the matter?” Clark had cooed, sauntering over with an empty beer bottle and a torturous little smirk on his face. His eyes were green and bright like the light across from Gatsby’s dock. You loved Gatbsy. Your drunken self thought of Gatsby religiously. Something about drinking and prohibition, and then the thought train just…

“My one friend dragged me here, and I think she’s gettin’ her face chewed over there,” you slurred, pouting, as a black-polished nail pointed across the party to another corner near the kitchen. Your good friend Lois, the only friend you had, really, had a guy in a jersey shoved up against the wall like she wore the pants in that makeout. 

Clark snickered and rested his elbow on your shoulder, laughing softer when you tried to wrestle out from under it. “You’re friends with Lane? That can’t be right. Lois is wild– and she’s here all the time. I’ve never seen you before.”

You lifted your buzzing head and rolled your eyes, sipping your drink– nearly missing the straw, and chasing it with your tongue. “Yeah, well, she needed a resume booster and I needed to get out of the house.”

Clark grinned at your soft mushing words, and he jutted his chin out with a curiously furrowed brow. “How many of those have you had, shortie?”

With a disgruntled scoff, you deflected: “M’not short!”

“Right, you’re just tall among hobbits,” Clark said, and he sat against the windowsill beside you.

He took a second to look you over that night. You had on quite the mix: a dainty little silver necklace that would nod to self-discipline, but it was bracketed by a denim jacket filthy with button pins screaming of new wave and half-niches. A little square neck tank that revealed a freckle by your collarbone. Army green cargos that rose low enough to squeeze the chub of your hips and tummy. Your boots had to have a platform at the very least one inch tall, he deduced, because they were serious and you were still short. And to top it off, there was a plum rim around your lips but a soft, neutral center, which meant you had lipstick on at some point, and had drank it all off. 

All of your small contradictions mixed with your very suspicious glances at him made his heart thump, and he knew then and there that he could see you sitting across from him at diners and nuzzling into his neck at theaters. He saw you kissing his cheek, he saw you crying over a test, he saw you waking up with tank top straps slipping from your rounded shoulders and yawning like a cat. He saw you with him, the little romantic…

“Y’know, you don’t look like a frat party kind of girl.”

“I do what I want,” you scrunched your nose, “Nothing means anything anyway.”

“Oh, do I detect a little nihilism, shortie?” Clark teased.

You swatted his shoulder and whined, “I am not short! And do you even know what that word means?”

“What, you think I’m an idiot?”

“Who coined nihilism?” you sneered, leaning down a bit to study his eyes, to see if they shifted. 

Clark tipped his head back and craned up, giving you a knowing grin. “Nietzsche. But that one guy Jacobi was the first guy to bring it up, Nietzsche just made it big. There was that other guy who wrote about it in Fathers and Sons…”

“Turgenev,” you suddenly smiled, the drunken judgement slipping away. “You know your depressing Germans!”

“And Russians,” he hummed, smiling wider. Your eyes were big as the moon, and his heart felt like it could seize at any moment. He had to find a way to keep you. “What’s your name, smartypants?”

By the way you smiled, it was clear you preferred that nickname. 

—͙͘͡★—

It was unusual, following that fateful encounter. Usually in college you get the couple who dances around each other for years, or you get the two horndogs who can’t even wait until the first date. For you and Clark, it just started… shapeless. 

You were too drunk to walk home that night, and so was Lois, so instead of letting you crash with all the other drunkies on the ground floor of the AGR fraternity, Clark personally put you both up in his room. He slept in his buddy Oliver’s room next door, in case he heard any creepers try to catch you or Lois offguard… or if he heard any puking. Then, when he expected to find you embarrassed the following morning, you were simply precious. A perfect, whiny little picture of a hangover– asking him shamelessly for McDonald’s and hogging his mattress until the fog cleared. When he asked Lois if you’re usually so fond of quick friendships, she just raised an eyebrow and said, “Don’t be stupid.”

And you liked him from the start, too. Let’s get that straight. 

You didn’t really want to, because the reputations of frat guys seemed to lean towards accuracy in most cases– but you couldn’t deny that they could be brutally attractive. When he stalked over with a Sharks cap on backwards, pretty little curls of chocolate peeking out at the nape of his neck, flexing those annoyingly toned arms under an AGR short-sleeve, you felt heat creep up the back of your neck. If you weren’t drunk, you might have been a bit more stuttery. But it was when he gazed up at you like a puppy whilst dropping all kinds of specialized knowledge on philosophy, the soft timbre of his tone cutting through the egregious EDM shaking the house, you felt the butterflies making your toes curl in your boots. He was sweet, non-threatening, and he smiled like a wolf. Something in your gut told you that Clark Kent was hiding a whole lot of beautiful behind that brotherhood insignia on his chest. 

It took you two all but a week to fall disgustingly in love, because Clark fell first, and he was a self-starter. 

He found you at the library the day after your drunken romp at his house and brought you a coffee (his brothers felt the urge to adopt you as their pet, by the way, when they found you rummaging like a racoon through the fridge and Clark sitting on the counter behind you, staring with hearts in his eyes… and Lois asleep at his side.) The day after that, he bribed Lois with five bucks to tell him you would be leaving the literature club at four. He walked you to your tutoring shift. The next, he almost breached the creepy line when he used the student directory at the tutoring center to find your dorm number… but you didn’t mind when he showed up with Chinese food and that God-given grin. 

Then the week was up again, and there was another AGR party. You were formally invited that time; he snuck you up to the roof through a series of window-hoppings, and he kissed you when you were in the middle of a rant about women writing under male pseudonyms…

—͙͘͡★—

“And did you know that they didn’t even let George Eliot get buried in Westminster? All that judgement for being a female writer, and then the thing with her husband dying and finding a new lover, and the Church said no, so now she’s buried in Highgate and she’s never been moved! Such bullshit, because she literally redefined–”

Clark couldn’t take it. Your eyes did this special thing when you got angry over book stuff, this little flash– like someone was starting up a lighter, over and over again– and it made his knees weak. He lurched forward as if he had no control over the urge, and he pressed his lips to yours in a manner that didn’t match the preceding; gentle, like he might hurt you if he wasn’t careful. His big palms, a bit rough around the curves, cradled your cheeks, and he smiled when he felt the way you sucked in a little breath, like he made you lose your place in thought. 

You didn’t even pull away, you only let your lips brush his as you asked, "What are you doing?”

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, like an absolute idiot. But he wasn’t one. If any girl would take that kind of truth bomb well, it would be you. He knew that for sure.

You nearly knocked him on his back with how excitedly you kissed back, lips slotting against his eagerly and unorganized, head tilting from left to right, trying to find the right way, the right pace, the best feeling. He knew within a second of your sloppy mouth that you had probably never kissed anyone before and were dying to figure it out. 

“Easy, easy!” he chuckled, passing his fingers through the strands of hair around your face. “Jeez, Einstein–”

“Shut up,” you giggled, pulling back. Your eyes were on fire in a whole new way. “You love me?”

“Probably,” he hummed. Definitely. 

“I love you,” you countered. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s probably too soon,” you reasoned, eyes drifting to his lips like they were a magnet. 

“Yeah,” he breathed. 

“Maybe we’re moving really fast,”

“Maybe.”

“What would I be?” 

“My girlfriend.”

“And you’d be my boyfriend,”

“Hopefully.”

“And you want that?”

“Sure I do.”

“You don’t think I'm fat?”

“What?” Clark mumbled against your skin, because he couldn’t take it anymore. He could volley your questions with his lips on your neck. “Stupid question… I like how much you weigh, and if you lose a pound I’ll be pissed.”

“I’ve never had a– mmf– a boyfriend before,”

“That’s fine,” a kiss.

“I might get needy,”

“Mm, please do…” a nip.

Your eyes fluttered when his hands slipped into your back pockets, squeezing happily. “I have a lot of h… homework, all the time,”

“So do I.”

“I vote in every election,” 

“Mhm, so do I,” a squeeze.

“I want to write books for a living, even if it means I’m poor,”

“I have a family farm back home… won’t ever have to worry…”

“I- I want to have kids… three kids and two dogs,”

“Farm’s definitely big enough… they better have your eyes, cutie.”

“Mmf–” It got hard to think when his teeth scraped behind your ear. “Are you even listening? You’re talking crazy,”

“Three kids, two dogs, active citizen of democracy, I’ll keep you fed and pretty and– mm, is this new perfume? – n’ you love me?”

“Oh, god… yes.”

“Good. Then we’re both crazy.”

—͙͘͡★—

So, it worked. Nothing you said turned him off or away. He practically knew what you were thinking before you said it. Clark didn’t have to learn to anticipate your every move, he just did. And you seemed to read his mind, although that wasn’t so innate as it was easy– it was all over his gorgeous, gorgeous face. 

It was one of those things where you seemed to just fit like interlocking fingers. Every strength, every weakness, they melded into a trade of wills. Where he couldn’t, you could, and you shared life like a milkshake. One straw and a lot of kissing between sips. 

Your first time was in your shared dorm room with Lois, when you remembered to lock the door but forgot to deadbolt it, and so she had the misfortune of opening it up and finding the two of your startled into fits of laughter, hiding from her grumblings about ‘boys’ and ‘privacy’:

—͙͘͡★—

You really had never felt anything like it before, and whatever bad porn you watched or had seen in artsy movies did not do it justice. Or, maybe it was just Clark.

Clark had you pressed into the mattress under two hundred and twenty pounds of soft, twisting muscle, his hands wrapped around your back and digging into your sides. You weren’t sure you’d ever be small enough to hold, but maybe you just needed a bigger guy all this time. Everything in proportion, right?

And god, he was a whiner. Clark rutted into you in what should’ve been little motions, but he was so genuinely large that any thrust made your legs shake. It was quite a struggle getting the condom on, actually, because he was so anxious to be sweet with you that his hands shook. You had to roll it on for him, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his blushing cheeks. 

“Oh, god, baby,” he whimpered, nibbling at the joint of your neck and shoulder as the plush heat of your walls throbbed around him. “Oh my god, oh my god…”

You were a hot mess, burning up and completely eager. Every grind was met with a buck of your hips, your knees hitched high and your fingernails– purple this time– digging into the meat of his back. For a first timer, you had no reservations. You moaned into the dampening hair behind his ear, “Ho-oly shit, Clark…”

His hands rushed to touch every inch of your back and sides as he lifted himself up a bit and gazed down at you. His chain dangled against your lips and he watched as you took it in your mouth, passing it between tongue and teeth, batting those sinful lashes up at him. He scrunched his face up with a weak desire and tucked a hand under your knee, opening you up that last bit before driving into you with a force that managed to compromise speed and safety. Just as his hands kneaded your tummy, just as your hands twisted the sheets up, just as the two of you were begging and pleading and whining like little vocal twin flames, Lois unlocked the door and froze in the doorway. 

You startled immediately and Clark flopped on top of you, his first concern to cover you from whoever it was. But a poor moment of judgement caused him to keep going, even when Lois burst into a flurry of curses. 

“Jesus Christ, you guys– oh my god, somebody should’ve just told me, I wouldn’t have come home, couldn’t even put a fucking sock on the door like civilized people– oh my god, are you still going? Fuck, guys, ew! Privacy! Privacy in my own dorm room, that's all I ask! Boys in the room, there’ll never be boys in the room she said– oh, Christ, someone text me when it’s over!”

You devolved into helpless, shocked laughter as she babbled herself out and locked the door again, and Clark smiled into your chest as he made you punctuate every giggle with a moan. He couldn’t get enough of the way you sounded– it was breathy, like a whisper, until it hit harder and your pleasure reached a low register, whiny and hungry. He wanted to chase it out of you until you had no sound left. And he did– until your back arched, until the condom simply couldn’t take any more, until your eyes fluttered shut and wouldn’t open again, until your body twitched and slumped and every other word either sounded like “Clarkie” or “Love you.”

—͙͘͡★—

No matter what first came to pass, or whatever college threw at you, Clark didn’t budge. He knew it when he sought you out at that party. He knew you were the stroke of good luck he’d never find again. So, he kept you. Good choice, because he got a free tutor out of it- not that he needed it. The perks were really just making out in the library. 

He met your parents after a couple months, and they gushed over him. The homegrown farmboy had the good sense to bring flowers, and your parents kept them on the sill for weeks until they wilted to nothing. You showed him your childhood room, and he nearly cried at a little list of birthday wishes you had pasted next to your vanity, to which you laughed and accused, “You sap.”

Then it was his turn; he took you home on break to the farm, and his parents nearly gave Martha’s ring over on the spot. You received five pie recipes free of charge. Jonathan Kent gave you a rigorous tour of the farm, and he even let you brush the horses– one of which sneezed on your nice blouse. Clark took you into town for a new one and you got to see all the places he grew up in, and then you nearly cried, and all he could do was kiss you and tell you just how pretty you looked with grass in your hair. 

Clark bought you exactly one second-hand novel a week, and you wrote him little poems on scraps of paper and tucked them in every place possible, so that when he went through life, he’d find it unexpectedly, and remember that wherever he was, you were, too. 

He went to the slam poetry night your club hosted. You were crowned kegger queen to his kegger king at a particularly rowdy party. His brothers threw you a birthday party and got you delightfully drunk, so you could enjoy a childhood birthday wish of stargazing at midnight next to a cute boy. Said cute boy had to usher his friends to bed just so he could consummate the day you were brought into the world properly (and it was better than the first, somehow.) When you woke up the next morning, hungover in his bed, you smiled to yourself. Your tank top strap slid down your arm. He pushed it up. 

It didn’t matter on your shy or outgoing days, or when you felt dark or light. It didn’t matter when he had to put on the ‘brother’ face and do the stupid shit fraternities do. What mattered was that he protected your heart in a little box, and just when it felt like maybe you two wouldn't meet on some small level, you did. It was synchrony. It was easy.

though you'd think you might've had enough preparation, considering the less than appropriate pre-game in the of the limousine ride back home, where he'd eased your pussy on his thick digits.

not to say clark actively partook in public improprieties, but it'd gotten increasingly difficult to turn you down when you'd been rubbing his bulge needily the second you had 'privacy'. plus, in fairness — he had instigated you relentlessly.

"m'sorry, i-i can't, any…more…"

he tuts at your visible struggle, in the manner your trembling hips have halted when he barely had his length halfway notched in you.

"now…that can't be right," he begins, "not when this pussy's creaming 'round me when she takes it to the hilt every other night."

a visible shudder runs right down your spine, at his tone that bordered on a mocking cruelty, but served to only make you pulse in arousal, eliciting a deep rumble from his chest.

"that's…mean," you try.

clark involuntarily lets out a huff of laughter as he points out, "not what I felt."

before you're able to call him out for his behaviour all damn day, you feel his hands steady around your hips. stuttered, broken protests leave you when you're pulled back down by gravity, forcing your cunt to swallow at least an inch more of his length.

instantly, you go rigid, fingers knotted around the softer, tuft of hair on his chest. "a-ah, fuck! s-slower," you manage, all pitchy.

clark hums thoughtfully, tightening his glutes to counter your weight. most of the work was being done by him, at this rate, but he doesn't point it out.

you're trying your best to remain upright, a simple task that becomes impossible when he'd managed to slide halfway into you.

deep, shaky pants are pressed against his skin when you finally slump forward. hips tilted upward like a skittish cat, as you refuse to take him all the way in.

clark's heavy palm comes to rest at the back of your head, soothing at first, before you feel yourself tilt back a tad. there's no pain when his fisted hand interlock in your hair.

he leans in to press gentle kisses by the edge of your jawline, to your pulse, nipping at it just so he could hear your whiny hiss. beneath, you don't realise that his gestures have allowed you to loosen up your pelvic muscles, tremble in your thighs, easing off.

"deep breath f'me. hm?"

you blink hazily at his quick, muttered warning, not entirely registering it until the one swift thrust of his hips has you nearly electrocuted in shock. the feeling of his throbbing, hard cock is buried in you to the hilt. any fear of the sting quickly dissipated by the firm grip to the gloves of your ass.

he squeezes the fat there, as if to let your pussy marinate the slick arousal that had built for hours, before his slamming you down.

gurgled, incoherent words spill from you relentlessly at his blatant overtaking in fucking you for real this time. it was a foreign feeling to have felt so powerless while quite literally being on top, but the thoughts have far strayed.

clark's jaw is clenched, grinding on his molars in a futile effort to not spill and fill your womb deep with his spend. it's paired with his innate need to get you off first, which by the feel of it, wasn't too far off with how the base of his cock was slick and creamy from your arousal.

his hands then slide upward your ribs, thumbs skirting past the neglected tits he'd make a mental note to suck on plenty, later on in the tub.

"can feel it, pulsin' around me. gonna cum f'me?"

you tilt your head to whine into his ears, breathless string of yes-yes-yes's making sure he'd kept the same pace to roll his hips into you.

he tugs you, rough but decisive the moment you teeter on the precipice of your orgasm, welcoming the long, wanton pitchy gasps. clark grits, only speeding up more despite you attempting to pull back from overstimulation.

your pussy, now achy, and far too sensitive, is quickly quenched by the jet of hot, viscous cum spurting deep inside you. warmth coating your insides in steady, stuttered thrusts.