hey! it's jam • she/her • forever 25 • fanfiction writers deserved all of the reblogs ❤️ • I am just another reader who can't get enough sleep 😴😌 • trying not to be caffeinated all the time ☕
KENT: A Clark Kent Furniture-Breaking Collaboration Masterlist
Looking for quality furniture or durable equipment? Have no fear, KENT is here! We guarantee the quality of all of our pieces — trust us, only Superman could break it.
(Alternatively, Clark Kent breaks a lot of furniture items during sex)
Warnings: Minors do not interact. All stories are NSFW 18+. Please be sure to read the content warnings in each of our catalogue items prior to reading!
'Cause It's Insured — @theworstwolvie
⤷ on sale: dining table
Life with Clark Kent is usually full of simple domestic bliss - until things are hot and heavy and he breaks your dining room table, of course.
Spilled Milk — @tw1sters
⤷ on sale: kitchen counter
In a world where Superman never became a journalist, he crafts custom countertops for a living. His biggest challenge isn’t the work; it’s keeping his hands to himself around you long enough not to break what he’s trying to sell.
Under Pressure — @anon-188
⤷ on sale: bathtub
Clark can’t leave you alone—even when he really, really should. the pressure builds… and something has to give.
By a Thread — @pinksplace
⤷ on sale: executive desk
Clark Kent’s self control is a tenuous thing. It’s pulled tight inside of him, edges fraying from stress as years of want push at its seams. Just like the strap of your dress, it’s holding on by a thread.
Horsepower — @sparklingsin
⤷ on sale: lex luthor's ferrari
Tired of the parade of men falling at your feet at Lex Luthor's wedding and your silence from last night's fight, Clark decides to take you on a wild ride in his best friend's Ferrari.
Neighborly Favors — @thceseus
⤷ on sale: couch
Clark Kent is the perfect neighbor and the ultimate gentleman. Baking cookies, fixing stuff around your apartment, always there with his reliable smile. So who's he to say no when you ask him to help build your new couch and… break it???
Off the Books — @heldbybarnes
⤷ on sale: workout bench
Clark hires you off the books to help him control his strength in bed—because every partner before you has gotten hurt. You agree for the wrong reasons, pushing his limits on the workout bench until reinforced steel buckles and Clark loses control. He thinks you’re saving him. You’re really making yourself the one thing he can’t walk away from.
American Boy — @maiamore
⤷ on sale: copier/printer
Staying at work late to impress the new editor-in-chief proves to be something Clark Kent isn't equipped to handle.
One More Load — @kryptidfiles (TBD)
⤷ on sale: washer/dryer
"Sweetheart, unless completely irreparable: it stays." Newly moved into Clark’s apartment, you’re trying very hard not to let his shitty washer and dryer ruin the honeymoon phase. Then one more load comes out damp, wrinkled, and still holding a soggy sock hostage at the bottom, and you finally snap. Clark walks in on you all bare legs and bad attitude, and decides if he’s handling the laundry, he’s handling you too.
Sweet Stuff — @clarknsun (TBD)
⤷ on sale: porch swing
Going back to Smallville was supposed to be simple—visit his parents and keep them company for the weekend. Easy as pie, right? But when Clark comes face-to-face with a decade-old crush, a dinner at his ma's turns into bonding over apple pie, broken hearts, and a broken porch swing.
A very big shoutout to all my incredibly talented friends for participating in this brainrot collab. We're bringing our collective goon to the dash 💞
Special thank you to @unificsation and Pink (pinksplace) for helping me with the inspiration for the masterlist header and Ash (sparklingsin) for creating the lovely fic headers above!!!
Without further ado, we hope you enjoy all the stories in this collection. Please be sure to reblog, comment, and like if you've read and enjoyed the story! Us writers always adore seeing feedback wink wink!!!
꒰ ᡣ𐭩 ꒱ reader personas that i've created. their roles & tropes will be integrated into stories they feature in. this creates fun little dynamics. i'd really love requests for them, so feel free to ask, ie: 'sweetheart!reader x satoru gojo' along with your scenario. please note that while the pinterest boards feature some models, that is not a fixed appearance for reader.
໒꒱ ‧₊˚ sweetheart.ᐟreader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ doll.ᐟreader
⌇ the girl you die for ⌇ the girl you can't have
໒꒱ ‧₊˚ princess.ᐟreader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ darling.ᐟreader
⌇ the girl you care for ⌇ the girl you hate to love
“It’s not fair,” you sulk as you stare at Zayne’s god-like physique. Coming out of the shower with only a towel around his waist, water dripping down his chest and abs, he looks absolutely delici- delightful.
“What’s not fair?”
“You. You’re not fair,” you sigh and flop down face first on the bed.
“Darling, what’s wrong?” Zayne is slightly amused, but also slightly worried, unsure whether you’re being serious, playful or something else. It honestly could be all of the above, depending on your mood. It tends to be a little volatile around this time in your cycle, which he’s very aware of.
“Nothing,” you mumble, “just… how can you consume so much sugar, have a crazy work schedule, and still look so good??”
You feel the bed sink as he sits down beside you.
“You’re beautiful, sweetheart,” Zayne reassures as he squeezes your hand, “but I have a feeling that’s not the answer you need today.”
“No,” you sit up on your arms abruptly and turn to face him with desire in your eyes, tracing his body from the top to the little happy trail peeking out from the now loosely secured towel.
Your intent is as clear as day, and it earns you a little smirk.
“Take what you need, my love, you can do whatever you want to me,” he leans back as you dive right in with no hesitation, nuzzling his prominent bulge before unwrapping the prize.
Days like this make you wonder how you got so lucky, and which divine being you should thank for delivering you such a fine meal. Perhaps he’s the divine himself 😏
A/n: I’m attempting a 100 days of Zayne challenge! The goal is to post something about Zayne everyday - no min/max word count, and it can be about anything or with anyone as long as Zayne is involved. It’s all in good fun and I hope you’ll enjoy reading the posts as much as I’ll enjoy writing them ☺️
when the kamo clan sent you out for the assassination of 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈, you were warned of a few things.
he was incredibly fast, impossibly strong and fought with an intensity that shook the jujutsu world. a hulking, predatory, yet oddly intelligent freak of a man.
but you didn't expect this.
“mm what're they feedin' ya back at that clan? probably not good dick like this, huh?”
that scarred lip pulled back in a grin. you could barely bite back as a filthy grind on your cervix melted away all your curses. the only talking spluttered from your dripping pussy.
“fuck— fushig— hngh!” your thighs are wedged further up the wall, knees pinned beside your tits as his thrusts turn into a feral hammer.
the bastard leans in, grin sharper, eyes darker. “the name's toji, baby, won't you say it for me?”
his cock snapped into your gummy walls as it trying to engrave it's behemoth of a shape within you. a token for you to take back. ‘I didn't take out fushiguro toji but i sure as hell took him.’
“c'mon dollface, sing for me.”
his large palms squeezed on the backs of your knees and his hips committed to a sweltering rhythm. knocking up until your quivering slit took him all the way and cried around his hilt. all while he ground up into that devastating spot. slowly, roughly, until you left a perfect ring of cream around him.
“t-toj— toji,”
he grinned at your voice crack and bent over you. hooking your leg over his muscles shoulder so his forearm could slam beside your head. “there you go. sing it for me.”
before his wet slaps assaulted your clenching cunt until all you could was pitifully sob and dig your nails down his back. arch into the man you're supposed to be gutting.
but here he is. rearranging in your guts and husking to your ear all smug.
“think you're better suited for this. think you'd make a better whore than assassin, yeah? pretty pussy sure says so.”
the only person who can scare toji is his wife.... (toji x fem!chubby reader)
tojis scared of nobody, hes done a lot of scary shit in his life, and none of that has ever really bothered him the way you do when youre upset with him.
the worst part is that you never yell about it either, you just get quiet in this awful way that makes the whole apartment feel wrong while he sits there trying to figure out exactly how badly he fucked up this time.
right now hes slouched at the kitchen counter watching you cook dinner in complete silence after finding out he lied about where he was last night, and for maybe the first time in years, toji genuinely feels nervous.
not because he cheated, because christ no, he'd rather die. he just told you he was out working when really he had been wasting half the night at the track with the guys, throwing away money and stumbling home at three in the morning smelling like cigarettes and beer.
now youre upset for real.
you stand at the stove stirring something slowly without looking at him even once.
"..baby." he tries carefully.
you dont answer him at all, dont even glance in his direction, and toji immediately shifts in his seat while his rough hand drags down his jaw as he watches your back like hes trying to predict incoming danger.
"dont start that quiet shit...come on."
you keep stirring the pot like he didnt speak, and somehow that gets to him worse than yelling ever could because now hes just sitting there alone with his own stupidity banging in his head.
he scrubs a hand down his face hard enough to pull at his skin before trying again.
"…i said m'sorry."
you finally look at him over your shoulder, calm and unreadable, and toji straightens immediately like somebody pointed a loaded gun at him.
"alright, nah." he says quickly, sitting up properly now. "quit lookin' at me like that, shits makin me nervous."
you turn back toward the stove without answering, and the genuinely distressed look on his face would almost be funny if you werent still irritated with him.
"baby," he tries again, something almost pleading sitting underneath his voice. "i know i shoulda called. i know that. wasnt thinkin straight."
you stay silent long enough that he finally pushes himself out of the chair and walks toward you carefully, slower than a man his size usually moves, like he knows one wrong move might make everything worse. his hands hover near your waist for a second before finally settling there, fingers digging into the generous flesh, warm and cautious while he leans down toward your shoulder.
"dont stay mad at me," he mutters quietly. "hate when youre mad at me."
you stay quiet just long enough for panic to start creeping back into his expression before finally sighing, one tired little sigh leaving you while you keep stirring dinner. did you calm down yet?
the relief flashes over him instantly, and thats when your nails dig into the back of his hand immediately.
"If you lie to me again," you say, grip tightening on his hand. "I'll smother you in your sleep."
tojis entire face drops so fast its almost impressive. his brows pull together while he slowly lifts his head from your shoulder to stare at the side of your face like hes trying to figure out whether youre serious or not.
"Im expecting a manipedi this week," you continue flatly, turning back toward the stove like this is all perfectly reasonable.
"you taxin' me now?" he asks
"and you better go earn that wasted money back right now." you say, menacing. "or gold help me ill bang you in the face."
tojis mouth opens, then shuts again immediately when your nails dig harder into his skin. he squints at you suspiciously while you finally let go of his hand and turn toward him fully.
"chop chop, boy." you say.
"the hell you just call me?" he asks
you grab the front of his shirt before he can keep complaining, tugging him down just enough to press a soft kiss against his cheek. and then you pull back slightly, look him dead in the eyes, and say very quietly.
6. Forehead kisses with Caleb while he pumps you full of his cum.
Check out the rest of my Horny thoughts list here.
Everything about this restaurant gleamed under soft golden lights, from the polished silverware to the spotless wine glasses on the table. The portions were small enough that Caleb spent most of dinner complaining about them.
"I'm serious," he said, eyeing the plate in front of him. "This can't be the entire meal. I've seen larger appetizers at gas stations."
"Baby, you already finished the bread basket."
Caleb shot you an offended look before cutting into his steak again. He'd finally stopped grumbling about the menu and settled into actually eating, looking far more relaxed than he had when you'd first arrived. His tie was loosened slightly, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, and for the first time all evening he seemed content to sit back and enjoy himself.
Which, in hindsight, was probably why your timing was so terrible.
You watched him take another bite before the thought that had been circling your head for weeks slipped out before you could overthink it.
"I want to stop using condoms."
His reaction was immediate.
The fork slipped from his hand and struck the edge of his plate with a loud metallic clang. A streak of dark sauce splattered across the front of his shirt as he coughed violently.
A waiter froze halfway across the room.
An elderly woman nearby nearly choked on her wine.
For a few horrible seconds, the only sound in the restaurant was Caleb trying not to die.
You covered your face. "Oh my God."
"Would you like to repeat that?"
"Maybe after you recover."
Caleb looked down at the stain spreading across his expensive shirt and then back at you, disbelief written all over his face.
"Do you know how many opportunities you had to bring this up today?"
"No?"
"There was breakfast," he continued. "There was lunch. There was the drive here. There was the entire first half of dinner, and you waited until I had my mouth full of food?."
"I didn't plan it."
"You looked across this table, saw me actively chewing, and thought, yes, this seems like the ideal moment for a life changing conversation."
The more serious he tried to sound, the harder it became not to laugh. His composure wasn't holding up much better, a faint flush had climbed all the way to the tips of his ears, and every time he glanced at you it got worse.
"You're serious." It wasn't a question.
You nodded.
"You've thought about it."
"A lot."
His shoulders eased and something in his expression softened so completely it made your chest ache.
"This is embarrassing to admit now, but I actually had a whole conversation planned for this."
Your eyes widened. "A conversation?"
"A very good one. It had structure..."
"Oh no."
"It had bullet points."
You burst out laughing while he groaned and dropped his head into one hand. "Don't laugh."
"You made bullet points?"
His smile finally broke through and the sight of it made your laughter fade into something gentler.
"You're telling me you see a future with me and that's more than enough for me right now"
Silence stretched comfortably between you until a waiter appeared beside the table carrying a clean napkin.
The man glanced at Caleb's stained shirt, then at the two of you holding hands, clearly unsure of what he'd interrupted.
"Sir," he said cautiously, "would you like some assistance with the stain?"
Caleb looked down at the mess on his shirt again, looked back at you, and let out a long sigh.
"Do you have anything for emotional shock?"
🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞
Caleb was the kind of man who brought home the exact chocolates you liked from the store near the station, who tucked your stray hairs behind your ear with a thumb so gentle it felt like an apology. He loved you with the cleanest, lightest parts of his soul.
But that Caleb stayed outside when your front door thudded shut behind you.
The man who moved you against the wall was heavier. Darker. His hands locked onto your hips with bruising leverage that shoved your lower back flush against the plaster. His breathing was uneven, smelling of the dry red wine he’d barely touched before you threw that sentence across the restaurant table.
"You don't get to say things like that out there" your knees shook, the silk of your dress bunching up around your thighs as his fingers tore at the fabric "You don't get to put those images in my head while I'm trapped in a room full of strangers and then expect me to hold back." you were trembling, and he looked down at the tremor in your thighs with cold satisfaction. A quieter shadow had taken him over—the part of him that didn't know how to possess you without wanting to ruin you. He’d been holding that part back for years, keeping it chained behind soft words and careful boundaries.
Now, the chain was gone.
He dropped his trousers, hooked his forearm under your left knee, hoisting your leg high over his hip, and drove himself inside you.
The entry was dry enough to sting, a stretching heat that caught the breath in your throat. You let out a small, fractured sound, your fingers clawing at the rough wool of his jacket, looking for the Caleb who always asked if you were okay.
This version didn't ask. He gripped the back of your skull, his fingers tangling in your hair to hold your head still, and buried his mouth over yours to catch the noises you were making. He tasted like wine and years of starvation.
His hips slammed forward in a brutal rhythm that used the wall behind you as support. Every time he went deep, the heel of his palm pressed harder into your hip bone, keeping you pinned, making sure you took the full length of his cock.
"Look at you," he rasped against your lips, his teeth grazing the tip of your tongue before he pulled back just far enough to look into your eyes. "Taking my cock so well"
He lifted your other leg until you were entirely dependent on his strength to stay off the floor. The tip of his dick, in one unyielding thrust that went past the usual limits, pushed hard against your cervix.
"Caleb—wait," you cried out, your fingers tearing two buttons from his shirt as your head banged lightly against the plaster. " 'S too deep, baby. Ah, god..."
"How do you expect me to breed this tight little pussy, uh?" he leaned his full weight into you, pinning you immovably against the wall as his breath came hot against your ear. "I need to reach that spot so it takes."
To prove his point, he withdrew slowly, leaving you empty before bottoming out inside you again, harder this time. "Take it," he whispered, burying his face into the crook of your neck where he bit the soft skin over your collarbone. "Stay right here and take it."
He was turning your thighs into a collection of dark, finger shaped bruises as his control fractured under the tight clenches of your body.
The weight of his body, combined with the deep thrusts of his cock against your womb, broke something open inside you. Your walls spasmed, clamping down on him with an involuntary tightness.
That tight clench broke him. He let out a ragged groan, thrusting into you so hard the frame of the hallway mirror rattled. His whole body going rigid as he started to come.
But while his lower body held you trapped his hands softened. His fingers moved to cradle your face and he pressed his lips to your forehead.
The kiss was remarkably soft, tender and lingering— just the way he kissed you when you wake up on Sunday mornings. Below your waist, he was ruining you, his cock twitching and pumping you full of his cum. Against your skin, his lips were gentle, brushing over your damp hairline while he whispered "You're going to hold every single drop of me inside you tonight..."
He pressed another soft kiss between your eyebrows, his chest heaving as the final pulses shuddered through him "Think I can get you pregnant by morning?"
“I’m sorry, love,” Zayne apologises the moment you walk into the kitchen, one of his hands covered with the evidence of his crime, “they smelt so good and I…”
He falters a little and looks to the side, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. You stare at the half-empty tray of freshly baked cookies that you left cooling on the counter.
Then you burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“That was quick,” you remark once you manage to catch your breath.
“I’ll help you make another batch,” he offers, still unwilling to meet your eyes.
“And add in double the amount of sugar? I think not,” you giggle and walk around the counter to stand in front of him.
You reach up to clean the crumbs off the corner of his mouth with your fingers, finally catching his attention, before playfully sucking your fingers clean, enjoying how his blush deepens, and the change in his gaze.
Zayne cups his clean hand around your chin and tilts your face up, kissing you deeply. You taste the deliciously sweet creamy chocolatey goodness around his tongue, mixed with the mints he normally consumes.
“Mmm, yummy,” you sigh contentedly, “much better than cookies.”
He hums in agreement, “there are many kinds of sweets,” he plants another kiss, sucking your lips gently, “but my favourite is right in front of me.”
A/n: I’m attempting a 100 days of Zayne challenge! The goal is to post something about Zayne everyday - no min/max word count, and it can be about anything or with anyone as long as Zayne is involved. It’s all in good fun and I hope you’ll enjoy reading the posts as much as I’ll enjoy writing them ☺️
“the cut isn’t at risk for tetanus. However,” he releases your thumb with a quiet exhale. “it does suggest I should dull the knives at home.”
zayne opens a drawer to retrieve a fresh bandage, and wraps it neatly over your wounded finger. The cut is small but gnarly. you’d mishandled the knife.
“sit here while I prepare it. One can never be too cautious.” He turns around. “refrain from touching anything sharp without my supervision.” You see his cheek lift. You’d roll your eyes had you not been nervous.
okay. it's not like you were going to bolt. You just… need to face it properly.
“i’ll take the shot,” you say quickly. “but it’s not the needle. it’s the anticipation. I tense up and it hurts more than it needs to.” you grimace at the reminiscence.
“what if,” you continue, warming to the idea, “we pavlov my brain to associate injections with something… good. an amazing, earthshattering-ly good feeling."
he follows through the first half of your proposal. the next half just earns an exasperated sigh and a pinch to the bridge of his nose as he mumbles an "...alright."
--
you're straddling zayne, softly grinding against him as his tongue sweeps over you bottom lip before you suck it back into your mouth. "where would you like to take the shot?" he asks, pulling away.
"i have options?" you grip his chin to pull him back against your lips. his hand comes up to your arm, kneading the flesh of your upper arm.
"here..." his other hand glides down, tracing the curve of your waist to settle on the side of your hip. "or here?"
"not the arm," you decide. "i can see it."
"alright then. turn around." a small smile forms on zayne's lips.
--
his hard cock slips between your folds. you rub your slick clit against it, making a mess all over his pretty pink tip, both your juices mingling together.
his lips are on the back of your neck and hands kneading your tits. you twist to grant him access, hooking an arm around his neck to bring your nipple to his mouth.
"zayneee..." he eagerly sucks it in. deep, slow suckles make your toes curl. "i'm putting it in." you tell him. your cunt flutters at the mere thought of him filling you up.
"as you please,"
you finally plug yourself full of his dick, making him groan. he releases your nipple and leans back.
his hands find your waist, grinding up into your gooey walls that so eagerly pulsate to suck him in deeper, making him reach the puffy rim of your womb. "you keep-mmhh-pulling me in you." he sighs.
his palm flattens on your back, pushing you to lean forward, arching on his cock. your fingers come to your clit, tickling it gently, coaxing your cunt to spasm happily around his thick length.
behind you, plastic tears. a thrill shoots down your spine. your clit jumps under your fingers.
"nghh-my love," he groans. "are you certain you're afraid and not aroused by this?"
zayne grips your hips, stilling your movements. "stay still, now." his voice is lowered to a gentle whisper.
the sultry words distract you from the sharp smell of antiseptic and the cold rub of cotton. you almost cum there and then. god. are you really enjoying this?
"you're tightening. am i to assume these are merely your nerves acting up?" he murmurs, caressing your back gently while your finger works your sensitive clit. you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from grinding on his cock that twitches inside you. the stretch is maddening. you can feel him so dee-
a sharp biting pain blooms in your side, making you bite back a whimper.
"there… keep rubbing your clit. you're close, aren't you?" zayne pulls your thoughts away from the needle. yes, goodness, yes you're so wonderfully close. your finger rubs tighter, insistent circles on that nub. just a little more and you-
the pain dissolves into static as you reach your high, clamping down on him as you ride the wave of your orgasm with a silent scream.
part 1 of the FOR SCIENCE series
once he disposes of the syringe, you tug him back to bed. "did you think i'd let you go without finishing?"
“Let’s go at your pace today,” you say as you stretch your arms and legs while taking several deep breaths of the crisp pre-dawn air.
Zayne stops mid-stretch and raises an eyebrow at you, “my pace?”
“Yup, your pace!” you reply enthusiastically, grinning at his slightly confused expression.
“Sweetheart, I know you’re fast but my pace would be equivalent to your sprint, it’s not feasible for the long distance we’re attempting today.”
“I’ll be fine,” you look around the area and spot your target, “give me a moment, I’ll be right back!”
You dash off to the parking area for rental bicycles and swiftly unlock one, riding it back to Zayne with a triumphant smile.
“Let’s go!” you ring your bicycle bell and zoom off, leaving Zayne to catch up to you.
“I thought we were going at my pace?” he shakes his head in mild amusement before easily catching up to you.
Zayne, the champion marathon runner, is definitely not to be underestimated 🤭
A/n: I’m attempting a 100 days of Zayne challenge! The goal is to post something about Zayne everyday - no min/max word count, and it can be about anything or with anyone as long as Zayne is involved. It’s all in good fun and I hope you’ll enjoy reading the posts as much as I’ll enjoy writing them ☺️
It’s midnight, of course, and he just can’t get back to sleep. Not while the thought of chocolate cake haunts him. There’s some in the fridge, some that you have specifically told him to wait until tomorrow to eat.
Apparently he’d already had too much sugar today. But it’s 10 minutes past midnight, so it’s technically tomorrow.
He takes atleast 15 minutes to slip out of your embrace, not wanting to wake you. Mostly to avoid the lecture, but also because he would hate to ruin your sleep.
Or share his cake.
He manages the feat of heading downstairs and pulling the cake from the fridge in total silence. But after barely two bites, he hears it.
“Ahhh…” He glances down, spotting your toddler still in her pyjamas, hair messy from sleep, with her mouth open waiting to be fed.
She’s definitely his daughter.
“Hi sweetheart. Shouldn’t you be in bed?” He picks her up, smoothing some hair out of her eyes. Still not much of a talker, her mouth stays open, repeating the quiet “Ahh” and glancing at the cake on the counter.
“Just one bite, okay? Then you have to brush your teeth and go back to bed. We wouldn’t want to wake mommy, right?”
“It’s a little late for that.”
Zayne does his best to not look guilty, but you clearly see right through him, shaking your head as if you knew this would happen.
“Give her a bite, the poor thing. She got the sugar cravings from you.”
“Right. And what exactly did you come down here for?”
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.
…okay so what if the problem with the taomeba never happened on the way back home. What if the radiation never got onto the Blip-A. What if Rocky ended up back on Erid, and Grace made it back to Earth. What if they missed each other desperately forever.
What if Grace made a lopsided crochet Rocky and cuddled it every night.
What if Rocky couldn’t stop making xenonite puppets of his alien friend.
What if I made myself cry, what about that? Huh? What then?
The confused frown on your face triggers a slight frown on his as well, as Tendō’s words echo in his head: ‘You know, Waka-kun, you have to make yourself clear. But don't be too straight—you can sort of come off as rude sometimes, so be really careful.’
“My apologies. That must have been rude of me. Assuming the gender of your partner. Please allow me to rephrase that. Do you have someone you're in a relationship with? Or someone you like?”
You stare straight at his unblinking face from across the table. The notebooks and textbooks you two were working on are still spread open on the desk. You both even have your pens in hand, having previously been writing in the quiet space of the library. At least, that was before he dropped that question just like that. Without a single warm-up. He suddenly raised his olive-colored eyes to you across the table, fixing those unblinking, intimidating eyes on you as he patiently waited for your response.
“What?” is the only thing that can come out of your lips again.
The frown on his face gets deeper.
‘I don't believe I said it wrong the second time. Could it be that she simply doesn't understand?’
“I mean someone you're dating—” he quietly offers further explanation, until you interrupt him, raising your palm into the air.
“I know what you mean, Ushijima. I just don't know why you're suddenly asking me that question while we're having a lesson.”
“Ah, I see. I should have waited until after the lesson was over,” he agrees, nodding his head understandingly while you seriously shake yours.
“No. That's not what I…” You let out a soft sigh before bringing your raised hand to your forehead, resting your elbow on the surface of the table as you slowly massage your temple.
It isn't the first time you are tutoring a fellow student at Shiratorizawa, but it is definitely the first time you have been this stressed out by a single student. Just one.
A third-year student at Shiratorizawa Academy, captain of the boys’ volleyball team, wing spiker, team ace, number one in the Miyagi prefecture, and ranked among the country's top three aces: Wakatoshi Ushijima.
The boy who your homeroom teacher specifically requested you to consider tutoring, just to keep him from falling behind in his academics while he continues rising in his sport.
That was fine and all, but tutoring Ushijima proved to be far more difficult than you thought. It isn't actually about the material—he is a good student who catches on to things quickly and always tries to clarify what he doesn't understand. They are all good qualities every tutor looks for.
But skipping past his intimidating aura and impressive reputation, there is also his communication style. It is… blunt, direct, rough, and straight to the point. Sometimes, it's just hard to take.
Take, for example, the day you first met. Not even five minutes in, he laid out his demands: “If after today's lesson you don't prove to be capable enough to guide me, I'll be letting the teacher know I require a replacement. I don't need someone who will waste my time.”
‘How rude,’ you had thought back then, mere seconds after you introduced yourselves. And now? He's asking if you're seeing someone? To say you think he's weird would be a massive understatement.
“No, Ushijima. I don't have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or anyone I'm dating.”
He silently nods his head as he watches you get back to your notes, then returns to his as well.
‘That’s good.' he remarks internally, before Tendō pops up in his thoughts again: ‘But Waka-kun, wouldn't it be funny though if she had someone she likes? Hahahaha.’
His lips curl into a tight frown.
‘That would be very inconvenient.’
He lifts his head back up, but gets interrupted before he can even speak. You didn't even take your eyes off your notes. It is like you can see him without even looking.
“No. I don't have anyone in particular that I like either.”
“I see…” he responds.
You don't raise your head, but your eyes flicker to his side of the table as he returns to his books.
‘That must be all of his questions.’
Your eyes return to your own page, but you pause, staring at the lines, entirely unaware of where exactly you stopped thanks to the tall distraction sitting across from you.
Suddenly, he drops an even more surprising question that snaps your head straight back up.
“Then, would you like to become my girlfriend?”
A long, heavy silence passes between the two of you. His olive eyes remain unflinching as he patiently awaits your response. He is obviously dead serious.
“What?”
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