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Stupid Idea, Stupid Girl

clark luthor x fem!chubby!(psycho!)reader

Original asks <3 | AO3

Summary: Your husband wants a baby, and so do you. It's only the matter of how which complicates things.

Word count: 4.3k

Contains: smut. Earth-2 Clark Luthor!AU. Reader is dubious/somewhat psychopathic, and Clark is fairly sociopathic. Morbid descriptions of scientific conception methods. Competitive behavior, lying. Clark & reader have no regard for bodily autonomy, view having a baby as a game/prize for their own benefit. Truly freak4freak, they are so wrong and disturbed… It's hot. *fingering, piv (no foreplay just straight to business), bunny girl, breeding kink, dumbification/degradation, rough, heavy dom/sub.

A/N: this one is weird asf i hope you guys aren’t scared of me after… blame the requesters… also i barely proofed this so apologies for any typos LMFAOO. part of me loves this and hates this but we must be freaks and free

—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————

Clark had been sending messages your way recently– a bouquet of white roses, a new dress, champagne carts up to the penthouse, that sort of thing. Being raised into a family of doers-not-thinkers, you knew he was trying to get what he wanted without words. It could be arranged, you thought, but it would be on your terms. You weren’t some mindless trophy wife.

No, you were Ultraman’s wife, and that came with a lot of responsibility and demanded respect. You made a name for yourself within the family empire, securing a seat on the board of LuthorCorp and butting your way into Clark’s business of killing all day long. It was exhausting sometimes, being so secretive. Who wanted to skulk around as if it was a prison to be married to the most powerful man on Earth? You liked the privilege. It felt good after all those years spent working yourself to the bone in the shadows.

Clark liked what it did to you, too. He was crazy about your wild side. He found you took quite well to the culture– the Luthor way, that is.

You frequently tried slipping things into Lionel’s coffee– called it your midday business venture. You broke vases and threw silverware in the office when Clark picked fights. You took petty cash from Lex’s safe to buy yourself nice shoes. You bugged your own apartment to listen in on Clark, since you didn’t trust that Tess. You even kept a charm of gold kryptonite around your neck for when he got a little too rough with you in bed. That stone was meant to be a secret between you and him, but there was one night when afterwards he threatened to find another girl who didn’t complain so much about a soreness she begged for; you used the rock in your nightstand to scratch your initials into his ribcage while he slept. He had never seen anything more attractive in his life. You won him forever that night.

You learned many a trick after meeting the love of your life. Your background had something to do with it; being a LuthorCorp scientist who was recruited by Lionel to find new technological advances to kill Clark years back should have been an indication of your future motives. It’s not like no one knew where your loyalties lied– in yourself, of course, but with Clark too, more and more every day. You were a perfect match– he screamed, you screamed, he kissed, you kissed. Every day was bliss.

That was, until Clark planted the idea of a baby in your head with all those gifts. That was what they meant, right? What else would they be for?

Really, it wouldn’t be hard. You had manufactured a hormone treatment years ago by Lionel’s request when he was in that perverted cloning phase which, when injected into a female vessel, could strengthen their DNA and make it safe to carry a Kryptonian child to term. Before that, the subjects all died either before or during birth. The trick was getting it to appear invisible in the bloodstream– no sight, smell, taste, or sound could be detectable if it were to work. When Clark had participated in the experiment then, he didn’t need to be tricked. He knew that the aim was children. But if it was going to be your little secret, you had to keep it from him. His freakish biology could detect anything if you weren't clever about it.

It took months of testing, but you eventually were able to distill an inoculation serum. The proper mixture of green and red kryptonite crystals could be distilled into a solution that was colorless, odorless, and invisible to the Kryptonian eye. When injected by needle, it dissolved into the bloodstream and fortified a female’s cells, but it needed five rounds of inoculation before her DNA could alter and replicate for safe childbearing. The symptoms of the injections were similar to that of a period, and the waiting game took about four weeks between each– and so you used that as your excuse for any side effects of nausea, cramping, and irritability. With the increase in hormones, you could already be a terror, but the medicine made you worse. Clark didn’t mind one bit, though. He was adamant on liking your monthly tenacity. When you chucked things and got bitey, he was most infatuated.

Every gift made your eyes glitter, because it thrilled you to know Clark didn’t even realize he would get what he wanted, and soon. There had been many conversations about it while he was seated deep inside you at night; he would pin you down and promise one day there would be a worthwhile way to make a child, a beautiful thing with his powers and your everything else. He dreamed of it. Ever since Lionel shut down the cloning project, adamant that a lab-born heir would wreak havoc, Clark’s twisted heart realized just how badly he wanted a child of his own; someone to raise and teach his talents and pass on the Ultraman label someday– or Ultrawoman, he wasn’t a heathen. More than that, he wanted to give you something concrete. A testimony of his devotion, and a promise that his adulterous days were behind him. He knew how you worried so about his cheating– he’d stopped when he gave you a ring, honest. Girls had begun to annoy him anyways. Only you fascinated him anymore, and half of it was because you were a bit too unstable for him to continue predicting. You were perfectly unboring, and he hated to admit it, but he was growing up– he liked having one love. It was less complicated.

You already felt the difference. You had stopped bruising, for one. Clark was very concerned about this, because marking you was his greatest passion. Over the last few months, he would tear into your thighs and tummy, and in the morning would wake to find the purple prints gone, melting back into the flesh. You had no explanation other than a makeshift, “Maybe you’re just not that strong anymore.” That always resulted in him throwing you up against something and trying to make the marks stick, which you never minded. It didn’t hurt like it used to. You could handle him much better now. You almost never had to use the golden rock to remind him of pain anymore, either. But more than that, you were thicker. Both Lionel and Lex had many words on the matter, but Clark simply couldn't contain himself. You weren’t thin to begin with, but the linings of your body needed to be prepared to insulate an indestructible creature; you were plump as can be, and nothing made Clark happier. You wondered if maybe you’d just put on a few more pounds at the start, he would have been a good boy a long time ago.

You didn’t tell Clark about the serum because he was quite clear when he proposed. “Our marriage is our business. LuthorCorp won’t touch it, understood?” he said. By this, he of course meant to not let his father or brother use you against him, through money or other nefarious means. The Luthors enacted familial sabotage quite often, almost like sport, so it was a fair request. But he never expressly stated you could not use your own work, and so you took advantage of the loophole. Now you were a brand new woman, and you were dying to get Clark into bed and have that baby. A little Ultrakid would be the cutest toy.

You were not the only smart one in the marriage, unfortunately. Clark was just a different kind of smart. He had to be– he wasn't human. Plus, humans were so easy to figure out anyway.

The fact that you were on birth hormones was clear as day to the Kryptonian. You were the mother of the medicine, it was not like he didn’t expect it; especially on the days when you would come home and he could smell the fumes on your clothes, fumes that made him distinctly nauseous. Only one thing could do that. And you were a cunning thing, always quick to trick, even him. But he let you play your game, because he had a much better one in mind.

What Clark wanted was a baby, yes– but he wanted a human baby. Or, human at the start. He knew you could do it. In fact, he knew anybody could do it, because he was the one who had to change his DNA. If he used blue kryptonite, he could weaken himself long enough to give you a normal child, and that child would receive powers upon their first contact with the yellow sun. This way you could stay as you were, and you wouldn’t have to mess with all those chemicals. Taking supplements or treatments from LuthorCorp labs was not only an offense they could hang you out to dry for, but it also put you at risk for being tampered with. Lex or Lionel– or even Tess– could get a hold on your serum any time, and they could use it to hurt you and him. He learned everything from them, which meant he trusted them the least. He was not prepared to jeopardize you for something he could easily do alone.

So, he swapped your serums.

It was simple, really. The kryptonite birth hormones looked clear like saline, and because they didn’t have a scent, there was no way to tell. Every month when you started to lash out far worse than he was used to, he would follow you. Tail you to the labs where he’d watch through the wall as you prepared the serum. When you left it in the tumbler for distillment, he would swap it behind your back with a vial of saline, and when you injected yourself, you did so with a big fat needle of nothing. Every symptom you felt was a placebo response. The bruising? Clark wasn’t manhandling you, that was all. Not to mention, he had one of the scientists put shavings of blue kryptonite in your lipstick so he would have a good reason to be gentle.

Part of him felt a bit guilty for lying. Marriage was supposed to be when bad people got their shit together. But you were so cute when you were determined. You truly thought you were going behind his back and managing something extraordinary. You were going to trap him with an all-powerful baby, you knew it! It was precious, what dangerous lengths you would pursue to make him happy. He didn't know whether to praise you or call you an idiot.

But it didn’t matter much now, because your ‘trial’ was up, and you felt ready to conceive. So did he. So, he got to work.

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

You were on the dot. It was twelve days before your next anticipated period, you were hungry and horny and particularly homicidal (you had tried to hit Lex with your car two days prior), so all signs pointed to ovulation. When Clark came home that night to find you in the black slip he’d bought, posed cheekily on the bed, he knew he made the right choice. Nobody was a better choice than you in every sense of the word.

His suit came off in torn pieces, the fine shreds of violet silk and black wool fluttering to the floor. His tie threads pulled apart as he yanked it free. The man was on you within seconds, tasting the champagne on your lips and feeling ready to maul you, body buzzing with the thin weakness of blue kryptonite in his mouth.

“Ah,” you clicked your tongue, hooking your ankle around his. “How do you feel about no protection tonight?”

Clark smirked, heart flipping with anticipation. “Feeling careless, are we?”

“I just want you,” you purred, slipping fingers into his hair. “Want everything.”

A soft grunt escaped him before he shoved you down into the mattress and tore the slip clean off, destroying the shiny finish.

You yelped and flushed: “Hey! That was new!”

“Shut up,” he crooned, crawling over you to run his palms across your hips. “I bought it.”

“Baby,” you pouted, and the sight made his skin burn.

“I hate that name,” he growled, yanking your leg beneath the knee and flattening you on your back.

“Don’t be mean,” you sneered.

“You like it when I’m mean.”

Clark’s mouth attached to your neck as he cut to the chase. Sex with the adopted Luthor was never a careful affair, although it could last for many rounds. Nobody ever said he gave up easily. But Clark felt there was no use in foreplay, and you didn’t seem to mind. As long as you were stuffed one way or another, you were a happy woman. Clark made the usual move to plunge his fingers deep between the walls of your pulsing cunt, feeling out just how long you’ve been waiting for him to come home.

“Fuck,” you whined, hips instinctively bucking into his hand. “Clark!”

“What was that?” He simpered, leaving a teasing nip on your earlobe before spreading his fingers in a wide scissor, feeling you stretch to accommodate. “What’s my real name?”

“Clarkie,” you wheezed, lashes fluttering shut. A rosy pink dusted your cheeks, and he could tell that the blessing of a little alien was dancing behind those eyelids.

“That’s right, bunny. Big breath, oh, keep moving, honey, just like that… you want to make me a daddy, don’t you? S’that why you don’t want protection, bunny?” Clark grunted, pistoning his fingers inside you. “Stupid idea. Stupid girl.”

“Just wan’ your baby,” you gulped, face twisting as pleasure made your legs twitch.

“Yeah? Say it again,” he ordered, tongue tracing shapes along your collarbone. “Tell me what you want. Say it right or you won’t get a thing.”

“Want you to give me a baby, Clarkie,” you whimpered, trying to hook yourself on his hand and control the pace. He bit at the dip of your neck before forcing your hips down and knocking his knuckle against your clit as reprimand.

“Look at you. So pathetic,” he praised. “You’d look so pretty with a baby, bunny. Gonna give me a little litter, huh? Gonna be a good girl and give me what I want?”

Your head spun with the simplicity of the plan. It was working. Clark always got this way, all hungry for it and willing to provide. His dark eyes hung low as they peered up at you, and the belligerent thrusting between your legs was proof that he was worked up by your desire. The hormones were coursing through your veins, and you knew tonight was the night. Finally, all that hard work would pay off.

“Yeah,” you swore, breath hitching. “I will, I’ll be a good mama, I’ll make you a daddy, Clarkie!”

It was hard to say no. You were just so cute when you begged, and it barely took any work. It made him laugh, actually, because you could be such a fucking hardass about everything else. But two fingers did the trick, didn’t they? God, it was too easy.

Clark had no patience. With your lipstick prints sending ripples of weakness through his torso from the mouth down, he didn’t have the energy to muster any. He could literally feel the effects of the crystals on his cells. Clark used the strength he had– which was considerable, being well-crafted as he was– and pressed himself against you, the vee of his hips settling between your thighs. Your soft mouth parted as he dragged his cock through the slick of your cunt, smearing a mess he made within moments, before slotting himself inside like clockwork. It was a familiar feeling, but it never ceased to steal your wind.

Your back bowed on the mattress, eyes squeezing shut from the stretch. Those hormones were working overtime, because you felt like exploding on the spot. Something was new, something fresh about you– it was as if your body wanted this most. You could smell and taste everything. His sweat as it beaded on his forehead and chin– Clark never sweated. It was salty where it dripped on your tongue, where you lapped it up like a kitten. The low rumble of his grunts as he kept your knees pressed wide and drilled into you like a machine, in and out, lashes fluttering with your every clench. He was so vocal tonight, snarling and digging his fingers in, swearing you’d never felt so good.

“Christ, baby… God, what’s gotten into you, huh? Acting so crazy all the time, it’s driving me up a wall… you’re such a slut when you’re like this,” he rasped, hitching your hips closer with an arm beneath your tailbone, trying to graze the right angle. “Ah– fuck, there she is, let me hear you!”

You lurched at the brutal press of his tip somewhere deep inside, finding that little bundle of tissue that sent pins and needles down to your toes. He always found it, and it was slightly infuriating, because you could never reach it yourself. Fingers were too short, you always complained. Only Clark knew enough about your body to make it writhe, and he exploited that knowledge now, rubbing cruel circles into the rosy, swollen nub cresting your folds as he battered the sweet spot over, and over, and over…

“Tell me you love me,” he purred.

“Clarkie– mmf– love you!”

“You want a baby, honey? I can give you one– ngh– just say the word. Can fill you up right here, fill you ‘til you burst, make it hard to breathe,” Clark promised, pressing a greedy palm to the tub of your tummy, imagining the warmth to come. “Can feel how bad you need me, bunny. Such a slut, just begging for cum, aren’t you?”

You slipped your own palm down and he seized it, spanning it over the flesh and pushing down until you could feel the faint shadow of his cock pumping under all that skin. With unfocused eyes you twitched and fluttered, trembling with anticipation. That serum better fucking work, you thought, I need to keep him.

Clark smirked down at you as the sharp curves of his hips rocked against yours, practically reading your mind. The way you bucked and whimpered was not only adorable, but eager. You were anticipating it, waiting for his spend, praying it would take.

“Bad girl,” he tutted, sliding his free hand up to encircle your throat and squeeze. “You’d look so pretty, bunny, all round and soft. Such a pretty mama. You’ll make a perfect little baby for me, won’t you? Say it.”

Your shifting, blurring eyes could see the sparkle in his own. He wanted it, you knew he did. The pressure of his palm on your windpipe brought the stars down to you. “Yes!”

Clark’s stomach clenched at your breathless promise, and the way you clawed at his chest was growing impossible to ignore. You just felt so fucking good, so tight and warm, so ready in a way you hadn’t before. Maybe you were taking hormones. Maybe it’s possible, all that pseudoscience about the female body changing when it really wanted to be impregnated. Even worse, maybe he was changing. Getting softer, needier, weaker, and without the blue Kryptonite's help. Fuck, maybe you were doing this to him. Is this what love did? Made him lose his edge?

You couldn’t hold back the grin as Clark’s face began to twist up, a flood of exclamations falling from his lips as he pounded deeper, deep enough to make your body jolt. Oh, it was working, alright. Clark had never fucked you like this in his life– like he had something riding on it. Like it was more important than times before.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he panted, palm flexing on your throat. “Fuckin’ – mm– take it… Want me to fill you up, baby? Huh? S’that what you want?”

“Need it, Clarkie, please,” you croaked, aching with stimulation. “Gimme a baby! I’m ready!”

Clark shuddered, feeling the burning tide rushing inside his gut. He snapped as the pleasure wrenched his bones, plowing into you with renewed force as he spilled into the nest of your womb, moaning like it pained him to stop. You clung to his shoulders and milked it out of him, delirious with need, shuddering with every hot spurt settling inside.

Clark collapsed on top of you, the welcome weight of his body quite crushing. As you lay there, sweating and heaving, your cunt pulsed around his, thanking him for being so generous. Clark growled at the stimulation and bucked a few extra times, returning the favor. His heart was racing and his body was weak, and from the looks of it, you seemed like you could keep right on. He chuckled hoarsely, knowing you were on cloud nine. With his nose nestled in your skin, he caught a whiff of a certain sweetness that made his body tense.

“It worked,” he said.

Your stomach fluttered. “How do you know?”

Clark lifted his face from your chest and dealt a grin, one which only he was capable of creating, with all his snark and pride combined. His lips brushed yours. “I can smell it. You. You smell different already.”

Your eyes widened, and suddenly, you started gushing like a triumphant idiot. “I have a secret to tell you, Clarkie, but you’re gonna be mad!”

Clark tilted his knowing head. “Yeah? Spit it out, then, bunny.”

You giggled and clawed at his shoulders, wriggling a bit. He grunted from the feeling, still inside and showing no initiative to pull out. Your nails left pretty crescents in his shoulders. “I’ve been taking hormones,” you crooned, “so we could have a baby. For real.”

Clark stared down at you, and when his face didn’t melt into horror or anger, your brow furrowed in confusion. He then said, “No you haven’t.”

You pouted. “Yes I have!”

“No, you haven’t,” Clark murmured, burying his face back into your neck. God, he could get high on that smell. “I swapped the vials out. You’ve been extraordinarily hydrated, baby, but that’s it. Thought you felt it, didn’t you? Felt your body changing? None of it was real.”

You flushed firetruck red as the words reached your ears. Remnants of him sloshed inside you, and your body had no defense. You could die. You probably would die. Did he want you to die? “Clark–”

“Feeling pretty dumb, aren’t you, sweetheart? Tried to pull one over on me, my own wife– now that’s a ballsy move. And you thought I was going to let you get away with it.”

“I could’ve sworn… it… I… but– but what about– it’s dangerous–”

Clark snickered and nipped your jaw. “Don’t be stupid. I laced your lipstick.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Blue rock,” Clark chuckled, rubbing at his cheek and smearing a stain. “in the lipstick. Weakens me enough. That’s one human baby you’re growing, honey. You think I’d kill you over a baby?”

A grand rush of emotion overwhelmed you. First, you had thought you were smart enough to do something under his nose. You felt like a fool. Then, you grew angry, because how did he manage to figure you out and hide it for so long? The remorse came next, because suddenly every time he slept with you was a lie both ways, and that was no fit for a marriage– even a Luthor one. Clark tracked each emotion as they passed your face, and when he tried to get your attention with a snapping finger, you didn’t respond. He grabbed your hips and dragged his length between your walls again, thrusting back in, waiting for the pleasure to snap you out of it.

“You won’t ever outsmart me,” he whispered, listening greedily to the squelch of his spend spittling with every motion. “But I commend you for trying.”

Your head spun so fast you couldn’t even be irritated. “I– can’t–”

“Trying to trap me, hm? Trick me? You’re lucky I love you.”

“Clarkie…”

“Oh, shh, shh,” he patronized, stringing you out with slow thrusts and massaging the ache in your trembling thighs. “Don’t speak, bunny. Just take it. This is what you get for wanting my baby, bunny, and being stupid enough to lie about it.”

You squeaked when he shoved hard, and knew that he was only getting started. You blinked your hazy eyes open and swallowed thickly, smiling like an idiot. “What are we gonna name it?”

Clark’s fingers dug into your cheeks as he held your head in place, smiling with threatening teeth. “Don’t take the fun out of it just yet, honey. I’m not done fucking an apology out of you.”

“But you lied too!”

Clark hummed without remorse. “Yeah, but you like that, don’t you? You like losing to me.”

As he slipped a thumb into your mouth, hooking deep for purchase in the swell of an oncoming round, you nodded softly, heart pounding. Yes, you did. You loved losing. The only person in the world you would ever give in to was him and he knew it.

Clark leaned down to kiss your stuffed mouth, and in a soft breath, he whispered, “My smart, smart little idiot. Nice try, baby. Now open up and get ready to say sorry, yeah?”

You grinned and wrapped your legs around his hips, prepared to repent. A wandering finger traced the initials over his rib, which branded him in a way he had just branded back.

So, your plan didn’t work. So what? There was still the gender, the name, the birthday… you had ideas. And now that you knew Clark had a stake in the game, it would be twice as fun. What’s a competition if only you get to have any fun?

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