part 1 here :p cuz I promise if u don't read it you won't understand a THING
clark kent feels weird, today.
like, really weird.
this morning when he woke up, he felt like he was having a heat stroke. his skin was buzzing and uncharacteristically warm, but he just brushed it off thinking it was his kryptonian body acting up again.
well, he wasn't wrong.
at work, everything felt worse. he felt intensely disoriented, his head buzzing and spinning endlessly. he had trouble controlling his strength, accidentally shattering his coffee mug or even unwilling snapping his keyboard in half.
but everything got worse when he sensed you.
not saw, sensed.
it was unusual, truly. he spotted your body heat among others, could only focus on your voice, and damn, since when does your skirt hug your butt like that? he quickly shook his head to escape those nasty thoughts but, in vain. it was like his entire body—the codex itself—was forcing him to focus on you. every thought in his head were of you, you, you.
but that was before you interacted with him, before you even laid your eyes on him.
when you did, everything spiked.
as soon as he saw those pretty eyes bore into his, he felt the heat in his chest spread out throughout his entire body. he shifted uncomfortably because of the raging boner he had and licked his lips in what seemed to be dehydration.
and his mind recognized it, recognized you—the groove of your walk, the sound your thighs rubbing together with each step, the familiar beating of your heart, and if he listened close enough, he could even hear the sound of your pussy lips–
"hey, clark," you waved at him and he stopped breathing, clenching his jaw tightly to conceal the ungodly sound that was currently clawing at his lips, ready to escape.
you noticed something was wrong with your beloved, and set a hand on his chest. his usually rock solid skin felt softer and incredibly warmer. when you moved to the right, you could feel his larger heart beating atleast ten times faster than it usually would.
"what's wron..." you trailed off when he grabbed your hand—tightly—and gave you a crooked smile as his eyebrows bent and pinched together. "p-please, dear, go away b-before i–" another spark of heat, "j-just go." and with that, he let you go, disappearing into the men's bathroom and leaving you there, confused and concerned.
it was only hours later, in the evening, that you saw clark again.
you were simply getting up to reheat your food before something—someone—crashed through your living room wall, knocking you down with it.
a strong hand wrapped around your head before you could knock it on the ground and before you knew it, a very familiar pair of lips came locking onto yours, kissing you deeply into his palm.
he pulled away to give you a moment to breath as he dipped down into you neck, licking and sucking. "c-clark what has... what has gotten into you?" you barely manage to breath, the dust and smoke of the broken wall was making it hard to inhale (and see clark at all), aswell as the weight of his body on yours.
"i don't- I dunno, I..." he kept licking your skin like a dog, your taste giving him some kind of sexual gratification. "all day I've been... my body felt so... so freakin' warm and just– I felt like all I needed was you... I couldn't even focus on anything i kept..." he was curiously out of breath, like the effort of simply speaking to you while holding back the urge to fuck your brains out was too much for him.
"...I kept smelling you and- and hearing you... and– jesus, I just.. want you so bad, darlin'.." he licked his way back up to your lips, nibbling on your bottom one softly. "clark," you finally managed to say, the dust settling. "tell me what you need." your hair ran up his back and into his hair, scratching his scalp which nearly made his eyes roll back.
"you. I need you, c-can I have you? please?" and the way he's just asking makes you want to give him everything he could ever ask for.
so you do.
as soon as you let out a soft "yes," he became a totally different kryptonian.
and that's how you ended up with your back arching away from the dining table, shoulders pressed against the cold surface by clark himself to keep you from slipping away at each mean thrust of his hips.
it's been, what, 4 orgasms? neither of you knew and honestly, neither of you cared—matter of fact, you both stopped caring when he finished inside for the first time and it happened.
the hooks.
"i- I wanna..." he swallows sharply, "I wanna feel it again, d-dont you, sweet thing? i-it felt so good, right? right." the both of you nodded dumbly at eachother and he smiled, terrifyingly so.
clark kent looked feral. his eyes were as hectic as his hands, moving everywhere. he wanted to see you, to feel you, to give in to you. he was inside you and yet he wanted more. he wanted you to be his—more than you already were.
"stuffin' you full so that- oh, god, yes— so that you can carry my kids... so that everyone will know you're– m-mine... mine, mine." he squeezed your breast, his gaze zeroing onto the oddly shaped (thanks to his buds) bulge on your stomach before his hand followed, caressing his cock through your skin and twitching every time the buds were stimulated.
it felt perfect, truly. he felt like you were made for him. the gummy texture of your walls fit perfectly with his buds as each of them grazed the crevices of your rugae every time his hips bumped into yours.
"c-clark, I don't... I'm gonna— i- i cant-" he presses down onto the bulge which makes you scream, "y-yes you can, baby, please- one more, just one more- i– please, sweetie, gosh, I love you so much!" his speech quickly became incoherent—a sign of his impending orgasm.
another tell-tale sign is, of course, the hardening of his buds. they were so strong that they halted his movement, burying him deep inside you while hooking onto your ridges. "o-oh my god–" you gasped, feeling the vein on his cock rubbing against your g-spot. "t-too much– I'm- I'm too full, clark!" and he shakes his head, chuckling lowly.
"n-no you're not baby! i-i can see it! you still... you can still handle more..." he starts to look more and more pained with each word, his body aching for release. "p-please.. pleasepleaseplease–- take it, baby, take it... please, it hurts... y-you're gonna be good f'me right? gonna be good and take it?" fuck, it was intoxicating. everything was. his speech, his smell, the feeling of his alien dick literally hooking inside you to cum deep in your womb...
"please..." was all you could mutter, but he understood. his body understood.
his release was cataclysmic. the buds settled slightly deeper into your crevices, allowing him to shoot into you with bullseye precision. "h-holy– oh my‐" he couldn't even speak. his breath came out in short pants and he looked up, as if begging some higher being to release him from this seemingly everlasting ache.
upon feeling his warm cum painting your insides, and hearing him mumble "g'nna make you a mommy... you're gonna look s-so pretty with my– hhnnng... my kid inside y-youu...", you orgasmed aswell. you walls clenched and rubbed against the now soft buds on his dick, pressing down onto his shaft which has his stomach clenching and caving, almost folding the kryptonian in half.
in the midst of it all, you swear you saw his eyes glow red for a moment, but he quickly blinked that away. his eyes flickered back to your face, and then back to you pelvis, before he threw his head back again with a groan.
"y-you're... shoot.." he's barely catching his breath, "you're not... full enough.." and he resumes his thrusting which makes you give up on looking at him, eyes lazily rolling back.
your entire body relaxed and went limp, allowing him to use you as he pleased.
"wanna make you a mommy... and you're not full enough."
the fanfics of clark getting off from being a giver ohh my gosh. And its so in character too because hes so sweet and just wants to make you feel good im sick
oh and waking up to clark’s massive warm body in your bed on a rainy fall morning would be healing. he’s probably half hard, sleepy warm, and fucking glowing. you might reach down to stroke over his cock a few times, just to see if he’ll wake up. you can hear the patter of rain outside your window, making your movements slower, lazier.
you think about getting your mouth on the head of that pretty cock in your hand, but you’re a little selfish and clark is so, so pretty like this. dark curls messy, lashes fanned out across his pink cheeks, muscles relaxed but solid. maybe you get your leg around his hip and kiss him slowly until he’s awake enough for you to wrap your body around his and get his cock inside you. clark would groan and gasp and moan so softly while you rock your hips on him.
maybe he can’t help himself and gets a hand on your full breast while licking into your mouth. maybe you whisper something about how full you feel and clark practically whimpers from the semblance of praise. perhaps that drives you further, your mouth moving only to kiss him or murmur into his ear that he’s “so good”, “such a good boy”, “got such a big cock”, “making this pussy so messy”.
clark probably gets a hand between your bodies to play with your puffy clit while he’s almost in tears from how tight you are and how much you’re praising him. maybe when you clench around him, he loses it and starts to thrust into you wildly while you wrap your body around him even more, clutching at his skin desperately. when you come clark probably fucks into you harder than before and whispers how sorry he is that he’s going so hard, but he “needs you so bad” and “your pussy’s so tight and warm”. he can’t help himself when he spills deep inside you and keeps fucking his own mess back into you until you come again.
maybe afterward, he stays inside you while you watch the rain fall outside your window, watch the wind sweep the red and orange leaves around in flurries. clark probably kisses your temple and tells you how much he loves you, loves waking up beside you.
mdni !! sfw + nsfw // softdom!clark kent x brat!reader :: spankings, hair pulling, praise, vibrator use, fem!reader light, bondage, a dissapointed clark… just walk with me okay…
𑣲 . . . before clark ever put his hands on you, he’d already learned that you thrived on pushing buttons. you’d tug his glasses off when he was mid-sentence, toss them onto the couch with a grin, and tilt your head like you were waiting for him to lose it. he never snapped, never raised his voice. instead, he’d slide them back on with a sigh, brushing your chin with his knuckle, and murmur, “you keep acting like that, sweetheart, and i’ll make sure you’re sore by the end of the night.” the warning always hit harder than if he had barked at you, because it wasn’t anger—it was certainty. he’d follow through.
𑣲 . . . at night, when he caught you squirming away from bedtime, your voice would lift in a pouty whine“five more minutes, clark, pleeease”, and you’d curl into the couch like a cat refusing to be moved. his lips would twitch like he was fighting a smile, but his words stayed even. “baby, you know i’m just gonna carry you upstairs. don’t make me chase you.” you’d squeal and bolt anyway, just to hear him laugh low as he caught you in seconds, tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.
𑣲 . . . your brattiness didn’t end there, you’d climb into his lap, scatter kisses across his jaw, try to buy yourself out of trouble with sweetness. you’d coo, “but you’re so handsome when you’re stern, clark. doesn’t it feel good to be adored?” and his hands would tighten at your waist, his mouth brushing your ear as he whispered, “you think kisses are gonna make me forget the way you mouthed off earlier? nice try, princess. now you’re in deeper trouble.”
𑣲 . . . when you pushed too far, when the brat in you clawed all the way to the surface, clark’s patience unraveled in quiet, devastating ways. your legs would be over his lap before you even realized he’d moved you, his massive palm coming down hard against the curve of your ass, the sound ringing through the room. he’d spank you slow, deliberate, and talk you through each sting; “you’ve got such a pretty mouth, but all it does is get you punished… how many will it take before you remember who you belong to?” your face would burn, your eyes glassy, but he wouldn’t stop until your defiance melted into whimpers and apologies.
𑣲 . . . and he always knew when to cut you off from his praise. you’d sass him, roll your hips when he told you to stay still, and he’d murmur, “no, not this time. you don’t get to hear how good you are until you earn it back.” it gutted you every time, because clark’s praise was your lifeline, the soft “that’s my girl,” the warm “look at you, so perfect for me.” without it, you were lost, desperate to behave just to coax it back out of him.
𑣲 . . . when words weren’t enough to tame you, he’d go to his tie drawer. wrists bound above your head in silky restraint, your body trembling as the hum of a vibrator pressed to your clit, clark’s voice poured over you like honey even as he punished you. “you wanted to mouth off? then you’ll cum until you can’t even think about talking back again. that’s how this works, sweetheart.” he’d hold it there while you sobbed and writhed, kissing your cheeks tenderly through each wave, whispering, “just one more, baby, you can give me one more.”
𑣲 . . . the worst, though, was when he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said quietly, “i thought you could be better for me tonight.” he didn’t need to spank you then. the disappointment cracked you open faster than pain ever could, leaving you scrambling to beg, to please, to prove that you could still be his good girl.
you’d tossed his glasses to the floor with a grin, leaning back against the headboard like you wanted to see what it would take for clark kent to snap. “what are you gonna do about it, hmm? can’t be mad at me forever, clarkie.”
he’d gone still. not angry. just quiet.
then his tie was off, your wrists were pinned above your head, and his voice was low, almost unbearably calm. “upstairs. you’ve had your fun.”
you writhed, tugging at the silk, smirking even as your heart raced. “make me.”
his palm cracked down across your pussy, the slap stinging sharp against your slick folds. you gasped, eyes wide, the heat blooming instantly.
“that’s strike one,” he murmured.
another slap followed, harder, right over your clit. you sobbed, jerking against the restraints.
“strike two.”
tears pricked, your bravado slipping. “c-clark, wait—”
he kissed you softly, almost cruel in contrast. “i love you. but you’re gonna learn.”
the vibrator hummed to life against your clit, and you thrashed, squealing, but his hand kept you caged down. your first orgasm hit too fast, wracking you with cries, but he didn’t stop.
“that’s one,” he said gently, kissing your temple. “and you’ve got plenty more in you, sweetheart.”
by the third, you were babbling apologies, incoherent under the waves of overstimulation. by the fourth, your body gave out, tears streaming, only able to whimper “i’ll be good, i’ll be good.”
clark switched it off finally, untying your wrists and cradling you against his chest. “there’s my girl. that’s all i wanted.”
you clung to him, trembling, the brat in you finally broken down into the good, pliant thing he always coaxed you into becoming.
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