clark kent who accidentally bumps into you in the office hallway and immediately grips your waist to steady you—his hand nearly spanning your whole side—and says, “sorry, didn’t see you there,” even though you’re literally half his size.
clark kent who always hands you your coffee with his fingers brushing yours, making you feel how comically large his hands are compared to yours. one time, you wrapped both hands around his wrist just to feel the difference, and he stopped breathing.
clark kent who stands behind you during meetings, and when he leans down to whisper something, his voice rumbles in your chest and his body completely eclipses yours.
clark kent who always crouches a little when talking to you, murmuring things like “this better?” with a crooked smile, and you hate how flustered it makes you feel standing next to his massive frame.
clark kent who picks you up by the waist like it’s nothing—to move you out of the way, to set you on a counter, to carry you over puddles—and always murmurs, “you’re light as a feather,” like it’s your fault he’s built like a god.
clark kent who slips his jacket over your shoulders when you’re cold and doesn’t say a word when it falls to your knees, swallowing you whole. he just watches you wear it with this unreadable, hungry look in his eyes.
clark kent who brushes a hand down your back and spans your whole spine in one pass. you shiver. he feels it. “sorry,” he murmurs. “too much?”
clark kent who can’t help groaning the first time you palm him through his slacks, because your hand looks tiny on him and you’re barely covering half of what’s there. “sweetheart,” he pants, “you sure about this?”
clark kent who lifts you like a doll and sets you down on his bed, spreading your legs with those thick, calloused hands like he’s opening a present. “look at you,” he whispers. “so soft. so small.”
clark kent who holds your wrists above your head with one hand and uses the other to tease you until you’re gasping, squirming, begging—his voice wrecked as he says, “need both hands to touch me, but i only need one to ruin you.”
clark kent who goes down on you slow and reverent, holding your thighs open with ease while he eats like a man possessed. when you cry out, overwhelmed, he just groans, “let me. i can take it. i want all of you.”
clark kent who whispers, “you’re doin’ so good, sweetheart,” as he stretches you open on his cock—thick and massive, taking everything in you not to break. “almost there, baby,” he coos, kissing your neck. “just a little more. you can take it. be good for me.”
“ngh—m’sorry, g-goodness,” his face is planted in the crook of your neck as he holds your knees to your chest, digging his thick cock into you as he cries out.
he needs this. you’re so fucking warm, he swears your cunt feels even more intoxicating today. sweat builds on his forehead, curls sticking to it as he pounds deeper into you. your pussy is so fucking addictive. so warm, so soft, so perfectly moulded for his unbelievably huge cock. you’re the only girl who doesn’t flat out refuse to take him. but you’d never gone all the way.
“i’m sorry, baby! know it hurts—feels too good, can’t take it out!” he whimpers in your ear, hips stuttering as his breath hitches. his thick fingers dig into your plush skin, sure to form bruises later.
it’s so damn disgusting. the way he comes inside of you over and over until he physically can’t anymore. he’s an alien after all. such a big, pathetic alien who needs to empty his balls excessively just to feel okay. the way you egg him on, whispering the most disgusting shit in his ear, trying real hard to get your boy off. “s’all for you, was made for your cock,” you planted the words into his head. making him feel your words.
he gets selfish after awhile, focused on his own pleasure as he uses you as a pocket of warm flesh underneath him, not stopping as you whine out. “i know, i know,” he slows his animalistic thrusts to brush your hair out your face, pressing kisses on your collarbone.
he forgets about you a second later, looking at the way your cunt grips his cock like a vice, milking him pathetically each time he comes inside you. “soft… wa—god…” he can’t even form a coherent sentence. poor guy.
his hands snake underneath you to find your ass, each hand landing on one cheek as he pushes your cunt into his cock quickly. he’s a fucking animal. groans filling the room. skin all slick with sweat.
haiiii I just wanted to leave a little blurb idea,, like having sex with clark and the glasses staying on 🤭🤭 okay I’ll go now
mhm, exactly! yup, yup, yup!
when you’re bouncing on it, clark puts his glasses on to really see you. his big hands roaming all over your tits, squeezing and sucking those beautiful mounds. he exhales through his nose like a damn animal. doesn’t even wanna come up for air. glasses all crooked before he adjusts them again. he’s gotta see you.
and when he’s lapping at your glistening cunt, hands on either of your thighs, massaging, his glasses are all foggy from his breath. breathing all hard and working harder. his chin dripping in your sweet juices.
or sometimes he just… forgets. he’s so busy with fucking his babies into you, he doesn’t even realize his glasses are still on. they’re low on the bridge of his nose as he groans in your ear, mumbling something about how warm you are. how much he loves you. how much he doesn’t deserve you or this perfect cunt.
his hair’s all messy. his glasses are slipping. he keeps having to push them up with one hand while he’s splitting you open with the other. you try to reach for them once and he catches your wrist. shakes his head.
“no, baby. leave ’em. wanna see you.”
his eyes all blown out behind the lenses. sweat fogging up the glass. you’re clenching around him and he’s trying so hard not to lose it—muttering shit like “s’too much, you feel so good, god i can’t stop” while he fucks you through the mattress.
and when you cum?
he pulls back to watch. literally leans back on his knees, palms your thighs open, breathes hard behind the foggy frames, and watches you twitch around his cock like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.
it’s the little things for clark. he’s a soft man, after all. a big soft man.
maybe it’s the way you look at him? or, wait, the way you hold onto his biceps? in awe of how big they are? or maybe it’s your compliments. you swear it just comes naturally, like you’re really not trying to just—come up with these.
or maybe it’s the kisses. clark leaving kisses on your forehead before heading to work, his cheek kisses when he’s running late. the kisses on your thighs, neck, collarbone, back… the way he prolongs them to taste you. “c’mere,” right before he holds you tight, ambushing you with kisses everywhere.
“this reminded me of you!” he video calls you to show you a plush, which happens to be in your favorite color. any time he’s just barely reminded of you, he finds an excuse to let you know! he’s smitten. “i’ll bring it home for you, yeah?” he has a big smile plastered on his face when he gets home, “see? it’s you!”
and the way he looks at you. hands all clammy. you’re just talking to him, going on and on about something that happened at work—and there he is. like a damn idiot. watching you adoringly. nodding along at whatever you’re saying, listening closely but also losing himself in you. he’s a munch.
and when you come home after blowing his phone up about how horrible your day had been, you find him. your favorite snacks splayed across the table, candles lit and the fireplace crackling. “got your texts,” he holds his phone up, scrolling through your frantic messages. “missed you.”
and the cooking. one of his many love languages. “come taste! tell me if i need to add anything.” he’ll make sure to get you a spoonful to make sure you love what he’s making. “more salt? got it. anything else? at all?”
and when you’re both in bed, your hands tangled in his dark curls, he whispers, “why can’t we stay here forever?”
⚘ warnings › dom/sub dynamics, handjob, pheromones/mind control, verbal teasing, sexual restraint by plant tendrils, verbal degradation + praise, whining/pleading, mild violence, bank heist, swearing.
poisonivy!reader who sneaks into the daily planet late afternoon hours, plants crawling through the cracks of windows. you see him at his desk, even at this time of night, sleeves rolled up and tie all loose. clark thinks he’s tired, he straightens his back and takes swigs from his black coffee every time he slouches. even for a second. he’s gotta stay up.
his hands tremble softly at first, then he can’t ignore it anymore. he starts to notice you now. his hearing, his instincts. how couldn’t he notice sooner?
“you shouldn’t be here,” he says, his voice was low but steady. he’s clearly fighting back against your pheromones. his palms sweat against his desk, poor guy’s just realizing your perfume isn’t really just perfume. you lean over his desk, so close your lips almost touching his ear, “good boy. i like it when you notice.”
clark tries to stand, your vines wrap around his thighs and chair and tug him back down. you don’t hurt him, just reminding him he’s letting it happen.
his breath is uneven, and you feel the heat emanating from his body. “look at you… strongest man alive, but a whiff of me and you’re trembling,” you chuckle into his ear. he doesn’t fight it, though. hands balled into fists and he swallows real hard.
you straddle his lap in the chair, long nails dragging against the buttons of his dress shirt, a layer of sweat lies atop. he whispers your name so desperately, and you hush him with a finger to his lips. “shh. let mommy take care of you,” he nods lazily, eyelids dropping before your hand cradles his chin. “can’t be alone like this, clark. not when i’m around. you know that,” you tutted. this, surprisingly, isn’t your first run in.
you undo his buttons one by one, whispering disgusting things to him with each pop! of a button.
“knew you missed me,”
“so warm,”
“there we go, hm?”
your vines wrap around his exposed torso, squeezing and pulling at his nipples and waist. “mommy loves touching you, clark. you know this,” you explained. it’s truly not your fault he couldn’t keep himself safe. he clearly needed this.
“mama… i…” he’s already so fucked out and you’ve barely touched him. his thighs tense each time your tendrils grazed them, inching closer to that throbbing mess of a cock. he whimpered pathetically as you ground yourself onto his bulge perversely. “mmmfgh—” he could barely get the words out each time you pulled back and forth on his lap.
“say you want it. say you want me.” you snaked your hand to his neck, feeling his pulse quicken underneath your grasp boosted your ego in ways that can’t be described. he’s a whimpering mess under you, curls sticking to his sweat-slick forehead, hands forcibly wrapped around the arms of his chair by your green appendages.
your tendrils wrapped around his legs, chest, feet, shoulders, hair, caressing each part of him generously. he cried underneath your touch, its too delicate yet so fuckin’ mean. the way he has to look up at your beautiful face and take what you’re giving to him. how his cock strains against his slacks, a wet spot forming right against your cunt thats been getting him closer and closer.
“i can feel you, can you feel me?” you joked cruelly, knowing full well he couldn’t take this. he’d burst without you even making real contact with his cock. he’d cum in his tight slacks from you talking to him. grinding on his cock. dumb tendrils running all over his body. “so helpless, aren’t you, clarkie?” you tucked his hair behind his ear as you kept softly rubbing your cunt against him. he didn’t respond. at least not sufficiently. “use your words, baby,” your eyebrows furrowed when you didn’t get a reply.
your tendrils crept up his leg before stopping just at his thigh and squeezing. his body shot up as he grosned out, “s-so helpless, mommy,” he grinded up against you now, desperate for any kind of stimulation for his poor, poor cock.
you let go of him and retract your tendrils before standing again. he looks up at you with those pretty, blue eyes. “p-please—oh!” he bucked his hips up into nothing, his pants providing the smallest sense of relief possible for his full balls. your tendrils shot forward toward his lap and managed to zip down his slacks, notably wet right where his cock lie. you don’t even mind his underwear and pull those down immediately. his cock sits up against his stomach, it’s monstrous.
no wonder the poor guys all pent-up. nowhere to dump his cum comfortably. no woman would ever be willing to let him cum inside, they thought it’d spill out of their noses! he gasped when the cold air hit the wet tip of his cock.
“breathe, sweetheart. mommy’s got you,” you whispered. you walked back to him and let your tendrils jerk his cock, figuring he doesn’t deserve to see your hands and mouth wrapped around him just yet.
they milked him good, one fondling his balls while the other pumps up and down until he’s finally about to cum. then, you let go just like that. he sighs and looks fucking pathetic. tears prickling at his waterline as he realizes you won’t let him feel good. “tell me what you need from me,” your voice was almost at a whisper now, you stood before him, hands on your hips as you watch.
“p-please… i… i can’t hold it… just take me…” his thighs tremble as he just barely squeaks the pathetic words out.
he said please! try to reason with him. he’s been so good, holding back long enough for you to get him off. “good boy. good boys get what they want, clark,” you walk closer to him, tendrils stretching once more to wrap around his arms again. he doesn’t even struggle this time, he just bucks his hips into nothing again and again to no avail. “y-yeah. i’m a—i am a good boy,” a faint smile crept onto his face when he said that. it’s like he knows you’ll let him cum. that you’ll help him.
and thats when you drop to your knees in front of him. his knees just under your chin before you wrap your hands around his meaty cock. it throbs in your grip, and you squeeze back, earning a pained moan from clark. “good boys, mmmngh, get what they want, mr. kent.” one of your hands find the base of his cock while the other strokes his pink, puffy tip. you cooed those disgusting words as his head, thrown back, is pounding with so much force.
he’s too far gone now. your words were just too much for him. they clouded his brain, each phrase echoed throughout his head. the first thing you ever said to him:
“don’t move… unless you want to end up like them.”
you’d said it with that calm confidence. during a robbery, you stopped violent henchmen from getting away with thousands of dollars. vines creeping up the walls behind you. even then, clark had felt it, that pull, that magnetic danger, and he knew: he was never going to forget you. how courageous?
and your thumb ran over his cock, hitting that real sensitive vein just before his hot, warm, cum built up deep in his balls. your other hand squeezed and fondled with them, almost begging him to cum without saying it. you don’t need to.
his cock erupts with cum as he fucks up into your hand, he throbs and thrashes as your vines keep him restrained. “ah… n-no… can’t hold it… thank you…” his glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at you, who’s still pumping his poor cock, overstimulating the pathetic nerd you love coming back to.
“that’s mommy’s good boy… give it all to me,” you’re practically salivating. “and you—thought you could resist me.” you finished him off, using his cum as a lubricant to keep pumping him.
then, just like that, you stood and fixed your hair, reapplying lipstick and smoothing your outfit. clark gets all dizzy from your pheromones again. this time he slumps in chair, eyelids dropping as he snores softly. he whispers something about poison ivy wrapped around him. he whimpers.
you fix him up, zipping his pants up and buttoning his shirt before turning him back toward his desk. your lips meet his forehead, placing a soft kiss on it with your plump lips. “goodbye, clark.”
he wakes up a few hours later, red marks running along his chest, legs and arms remind him of some green woman. with poison ivy tendrils that poked and prodded at him.
the next week you see an article in the daily planet, Unexpected Heroism in Downtown: A New, Green Force in the City?
⊹ warnings: dark content, obsession, voyeurism, masturbation (f & m), stalking, dubcon themes, creepy phone calls, mentions of disappearances.
⊹ w/c: 1.1k (short.)
⊹ summary: your best friend has been seeing a weird guy. when she starts acting strange and stops answering her phone, you get scared. luckily, clark from the office is always there to comfort you. he’s sweet. attentive. and watching.
⊹ a/n: first chapter. not proofread. enjoy!!!
“god, i honestly felt like i’d die if i spent another second next to him,” your best friend cackled on the other side of the phone, “i’d probably just fake my death if it meant getting away from him!” you both giggle. at the same time, you pick at your popcorn while lying down on your couch, picking the buttery-looking kernels. you had to head to the office early in the morning, yet that didn’t change the fact that you’d stay on the phone ‘til 2am. how irresponsible of you.
“and then… he had the audacity to say he didn’t like horror movies. like. how do you not like horror movies?! i wanted to die.”
you laugh, mouth full of popcorn while the cheap slasher in the back plays at a low volume. “if i were the final girl, he’d be the first to go. trust.” she laughs loudly.
and the whole time, her phone keeps buzzing. she ignores it. your phone buzzes too. just once. unknown number. you glance at it, thumb hovering for a second before you let it go dark. probably spam. “who’s that?” you ask, still smiling. “it’s definitely him.” her voice quieter, “tryin’ to text me from another number. told you he was a weirdo!”
“isn’t it like… midnight?” you awkwardly replied. it’s not really funny to you anymore. your friend is obviously somewhat amused, but you’re seriously considering whether this guy she’s seeing is actually just a normal guy.
“yeah. and he keeps saying the creepiest shit like—‘you’re prettier when you’re not laughing.’ who says that?” you snort, but there’s a tinge of suspicion in it. “i should sleep, though,” she sighs. “i’ll be in tomorrow though, ‘kay? we can head to earls for lunch. g’night!” and she just hangs up. her voice sounded just a tad bit shaky. she didn’t wait for you to respond, just abruptly ending the call.
she’s tired. that’s normal. you’re not, but you attempt to force yourself to sleep. you drift off slowly, snuggling in your blanket right before…
your phone buzzes. again. unknown number. you answer the phone all groggy and rubbing your eyes. she can’t be calling again. but the voice on the line is soft. you don’t recognize it. it’s all slow and smooth.
“you sounded so happy earlier. i-i didn’t want to interrupt.”
you sit up, your pulse becoming more evident. “who’s this?” there’s a pause. you can hear him breathing. calmly. “you kept picking at the popcorn. you do that when you’re nervous, don’t you?” the voice utters. you don’t say anything and assume the voice heard your breath catching in your throat because it speaks again. “don’t mean to scare you.”
you nervously dig your nails into your palm, “no, seriously, who is this?” he exhales and it almost sounds like he’s smiling. “goodnight, doll.”
the line goes dead. you stare at your phone.
you stay up for another 2 hours making sure nobody’s in your home. checking your kitchen, bed, bathtub, and making sure every window is covered and locked. you chalk it up to some dick who has nothing better to do on a tuesday night. you turn off your nightstand lamp, pulling the switch before lying on your side. you could swear you heard rustling in the bushes, but it could always be a critter.
the next day in the office is bleak, keyboards clack while chairs squeak and roll back and forth all day. but luckily you have a good friend there. you walk in, eyes all tired but you try to act normal. clark, who’s standing at the coffee station, notices you. “mornin’. sleep well?” he smiles at you, dimples prevalent as he places his large hand on your shoulder. you exhale and go in for a hug, trying to wrap your arms around his large torso.
“you okay?” he wraps his arms around you, but still is confused as to why you just hugged him. you sigh and explain the weird shit that went on last night, stepping back to rub your temples. he just wishes the hug lasted a bit longer. his face is warm now. “i don’t know—i just feel weird. she didn’t answer me and is usually here before me. every morning,” you explain, referring to your best friend.
clark listens closely, tilting his head and nodding as you speak, slipping in a couple yeahs and mhm’s. “if you want, i can check on her. or we could look for her together,” he offers, a warm smile taking up his face as he speaks. he’s so genuine it hurts. god, he looks even more attractive today.
“that’d be great,” you fidget with your hands, “let me know.”
the day goes by fast, with clark grabbing you tea and biscuits during your break.
what if she isn’t okay?
you write your last paragraph before signing out of your computer and grabbing your things. clark stands at the elevator, one leg crossed over, whistling. “and hey… if you need a ride home after work, just say the word. i’m around. i’m sure she’s okay.”
he disappears into the dark parking lot after that.
you make it back home. you’re finally alone. the door’s locked, the lights are low, and the weight of the day sinks into your bones like lead. your friend’s still not answering. you’re tired, anxious… and kind of turned on?
it doesn’t make sense, but stress always leaves you like this. you strip off your clothes, toss your phone on your pillow and lie down on your bed. you consider relieving some stress. why wouldn’t you want to? it’s appropriate right now.
you grab your vibrator from your nightstand and turn it on. you hold it between your legs, it sits between your sensitive core and lace panties. your cunt flutters underneath its vibrations as you arch your back off the bed, shutting your eyes to imagine him. “c—larke… right there,” you babble, barely speaking coherently. you imagine clarkes voice, all smooth, “sleep well?”
you’re so far gone you don’t even hear your phone buzz the first time. or the second. but the third time, it rings. long. loud. vibrating against your sheets. you groan, eyes fluttering open. you reach for it, not even looking at the caller ID. you answer, breath hitching. “hello?”
his voice comes through the line. soft. steady. “oh, don’t stop.” your whole body freezes. “you just… looked so beautiful just now. i didn’t want to interrupt. laid out for me like that.” your stomach flips, “what—what are you talking about?” you sit up and look around your room, snapping your neck every direction to check if you left a window unchecked.
but you can hear it now. the faintest rhythm. his breathing is uneven. strained.
wait, shhh. “just listen.” you don’t say anything. your mouth is dry. your thighs still ache. you hear it through the phone. slick. skin on skin. a low grunt as he exhales. he’s jerking off. to you.
“you touch yourself like you want someone to watch,” he groans, “and i do. oh, i always do.”
you should hang up. you should. but your vibrator is on again.
“that’s it. we’re doing it together now, sweetheart.”
he’s all flushed and breathing heavy, arms trembling at his sides while you sit on top of him, buried so deep. he’s not allowed to move, not even a little, not while you’re holding him like that. tight, warm, still. his hands are fisted in the sheets and his voice is wrecked when he says, “please, can’t take more,” and you just smile, lean in, whisper against his lips, “you’re doing so good for me, baby.”
