lo 🗡️

𝔦 𝔞𝔪 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

[beingthisalive]

i hate it here so i will go to secret gardens in my mind

.ᐟ 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

🐈‍⬛ ── 𝓶𝔂 𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓵𝓸. 𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓷𝓽𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮. 𝓼𝓱𝓮/𝓱𝓮𝓻. 𝓫𝓲. 𝓿𝓲𝓻𝓰𝓸. 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽. 𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓮𝔀 𝓿𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓮𝔂 𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓱𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓪𝓼𝓽. 𝓬𝓪𝓽 𝓶𝓸𝓶. 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓻. 𝓲𝓷 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓹. 𝔀𝓪𝓽𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓿. 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝔀𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓼 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓼.

MASTERLIST BELOW! lover of the last of us, invincible, a song of ice and fire, marvel, dc, the walking dead, heated rivalry, life is strange, supernatural, etc!

CONTENT BELOW IS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

you are responsible for what you read. please skip if not interested. likes and comments is always appreciated.

⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂ ☆

FICS

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ clark kent

⤷ coming soon

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ mark grayson

⤷ coming soon

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ ellie williams

⤷ coming soon

EXTRAS

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ the last of us

⤷ p links one | two 18+

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ invincible

⤷ mohawk!mark headcanons 18+

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ dcu

⤷ clark kent nsfw alphabet 18+

⤷ clark kent p links 18+

[clarkent]

me @ 10

me @ 30

[silverwingxox]

born to marry him, forced to read fanfics about him

[1410-1221-dec2008]

[kryptidfiles]

Lover Boy

pairing David!Clark Kent x wife!reader summary Clark's a greedy, indecisive man when it comes to you. tags minimal plot, mostly porn, 18+, mdni, smuuuut, hot n heavy make out, fingering, oral (f receiving), groping, brief nipple play, body worship, doggy style bark bark, creampie, the suit stays on, Smug!Clark, Lovesick!Clark wc 3k

Not my finest work. Wrote in one sleepy pass, if you saw a mistake, you know the drill 🫵🏼 no. you. didnt.

based on this ask (is Clark a boob/ass man?) | Mrs. Kent Diaries

Clark’s hands were on you the moment the farmhouse door quietly clicked shut behind him.

It was well past midnight, and he was still in the suit, blue and red stark against the dim pink wallpaper of his parent's hallway, against the worn denim of your jeans and the soft cotton of your white t-shirt.

He crowded in close before you could get a full breath, broad chest firm and unyielding as he pressed you back against the wall, and the little sound that left you—a soft, startled, breathy oof—barely made it out before your hands came up on instinct to grab at his biceps.

His arms, impossibly strong and somehow still gentle, slid around your waist and pulled you tighter against him. Heat rolled off him through the fabric between you. Want settled hot and low in your ribs, sudden and familiar and a little embarrassing in how fast your body answered him.

“Baby, I missed you too, but…” you breathed, the protest weak even as it left your mouth. “Ma and Pa are just down the hall.”

“They’re sleeping,” he murmured, a confident rumble that vibrated through his chest and into yours. His mouth found the spot just below your ear like he’d been thinking about it for hours, and then he was kissing there, slow at first, then nipping, then sucking gently until your fingers tightened on him. “Soundly. I checked.”

“But still, behave.” 

The words were automatic despite your pleasure, a reflex honed over years of stolen moments in this very house.

A slow, smug smile spread against your skin. You felt it more than saw it. 

“Oh, that’s funny. You know that just makes things worse.”

It did. I absolutely did. You should’ve known by now. The command, the pretense of propriety, was a spark to the tinder of his focus. That singular, overwhelming attention he turned on you when the world wasn’t watching. 

One of his hands slid down, broad palm spanning the curve of your ass through your jeans, holding you there with a possessive little squeeze that made your breath catch. The other came up to your face, thumb brushing slowly over your lower lip, once, twice, like he was reacquainting himself with the shape of your mouth. You opened for him without thinking. Caught the pad of his thumb between your lips.

His eyes flicked to yours, bright blue in the moonlight spilling in from the kitchen window at the end of the hall, and all at once the teasing softened a notch.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he confessed, quieter now.

He’d been gone thirty-six hours. A tectonic event in Indonesia. Unstable plates, a collapsing undersea volcano, too many people in danger, too much pressure under too much water. He’d kissed you quick before he left and promised he’d be careful, and you’d nodded like you always did, and then spent the night pretending not to count the hours. You’d stayed up just long enough to welcome him on his return.

“Did my girls miss me?” his gaze dropped pointedly to the front of your shirt.

You let out a soft laugh, one hand sliding up into his hair at the nape of his neck, fingers curling there.

“They’ve been inconsolable,” you murmured, a smile curving your lips. “Pining. A real Greek tragedy.”

He chuckled, the sound a pleasant tremor against your sternum. 

“Yeah?” he asked, mouth brushing your jaw, already moving lower again. “I could fix that.”

He didn’t kiss your mouth.

Instead, he bent, dipping his head to nose the neckline of your t-shirt aside, his breath hot over the upper swell of your breast before his lips closed over the thin cotton, drawing the fabric—and the sensitive flesh beneath—into the warm, wet pull of his mouth. Pleasure struck sharp and sweet, a clean jolt from your nipple straight to your core, and you gasped, fingers tangling helplessly in the cape at his shoulders and in the thick, dark curls at the nape of his neck.

He made a satisfied, hungry sound against you, his tongue swirling a damp circle through the material. The cotton clung to you, soaked and transparent. He switches to the other breast, giving it the same devoted, thorough attention, his free hand kneading the cheek of your ass in a slow, rhythmic pulse. You can feel the hard ridge of his cock through the spandex of his suit, pressed against your hip.

“Clark,” you moaned, your head falling back against the wall. “Your suit…”

“Hm?” he mumbled, mouth still working at your breast. “What about it?”

“You’ll—it’ll get…”

“Hon, I don’t care.”

He lifted his head then, finally, and the look on his face made your stomach drop. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, your shirt damp and cool where the hallway air hit it. His mouth was wet. He looked a wreck already.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said, voice rougher now, gaze dropping to your chest again. “About these since I left. The way they feel in my hands. The way they taste.”

His hand left your ass and hooked under the hem of your shirt, tugging it up just enough to bare your stomach. Then he dropped to his knees in front of you, big and broad and still in the suit, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your navel. Another just above the waistband of your jeans. His tongue traced a slow line across your skin, and your muscled tightened under this attention. 

“But then I remembered,” he murmured, mouth moving lower, “I didn’t get to kiss you here yesterday.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Or here.”

His teeth scraped lightly over your hip bone, just enough to make you shiver hard against the wall.

He was everywhere at once, a superhuman blur of need. One second he was on his knees with his mouth on your stomach, and the next he was up again, one hand at your jaw, the other at your waist, dragging your mouth to his in a deep, consuming kiss that stole the breath right out of you. It was heat and tongue and the wet sound of your moans swallowed between his lips, all urgency, and when his hands found your ass again he lifted you easily, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist on instinct.

He carried you quietly down the hall to his old bedroom, never breaking the kiss.

The door to his old bedroom barely made a sound. Then he was lowering you onto the quilt-covered bed, following you down, his body a heavy, welcome weight. The red chest pressed against your damp shirt. He rolled his hips once, grinding the thick length of him right where you needed him through too many layers of fabric, tearing a ragged moan out of you.

“Fuck–”

“I know,” he mumbled against your mouth, breath hot and uneven. “I know, sweetheart. Let me—”

He shifted, and whatever steadiness he’d had a minute ago was gone. His hands turned frantic at your waist, fumbling at the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down your hips and thighs just far enough to get what he wanted. He didn’t even bother taking them off. He just shoved them down and out of the way, your jeans catching around your calves, and then his fingers hooked into the sides of your panties.

With a soft rip of fabric, he tears them right off you. 

“Clark!” you hissed, half scandalized, half breathless, but the rest dissolved into a gasp when his fingers found you, sliding through your folds with a slick, filthy sound that made heat flash up your neck.

“Clark what?” he breathed, and the smugness was back, threaded through all that hunger as he watched his own hand move between your thighs. His fingertips circled your clit once, twice, slow enough to make you twitch, before he pushed two fingers deep inside you in one smooth thrust.

Your back bowed off the bed immediately.

“Something the matter?”

“You—ah— you know what,” you panted, hips rocking up to meet the rhythm of his hand anyway, chasing the stretch, the friction, the pressure that had your thighs already trying to close around his wrist.

“Do I?” He tilted his head, mock innocence gone syrup-sweet in his mouth.

His thumb pressed down on your clit and began those tight, deliberate circles, and when he curled his fingers inside you to stroke that sensitive spongy spot that made your eyes roll back and see stars, your hands fisted in the quilt, and your legs trembled faster than a rabbit’s.

“I’m being unfair, aren’t I?” he murmured casually, like this was a mundane conversation and not him ruining your ability to think. “I’m neglecting… so, so much.”

With a wet, sucking sound, he pulls his fingers from your cunt. Before you can protest, he’s moving down your body. He pushes your ruined panties aside, your jeans still tangled around your calves, your shirt still bunched up under your breasts. You’re half-dressed, completely open to him, his wife spread out on his childhood bed with your legs shaking and your skin hot and your cunt aching where his hand had been.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He buries his face between your legs.

The first flat stroke of his tongue was a lightning bolt. It was broad and hot and perfect, laving from your stretched entrance all the way up to your sensitive clit. You cried out, grab for him, both hands in his hair, fingers tightening in the dark curls. He groaned against you, and the vibration went through your whole body, deep enough to make your hips jerk and your thighs clamp around his shoulders.

Then he feasted.

His mouth was relentless, all appetite and devotion. He licked into you with long, languid strokes that made your thighs shake, then switched without warning to quick, precise flicks over your clit, sharp and pinpoint and mean in the way he only got when he was paying very close attention. He drew the sensitive nub into his mouth and sucked gently, worrying it between his lips just long enough to make your breath hitch, then soothed it with slow, circling laps like he was apologizing for how good he was at this. He drank from you, tongue delving deep, and the room filled with the wet, shameless sounds of him taking his time with your body.

“Good fucking God—” you dragged out with a long, shaky sigh. “R-right there, fuck…”

“Mmm,” he hummed against you, and the vibration hit your clit so directly it made your whole body jerk.

His hands slid under your ass and lifted, tilting your hips up into his mouth, opening you wider for him. His thumbs spread you apart while he worked, greedy and focused, and then he fucked you with his tongue. Alternating shallow and fast, then deep and slow, changing rhythm to mimic what he was aching to do with his cock for the last thirty-something hours.

Your orgasm built hard and fast, a tight, coiling spring low in your belly. Your heels dug into the quilt. Your back arched. One hand flew to your mouth because you were in his parents’ house and some reflex still clung to you even now, even with him between your legs like this.

“I’m-ah!-gonna—Oh, shit C-Clark, I’m gonna come— right now, right now, shit, faster!”

He doubled down immediately.

His tongue became wickedly precise, all clever speed and pressure, focused on your clit like nothing else in the world existed. He sucked hard, then flicked, then sucked again, nose pressed into you, breath hot and uneven. The scratch of his stubble burned sweet against your inner thighs. His hands held you up so firmly it was almost too much, almost unbearable, and underneath it all he kept making those low, incoherent little sounds into your cunt—pleading, hungry, praising—like he’d come home from saving the world and this was the only thing he wanted as his reward.

The orgasm hit all at once.

It crashed through you in a bright, blinding wave, your body seizing around it, your cries muffled behind your clammy hand as your cunt clenched on nothing and pulsed hard.

He stayed with you through every second of it, easing his tongue into softer, gentler strokes as you shook, lapping through the aftershocks and drinking down everything you gave him.

By the time the trembling started to ebb, your legs felt useless.

Clark lifted his head slowly. His chin was wet. His mouth was swollen. He looked wrecked and pleased with himself in equal measure, like he knew exactly what he’d done to you and intended to do worse.

Then he crawled back up your body, broad and warm and heavy, settling over you again, and kissed you open-mouthed before you could even catch your breath. He let you taste yourself on his tongue, the kiss deep and slow this time, savoring.

“Gosh, your pretty mouth, too,” he whispered against your lips, smiling. “I love how it tastes after I’ve been on you.”

You couldn’t do anything but whimper. Boneless. Hot all over. Still twitching.

But he wasn’t done. Of course, he wasn’t.

His large, calloused hands were already moving again, roaming your body.  One big hand palmed your breast through your shirt, finding your nipple through the damp cotton and pinching it between thumb and forefinger, rolling and tugging until the sensation went sharp and bright and made you gasp into his mouth. It mixed with the lingering throb between your legs, the aftershocks still sparking every time he shifted over you.

He broke the kiss and looked down at you, at your wrinkled and damp shirt, your shorts shoved almost to your ankles, your body still heaving under his.

“Oh no,” he breathed.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “W-what?”

“I’d been negligent.” The words came out with genuine distress. “A complete failure.”

You stared at him, frowning, still trying to catch up. “What are you talking about?”

“Your ass,” he clarified, as if stating a profound and tragic oversight. “We’ve been at it for… how long? Twenty minutes? And I haven’t given your perfect, incredible ass proper attention. It’s probably feeling abandoned. Unappreciated.”

A snort burst out of you before you could stop it. “No, it’s okay. It’s managing just fine.”

“Unacceptable.”

The word had barely left his mouth before he moved.

He turned you over with effortless strength, smooth and quick, and by the time your brain caught up you were on your stomach, cheek pressed to the quilt, your ass tipped up in the air for him. He knelt behind you in the mattress dip, hands spreading your cheeks apart, and the cool room air hit your wet, swollen folds hard enough to make you clench.

“So beautiful,” he whispered. 

Then he bent and kissed you there, open-mouthed and hot, right on your center, his tongue swiping through your slickness from behind. You moaned helplessly into the quilt, pushing back against his face. He did it again, and again, eating you out from this new, deeper angle, his tongue spearing inside you. One hand remained on the curve of your ass, kneading the flesh, while the other slid around your hip to find your clit again.

“Isn’t that better?”

The combination nearly undid you on the spot. You were still sensitive from your first climax, and now every touch amplified, electric.

Clark scissored two fingers inside you, curled them, while his thumb rubbed tight, urgent circles on your clit. Then his mouth left your center and moved to your ass, biting the rounded flesh in soft, possessive little nips before soothing each one with his tongue.

“Baby, please—” you pleaded, back arching deeper. “I can’t— it’s too much—I need—”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, mouth warm against your skin, the words half swallowed by your body. “You were doing so good for me. Just wanted to take my time with you, sweetheart.”

He shifted behind you, and you heard the distinct shhhk of a zipper and fabric being shoved. The sound sent a fresh flood of heat and slick between your legs.

You could hear the rough drag of his hand as he fists his cock, giving himself a few rough strokes. You felt the broad, slick head of him nudging against your entrance, still stretched and wet from his mouth and his fingers.

He didn’t push in yet. 

He held it there, the thick tip parting your folds, the sheer size of him a delicious promise. He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth pressing kisses along your shoulder, your neck, temple. One hand still splayed across your ass, lightly gripping every few kisses.

“Hon, I need to be inside you,” he whispered. “Right now. Just like this, with you on your knees.” 

He kissed just behind your ear, breathing hard, and you felt the way he held himself back for the space of a second.

“I might be a little rough with you like this,” he admitted, low and honest, one hand smoothing down your hip before tightening again. “I don’t want to be, but I might.” His mouth brushed your skin. “Can you take it for me? Do you want—?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, the answer tearing out of you before he’d even finished. You pushed back against him, needy and shameless, trying to take more of him at your entrance. “Yes! Please. I want it. I want you like this, now hurry up!”

He let out a sound that was a mix between a groan and a laugh.

“O-okay,” he murmured against your shoulder, kissing one more time. “That’s my girl. I got you.”

The first push inside was slow and steady, and even with all your slickness, even with how open he’d prepared you, the stretch still stole the air from your lungs.

He was too big to take any other way. It was immense, almost sharp for a second, your body pulling tight around him before it gave, before the ache melted into that dizzy, overwhelming fullness that only he could give you. 

He kept going, breathing hard against your shoulder, one hand firm on your ass, and the other smoothing your side tenderly as he filled you. By the time his hips were finally flush with your ass, by the time he was buried all the way inside you, both of you were shaking and groaning.

“O-oh, geez,” he panted, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades, causing you to arch your back at a steeper angle. “Sh–Gosh, you feel… sweetheart, you’re everywhere. You’re squeezing me so tight—”

He didn’t move right away. He just stayed there and let you feel it with him, the tight, skin-hot fit of him, the way your body clenched and fluttered around every pulse of his cock, the way your breath came in little broken pulls into the quilt. His mouth found your shoulder. He kissed you there, open and wet, then your spine, then the back of your neck, like he couldn’t decide what part of you he needed first.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and strained. “Take your time. You’ve got me.”

Naturally, you started rutting against him, small, quiet pleas of ‘move’ and ‘keep going’ puffing out of your lips. Clark drew back, almost all the way out, and thrust back in hard.

The force of it shoved you up the bed, a choked cry punching out of you before you could bite it back, brace on your forearms, and whatever was left of his restraint disappeared with the sound.

Clark set a brutal, pounding rhythm immediately, no warm-up, no gentle build. This was reunion and hunger and thirty-six hours of wanting you packed into every thrust. Every thrust was a deep, driving piston stroke that jarred your entire body, that hit your cervix and made you see stars.

The wet, rhythmic slap of his skin against yours, the squelching sound of your copious wetness, the creak of the bedsprings—it was a symphony of filth.

“This,” he grunts, his hand coming down on one ass cheek in a light smack. Not enough to sting, but enough to feel the contact. “I love it. I missed it.”

Another thrust. A grope. A sharp whimper from you.

“I missed your hips,” he went on, words breaking up with the rhythm. “Missed your thighs. Missed your stomach. Missed these pretty breasts—”

He leaned over you, his red cape sliding to one side and covering you like a blanket. One arm braced just next to yours while his free hand slipped under you to your chest, finding your nipple through the damp cotton and pinching it, rolling it carefully between his fingers until you sobbed and clenched around him hard.

“T-there,” he groaned, hips stuttering once before he found the pace again. “There she is. I love all of you. Missed all of you. Every part.”

His hand came back to your ass, spreading, squeezing, holding the plush flesh.

“My beautiful girl,” he moaned, mouth at your ear, all heat and devotion and need. “My God. I thought about having you like this the whole time. Thought about being inside you. Thought about how you feel when you take me.” A hard thrust, deep enough to make your fingers claw the quilt. “My wife. My beautiful wife.”

The words unraveled you faster than the rhythm already was. You were babbling before you could help it, his name and yes and please-please-please all blurring together, your body rocking back to meet him even when it made the next thrust hit harder.

The second orgasm was already building, tighter than the first, sharpened by the rough drag of him, the sting in your skin, his hand on your breast, his mouth on your neck, the way he sounded half gone and completely in love.

“Baby— God, C-Clark—I'm close!"

“I k-know,” he breathed, and kissed your shoulder again, then bit gently, then soothed it with his mouth. “I know, hon.”

His hand slid up into your hair and he guided your head just enough to kiss you on the lips. He kept thrusting, harder now, deeper, his control falling apart right in front of you.

“I’m gonna....” he ground out, warning. “I’m gonna fill you up, hon.” His hand tightened on your hip. “Do you want it? Tell me you want it.”

“Yes,” you sobbed, already shaking on the edge. “Yes, God, yes— inside, Clark, please—”

The permission snapped his control. He whimpered into your shoulder, half groan, half swallowed cut-off curse, and drove into you one more time.

The first burst hit hard and hot, deep inside, and your whole body jerked with the force of it. Then another followed, and another, his hips flush against your ass as his cock pulsed inside your cunt, each release thick and heavy. He kept holding you open and close at the same time, one hand spread over your hip, shaking through his climax.

“O-oohh, sweetheart—” he panted. “So good. So good, I love you—”

His unadulterated bliss triggered your orgasm, tearing through in a hard, shuddering rush. Your cunt convulsed around him, clenching down in sharp pulses that dragged another low groan out of him and wrung a few more hot, weaker spurts from him while he was still buried to the hilt.

Your legs shook so badly the mattress creaked under both of you. You could feel warmth spilling out around him, sticky down your inner thighs, the two of you making a complete mess of the quilt and the clothes still tangled around your legs.

By the time the last pulse left him, he was breathing like he’d flown across the entire galaxy.

He collapsed over you carefully, still covering you with his body even while trying not to crush you, his cock staying deep inside, thick and hot, and you both just lay there for a long moment listening to each other breathe.

Your shirt was still bunched under your breasts. His suit was damp and wrinkled and definitely ruined in at least three places. The bed was in terrible shape, something that had to be managed before Ma woke up.

You could feel the heavy, leaking fullness between your legs every time either of you moved.

Eventually, Clark kissed the back of your shoulder, then your neck, then rested his cheek there.

“So,” he said after a long, contented silence. “I think…I think I covered everything. Nothing neglected, right?”

"Not at all," you laughed, a tired, happy, sated sound. “You can never decide, can you?”

“An impossible choice,” he agreed immediately, his hands stroking your sweaty back and side. “It’s like asking me to pick between Ma’s apple pie and her peach cobbler.”  He kissed your shoulder again. “Both are… transcendent. Vital. Everything about you is.”

You laughed into the quilt, fingers lazily toying with his red cape enveloping half your body.

“You’re a greedy, messy, indecisive man, you know that?”

“Yes, I’m a greedy, messy, indecisive man,” he kissed the top of your head, words completely lovesick, lovestuck, whatever you wanted to call it. “But I'm yours.”

He kissed the top of your shoulder, then your lips, lingering there.

“And later,” he added, already sounding excited. “After we clean up, I’m sleeping with my head inside your shirt. I’ve decided. Non-negotiable. Think I’ve earned it.”

.

Thank you for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs especially are forever appreciated. Keeps me motivated!

.

Tags: @sphynxx @untilmynextstory @sevinaqia @animegamerfox @dreaming-starlet @nnab @catsdenia @friedunknownphantom @garfieldhollander @hallow-blue @httpstoyosi @yeontanssecretblog @kristine13 @alexandritte80 @may-machin @snowsgames @alanahlovesryan @athenxt @nobeautywithoutstrangeness @wtfrudoinhere @thel0v3hashira143 @vanillapjm @doctorwhoandfairytaillover @marvel-hiddles-stark @foremma444 @yyiikes @kooquetre @niceforcum22 @tw1sters @54nboo @jordiemeow @strawbvrrystrgirl @pinksplace @zutara-s @ticklish-leafy-plant @crazycatchloe @isthisprada @clarknsun @blueki16 @rynwritesstuff @luvekent @lilypad-55449 @serenityrjd @stellarbstar @a-lumos-in-the-nox @thychuvaluswife @punkrockrr @rogersbarber

[theoncel]

[meangreenspaceman]

man I sure love that character I wish the writers did too

[cosmictreks]

sam winchester i will avenge you.

[superkitty21]

Ilya's plan was really:

Book a CCM commercial together

Jerk off in the showers in front of him

????

Marriage

[enviedear]

GOTHAM STREETS AND FOGGED WINDOWS

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

in which gotham is in the middle of one of the coldest winters in recent years, and your boyfriend has you freezing your ass off in a garage. he warms you back up though, fogging the car windows in the process. MDNI it unnerves me u will be blocked

CW | jason & fem!reader, smut w plot, exhibitionism: car edition, bickering which leads to sex, condom usage (user enviedear promotes safe sex), name calling in good faith, winter (yes that’s a warning), and established relationship, 3.5k words 🎧ྀི

“baby it’s cold.” you whine, for probably the hundredth time. eyes dead set on your boyfriend.

said boyfriend, a red-nosed jason todd, grunts as answer. gloved hands still working a wrench, trying not to strip a bolt on his bike.

you roll your eyes at him—or rather—the entire situation. gotham has been bound by winter. cloaked in freezing temperatures, grey snow, and black ice. it’s absolute hell. frozen hell. and, since you’re blessed with a man who actually enjoys this weather…you’re stuck in an open garage with no heater while he works on his bike.

a bike he can’t even drive for the time being.

you let out a groan, breath turning into fog.

finally, jason peers over at you. his stare could be equated to that of tired acknowledgement, but acknowledgement nonetheless. he drops the wrench down with his other tools, “what?”

your scowl is immediate, “wrong tone, asshole.”

his gaze drops, you can almost see a hint of an eye roll, but he must decide against it. opting instead to change his tone that the saccharine (mildly perturbed) inflection you expect of him, “sorry, sweetheart.” a breath, “what’s wrong?”

“it’s fuckin’ cold!” you whine, yet again. “it’s cold and you have me out here with no heat, no entertainment, and putrid bike oil. can’t we do something else?”

jason has the gall to chuckle. the brat. “babe, i’m almost done. you can endure for fifteen more minutes, can’t you?” his gall expands, face contorting into that boyish expression you usually cave in for.

not this time, “fuck no.” you’re already turning away from him and making your way to his car. absolutely not. you will not sit in the cold for fifteen more minutes while he fucks with his brake pads. you’d rather be lonely in the car.

you can hear somewhat of a clank and shuffle behind you, but you don’t look back. you’re too busy weighing how long it’ll take a stagnant car to heat up. it’s only when you grab for the passenger handle that you realize jason’s followed you to the street.

“babe.” he starts, hand blocking your own from opening the door. “c’mon i’m not being mean. s’just…i never have time to fix that damn bike. i’m not trying to be an ass, i just thought i could knock this out while you kept me company.”

you slap his hand, grabbing the handle and opening the door. “well you are an ass.” and with that, you’re slipping into the passenger side and cranking the ignition. the air is ice…but you’re too stubborn to wait for the damn car to heat up. like hell you’ll willingly stand in that damn garage for a minute more. no, you’ve made your stubborn—and slightly moronic—decision.

from outside the car you can hear jason curse and, petty as you are, you smile.

you take to rubbing your hands together, already plotting how long it’ll take before the heater stops feeling like an arctic blast, when the driver door yanks open and cold air floods in all over again.

“oh my god.” you groan. “are you kidding me?”

jason slides in, bringing with him the smell of winter and motor oil…and that stupid, unfair warmth that seems to cling to him no matter how cold it gets. he slams the door shut and just…sits there for a second, staring forward. jaw tight.

“you are so dramatic.” he huffs finally.

you gape at him, jaw slack, “i am literally freezing.”

“yeah, and the solution was the car? shit will take ages to heat up in idle, sweetheart.” he shoots back, and then glances at you. at the way you’re hunched into yourself, sleeves swallowed over your hands, teeth chattering. something in his expression shifts. irritation softens into something else.

he reaches over without asking and cranks the heat all the way up. the vents cough out a weak, lukewarm blast.

“stupid heat takes forever.” you mutter.

“i know.” his voice is lower now.

the car is quiet except for the engine sputtering and the wind scraping against the windows. your breath still fogs faintly in front of you.

jason keeps looking at you, “…c’mere.”

you blink, lips scowling, “what?”

he arches a brow, “tone.” and then, opens his arms, beckoning you toward him, “you heard me.”

you narrow your eyes, “if this is some half baked trick to get me back into that freezer you call a garage, you can shove it right up your—”

he cuts you off by reaching over and grabbing your wrist, tugging gently but insistently. not toward the door. toward him.

you stumble a little over the center console, landing half in his space, half in your seat. he’s warm. infuriatingly warm.

“jason.” you start.

“you’re cold.” he says simply, like that absolves everything.

his hands slide to your waist, steadying you. big, gloved, solid. the heat difference is brutal. your body reacts before your pride does, leaning in without permission. fingers escaping your sleeves to nestle by his throat, warm from his hoodie.

you’re close enough now to see the little red tint on his nose, the way his lashes are still damp from the cold. close enough to feel his breath hit your cheek.

“whatever. just until the heat kicks on.” you say, weakly.

“mhm, till then.” he says, equally unconvincing.

his hands don’t move away, and yours don’t either.

the air is still blowing uselessly. the windows are still fogging up.

jason’s thumb shifts against your side. slow. deliberate.

you look at his mouth. he notices.

“…you still mad at me?” he asks.

“very.” you reply, eyes narrowing.

he pulls his best feigned sorrowful expression, “wanna take it out on me?”

you should say no.

you don’t. of course you don’t.

you lean in just enough that your noses almost brush.

“you’re gonna regret asking me that.” you tell him.

his smile is crooked, “yeah,” he hums quietly. “probably.”

and then he tilts his head, slightly and slowly, like he’s giving you every chance in the world to stop him. you don’t.

instead you lean down, wrapping your fingers in his hoodie and pulling him close. when his lips find yours, it almost feels like you’ve won a prize. he’s warm, he’s putty in your hands, and he’s entirely yours.

you try to stay at least slightly annoyed while you kiss your idiotic boyfriend. brain reminding you that he kept you in a cold garage for over an hour. that he pulled the, fifteen more minutes, bullshit. that he’s…shifting his hips up to meet your own in this cramped car.

despite your best efforts, you let out a soft moan. and of course he hears it, it echoes right through him. your sound seems to be enough for him to break one hand free and fumble for the recline trigger of his seat. lips leaving yours to kiss down your jaw and neck. before you know it, you’re laid out on him and sighing into every peck.

damn him.

he’s terrible, really. eyes a mess of want and unscrupulous arrogance as he pulls away just to use his teeth to tear off his gloves. using his free hands to unzip your overcoat and fumble under your two top layers. happy to rest his hands at the underwire of your bra.

you’re better at hiding your deep-seated need to get him undressed, merely staring at his exposed v-line from his raised up layers. by the time your eyes find his again, he’s barely taking a breath before crashing his lips back onto yours.

the car is cramped, even with the seat laid back, so your hips keep moving together. at least, you’re blaming the cramped car. jason’s probably blaming human nature.

“you warm yet? or are you still going to complain if i take your coat off?” he says it like it’s a joke. a dirty joke.

you shove at his chest, “fuck you. what kind of foreplay is nearly giving your girlfriend hypothermia?” you let your hands slip under his half ridden-up layers, “you freak.”

he has the audacity to laugh, low in his chest. “you’re the one climbing me like a tree and grinding into me. i’d hardly say i’m the freak here.”

“i was kidnapped onto this lap, todd.” then you tilt your head, playing fake sweet, “after you realized you were freezing your girlfriend for a motorcycle. like a loser.”

his jaw sets, “careful. i started playing nice. don’t ruin it.”

you huff, pulling your now unzipped coat off. still, you’re in far too many layers…but jason’s in more. you smirk to yourself as you grab the bottom of his hoodie, “play nice and take this off for me, hm?”

he rolls his eyes but still, you’re obliged. the hoodie comes off clean, fussing up his hair with it. you watch it join the pile of your coat in the backseat.

“happy?” he asks, fingers now returning under your shirts to rest at your bra. “i did what you asked. the first time.” his voice has a sardonic bite to it.

you shrug, “your obedience is proven to be faulty. if you remember, keeping me in a freezing garage five blocks from our apartment.” you smile, “but keep taking off layers and you may find yourself a forgiving lady.”

“you really know how to make a man feel like a worthless whore.” his eyes crinkle at the edges, fighting a smile.

you lean down instead of replying. your mouth peppering kisses at his jaw while your hands go to your back, undoing your bra in a minimally suave fashion. you hear him groan, and he’s grabbing at the straps to pull it off of you before you even have to ask.

left only in your sweatpants and your top layers, you let him feel your tits underneath your thermals. he rolls into you harder now, obviously annoyed by both of your bottom layers.

his hands are still on your breasts when he pulls away, gently sucking in the now hot air, “backseat?”

you sigh, nodding your head to the windows, “we’re in the middle of the street.”

“yeah?”

you look at him incredulously, “yeah, and someone could see us.”

“baby. sweetheart…i tinted these windows myself. besides…” he stops, lets his knuckles brush against the glass, “completely fogged.” then he clicks the car’s lock, “and locked. perfectly safe.”

“you say that until some asshole comes over here to see why the car is rocking.”

he grunts, “if some fuckin’ pervert tries to disrupt what i’m about to do in this car, i’ll handle it. and you. preferably you first.”

“you say that like gcpd doesn’t roam these streets too.”

he throws his head back, “gcpd owes me so many favors i think they’d block the fuckin’ street if i asked.”

you roll your eyes, “you’re going to have a solution for everything aren’t you?”

the way he looks up at you should be illegal, “i’m literally minutes away from getting you naked and putting my dick inside of you…yes, baby. a man will find solutions.”

you let out a scoff, shaking your head as your fingers slide back under his shirt, nails dragging lightly across his skin just to make him shiver, “you’re disgusting.”

“and you’re stalling.” jason smirks, “thought you were cold, baby. lemme warm you up.”

he doesn’t wait for your answer. just lets his hands slide beneath both of your tops to inch them up, and up—until they’re bunched under your arms and he can finally mouth at your tits. no bra, just the warmth of his tongue.

the way you arch into him would be embarrassing if you also didn’t feel how hard he was beneath you. he’s kissing at your breasts like it’s getting him off, leaving you to curl your fingers into his curls as retribution.

“ah, fuck, jason..” you draw out his name without meaning to, eyes screwing shut the longer he licks at you.

his reply is muffled at first, but he pulls away just enough to be understood, “mhm…look at you, real fuckin’ sweet now.”

he goes back to kissing at your chest, only this time he slips one hand toward your sweatpants waistband. and he tugs until they’re just low enough for him to slip his fingers beneath the front, cupping you through your panties. you whimper at the contact, biting hard at your bottom lip.

“and wet too?” he chuckles, “that cold garage really riled you up, huh?”

“i hate you,” you pant, rocking your hips down into his palm. “hate your stupid bike. hate this dumb car. hate your smug face.”

he laughs, full and low and dark, “hate me all you want, baby,” he says as he slips two fingers under your panties and slides them through the slick you’ve made, “still fuckin’ wet for me.”

your head drops to his shoulder, forehead pressed into the thick muscle of his neck as he starts to tease your clit in tight circles. you groan his name, body starting to tremble.

his other hand grips your hip, pulling you in tighter against him and his hand. you can feel how hard he is through his sweats, thick and straining, the pressure of him grinding against your thigh with every shift of your weight. he’s relentless with his fingers, working you open, dipping just barely inside you before retreating, teasing over and over until you’re slicking his hand and twitching in his lap.

“jason.” you whisper, needy and completely ignorant to your previous annoyance, “jesus christ…please.”

“what is it you want?” he asks, voice honey, lips brushing your temple, “tell me.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, and mimic his earlier request, “backseat?”

jason exhales, sharp and low. you’re still selfishly grinding into his hand and trembling through the teasing. but then his fingers slow, and then stop altogether.

“fuckin’ finally,” he mutters, biting at your jaw like punctuation to his curse. “i’ve been trying to get you back there since you started whining.”

you scramble off his lap with little to no grace, half in the center console, halfway in the backseat. you watch as he scrambles to open and exit the driver’s side, muffling a giggle when he nearly busts his ass on a patch of ice. your laughter dies the second he opens that back door though, his face full of absolute want. he’s almost wolfish, fully yours. and he’s quick to duck into the backseat, pulling you with him.

you land on your back against the cold leather, though only cold for a second, because then he’s over you. he’s kissing you like it’s punishment. for him and you. hot and messy and full of tongue. his hands are all over, dragging your top layers fully off, and pulling your sweatpants and panties down. both items, thrown haphazardly somewhere in the car. you kick your socked feet at him and he laughs, low and wild.

jason pushes his sweats just low enough and your eyes drop to his cock, already hard, flushed, and leaking. your mouth curls.

“condom?” you ask, breathing hard already.

he groans like you’ve stabbed him back to reality, “fuckin’…hold on. glovebox.” he mutters, leaning forward and fumbling until he finds one—snatching it without moving fully off you. then, your near neanderthal of a boyfriend rips the wrapper with his teeth. rolls it on with one hand while the other spreads your thighs open again.

you’d call him a demon if you didn’t know him better.

still…you watch all of it, too turned on to hide it. he notices, he always does.

“see something you like?”

you smirk, “not much to look at.”

his eyes narrow, “you’re gonna eat those words.”

he lines up, rubs the thick head through your folds, teasing you with it until you can’t help but press against him. you whimper, hips rolling to chase his.

“jason, don’t be a prude.” you joke, mostly impatient and growing colder the longer his body strays from you.

“teasing isn’t prudish.” he groans, shifting the head of his cock right at your entrance. sinking in as much as he can in one swift motion. not rough exactly, but firm. intentional. like he wants you to feel every inch as he deals it out. “if anything it’s romantic. let me be romantic, you brat.”

you arch up, hands scrambling for something to hold—his back, his hair, anything. your mouth falls open and you bite at his shoulders to keep from crying out at the sudden fullness. even in bliss, you refuse to cave in the most. no, that’s a task for jason and jason alone.

“fuck,” he pants, resting his forehead against yours, his hips twitching as he bottoms out, “you feel—”

“if you say good, i’ll kill you.” your voice trembles as you wrap your legs around his waist, dragging him in deeper. “t’so lame. find better words.”

he laughs again, breath fogging the tiny space between you. “jesus, you’re mean when you’re cold.”

“no, i’m mean when i’m ignored.” you snap, nails digging into his back as he starts to move. “which—oh my god—you just did. mere minutes ago…for a fucking bike.”

jason grins against your cheek, sharp and no doubt showing each and every one of his thirty-twos, before he drags his hips back and slams into you again. harder this time. enough to jolt the entire car and knock your thoughts sideways.

“maybe i should ignore you more often,” he mutters. “you’re pretty slutty when you’re mad.”

you don’t dignify that with a response. mostly because your voice catches when he rolls his hips again, deeper this time, steadier. he finds a rhythm, some mix between grinding and rolling. in the best way possible…it’s so much worse than quick ins and outs. it’s too close, too thick, too good. his cock drags along every nerve, your chest arching up into his, legs hooked tight around him like you’re trying to trap him inside you.

you drag your nails down his spine, lips brushing his ear, “if anything, you should be sorry for it.”

“i’ll make it up to you,” he hums, rocking into you faster, making the car damn near shudder with his ministrations. “just keep letting me fuck you like this.”

your breath stutters out. one of your hands fists in his hair, the other pressed flat against the window, palm sweating the glass worse than the heat ever could.

jason lowers his mouth to your neck, tongue hot where your skin’s gone clammy from sweat. and he bites—not too hard—but enough that you cry out and clamp around him, thighs squeezing his sides like a vice.

“hell, baby.” his voice is rough and wrecked, hips stuttering, pace starting to falter. “you’re gonna make me cum.”

“don’t.” your hand fists in his hair tighter, dragging his face back up to yours, “not yet.”

his laugh is a strangled thing, but he obeys. he slows down, hips going back to grinding instead of fucking. deep, dirty, maddening strokes that make your whole body burn up.

you hate him. god, you hate him for how good he is at this—at you. how he listens even when he doesn’t want to. how he makes you forget every reason you were pissed in the first place.

you start to clench around him. that beginning to the end he makes you all too familiar with. your body gets all tight, your pulse rhythmic, your moans involuntary. and as much as you know you’re nearing the edge, so does jason.

“c’mon, baby.” he murmurs, thumbing at your jaw to make you look at him. “let go for me. you want to, i know you do. you’re so, fuck, so warm. you feel so good. just ride it out for me.”

you don’t want to. you want to make him suffer for a little longer. but you’re weak to him. and you stupidly, always have been.

you shatter under him. your legs half locking and shaking, back arching, and face twisting into something wrecked and grateful. he groans through it, watching you with an almost disbelieving expression before his mouth finds yours as you burn through your orgasm. he’s kissing you through every wave. it’s messy and wrecked. barely a kiss, more of a necessity.

and then he’s fucking into you with abandon, chasing his own high now, teeth gritted, muscles tense, cock twitching deep inside you as he spills into the condom with a weak grunt and far too many expletives. the whole car shakes from it—windows fogged even more—air thick with sweat and sex.

you lie there a second, with his heavy body over yours. you can feel his heartbeat pounding into your ribs. your legs are still wrapped around him. neither of you moves.

and then you sigh, “you’re still not off the hook.”

jason half-grins against your collarbone, “didn’t think i was. but you’re not cold anymore, are you?”

you slap the back of his head, “next time you wanna freeze me to death for company, bring a goddamn heater.”

he hums, already pressing soft kisses to your chest, “or i could just fuck you warm. worked in our favor this time.”

you groan, head hitting the seat cushion.

this man. this fucking man.

yours, and annoying about it.

WRITER’S NOTE

big shoutout to the anon that send this ask, bc my love—you inspired this. i saw that bottom idea and my mind went into autopilot. i didn’t have sentient fingers when i typed this. pure lust on the brain. was it supposed to be a blurb? yes. is it a blurb? no. again…no sentience when i typed this. what jason todd will do to a woman.

song linked to the headphone emoji at the top is best enjoyed when it has exactly 1:34 minutes left bc guitar riffs are horny and this is a horny piece of work. and if you enjoyed this horny piece of work…you better comment and reblog or comment AND reblog. i will also accept your first born. you’ve met user enviedear at a very rumplestiltskin time in her life.

[outromoonyy]

I still don't know my purpose on this planet but I do love reading fanfiction.

[lnternetgirl]

[beingthisalive]

clark kent twitter links

videos will only load if you’re logged into twitter on your browser!

18+ minors do not interact you will be blocked!

links under cut! click the emoji to open! captions in app are not mine, happy viewing!

⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂ ☆

⛰️ — clark after you tease him while doing farm chores

📸 — clark coming home after a tiring day at the daily planet to find comfort in you

🧺 — clark jerking off to the thought of you

🌎 — clark’s favorite place to eat

📖 — clark’s hands can’t get enough of your body

💼 — clark knows exactly how to get your legs shaking

🌳 — clark pinned down for once <3

🌃 — clark bending you over

☕️ — clark neeeeeds to get deeper

🌕 — clark making it up to you bc he was late coming home

🔭 — clark just bought a new couch after you guys broke the last one

[kill3ill]

lover, you should've come over | clark kent

cw. implied age gap, fem reader, apocalypse au, arguing, angst-smut, cunnilingus, clark is infatuated with you

synopsis. tired of feeling like dead weight for clark who's got enough to deal with on his own, you try to be a martyr and leave him in the middle of the night.

you thought your life was over the day a group of the infected surrounded you in what used to be a grocery store. you didn't think though, that the angel of death would be a tall, scruffy man with beefy muscle and a permanent scowl on his face.

he was not an angel, nothing of the sort. just clark. and got you safe without a scratch.

for some reason, you had a feeling he wasn't going to ask for something in return or try to raid your bag. correct you were, but not to the full extent. he'd gone as far as to offer for you to join him, something you hadn't been expecting. a man as quiet and serious as him didn't look like he'd be seeking a companion, let alone a girl like you who'd barely been able to keep herself alive as is.

you’ve been with him for a good few months now. he’s shared your resources, saved your life time and time again, and goes out of his way to keep you safe and secure. he even offers you most of his food even though a man his size and weight needs much more than you do. all of it is starting to eat at you.

you're walking ahead of him on the narrow trail, boots sinking into soft snow underneath you as trees close in overhead. you can hear clark behind you. his careful, steady footfalls, the low grunt he gives whenever he shifts his pack, the way he clears his throat as if he’s about to speak but then decides against it.

clark has been like this for a week now. hovering and watching you too closely. he lowers his voice around you and making every excuse in the world to touch your shoulder, adjust the strap on your bag, or walk beside you instead of ahead. you don’t let yourself think about why.

in fact, you shouldn't allow yourself to let your thoughts stray to him at all tonight. because its the night. the one you picked because your guilt had become too heavy to carry.

you can feel the elaborate letter you wrote - crumpled notebook paper folded up in your coat pocket, covered in smudged ink and crossed out words because you kept rewriting it and changing things. it took you a whole week to get it right.

you wanted to explain to him that he deserved someone stronger, someone who wouldn't take constantly from him without giving much in return. someone who wouldn't let him stand first watch every night and continue it through the night if they couldn't wake up for their turn. you were ashamed of yourself, but it's not your fault. letting him take care of you and make you his priority while he put his own safety at risk, on the other hand, was your fault.

he deserves someone who isn’t you.

you keep your steps even as he follows behind you. you know he's assumed this position so he can catch you if you fall backwards, saving you from rolling down the hill and breaking your neck.

“alright up there?” clark calls softly to not startle you.

“mhm,” you hum, hoping the guilt in your heart doesn’t show. “just tired.”

he huffs. “you say that every night.”

because every night you think about leaving him. and every night you lose your nerve.

but tonight... tonight is going to be different.

the two of you finally reach the small clearing he'd selected earlier off the map, the one with a few fallen logs and just enough open space to pitch the tent. you drop your beside a stump and kneel to start gather kindling that looks relatively dry.

clark sets his down beside yours and performs his routine of circling around you, making sure you're not injured, bitten, or sick, and then starts checking the perimeter for any fresh tracks or signs of danger. he's infuriatingly careful. methodical. protecting you before he even sets the tent up.

and it guts you.

when he returns, he comes and kneels beside you, handing a few pieces of dry bark he must've found. he's closer than he usually lets himself be when he's trying to keep emotional distance. his knee brushes yours, but he makes no effort to move it away.

“you didn’t eat enough today,” he says softly. he’s not accusing you. just expressing concern.

“i ate what i needed to, clark. don't worry.” you say.

he just nods. he doesn’t want to spook you. then he reaches for his matchbox, starts up the fire, and sits back on the log.

he rolls his shoulders back and cracks his neck with a soft, pained grunt, and it makes you think about all the ways he’s hurt. all the ways he hides it so you won’t feel bad.

you can’t stay. it’ll break him eventually.

you busy yourself with your pack before he can see your eyes well up. you pull out your worn bedroll, your canteen, the things he gave you; because almost everything you own now came from him. clark's generosity is stamped into your life like fingerprints you can’t scrub off.

you’re leaving all of it behind.

“you’ve been acting different, y'know.” he says suddenly.

your stomach twists uncomfortably. “what do you mean?”

clark exhales slowly.

“its just been hard to get a read on you.” he lowers his voice, head tilted towards you. he doesn’t lift his gaze off you for a second. clark doesn’t look away when he wants something. he stares, studies. he memorizes without knowing he’s doing it. tonight… he hasn’t stopped looking at you since you left the trail. "i can't tell how you're doing."

you gnaw on your lower lip. it’s taking a lot out of you to remain neutral so he doesn’t have more reason to suspect that you're bullshitting, but the amount of questions he throws at you is making it difficult.

“just tired, clark.” you repeat. “it's freezing outside and my body's using all my energy to keep me warm. i've been craving sleep all day.”

you can tell he doesn't buy it. but he doesn't push you any more.

you stand so you can get away from his eyes and the guilt clawing up your ribs. you go to hang the perimeter bells, hands shaky, breath short. and behind you… you hear clark move around restlessly. he wants to follow you, but is giving you space because that’s what you seem to want.

when you return, he’s on one knee, unpacking more food than usual. he sets aside the bigger portion - of course - for you. “clark,” you say, walking up to him quickly, hoping to stop him before he gives you more food than you want and starts digging in to his smaller portion. “you don't have to- i can portion my own meals.”

he shakes his head without looking up. “not up for debate, alright? i want you to eat this.”

“it should be- clark stop, i don't need that much, i ate a lot for breakfast this morning, i just want to lay down.”

he stops and stares at you, frowning the second you raise your voice ever so slightly. the pitiful look in his eyes is more than you can take, and you mumble something, and start setting up the tent.

“hey, hey...” he calls softly, “sweetheart, come on. talk to me for a second.”

you keep working, narrowly missing your finger as you hammer a nail into the frozen dirt. there’s a stretch of silence long enough to feel like punishment. you hear him swallow and let out this little sigh.

“alright,” he murmurs. “i'll help you get this up, then you can sleep.”

you don’t answer, but your eyes follow him as he moves across from you to pitch the rear end of the tent. he doesn’t say anything else.

the two of you make quick work of it because you're so focused. when he's sure it's sturdy, he opens the flap for you to get in. you kick off your boots and unfurl your bedroll, planning to fake sleep immediately to avoid conversation. you won't let guilt change your mind tonight. he's outside, putting away the food you didn't eat. you know he won't eat either. he tends to base his actions and decisions off you.

curling tighter into your blanket, you pretend to sleep, breathing slow and even.

eventually, you hear clark shift. the soft scrape of his boots coming off. the long, aching sigh as he lowers himself into his bedroll just to the side of yours. not too close tonight.

you stare at the tent ceiling while he settles. his breathing is slow but not steady. every few minutes you hear him inhale too sharply, like something’s sitting on his chest.

as the time passes and the forest goes still, clark's breathing finally deepens and evens out. its time. your heartbeat is loud enough you’re sure it’ll wake him. you hold still until it slows, then you move. swift and efficient, like how he taught you. you gather your pack, leaving almost everything he gave you behind, because it’s his. it should stay with him. you don’t deserve to carry pieces of him when you’re about to walk away.

you pause at the tent door, look back at his sleeping form. he's on his side, body angled towards your sleeping bag with one hand outstretched. you place the letter by his boots and let yourself look at him one last time.

and you walk.

ᥫ᭡.

you barely make ten steps before you hear your name sharply, awake. clark is already on his feet inside the tent. he pushes his way out, struggling to shove his boots on. his curls are tousled from sleep and his cheeks are already singed red from the wind nipping at his skin.

“what’re you doing?” his voice is low but it trembles. “where are you going, sweetheart?”

your mouth opens but nothing comes out.

clark looks at the bag on your shoulder, the things missing. and back at the empty space where your bedroll was. then his eyes drop to the letter on the ground, and you watch slowly as realization covers his face.

“a.... letter?” he says, voice cracking on the word. “you were gonna leave me with nothing but a letter?”

you wince. “clark-”

“no.” he steps toward you, slow but shaky. “no. don’t...don’t you dare try and explain this with a little piece of paper.”

tears fill your eyes. “i wasn’t trying to hurt you-! you don't understand, clark! i was holding you back, i was-”

“so then what d’you call this?” his voice rises. “sneaking off in the middle of the night? seriously? slipping away like i’m some stranger who hasn't earned the truth out of you?” your eyes burn. you shake your head, but he barrels on, voice roughening.

“do you really think so little of me? did you think that i wouldn’t want to hear from your mouth why you're leaving me?”

“stop it! it’s not like that!”

“what is it like, then?!”

“you're doing too much for me! i can't keep taking from you and holding you back! i'm a risk to your safety!” you swallow hard. “you have enough on your plate without me. i'm not going to let myself be the reason you get killed!”

clark stares. confusion, disbelief, anger... all tangled together.

“you give me the best of everything you get. you patch me up, give me your portions of food, you take care of me like your life depends on it, clark. and it shouldn’t, okay? for fuck's sake, it shouldn’t be like that.”

clark's jaw clenches, and he finds himself stepping closer to you, his chest rising and falling hard. he opens his mouth, but you don’t let him.

“i can’t watch you die because of me,” you say, wiping your tears quickly. “i won’t. i won’t do that.”

“stop,” he says sharply.

“clark-”

“i said stop.”

his hand finds your arm, firm but not painful, guiding you back until your spine meets the rough bark of a tree. he cages you in place, breath hitting your cheek fast and uneven.

“you think i’m doin’ all that ’cause you’re weak?” his voice is low and shaky. “you think that’s why?” he shakes his head, jaw clenched. heavy, hands settle on your shoulders. “i do it,” he says, each word trembling with the force of it, “because i’m falling in love with you.”

you feel your whole body freeze up as his words register. he steps closer, but you can't process that the distance between you is closing or that your plans to leave him are quickly leaving your memory.

“i've been trying not to. i bit my tongue for weeks, sweetheart, but you-” he swallows hard. “you trying to leave like this... i can’t... can’t take it. i can’t pretend anymore.” he stares at you desperately, waiting for you to say something, or run. he doesn't know what to expect.

your lips part, but the words won’t come out. not the right ones, at least. not the ones he wants, that you've been feeling too all this time. “that's not fair,” you choke, “you-” your breath stutters. “you can’t say something like that. you can’t just drop that on me.”

clark's jaw tightens. “i said it because it’s the truth. and it might've been my only chance to tell you 'cause you're trying to run out on me.”

“it's not that simple!” you cry out, struggling against his hold. the wind is biting and you want to start your journey down the hill before the climate becomes too harsh and it's impossible to see two feet in front of you. “you say all this as if you're so sure about it! i'm just supposed to take your word for it?”

you look away. “i don’t trust that you actually know what you’re feeling.”

clark goes so still that you might've thought for a second that he saw an infected stumbling behind you and was trying to avoid being detected. but he didn't. your words had shocked him into silence. he finally responds with an, “excuse me?” and his voice is barely audible.

“you’re confused, clark,” you say, pushing the words out because you’re terrified. “you’ve been alone for so long, and I’m the only person around. you feel responsible for me, and you think that means you-”

“don’t,” he warns, voice low and vibrating.

“you think that means you love me, but-”

“stop it.” he steps forward, breath ragged. “don’t say that to me.” it's a warning, but by now, you're spiraling. everything comes out too fast.

“you don’t actually want me, clark. you want purpose. someone to keep alive so you can feed your savior complex!”

“that’s enough.” his voice is full of anger now, a tone you haven't heard before from him. his voice is always soft and patient with you. you've cracked past that layer with him now. he's full of emotion he’s trying and failing to control.

you push past him anyway, chest heaving. “i can’t stay here and pretend you’re not just projecting.”

that's when clark snaps. he grabs your wrist firm enough to stop you, to make you face him. when you keep trying to pull away, he follows, steps into your space, crowds you back until your spine hits the tree again.

your breath leaves you in a gasp.

“look at me,” he says.

you don’t. it's too hard to, right now. that's because the deep blue of his eyes boring into yours makes you feel pinned and vulnerable. you can't lie in his face when he looks at you so intensely. clark catches your jaw gently but firmly between his fingers, tilts your face up, makes you see him. “you don’t ever, ever, undermine my feelings again,” he says, voice gravel combining with vulnerability. “you hear me?”

clark grabs your hand and drags it to his sternum, pressing your palm flat against the spot above his heart. “feel that?” he says, “that’s what you do to me.”

it’s pounding. nothing about his current behavior is like the clark you know. he's not calm or collected.

you try to pull your hand back, overwhelmed, but he pushes it firmer against him, pressing your fingertips into his chest. “do you really think i'd get like this for anyone?” he demands. “you think i let people get to me like this? i don't lose sleep over someone just because they're with me all the time.”

you shake your head, but he keeps going. he says your name, pressing his body closer to yours.

“no one’s ever had this effect on me, or got me worked up like this.”

“i don't-”

“and you...” his voice breaks off as his face twists into a look of disappointment and hurt as he remembers your words. “you stand there, telling me i'm confused? that i’m making it up because i’m lonely?”

his face is so close now you can feel the heat radiating off his flushed cheeks. his nose grazes yours. you feel his hands slide down to your waist, fingers squeezing to keep you with him. he's terrified you'll abandon him. “you scare the hell out of me,” he says, voice barely a breath. “but i care about you so much it-”

your lips meet yours as you cut him off midsentence. your body moves before your brain could catch up, like you'd been holding back your thoughts and feelings the whole time he was speaking but finally gave in.

you wanted to tell him the whole reason you felt you had to leave him was because you cared about him too much to watch him constantly jeopardize himself to keep you safe and well, that you've been falling in love too, but your body moved before you did.

the sound clark makes when you kiss him is wrecked. a soft, desperate moan coming straight from his gut. his hands fly to your waist, back, hair... he doesn't know where to hold first, he wants everything at once. clark's mouth moves against yours as if he's starving, lips molded perfectly against yours while he tilts his head to get a better angle.

it’s messy. breathless, months of tension and weeks of him trying not to touch you all detonating at once. you gasp into his mouth and he chases more, lips parting yours, while his tongue slips against sliding yours with a need that borders on frantic. he cups the back of your head, to move you where he wants you, his other hand gripping your hip tight.

he pants your name again against your lips. you pull him back in, and he groans loudly, hips pushing forward before he can stop himself. he's unmistakably hard. you moan into each other's mouths, and clark shudders. “been wanting you,” he mutters, voice shaking. “for so long-”

it's the last thing he says before he can't take anymore, lifting you by locking his hands under your thighs and dragging you up against him. he’s terrified you’ll slip out of his arms if he loosens his grip even a little. clark stumbles with you toward the tent with his mouth glued to yours. he can’t decide whether to lay you down somewhere soft or keep you pinned against his body when he finally takes you.

he chooses both.

clark carries you inside the tent without letting you go. his hands curl behind you to tug off your backpack without breaking the kiss, tossing it aside with a carelessness he never uses with anything else. you're pushed back against his bedroll right after, and clark clambers on top of you, thighs bracketing your hips.

“easy, sweetheart… s’okay… you’re alright,” he whispers in that low rasp that curls right into your chest. his hands return to your body, smoothing up your arms, tugging your jacket open even while he’s panting against your mouth.

impatience builds in you, your hips lifting when his fingers catch on your hem. still, he takes his time, pulling your shirt up slowly and carefully. he's waited too long for you to rush this.

clark kisses you the whole time he’s dragging the fabric over your ribs. you can hear him getting worked up as he does, the way his breathing has turned to heavy panting, the quiet grunts he swallows when your hands grab at his shoulders.

“you’re being so good f'me, sweetheart. little more now...” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth as he eases you out of another layer. “been waiting too… been wanting this so bad…”

your legs spread to make more space for him in between, and his hand slides behind your back, lifting you just enough to pull the last of your shirt off in one clean motion, and he lays you back down just as gently as he picked you up. then his kisses move lower, and lower, and lower.

clark stops right below your navel, kissing your womb while looking into your eyes. his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants and panties together, easing them down your hips inch by inch, kissing every bit of skin he reveals. your thighs, your stomach, that sensitive spot right above your pelvis, he kisses all of it.

“lift for me, sweetheart… that’s it…” and you do, and he takes your pants completely off, setting them carefully aside. his hands slide up the insides of your thighs and he spreads you slowly, gently. thumbs stroke the soft skin there, and his head dips, lips brushing the top of your knee before traveling inward, to where you're leaking for him.

his breath leaves him in a long, shaky rush. clark lowers himself, mouth brushing your clit first to make you shiver. then he sticks out his tongue and licks a broad stripe up your cunt. the quiet, helpless whine that escapes you makes him groan against your hole.

and then he starts kissing you there the way he kissed your mouth, worshipful. he sucks at your folds greedily, slurping them into his mouth and mixing your juices with his saliva.

his tongue draws one long, warm stroke firmly, lapping at you from top to bottom so fully that your back arches off the bedroll and pitched moans leave you.

clark responds with sounds of his own. your pleasure elicits involuntary, visceral reactions in his body, and your noises go straight to his cock. he attempts to relieve the throbbing by rutting his hips languidly against the soft fabric under him.

laving his tongue up and down your pussy, he's sure to get everywhere from your opening to your clit, but not giving you the speed you’re begging for in your head. his mouth is soft but his tongue is steady, patient, devoted. your hand fists in his hair, and he groans again, deeper.

“that’s it… go rough if you want, baby.” he breathes, closinf his mouth around your clit, enough for you to feel the warm pull of him sucking you in, tongue pushing gently under the hood before circling slow. “you’re so soft here. could... mmh. do this forever.”

clark flattens his tongue again and drags it upward in a slow, heavy stripe that makes your eyes roll back. “easy, baby… s’okay,” he murmurs, kissing you again slow and open-mouthed, letting his tongue slip into you in deep, lazy strokes. “let me take care of you.”

every slow, deliberate movement of his tongue sends another wave rolling up your spine. “c-clark- 's too... oh my gosh- m-more please-!” your thighs clamp around his head on instinct. he obliges, sucking languidly at your folds while thrusting his tongue in and out of you slow and sloppy. as you cry out with delight, he returns to teasing you, doing slow circles with the tip of his tongue.

“look at you,” he murmurs, moving his hand between your legs to tap lightly at your clit, before spitting on your hole and slapping your pussy lightly with the length of his fingers to mix it in with your arousal. “want more? you can barely handle this.”

his mouth drops back onto you before you can answer, tongue flattening again, sliding up in slow strokes. every movement of his mouth is slow enough to keep you right on the edge of falling apart too soon.

your hand flies up to cover your mouth when you moan too loud, toes curling in your socks “o-oh, fuck, right there! feels s'good clark, i'm c-close...” his big hands anchor you in place when you squirm too hard, and his tongue pushes in and out of you to coax more sounds from you.

his tongue keeps dipping deep between your folds, sliding inside you just enough to curl and press. hiw hands clutch your thighs, holding you exactly where he wants you as his mouth works over you. you're trembling against him, and he responds to every little moan, arch of your hips, with his tongue and the subtle movement of his hips as his cock, now swollen and leaking, rubs against the bedroll through his pants.

“clark, i'm close!” you cry out, gripping his hair as tightly as you can. your legs shake and your stomach tightens, but he doesn’t let up for a second - slow, greedy flicks of his tongue dragging and curling in even when you're too sensitive for any more. when he groans into your pussy, fucking himself on the ground even as pre leaks steadily from his tip, the vibrations sent through you nearly undoes you completely. but you lose it when he spreads your legs as wide as they'll go, and laps and sucks at all of your pussy at once, pushing a finger into you while you're already overstimulated.

your orgasm hits you hard, wetness exploding from your center straight into his mouth. clark doesn’t pull back. he holds you there, sucks and laps. your thighs shake around his head as you come undone, but he doesn’t stop or give you a single second to recover.

finally, after what feels like hours pressed into seconds, he lifts his mouth just enough to inhale your scent, your cunt and his mouth connected by a sloppy string of spit. he croons at your fucked out expression and presses a kiss hard against your clit, making you twitch and moan.

you think maybe this is it. maybe he’s satisfied. but then he shifts, sitting up and then leaning down to meet your mouth with his. this time you can taste yourself on him. warm, sweet, sticky, and the way his lips press to yours, dragging it into the kiss, makes your stomach knot again. it makes the front of his pants more noticeably damp.

he drags your hand there, letting the heat from his clothed cock sear straight into your hand. then he leans to whisper huskily in your ear as your hand strokes his hard length. “ah, sweet girl. rub me right there.... ngh- want this off me? hm?”

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[sunaskura]

𝐁𝐅𝐅! 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 | accidentally sending him a lewd photo

warning: jealous mark, he may be a little toxic, phone sex

you took the selfie with him in mind - tipsy on a couple glasses of wine and wearing the lingerie you've had hidden in the back of your drawer from when you purchased it two years ago. you video call your girl friend, cheeks hot when you ask her if it's a good idea to send it to him. you're obviously joking, you would never even dream of it, but she plays along asking you to send the photo to her. you go to your text messages with her and hit send. she waits patiently on the other end, both of you silent while the photo loads before you hear your phone ping. your blurry gaze focuses in on a text notification from mark:

oh my god

your throat goes dry. you sit up immediately, clicking on the notification to see you accidentally sent it to the man you've crushed on for years and not your friend. you furiously type away, trying to come up with an excuse:

mark i'm so sorry that wasn't meany for yoi please forget this ehver happemed.

while you're busy panicking mark is sitting on top of some skyscraper, legs dangling over the ledge as he stares down at his phone. he stopped mid flight when he heard your unique notification go off and god, he was not expecting that.

his hand tightens on his phone when he reads your message. what the hell do you mean you sent it to the wrong person? who the hell was the right person?

sure, no problem, he types before backspacing. he tries a couple more nonchalant sentences before erasing them all and taking a deep breath through his nose. he battles between coming off as unaffected, or finally growing a pair and doing something about his decade long crush. he focuses on the photo again, studying the curves of your delicate body. appreciating the dainty lace that hardly hides your hardened nipples, imaging your fingers tracing the buds to get them to perk up. your skin: so supple and smooth and freshly lotioned... he groans, which quickly turns into a growl of sorts when he looks just below the photo to see your last sent message: "that wasn't meany for yoi" ...were you drunk?

who was this meant for?

he types out and sends before he can chicken out. your typing bubble taunts him while he waits for you to ruin his night just for the bubble to disappear completely. his thumb presses your contact photo, before selecting the video call option. he bites his bottom lip as he waits for you to pick up, not entirely sure if you even will.

back in you room, his contact photo takes up your entire screen and your body goes rigid. you hurriedly tell your friend and she sounds ecstatic. "oh my god pick it up!"

"you can't be serious," you splutter out but she's already hung up on you. you lean back against your headboard, making sure the phone is angled to where you couldn't see your cleavage before accepting the call. you must be drunker than you thought.

on the other end of the screen is an equally flushed mark. he calls out your name, his voice sounds strangely strained. his jaw line is also more pronounced than usual, like he had been grinding his teeth.

"mark?" you say back, taking in the night's sky behind him, "where are you-" he cuts you off.

"who did you mean to send that to?" you swallow deeply, his deep brown eyes staring back at you. he's unblinking, like he's waiting intensely on your answer.

"i don't know," you say softly.

"don't.. don't do that to me," he speaks like it hurts. "you need to give me his name," his voice is dripping in desperation. his eyebrows are furrowed in pain, lip jutted out in a mean pout. you were not expecting that.

"you're not mad i sent that to you?" you murmur in observation.

the way he says your name snaps you back to earth. "answer me first," he demands. time feels unreal as you stare down at your screen, the room beyond your phone is coated in static. you don't answer and he speaks up, "no, i'm not mad that you sent it to me. i'm mad that it was meant for someone else," a beat passes before he spits out in an attempt to recover, "you never told me you were with someone".

"i'm not," you say simply, but that's all you say and his insides continue to twist.

"so, you'd send that photo to a guy you're only casually talking to?" now your eyebrows furrow, confused why he is so obsessed with some made-up guy.

"no, it wasn't meant for any guy, mark," your tone is sharp once your drunken brain finally puts it together that he's accusing you of being easy for a guy that doesn't exist.

"that's all you had to say," he says, exasperated. his shoulders slump like the weight of the world just lifted off of him. his puppy eyes are still staring at you, making you dizzy. "so you're just... taking cute photos of yourself?" he asks hesitantly, tone much lighter than before. your face immediately heats up. he thought the photo was cute? you nod, and he continues, "so how did it end up sent to me?" good question; you did not want to answer that. you shrug, exposing the strap of your bra. "you're wearing it right now?" he says, sounding like he just got punched in the gut.

"y-yeah," you breathe out.

"can..." his eyebrows are furrowed as he thinks, "can i see it again?" your mouth falls open and it's then you notice his pupils are blown out. you don't answer, but you tilt your camera down a little, just enough he can see the lace pushing up your cleavage. what the hell are you two doing?

your heart beats loudly in your ears as you watch mark's intense gaze.

after a few passing seconds he finally speaks, "lower?" you oblige.

you pull your hand back and he gets to see your entire chest; the beginning of your waist visible as well. he wets his lips. "m-more?" he tests his luck again, feeling greedy. you adjust yourself before pulling the phone all the way back to where he can now see your lacy panties, and the defined line of your folds swallowing the fabric. you're wet, it's obvious even from the other end of the screen and mark has to grip the ledge he's perched on to keep himself from free falling. "oh fuck," he sucks in air and your cunt twitches. "i'm so sorry, you can punch me if i'm overstepping but," he lets out a strangled groan, "can you please touch yourself?" his inflection makes it sound like a question, but you take it as a command. your free hand reaches down and you trace the line between your lips. you can tell he shifts from the shakiness of his camera before it finally stills and you hear a satisfied sigh grace his lips. his phone begins to shake ever so slightly and almost rhythmically, the image of mark blurring in time to what you presume is him stroking his cock. you can hear when his precum finally wets his ministrations, and now you're so turned on your body physically shudders with need.

you continue what you're doing, teasing your pussy before finding your clit. the feeling is muted by the fabric but your back is arching nonetheless. "fuck you're so beautiful," the word spill out, pure admiration coats his tone and his praises only continue when your slip your panties down. "god she's even better than i imagined."

"you imagined what my pussy looked like?" you ask and he scoffs like you asked the most obvious question known to man.

"there isn't a day that passes where i don't," with that heart stopping admission you insert a finger and mark pants.

"i wanna see what you look like, mark..." you whine pathetically and he obliges immediately, turning the screen around to show you his intimidating cock. your eyes widen and mark's tip spits out a glob of precum at your reaction.

"you like it right?" he asks, desperate for your validation. once he sees you nod he goes back to stroking it while you watch. he glides his hand up and down his shaft, making sure to give it good squeeze once he reaches his tip. your cunt clenches around your fingers as you imagined what he would feel like inside you and mark catches it. "fuck you look so tight"

"mark, you should be here," you whine.

"on it," is all he says before the call ends.

[after-avenging-hours]

Don't Touch the Plants

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dick, who was once banned from engaging with Ivy as a kid because he kept poking her carnivorous plants, still manages to get himself in trouble, even as an adult. One overdose of sex pollen has the two of you scrambling to reach a safehouse before the effects set in.

Word Count: 7K

Content Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, porn with very little plot, sex pollen, dubious consent (because of the pollen), established relationship, sex marathon, oral (female receiving), rimming, p in v sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, squirting, mating press, praise kink, explicit language, no use of Y/N

A/N: I'm sure this has already been done before, but when I read the episode of Wayne Family Adventures where Dick explains to Damian why he got banned from Poison Ivy cases for a while, I couldn't help but think it was the perfect lead-up for a sex pollen fic 😅 Holy shit, this is FILTHY AF

ALSO even though this is getting posted around Xmas, it has nothing to do with Xmas, and I DO NOT RECOMMEND that you read it around your family!

"Are you going to behave yourself?" you ask, pointedly glaring at Nightwing as you both approach the giant greenhouse at the back of the Gotham Botanical Gardens.

"Why, I have no idea what you could possibly mean," he responds with a cheesy grin.

Your gaze narrows even further. "If you get eaten by a giant carnivorous plant again, I'm not coming after you."

"I can't help it if I'm irresistibly tasty." He presses a hand to his chest, his tone heavy, like it's such a burden to bear.

"Oh, brother..." You roll your eyes.

"Babe, you know exactly how tasty I am," he leans in and whispers into your ear.

You push his face away with a gloved hand and refuse to acknowledge the heat beneath your own domino mask. "Way to keep it professional, Nightwing."

His husky chuckle sends a shiver down your spine. "You're not denying it."

"And you still haven't answered my question. Do I need to make you wait out here?" You cross your arms, coming to a stop in front of the main doors, barring his entry.

"Come on, that was a long time ago!" He holds his hands out like he's trying to prove his case. "I was 8!"

"Yes, because you've done so much maturing since then," you mumble sarcastically with your hands on your hips and staring pointedly.

He pouts, and you can fully imagine the big blue puppy eyes he's giving you beneath the whites of his mask. "I'll be good," he promises, drawing an X over his heart. He drops the act and adopts a more serious tone. "I'm not letting you go in there alone. We all know how volatile Ivy can be."

You stare him down for a beat, gauging the honesty of his pledge, before stepping aside with a sigh. "She's mellowed out a bunch after she started dating Harley."

"She's still dangerous."

"I know," you agree, moving to pull open the large glass door. "Just keep your hands to yourself."

He's back to smirking cheekily. "That's not what you said last night."

You have to refrain from smacking him.

It's hot and humid inside the monumental glass building. All types of exotic plants fill the space from floor to ceiling, along with buzzing and fluttering insects in various colorful forms. You begin sweating under your suit almost immediately.

"Let's make this quick," you announce, stepping deeper into the greenhouse. You cut him off as soon as he opens his mouth. "If you make one more comment about last night, I swear to god..."

He laughs, holding his hands up innocently.

You both follow the path deeper into the building. It feels like you're getting swallowed up by the rainforest all around you. It's not like walking into a lion's den; the threat here is subtle, older, thousands of years of slow growth and adaptation. You tread carefully, making sure to avoid any wayward sprouts or vines along the path. Don't want to piss off your host by accident.

"To what do I owe this unexpected intrusion?" Ivy's voice carries to you before you've even laid eyes on her.

Several jungle ferns shift their fronds, opening a previously hidden path. You and Nightwind share a look before stepping through and entering what appears to be a chemist's laboratory. There are tables full of glassware, vials, and beakers filled with colorful liquids, Bunsen burners, measuring scales, and the like.

Ivy is standing behind the table, wearing safety goggles, and swirling a bright green concoction inside a triangular beaker.

You step closer, but still maintain a healthy distance from her and the lab equipment. "Batman said you've had a breakthrough on the water quality project."

She sets down the beaker and steps out from behind the table. "Yes, follow me."

You both follow her to a different section of the greenhouse.

"When Batman first came to me with the idea to use plants to filter out all the pollution, fear toxin, and Joker venom poisoning the Gotham river, I told him it couldn't be done. Humans are destroying this planet at a rate too quick for my beloved plants to adapt. I had lost too many of my babies to these vile contaminants already; I didn't want to contribute to the loss of even more while studying a fool's errand."

The sound of running water hits your ears moments before you step to the edge of an indoor pond. Gorgeous, vibrant blooms of water lilies, water hyacinths, and watercress plants float across the top, while cattails line the sides. The water within the pond is clear enough to see a few fish and turtles swimming beneath the surface.

"Batman's plan of enhanced evolution and genetic modification of these specific species has indeed borne fruit." Ivy comes to a stop near the pond's edge. "The water of this pond is being directly supplied by the river."

"Wow..." you mutter quietly. The Gotham River water you know is mucky and disgusting. It's hard to believe just a few plants can accomplish so much. "Can I take a sample?"

"Be my guest," she gestures toward the water's edge.

You hesitate just for a moment, assessing the situation. You don't sense any hostility from her, but still want to make sure you're not about to get eaten by a plant sea monster hidden within the depths of the pond. You deem it safe when she looks away with disinterest. You pull a vial from your utility belt and dip it below the surface of the water. You release a subtle sigh of relief when nothing jumps out at you, and you're able to cork the vial and drop it back into your belt.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

You look up in alarm, but find that Ivy's attention has been drawn elsewhere. You follow her gaze to Nightwing, whose face is far too close to a bulbous, orchid-looking plant, in a striking magenta color.

"Why does this one smell so..." Dick almost sounds dazed as he stares at the flower.

All too suddenly, the center bulb bursts open, and a cloud of pink powder shoots directly into his face.

"Nightwing!" You cry out, startled.

He coughs and stumbles back. "What the hell?"

"Oh, here we go..." Ivy rolls her eyes and reaches a hand up to massage her temples.

"Oh, shit. Please tell me that's just normal plant pollen." You look from Nightwing back to her.

She gives you a flat look. "Would I be keeping it all the way in the back of the greenhouse if it were?" She asks with a raised brow.

"Fuck. Do you have an antidote?" You reach out to steady him when he stumbles again, like a baby deer taking their first steps.

"Relax, it's non-lethal." She waves away your distress. "He'll burn it out of his system within twelve hours. Faster if he engages in physical activity."

"What?" You look at her with confusion and then stiffen when Nightwing presses his face to your neck and breathes deeply.

"Baby, you smell so good," he practically moans into your skin.

Your knees nearly buckle when he suddenly drops his entire weight onto you, like the world's neediest weighted blanket. "N-Nightwing... get ahold of yourself!" You hiss through clenched teeth, embarrassment and concern battling within you.

"At the dose he just took, it's going to set in fast. You may want to get him to a safe house sooner rather than later."

"Ivy, what exactly was in that pollen?" You're almost scared to ask.

"A hormonal stimulant. It was originally designed to enhance subservience, but there were unintended side effects, so I stopped the project and relocated the plant somewhere it wouldn't come in contact with others."

"A hormonal stimulant..." You repeat, trying to process what exactly that means. "Ivy, is this fucking sex pollen?!"

She smirks and waves you away. "Have fun with your new pet."

The plants in the greenhouse shift again, blocking her from view and opening a new path straight toward the exit. You struggle under Dick's weight, especially when he seems more keen on snuggling closer to you, rather than walking by himself, but you manage to get him back to the Batcycle. He presses in close, arms wrapping tight around your middle, hips grinding his bulging erection against your ass.

You nearly whimper, hands tightening around the handlebars. "Babe, you need to let me drive."

You're not sure if he's ignoring your words or incapable of following them, when all he does is moan and grind even faster.

Through sheer luck and determination, you manage to get yourselves to the nearest safehouse without crashing, even with your boyfriend dry humping you the entire time. You stumble up two flights of stairs and practically fall through the door of the empty apartment. He clings to you like a barnacle the whole time, hands rubbing over your torso, gripping your hips, squeezing your breasts, even dipping down to cup your sex through your uniform.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, Baby," he declares, his voice a low, sultry thing that sends tingles down your spine.

"Dick, stop," you insist, forcing his hands to release you enough that you can turn in his hold to face him. You rip both of your masks off, tossing them to the side, before cupping his face between your palms. "Look at me." His pupils are fully dilated, his gaze laser-focused on your lips, sweat slicking his brow. He licks his mouth and tries to lean in to kiss you, but you hold him back. "Dick, Honey, we can't do this right now."

He blinks slowly, your words taking longer than normal to register. "Why not?" he asks, head tilting in confusion.

You stare at him flatly. "Because you're high on fucking sex drugs!"

"Pshhhhh... I'm fine." He waves his hand and tries to take a step to prove his point, and nearly collides with the wall. "Whoops!" He giggles like a drunken sorority girl.

You sigh and run your hands down your face, looking up toward the ceiling, at a loss for what to do. "Dick, you are not fine."

He giggles again, like you've just said the most hilarious joke. "You keep saying dick. Does that mean you wanna see mine?" He reaches to remove his utility belt and lets it fall to the floor at his feet.

You dart forward and grab his hands before he can remove anything else. "It's literally your name, Richard!"

"Oooooohh! You called me Richard. Does that mean I'm in trouble? Are you gonna spank me?" He grins goofily, turning around and wiggling his butt in your face.

"Oh my god, you're fucking ridiculous."

"Come on, baby. Smack my ass." He grins over his shoulder, slapping an open palm down over one perky globe. "You know you want to."

"Good grief..." You grip his shoulders and get him down the hall and into the single bedroom of the safehouse. You make him sit on the edge of the bed and then step back. "I'm going to leave you in here until whatever this is wears off. Feel free to jerk off or whatever you need to do to burn through it faster."

"No!" He grabs your wrist before you can get far enough, and he tugs you straight into his lap. His arms circle your waist, locking your body against his. "No, baby, don't go! I'm gonna make you feel so good. I need it. Need to feel you come on my tongue, and around my fingers, and on my cock. Please, baby." His tongue darts out, licking up the side of your neck and making your eyes roll back and your breath shudder.

"Babe, I'm not taking advantage of you when you've been compromised." You struggle against his hold and your own budding desire.

He nips and sucks on your pulse point, refusing to let you go. "We already talked about this. Remember?"

You stop your struggles for a moment, trying to figure out what he could be alluding to, when it finally hits you. A silly conversation you both had months ago. It was just pillow talk, running through hypothetical situations when the postcoital buzz was running too high to fall asleep, despite the late hour. Dick had asked if you'd still have sex with him if he was dosed with something that made him desperate for sex. You'd firmly denied, stating it would be morally wrong, even with the two of you dating.

"But what if I gave you permission ahead of time?" he countered. "What, like before the drug or whatever set in?" He shook his head. "No, like right now. If I ever get drugged and become out-of-my-mind horny for you sometime in the future, you have my explicit permission to fuck my brains out until I calm down." You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "Dick, that's not how consent works." "Sure it is," he grinned, tugging your knee higher on his hip, where you had it dangling over his side. "24/7, any time, anywhere... I'm always DTF." You snorted at that. "Okay, now I know you're bullshitting. You would not be down to fuck anywhere." His lips pursed into a pout. "What do you mean?" You raised a brow. "You're telling me you'd be DTF inside the batcave?" He stays quiet. "In the batmobile? In the manor's kitchen?" "Hey now! The kitchen is a sacred place. You don't mess with Alfred's domain!"

You blink at Dick as the memory fades away. "That was purely hypothetical; you were never supposed to actually get dosed with sex pollen!"

"I still gave you blanket permission for this exact situation." He's back to kissing and nipping at your neck, slowly chipping away at your resolve.

"Dick, you are literally incapable of saying no to sex, right now. That's not true consent."

"I'm incapable of saying no to sex even without any pollen. I want you every second of every day. Why do you think I make so many sexual innuendos?"

"God, you're hornier than a teenager at prom." You thread your fingers into his hair and yank his face away from your neck.

He releases a lewd moan, rocking his hip up into you. "Yeah, baby. Pull my hair like that again."

"Damnit..." You huff, mind racing as you try to figure out what to do. He's not going to let you leave the room. You could try to fight him. There's a chance the pollen will make his reaction time slower, but he's a force to be reckoned with when he's determined. He won't let you win easily, and you'll probably just end up in a compromising position, anyway. "Okay, fine," you relent. "We can have sex. The sooner I get you back to normal, the better. But I'm giving you hell after this."

If he were a puppy, he'd be wagging his tail and perking up his ears right now. "I promise I'll be so good to you. Gonna make you feel amazing."

"Yeah, babe, you've said that already." You give him a strange look. You thought sex pollen was supposed to make people desperate for their own release, but he seems entirely obsessed with yours. "Dick, Honey, why don't you let me suck you off. I'm sure that'll help make you feel better," you suggest while also testing a theory.

His protest is immediate, arms tightening like vices around your waist to keep you exactly where you are. "No, baby. I'm supposed to be making you feel good. That's the only way I'll feel better."

Your brows arch in surprise when your suspicions are confirmed, but then you remember what Ivy said about the pollen. It was originally intended for subservience, to get people to bend to her will. This pollen doesn't activate a person's need for pleasure; it amplifies their need to please others.

You've only just come to this conclusion when gravity suddenly shifts, and your back is pressed to the mattress while Dick cages your body beneath his. "I was put on this earth for you. You're so fucking pretty, I could just stare at you all day." He hands touch you with reverence, removing pieces of your supersuit as they go. Your gloves, your belt, the thigh holster for your grapple gun, boots, all removed with complete and utter devotion and care. "Sometimes I get jealous of how pretty you are."

You blink up at him, his admission catching you off guard. "Dick, you've been voted Sexiest Man in Gotham six years in a row by the Gazette. Bruce has been making second place since you were 19."

"I'll still never be pretty enough for you." He sighs like he's already accepted his place beneath you, which makes zero sense to you. He's the actual prettiest person you've ever met. "Which is why I make up for my shortcomings with this." His fingers unzip your tactical pants and yank them down your legs, your undies following almost immediately after. His wide shoulders spread your thighs, mouth hovering over your mound. He hums a low, satisfied sound, "I've always loved how wet you get for me."

"Fuck, Dick!" Your hips jolt against the slow drag of his tongue up your slit. He targets your clit like he's on a mission to get you off as quickly as possible. Normally, he enjoys taking his time and teasing you with slow, sensual strokes, but that doesn't seem to be the case tonight. He rubs the full length of his tongue up and down the bundled nerve, sending spikes of pleasure straight to your core. Your whole body is already shuddering from the sensations. Your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp when he sucks your clit deep into the cavern of his mouth and assaults it with quick flicks from the tip of his tongue.

"Ohmygod!" Your back arches, vision going white as your climax blasts through you like a popping champagne bottle. You've never cum so fast before, it's jarring. You whimper when he doesn't let up, continuing to suck and lick your exposed nerve well past the point of overstimulation. You have to reach down and yank him by the hair again, just to get a moment to catch your breath.

His eyes are wild, lips smeared with your slick and parted with his panting breaths. "I'm not nearly done with you," he vows, voice a near growl.

The butterflies in your stomach take flight when you realize you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. You turn on your stomach and try to crawl up the bed on shaking limbs. You don't get far before his arm hooks around your hips and raises you onto your knees with your ass in the air. "Dick, please. I just came! Don't—" Your voice cuts off in a gasp as he pierces your folds with his tongue. He laps at your insides like he's trying to reach the melted ice cream at the bottom of the waffle cone. "O-Oh!" Your hands fist around the rumpled bedsheets, your head falling between them. You're not sure when he removed his gloves, but you feel his bare hands spreading your ass cheeks so he can push in even closer

The sounds of his tongue fucking you from behind are so lewd, your entire body burns with embarrassed arousal. It's wet, and loud, and you're both moaning like you're getting equal pleasure from this carnal act. You bite the sheets, hoping to muffle at least some of the embarrassing sounds coming out of you, only to release them with a sharp gasp at the slap of his fingers against your aching clit.

"None of that," he chides, rubbing the sting away with slow circles over the smarting flesh. "Wanna hear everything coming outta you, baby."

"Dick!" You say it more as a curse than as his name.

Based on his responding chuckle, you know he understood your meaning. His fingers leave your clit, gliding through slick folds and then spreading them wide, so he can see the way your needy hole clenches eagerly, begging to be filled. "Such a pretty pussy," he praises as he sinks his middle and ring fingers inside your heat. He knows it drives you wild when he uses those fingers; catches the way you stare at them when your eyes trace the blue stripes of his uniform. He pushes them in as deep as they'll go, curling them right up against that spongy spot on your upper wall that makes your eyes roll back.

"Fuuuck..." You sigh heavily, cheek pressed to the sheets, back arching as far as it'll go, a tremor running through your thighs.

The hand not buried between your legs squeezes the thick, meaty globe of your ass, molding the flesh in his strong grip. He watches the way your body greedily sucks on his fingers, slick practically running down your thighs from how wet you've become. He curls them hard into your G-spot and tugs while simultaneously squeezing your ass cheek, delighting in the way you shudder and moan. His attention soon gets diverted elsewhere when the clench and release of your pussy causes something else to do the same.

He releases a low, wicked laugh that cuts through the hazy pleasure fogging your mind like a sharpened blade through wet paper. "You know," he starts, still playing with your insides like an expert puppeteer. "You haven't let me play with this yet." His warm breath on the back of your thighs is the only warning you get before his hot, wet tongue presses to your puckered back door.

"Ungh!" Your breath punches out of you on a strangled moan, hands clawing at the sheets. No one has ever touched you there before. Sure, you and Dick had talked about it, and you'd expressed some interest, but you hadn't expected today would be the day you'd start that particular adventure. "Dick! Oh, fuck." You squeal, body tensing and jerking against his ministrations.

His fingers continue to plunge into your soaked core while his tongue laves against your virgin rosebud. His amused laugh skitters across your bare skin. "You like this, baby? I feel the way you squeeze my fingers when I lick your tight ring. You gonna cum again? Gonna squirt all over my hand while you've got my tongue shoved deep in your ass, Dirty Girl?"

There are no words that can describe what you're feeling right now. You should feel humiliated by how turned on you are. You're not even the one on sex pollen, but it feels so damn good that you don't even care. You want him to ruin you in the best ways. Embarrassment has been entirely replaced with shameless, wanton desire. "Please, Dick," you beg openly. "Fuck my ass with your tongue!"

You feel the grin split his mouth where it's pressed to your skin. "As you wish."

He increases the pressure, pressing his tongue harder against your virgin hole before the muscle finally gives. Your mouth parts on a loud sob, a thin stream of drool dribbling out the corner and soaking into the sheets. He stretches your cunt with three of his fingers now, tongue buried deep in your ass. You can't take it for long; it's too much. So fucking good, and hot, and dirty. Your body was already so close to the edge. It never really even left after that first orgasm. His fingers, long, slender, so annoyingly perfect, punch into your G-spot right as he shoves his tongue as deep as it can possibly go into your ass.

You shatter like an exploding star. Your hips push back, grinding against his face and fingers as your second orgasm ruthlessly rips through you. "OhfuckOhfuckOhfuck!" You moan deliriously into the sheets. Your ass clenches tight around his tongue at the same time your pussy absolutely drenches his fingers. Your body is shaking all over, muscles tensing and contracting in quick succession. After a few seconds, your strength abandons you, forcing you to collapse onto the bed. His tongue slips out of your ass with a parting flick, causing you to twitch in response. He continues to rub your G-spot from the inside, keeping you stimulated and on that edge, until you weakly grab his wrist. "Dick, please," you beg, trying to get him to pull his hand away. "I can't."

"Baby, I'm not done yet," he insists. "Gonna keep making you feel good."

Your breath stutters in your chest when you recognize the gravity of his tone. He's not messing around. He's going to keep giving you orgasm after orgasm until that pollen's fully run its course, or until you've passed out from the pleasure. Your eyes widen in aroused horror when you recall that Ivy mentioned the effect of the pollen could last up to twelve hours. How many orgasms would he be able to wring out of you in that amount of time? How long before your mind and body broke from the overstimulation?

You force yourself to get up despite your shaking limbs and turn to sit on your knees, facing him. "Dick," you reach out and place your hands on his chest. Looking down, you notice the thick, heavy bulge under his suit that he seems to be completely ignoring. "Why don't you let me make you feel good this time?" You try again. Maybe he'll start burning through the pollen faster if you can get him to climax as well.

He shakes his head. "My pleasure isn't important, right now. You are the only one that matters."

You feel a little lightheaded. Isn't this sort of every woman's darkest fantasy? Having someone be completely and unequivocally dedicated to pursuing her pleasure rather than their own? You just weren't prepared to endure twelve hours of this.

You shift closer, moving your hands up to cup his cheeks. You try to change tactics as you lean close and kiss the edge of his mouth. "Then how about you make me cum around your cock next? Wanna feel you deep inside me, stretched so good." Your whole body feels like an exposed nerve, still hypersensitive from that last release, but if you can get him naked and inside you, then you think you can tolerate at least one more orgasm while you try to help him achieve his own.

His head tilts, lips pressing harder against yours. "As you wish," he complies.

He finishes removing the top half of your suit and your sports bra before moving to shed his own gear. You crawl into his lap, hands running over familiar planes of corded muscle and warm skin. Dick Grayson has the kind of body you only ever see in museums, bodies carved into marble. A masterpiece of athletic prowess and grand design. Even his penis is a fucking work of art. Long, just the right amount of thick, pulsing veins, leaking tip. It would be annoying how absolutely perfect he was if you weren't benefitting from every solid inch of him. And there were a lot of inches.

You raise up onto your knees, tilting his head back to slant your lips over his. He reaches between your bodies, fisting his cock and guiding his tip to your hovering entrance. His other hand grips your hip, holding you in place until he gets the angle right, then he encourages you to sink down on him. You moan into his mouth, reveling in the stretch of your muscles as your body makes room for him. The slick slide of your bodies joining as one has you keening every time.

You're fully seated in his lap, cock pressed in to the hilt, and your thighs are already shaking. "Oh, Dick..." You sigh, rolling your hips and feeling him sink even deeper.

"That feel good, baby?" He asks you, not even winded, when normally he'd be going out of his mind trying to maintain steady control and not rut wildly up into you. His cock throbs deep inside your core, so you know he's feeling something, but this pollen really has forced him to put his own pleasure on the back burner.

You're beginning to see the flaws in your plan, but it's too late to back track at this point. All you can do now is try to make him feel good while he's inside you, and hopefully it'll be enough to push him over the edge. You start bouncing on his cock, swirling your hips, and clenching in that particular way that normally drives him insane. He barely reacts, rocking against you with a rhythm so steady, he's practically a metronome.

His mouth attaches to the side of your neck, nipping and sucking on your fluttering pulse point. You moan weakly, already realizing you're losing this battle of wills. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging at the thick strands and making him moan back, but it's not enough to get him anywhere near where you need him to be. He's still firmly in the seat of control, with no sign of struggle.

One of his hands is splayed against the base of your spine, keeping you close and encouraging the slight arch of your back as his head drops to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. You release a broken sound of pleasure, head falling back, arching even more. He sucks the tender flesh, tongue flicking over the pebbled nub. His other hand glides up the side of your ribcage and molds your neglected breast, pinching the hardened bud between his thumb and forefinger.

You can't stave off your building orgasm. Not with the way he's targeting your every erogenous zone like he's strategically planning your erotic demise. "Dick! Oh my fuckk!" You cling to him like he's an anchor in a storm, all while you're slamming yourself down on his cock like you're trying to ride him into the sunset. He encourages your movements, that hand at your back dipping down to grip your ass cheek for leverage as he fucks up into the spot deep in your cunt that makes you a little stupid.

Your lips part on a strangled cry, tension coiling in your gut once again, before you start spasming and feel that familiar spark of pleasure crackle across your nerve endings. "Oh shit! Dick, I'm—" There's a kaleidoscope of colors behind your fluttering lashes, and something inside you breaks loose. You feel an unfamiliar pulse deep in your core. It's hot and intense, and you don't know what it means until the dam bursts and your cunt is squirting all over his cock and abdomen. It sprays out of you in an arcing fan, completely uncontrolled, and entirely unexpected. Your eyes roll back as pleasure at a magnitude you've never felt before sets your nerves aflame.

Dick feels every twitch and tremor and clench where he's buried inside you, still hard as stone. He stares down at the mess splashed across his skin with a sort of bewildered fascination until you slump forward against his chest, blocking the view from sight. You pant and shudder against him, eyes unfocused, mind melted. He cups the side of your face, "So fucking beautiful."

Your gaze blinks back into focus, meeting the glimmering sapphire blue of his own. Your breath catches in your throat; there's an animalistic hunger in his eyes. A craving so raw and potent, you feel like sweet, innocent prey quivering in front of a salivating beast. Your muscles are too weak to resist as he guides you onto your back and folds your knees against your chest. He stares down at the place where you're still joined, where the mess of your slick has begun drying on your bodies. You feel the piercing heat of his gaze as it drags back up the length of your torso, over your shuddering breasts, and locks back onto your eyes.

"Let's do that again."

You don't get a chance to respond before he's slamming into the mating press. He keeps you folded in half and open, bending forward until his shoulders meet the backs of your knees, as he fucks deep into your quivering pussy. You can't do much other than take his ruthless thrusts and scream out his name over and over again.

"Come on, baby," he grunts into your ear. "I know you can squirt f'me, again."

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. "I can't!"

"Sure ya can." He rolls his hips and punches into you at a different angle.

Your eyes snap back open, lips parting on a choked breath.

"That's it, baby. Don't think. Just let go. Make this messy pussy squirt all over my cock."

You don't even know where any more liquid could be stored inside of your body after that last round, but it's like he's opened a locked door that can never be shut again, as another flood of hot, filthy wetness soaks you both. Your nails rake down his back, screaming your pleasure so loud, you're pretty sure you've compromised the integrity of this safehouse. He fucks you through it the whole time, even as your squirt splashes across his stomach and drips down his balls. He doesn't stop until he feels your shaking hands pushing weakly at his chest.

"Dick, please... No more. I can't." Tears from overstimulation have collected on your lashes.

"Hey, shhhh," he hushes you gently. "What's the matter, pretty girl?" He stills within you, but you can feel that he's just as hard as when this all started, maybe even more so.

Your breath catches on a hiccup, a single tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. "Wanted to make you feel good, too. But 's too much, baby. I can't—"

"No, sweet girl," he coos, bending down to kiss your tears away. "You did so good," he praises.

You reach up and cup his cheek with the palm of your hand, thumb rubbing gently across his cheekbone. "What about you?"

His eyes slip blissfully shut as he nuzzles against your palm. "Don't you worry about me, baby girl." He relishes in your touch for a moment before sitting back on his heels and carefully pulling out of your puffy, abused cunt. He stares down at your gaping hole and has to fight himself to not bend down and fill you with his tongue all over again. His cock throbs painfully, balls heavy with pent-up release, and it momentarily cuts through the haze of the pollen to stop him from doing just that.

He breathes in a sharp, steadying breath, which doesn't actually help, because the room reeks of sex, and that just sends him spiraling again. He wants to fuck you until your voice is raw from screaming his name. He wants to make you squirt again. He wants to make you feel pleasure so unimaginable that there aren't even words to describe it. He is merely a tool for stimulation. A vessel to transport you to the highest level of being. He is your humble servant, and you are his goddess in mortal form.

He squeezes his eyes shut and uses a meditation technique Bruce taught him to fight against fear toxin. It doesn't completely pull him out from the influence of the pollen, but he at least feels in control enough that he won't jump you despite your protests.

"Come on, Beautiful. Let's roll you onto your stomach so I can massage those aching muscles. Hmm?" The driving need to make you feel good is still the main focus of his motivation, but he can ignore the sexual aspect of that motivation for now.

You moan long and slow when his thumbs dig circles against the base of your spine and smooth their way up. He works the knots out of your back and shoulders, feeling how you relax beneath him. Your eyes fluttering behind closed lashes, a low, contented sound rumbling out of you when he works out a particularly stubborn knot.

His cock leaks like a broken faucet, a steady dribble of pre-cum collecting on the thoroughly soiled sheets, and occasionally smearing the back of your thighs when his tip accidentally brushes up against them. His balls hang low, so fucking full and heavy that he can barely see straight. He may have been denying his own pleasure this whole time, but he's felt fucking everything. Every twitch, every clench, how sopping wet you were when you exploded with arousal.

He continues to ignore the desperate ache in his loins, smoothing his hands down your legs to massage the back of your calves.

"Dick..." you call, voice almost sleepy.

"Hmm?" he questions, thumbs digging into the meat of your calf and smoothing the ache away.

"C'mere..." You bend the knee of the leg he's not working on out to the side, spreading yourself open once more, and giving him an unobstructed view of your drooling cunt.

His hands stop their gentle ministration as he stares. A better man would say no. Maybe even he, himself, would say no if it weren't for the pollen. But the best he can utter is a quiet, "You sure?" while actively crawling back up the length of your body.

"Mhmm," you sigh, feeling his warmth settle back over you.

His hips drop to the curve of your ass, the head of his cock smearing his dribbling need across your soaked folds. He reaches a hand down to align himself properly and sinks back into your silken heat. You both groan in unison, each of your bodies hypersensitive for polar opposite reasons.

"Tha'sa good girl," he praises. "Takin' my cock nice and deep inside this needy, wet cunt."

His hands glide over the backs of yours, threading his fingers in the space between yours, and pinning them down to the bed while he rocks into you from behind. The wet fwap of his balls slapping against your clit steadily grows faster as he builds momentum.

"God, I love this fucking pussy. Don't care if you call me pussy whipped. I'll worship her with everything I have." He fucks you like the world is ending, pinned to the sheets beneath the weight of his chest. "I love how wet she gets, the way she milks me dry, clenching like she's never gonna let me go."

"Dick! Ung, ung, unghh!!!" Your jaw goes slack when he jackhammers straight into your G-spot.

"I love when you moan my name. Just like that, baby. Love when you laugh at my stupid jokes. Love when you get mad at my stupider jokes. I fucking love you so much! I can't—" He huffs breathlessly. "Baby, I can't stop. Gimme one more. Just one more time. Cum for me once more."

"Fuck! Dick!" Your hands clench around his fingers, squeezing them tight as you're catapulted into yet another orgasm.

"Yes! Baby." He feels every shudder and twitch with how tight he's pressed up against you. "So good for me. I love you! Fucking love you."

He thrusts once, twice, before his full body tenses all at once, and he pulls out just in time to spill his release across the back of your thighs and ass. He rubs his cock between the globes of your ass cheeks, his balls squeezing in tight and shooting spurt after spurt of thick, creamy cum against your lower back. He whimpers while he humps your ass, and feels a little guilty for the mess he's making, but he can't seem to stop. He's not sure how many orgasms the pollen denied him, but they seem to all be hitting him at the same time.

There's a shift in the air. What was once charged with heavy sexual tension has now simmered into a satisfied post-coital bliss. You both pant for breath, bodies sticky with sweat and other bodily fluids, but a sort of peace has settled over you.

When his balls have emptied, and his cock has stopped twitching, Dick rolls off to the side, landing heavy on his back, and stares up at the ceiling. "Holy shit..." you hear him huff, for the first time sounding like himself again.

"Are you back to normal?" you ask breathlessly, unable to even lift your head to check on him.

"Yeah..." He breathes. "I think so." You hear him exhale a sharp laugh. "Damn, that was wild."

"I don't think I can move." Your muscles feel like they've been well and truly liquified.

"Me neither," he agrees. "That was fucking intense. Every time you came, I felt it too, but like mentally, even if my body didn't react. It was like one of those finger trap things, where the more you struggle against it, the tighter it gets, but instead, the closer I got to my release, the farther out of reach it felt. Thought I was gonna pass out from how bad I wanted to cum but couldn't."

"I thought I was gonna pass out from how many times I did cum."

"Sorry," he laughs, barely sounding apologetic. "Once I started, I couldn't stop."

"Yeah, clearly..." You mutter sarcastically. "I think I might need physical therapy just to be able to walk again."

You can hear the self-satisfied grin in his voice. "Good thing I'm a certified personal trainer with a specialty in post-injury recovery."

You release a noncomital hum. He's the one who broke you; it should be his responsibility to put you back together again. You hear him shift across the sheets moments before his hand finds the curve of your waist and gently guides you onto your side. You groan at being forced to move when your muscles still feel like jelly, but then follow that with a sigh when he curls his body protectively around yours. He scoops you up against his chest, holding you close with the last of his strength.

"I know that was kind of a lot, but it was also pretty fucking hot. Can't believe I made you squirt twice." He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your damp hair.

"I think my life flashed before my eyes that second time."

He goes quiet for a second, playing back the last few hours in his head. "Do you think Ivy would let us have that plant?" he finally asks.

"Absolutely not."

[littlegirlinvisible]

CONNOR STORRIE & HUDSON WILLIAMS In new BTS photos from Heated Rivalry, taken and shared by Jackson Parrell (via Instagram, 2025)

[theedorksinlove]

no longer distant. insp.