#dc+comics

[spicy-apple-pie]

Sir that's his emotional support orphan, leave him alone.

Commission Info / Kofi (members get comics a week early)

[lovesick-joey]

[jellyfishsthings]

HI!! Happy Valentine’s Day :3 💌 can I request a Drabble about how the batboys would react to the reader revealing they’re pregnant? Could be platonic or stated otherwise xD I love the way you write them! And I hope your day was amazing

a/n: sorry this took me so long, tumblr was doing this thing were it was hiding some of the requests... hope you still enjoy it

Plus One

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requests are open

Dick Grayson

You'd planned it out. A nice dinner. A card. Something thoughtful and calm and Dick-appropriate, which meant warm and sentimental and with enough lead-up that he could process properly.

What actually happened was: he came home from patrol early, you were sitting at the kitchen table staring at the positive test, and he walked in and said 'hey, you okay?' and you just.

Held it up.

Silence.

Dick Grayson, who had been doing acrobatics since he was four years old and had never once in his life lost his footing, walked directly into the doorframe.

'Are you — is that — ' He pointed at the test. Looked at you. Pointed at the test again. 'That's a —'

'Positive, yes.'

'That's — we're — '

'Yes.'

He crossed the kitchen in about two steps and pulled you out of the chair and into a hug that lifted you slightly off the ground, and he made a sound that was not quite a word, more like every good feeling he'd ever had compressed into one exhale.

'We're having a baby,' he said into your hair.

'We're having a baby,' you confirmed.

He pulled back. His eyes were wet. He looked at you like you'd told him something he'd been waiting a long time to hear, without knowing he was waiting.

'I'm going to call Bruce,' he said.

'Dick — '

'I'm going to call Bruce and Alfred and — oh god Barbara — '

'Dick, it's two in the morning.'

'Alfred won't mind.'

'Alfred will absolutely mind.'

'Alfred loves me.'

'Alfred loves everyone. That's not the point.'

He was already reaching for his phone with one hand and holding yours with the other, beaming with his whole face, completely unable to contain a single thing he was feeling, which was — you had decided a long time ago — one of the best things about him.

'Can I at least tell Wally?' he said.

'In the morning, Dick.'

'He's going to be so excited.'

'In. The. Morning.'

He put the phone down. He did not let go of your hand.

'I'm going to be a dad,' he said, mostly to himself, in the voice of someone discovering something wonderful about their own future.

You squeezed his hand. 'You're going to be a great one.'

He looked at you.

He kissed you.

And then he picked up his phone and called Alfred anyway.

Jason Todd

Jason found out by accident.

Which was, in retrospect, completely inevitable, because Jason Todd had the investigative instincts of someone trained by Bruce Wayne and the nosiness of someone who had grown up needing to know things to survive, and you had been acting weird for two weeks.

'You're not drinking your coffee,' he said one morning, not looking up from his book.

'I'm not in the mood for coffee.'

'You're always in the mood for coffee.'

'People change.'

'You had two cups yesterday and then looked like you regretted it.'

'Jason.'

'You've been eating crackers before nine AM.'

'I like crackers.'

'You hate crackers. You told me crackers were, and I'm quoting, 'flavourless sadness in a rectangle.'

You put down your crackers.

He put down his book.

You looked at each other.

'Oh,' Jason said.

'Jason — '

'Are you — '

'Yes.'

A silence that was doing a lot of work.

Jason Todd, who had faced crime lords and died and come back and fought his entire family and generally refused to let anything touch him if he could help it, pressed both hands flat on the kitchen table and said, very quietly: 'Yeah?'

'Yeah,' you said.

He got up. Came around the table. Sat down next to you and looked at you for a moment with the expression he almost never let anyone see, open and young and so full of something he didn't have a word for.

'Okay,' he said.

'Okay?'

'Yeah.' He exhaled. 'Okay. That's — yeah.' He reached over and took your hand, turned it over, held it. 'That's a good thing.'

'Is it?'

'Yeah,' he said again, and this time it sounded like he was sure. 'Yeah, it really is.'

He didn't say anything else for a while. He just sat there, holding your hand, a man quietly reorganising his entire understanding of his own future.

'I'm going to be terrible at this,' he said eventually.

'You're going to be great at this.'

'I have significant unresolved trauma.'

'You're working on it.'

'I have a complicated relationship with authority figures.'

'The baby won't be an authority figure, Jason.'

'I have — '

'Jason.' You looked at him. 'You're going to be great at this.'

He looked back. Something settled in him.

'You can't know that,' he said.

'I know you,' you said. 'It's the same thing.'

He was quiet again. Then, almost to himself: 'Kid's going to have great taste in books at least.'

'That's the most Jason Todd thing you've ever said.'

'I'm just saying. Literary foundation is important.'

'You're going to read them Dostoyevsky in the womb.'

'Maybe.'

'Jason.'

'Crime and Punishment is formative.'

'They're a foetus.'

'Early start,' he said, but he was smiling now, really smiling, and you hadn't been sure until this moment, but you were sure now. He was going to be wonderful.

Tim Drake

Tim figured it out before you told him.

This was both unsurprising and deeply annoying.

You'd been planning the reveal for a week. Something cute. Something memorable. You had a card and everything.

Then Tim looked up from his laptop one evening, looked at you, looked at the ginger tea you'd been drinking instead of coffee, looked at the crackers, looked at you again, and said, with the calm certainty of someone cross-referencing data points: 'You're pregnant.'

Not a question. A conclusion.

'...Tim.'

'The coffee swap three weeks ago. The crackers. You've been going to bed earlier. You cancelled our patrol twice, and you never cancel patrol.' He paused. 'Also, you've been looking at your phone a lot and closing the screen when I walk in, which suggests you're researching something you haven't told me yet.'

Silence.

'I had a card,' you said.

'I'm sorry.'

'A whole card, Tim. I bought it on Tuesday.'

'I genuinely am sorry.'

'Can you at least pretend to be surprised?'

He closed his laptop. He looked at you with an expression that was, underneath the detective thing, completely soft.

'I've known for a week,' he said. 'And I've been — I didn't want to say anything before you were ready. But I've been — ' He stopped. Started again. 'I've been thinking about it. Every day. For a week.'

'And?' you said.

He got up. Crossed the room. Sat next to you and looked at you with those tired, earnest eyes that had seen too much and still somehow managed to look at you like you were something good.

'And I think it's the best thing that's ever happened to me,' he said. 'And I've been waiting for you to tell me so I could say that.'

You looked at him. 'You waited a whole week.'

'You had a card.'

'You're impossible.'

'I know.' He took your hand. 'I'm going to make so many spreadsheets.'

'I know you are.'

'There's going to be a developmental milestone tracker.'

'Of course there is.'

'And a nutrition log.'

'Tim.'

'And a sleep schedule optimisation chart.'

'The baby isn't born yet.'

'Planning is important.'

You leaned your head on his shoulder. He put his arm around you.

'Give me the card,' he said.

'What?'

'You said you had a card. I want the card. I've been waiting a week for the card.'

You laughed. You got the card. He read it twice, very carefully, and then put it in the inside pocket of his jacket, close.

'Okay,' he said, very quietly.

'Okay,' you said.

Damian Wayne

Damian's reaction was not what you expected.

You'd braced for composure. For the measured, careful response he gave to most emotional information. For the dignified nod and the 'I see' and the processing that happened somewhere private, where none of you could see it.

What you got was: complete stillness for approximately ten seconds, and then ...

'You're certain.'

'Yes.'

'The test is accurate.'

'I did three.'

'And the doctor — '

'Confirmed it yesterday.'

Another silence. Damian Wayne looked at you with those green eyes that had seen too much and decided too early what the world was, and then he said, with extraordinary precision:

'I'm going to need a moment.'

'Take your time,' you said.

He took exactly ninety seconds. You know because you counted.

Then he stood up very straight, the way he did when something mattered, and said: 'This child will want for nothing. I will ensure it personally.'

'Damian — '

'I have already begun compiling a list of appropriate educational materials for early development.'

'They're not born yet.'

'Early preparation is essential.'

'Dami... you don't have to, not yet Let's enjoy it first yeah?'

He sat back down. He looked at his hands. When he looked back up, the composure had slipped just slightly, enough to see what was underneath it.

'You are well?' he asked. 'You're feeling well?'

'A bit tired. A bit sick sometimes. I'm okay.'

'You should rest more.'

'I know.'

'You push yourself.'

'Damian — '

'I'm simply noting,' he said, with dignity, 'that you are important and you should treat yourself accordingly. Please...'

You looked at him for a moment.

'Come here,' you said.

He came. He let you pull him into a hug with the particular stiffness of someone who was actively not crying and determined to maintain that.

'You're going to be an incredible dad,' you said.

The stiffness dissolved.

'Yes,' he said, very quietly, into your shoulder. 'I am.'

A pause.

'I've already started the list,' he said.

'I know, habibi.'

'It's extensive.'

'I'd expect nothing less.'

Duke Thomas

Duke cried first.

Before you could say anything else, before the conversation could go anywhere, he just … looked at the test in your hand, looked at your face, and his eyes went immediately and completely full.

'Hey — ' you started.

'No, I'm good,' he said, waving a hand, voice already thick. 'I'm totally good. I'm — ' He stopped. 'We're having a baby.'

'We're having a baby.'

'That's — ' He pressed both hands to his face. 'Okay. Yeah. I'm fine.'

'Duke.'

'I said I'm fine, give me a second.'

You gave him a second.

He lowered his hands. His eyes were still full, but he was smiling so wide it seemed like it should hurt.

'I'm going to be a dad,' he said.

'You are.'

'Me. A dad.'

'You, a dad.'

'That's wild.'

'Little bit.'

'That's so — ' He laughed, wet and wonderful. 'Come here.'

He held you for a long time. His heartbeat was fast against your cheek, and then gradually, slowly, it steadied.

'I'm going to be good at this,' he said, not quite a statement, not quite a question.

'You're going to be the best at this.'

'You can't know that.'

'I can,' you said. 'I know you.'

He pulled back and looked at you. Still smiling. Still a little teary. Completely him.

'What do you need?' he said. 'Right now, today. What do you need?'

And that was Duke, you thought. That was exactly Duke. First question, always: what do you need?

'I want to watch a film,' you said. 'And I want those chips from the corner place. And I want you to stay.'

'Done,' he said immediately. 'All three. Easy.'

He kissed your forehead. Went to get his jacket. Stopped at the door.

'Hey,' he said.

'Hey.'

'We're really doing this.'

'We're really doing this.'

He grinned. 'Best news I've ever gotten.'

[mayhemi]

dryhumping sub!jason todd

the only sounds in the quiet safe room are the rubbing of denim and the needy whimpers and incoherent blabbers slipping from jason's lips.

"shit- s'good, soooo good" he says, throwing his head back when he feels you pick up your pace grinding against his painfully hard clothed cock. he's trying his best not to cum, trying his best to be a good boy.

your lips curl into a grin, the sight of him sitting under you, flushed face, glazed-over eyes brimming with tears, and so completely willing just for you sure is an ego booster.

"yeah? you like that?" you coo at him, running your fingers through his slightly damp hair. "bet you've been thinking about this all week..." you tease him, that cruel smirk still playing at your face. of course, he doesn't mind you teasing him.

he nods frantically, anything to agree with you, anything to please you. "yeah! fuuuck- i'm so close, baby" he whines, his hands taking place on your hips, assisting your movements against his.

"jason! no, hands off!" you snap at him, causing his hands to retreat back to the bedsheets just as quickly as he starts apologizing. "m'sorry," he shakes his head, a fat tear falling down his cheek. "m'so sorry baby- i- you just- you feel really really good" he rambles, "been thinking bout' you a lot" he nods, looking up at you to gauge your reaction to his words, making sure you're not too mad at him.

"i know, jay" you reply, not impressed by his apologies. nevertheless, you kiss his forehead and grind down harder on his bulge, earning a panicked whimper from him.

"wait! waitwaitwait m'gna cum- don't do tha-" he's cut off by you kissing him, all teeth and tongue. he moans into the kiss, not embarrassed in the slightest.

you pull back, panting for air. his lips are kiss swollen and pink, and he's looking up at you with pure love, his pupils blown out. "please lemme cum," he begs, nuzzling his cheek against your chest like a puppy. "i've been real good..." he sounds like he's telling himself that more than he's telling you.

your hands rub up and down his chest soothingly, "mhm... i know baby," you purr, "let me know how bad you wanna cum, sweet boy" and you know he's not one to shy away from begging, he'd literally do anything for you.

"i want it so bad- i-" more tears run down his face, evidence of his restraint. "i've been so good, haven't touched you- and- and- i've been a good boy" he breathes out, trying not to focus on the sensation of your hands rubbing up and down his arms, his eyelids fluttering.

he looks pathetic. only you have seen this side of him, all whiny and pussy-whipped, sucking up to you so he can bust a nut.

you nod, "cum for me, jay... you've earned it.." you give him the permission he's been aching for, and he doesn't wait.

he immediately lets out a high-pitched, needy moan of your name, his hands abandoning the bed and flying to your waist to ground himself. he pulses as he splurts hot globs of cum into his boxers, his hips bucking up to your warmth desperately.

you let him ride out his orgasm, blabbering thank you's and hugging you to his chest. you move strands of his hair away from his sweaty forehead, and he looks up at you. "can i make you feel good now?" he asks with those big glossy puppy dog eyes. how could you say no?

© mayhemi | all rights reserved.

[incorrectbatfam]

Jason: Batcomputer, stop showing me beautiful women in my area. I want pathetic men in my radius.

Damian: Perhaps the answer is within yourself.

[danitcx]

A Theory Tested +18

Clark Kent x female reader

Sinopsis: After years of believing something was wrong with her, you finally confess your deepest insecurity to Clark Kent. Instead of judgment, he offers patience, understanding, and a chance to discover that the people who hurt you may have been wrong all along.

Warnings: Mature content, explicit sexual scenes, oral sex, penetrative sex, strong sexual language.

WC: 4,400 words approx.

When did that "problem" happen? When did that problem decay into the fact that you were actually that problem?

Talking about "it" was uncomfortable. You couldn't tell your mother or your friends. Because how would you just come out and say? You know what? In my two relationships, never, never once did I have an orgasm. And the worst part is that both men told me I was the problem. No, just thinking about it would make you sink with shame. You would want to disappear, to never have opened your mouth. Even worse when you heard everyone saying they had an orgasm with their boyfriend. They commented on it as if it were the most normal thing in the world, as if it were something that always happened. And even though you knew that men only seek their own satisfaction, not yours, you also knew very well, maybe the problem was you. Because two different men repeating it to you, over and over again, had to mean something, right?

"Ah, of course it's not me, you must have problems," one said when you had confessed that you only felt a little warmth, but an orgasm, nothing. He lay there calmly, lying back on the bed, not even looking at you. As if what you had just told him was an annoyance, your own mistake that he didn't have to fix.

"Now you want everything to be dedicated to you, please, you must have a problem," said the other, looking at you with those eyes that you used to like and that now only made you feel small. "I have made thousands of women come," he boasted, crossing his arms as if he were a prize. As if you were the only one who didn't work right.

So you stopped trying. Maybe it was work stress, maybe the nerves of being with someone new, maybe the discomfort of seeing how a man could finish in bed with you, ejaculate and that's it. No more work, no more caresses, no more nothing. Because he had already gotten his part. And you stayed there, looking at the ceiling, wondering what was wrong with you.

But now the fear had returned. You had been two years without a boyfriend, two years without having to worry about this. And when you started dating Clark, you didn't mention it to him. Of course, you were just going on dates, it wasn't anything formal. Besides, he didn't seem like the man who takes you to bed on the first date. He was slow, everything about him was slow: his way of speaking, his way of looking at you, his way of getting close to you. And that slowness also made your heart race. You didn't want him to get annoyed and end up leaving your life like the other two.

Clark was cute. Too cute, even for your taste. You had always said your type were serious men, with few friends, who looked like a block of ice and were intelligent. But you ended up with an intelligent man, yes, but with the prettiest shyness you had ever seen and the loveliest smile anyone had ever given you. A man so tall and so big that to you, who wasn't small, he made you feel protected. You loved holding his hand everywhere, feeling his fingers intertwine with yours. You loved it when he pushed the stray locks of hair behind your ear and smiled at you as if you were the prettiest thing he had seen all day.

But you knew the next step was coming. Or maybe you only thought it one day, while he laughed at something silly you had said. Clark was a gentleman, truly. He wouldn't continue doing something if you told him you felt uncomfortable. Never. That was clear. But interrupting him mid-kiss was awkward. You would make him feel uncomfortable. And he would pull away. Like the others. Or worse, he would stay out of pity.

It wasn't planned. You had only agreed to eat at your apartment, but nothing more. It was after the movie. You kissed him first, almost without thinking, and from there you had been kissing for almost thirty minutes. Your lips were swollen, your breathing uncontrolled, your hands on his chest feeling his heart beat. His curls tangled between your fingers. He was squeezing your waist slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. But then that thought returned. You pulled away to breathe more air. He leaned in as if wanting to let you know he wanted to keep kissing you, but not finding your lips, he buried his face in your neck. You sighed, caressing his curls. You longed to feel him so much, but your fear invaded you. Should you fake an orgasm again? You remembered how ridiculous you felt doing that, those fake moans, that lie that only served to make him finish faster.

"Do you want to stop?" Clark whispered in your ear when he saw that you were only touching his curls without saying anything.

He looked at you. His cheeks were red, but his blue eyes were dilated, dark. Lips swollen like yours. You pressed your lips together. If you were the problem, you repeated to yourself, you'll ruin it. Again.

"No," you said. But you lowered your gaze to his shirt, playing with his button.

Clark tilted his head. He waited for your answer. You knew he didn't want a kiss to continue. He didn't want you to just keep going as if nothing was wrong. He wanted to know why you were nervous. And it wasn't normal nerves, he noticed it. There was something behind your trembling hands, behind the way you avoided his eyes.

"It's just that… I… have a problem," you whispered. And you felt your cheeks burn with shame.

"Problem?" said Clark. He moved on the couch to see you properly. Very carefully, he moved the lock of hair that covered your face and put it behind your ear. "Is it serious?" he asked, and his voice sounded genuinely worried.

"No… no… nothing like that," you said quickly, shaking your head. "It's just… well… I have problems with… that." You made a vague gesture with your hand, not daring to look at him.

Clark frowned, confused.

"I… never… well…," you tried to say, but the words got tangled.

"Hey, pretty, it's okay," he said, and his voice was soft, calm. He caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers. "Do you want to tell me? Go ahead. If you don't feel ready, nothing will happen." There was no anger in his eyes, no contempt. It was just Clark smiling with those dimples that appeared on his cheeks.

"I've never had an orgasm," you finally said.

You watched him blush. He nodded without saying anything. And your heart sank. You thought he would start to hate you. You thought you should have kept quiet and just faked it like you had done so many times before. The silence grew long, too long.

"No… but it's my problem," you blurted out, the words coming out fast, barely breathing. "I really enjoy it, it's just that… I won't reach that point. But we can keep going, don't worry about me." You said all that with the intention of making him forget, of him kissing you again and that's it.

Clark looked at you fixedly. "Not worry about you?" he asked, as if he hadn't understood correctly.

He guided you onto his lap gently. You sat on him. The friction was evident, noticeable, but he was focused on you, not on himself. His hands remained still on your hip, not squeezing, just resting.

"It's not just your problem," he said slowly. "Is it a problem? I mean… why do you say it's a problem? Did a gynecologist tell you that?" he asked, and he said it wanting to understand, not to judge.

"No," you played with his shirt again, not looking at him. "It was the… people I was with before," you said, and the word people tasted ugly in your mouth.

"Or they were the problem," Clark said simply.

You looked at him. How could he say it like that, so easily, as if it were obvious?

"But it's two people saying the same thing," you said, and you felt your throat close up. "Two, Clark. It's not a coincidence."

Clark nodded. He had left his glasses on the table an hour ago, since he started kissing you. Now his blue eyes looked at you without a filter.

"We can try it right now," he said simply, like someone says let's have a drink or let's watch another movie. He looked at you with that calm that only he had. "And we'll check if it's true or if you just had two people with low resistance next to you." He smiled a little. "You know I'm very resistant, don't you?" Clark asked.

And you, despite the fear, despite the shame, smiled blushing.

And then you kissed him.

You didn't think anymore. You didn't give yourself time to think. You just leaned your face in and your lips found his again. Clark made a small sound, a low moan that was lost between you two. Your hands went up to his neck. You felt his hot skin, his rapid pulse under your fingers. His hands were on your hip at first, still, as if he was afraid of squeezing too hard. But then they went down to your thighs and there they did squeeze, with desire. He went back to your neck, stopped kissing your mouth to go down to that soft spot right under your ear. He stayed there for a while. Just kissing, just sucking a little, just breathing against your skin. You felt him so good that you moaned uncontrollably. It wasn't a low or subtle moan. It was a moan that came from deep within, without you being able to do anything to stop it.

"Oh, Clark!" you said. And your hands clenched his curls tightly, as if you were about to fall and he was the only thing holding you up.

You took off his shirt. It wasn't easy because he wouldn't stop kissing you, but you managed. The fabric went up his back and he let go of your lips just long enough to take it off completely. Then you took off yours with his help. His hands were large and trembled a little as they unbuttoned the buttons. You didn't know if it was nerves or desire, maybe both. When your shirt fell to the floor, Clark looked at you for a second. Just a second. His blue eyes ran over your face, your neck, your shoulders. And then he kissed you again as if he had been waiting for days to do it.

Clark took your waist and sat you on the couch. But he didn't sit next to you. He did something strange. He crouched down, lowered his body in front of you. A movement you didn't understand. What did he intend to do? He pulled away from your lips, very slowly, as if it cost him effort. He kissed your neck again. Then went lower. He kissed your chest, the top part, right where the heart beats strongest. Then lower down. He kissed your abdomen, right in the center, and you felt your skin pucker from how soft it was. You looked at him. The living room lamp let you see little, just shadows and glints. But the sighs came out of you as soon as you felt him remove your pants. He unbuttoned them, lowered them slowly, looking at you as he did so. Then he took off your panties. Also slowly. His fingers hooked the fabric and lowered it down your legs. Your hands were trembling. Everything was trembling.

His huge hands parted your legs. Gently but firmly, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. You opened your legs more for him, without thinking. Your pupils were so dilated you could barely see. But when you looked at his face, he was looking directly at your center. You threw your head back. You couldn't look. You were embarrassed and yet you didn't want to stop looking.

"Clark," you moaned. His name came out broken, like a long sigh.

He leaned in. He kissed your vaginal lips as if they were your regular lips. With the same softness, the same calm. Your mouth fell open. You couldn't believe what he was doing. No one had kissed you there before. No one had taken that time. You felt his tongue lick your line, that little opening you had been so afraid to show. Then he opened it more with his tongue, carefully, and even penetrated you a little with it. The sounds coming from below were wet, lewd, shameful. But you didn't want him to stop. Everything was different. Everything was so strange and so good at the same time. Your hands tangled in his curls again. Your hips lifted on their own, as if your body came to life and wanted more from Clark. More of his mouth, more of his tongue, more of everything.

"Do you like it?" you heard him say. His voice came out hoarse, low, and he was still between your legs. "My pretty girlfriend, you taste so good," he said. Then he pulled away slightly. You looked down and saw a line of saliva hanging from his lips to you. You smiled, blushing, and thrust your hip towards him. He understood. He didn't protest. Oh, he never would. Clark found that exquisite, you could see it in his eyes. To see how his mouth could melt you. He just thought how you must have felt when they pointed out that you didn't have orgasms. When they told you that you were the problem. Surely they were the problem, Clark thought. And he set out to do it the second you told him the reason for that fear. He would show you. He would show you they were wrong.

"Oh, Clark!" you said again. But this time it wasn't just pleasure. It was something else. A strange tremor ran through your body, started in your belly and went up your back. Your legs contracted on their own. Your hands in his curls pushed his face further against you, even though he didn't need you to push him. "God, I… no… Clark," you said. And then it happened.

A strange sensation ran through your entire body. It wasn't like anything you had felt before. It was as if something inside you broke but in a good way. As if you let go of something you had been holding onto for years. Slow spasms, undulations that went up and down your legs, your belly, your chest. You breathed as soon as you could, but it was hard. The air didn't come in well because your whole body was shaking. Clark approached slowly. He kissed your thigh, then your abdomen, then your neck. He kissed softly, very softly, while your body still shook a little.

"My beautiful girlfriend was treated so badly," he said. He gave you kisses on your neck, one after another, while you recovered from the previous wave. You didn't have the strength to even speak. Then he kissed you on the mouth. His saliva and your juices mixed with your own saliva and you didn't care. Nothing mattered more than continuing to feel what you had just felt.

Clark pulled away just enough to take off his pants. He lowered them quickly, this time without calm, and kicked them off completely. He looked at you. His eyes were dark, almost black with desire.

"I don't have a condom," he whispered. And his voice sounded almost apologetic.

You shook your head. "It's okay," you nodded. You said it so fast you barely thought about it. You were lost. Needy for him. Not just anyone. For him.

Clark smiled looking at you. "Good," he whispered. But nothing happened. Not at first.

Until you felt something enter you. You moaned, brushing your lips against Clark's. It wasn't what you thought. It wasn't him. It was his two fingers. He inserted them slowly, one first, then another. He needed to stretch you a little more so you would adjust to him later. But the simple position had already warmed you up more than you thought. His swollen lips close to yours. His hand working below, inside, moving with a rhythm you didn't know. His other hand on your waist, squeezing gently. Your hands on his shoulders, clinging to him. The closeness of his face, the warm air coming from his mouth mixing with yours. The dilated pupils of both of you, so large you could barely see the color of his eyes.

You opened your lips to say something but no words came out. He moved closer, their teeth clashed a little, and he kissed you. It was a messy kiss, wet, with both of them breathing poorly. They moaned between kisses. His fingers entering and exiting you, faster each time. Your tongue playing with his. A third finger entered and you felt everything stretch down there. You closed your eyes tightly. You pulled away from his mouth just to breathe, just to not suffocate. He took your neck with his free hand, very gently, and pulled you close again. And then…

"Damn it… again," you said. Your voice trembled. Everything trembled. "I… oh," you said. You couldn't finish the sentence.

Your body shook entirely. A new wave, stronger than the first, shook you from head to toe. Your hands squeezed Clark's shoulders as if you were sinking. Your legs trembled uncontrollably. Clark held you tight, pressed his chest to yours and held you while you shook. You breathed with difficulty, your face buried in his neck. He didn't move. He just held you. With one hand he massaged your leg with fingers stained with you, and that soft caress helped you come back. Little by little. Very little by little.

And then he carried you.

You didn't even have time to say anything. Clark put his arms under your body, one behind your back and the other behind your knees, and lifted you as if you weighed nothing. Your arms circled his neck by reflex, and you pressed your face against his shoulder. You felt his hot skin, his smell, his agitated breathing. He walked towards your room. He knew the way. He had learned every step of your house when he came to visit you and helped you leave something in your room. A jacket, a bag, a book. He always noticed everything, even if you didn't realize it. He knew where the bed was, where the door was, where the lamp was. When they arrived, he entered without bumping into anything. He placed you on the bed gently, as if you were something fragile. The sheet was cold against your back and that contrasted with the heat of his body on top of you.

You felt his member brush against your entrance. Barely touching you. Just a graze. And you, without thinking, lifted your hip towards him. Your body moved on its own. You were no longer afraid. You no longer wanted to hide. You just wanted to feel him inside you.

"That's it," Clark said, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper. His member became stained with your juices as he rubbed against you, barely entering and exiting, just the tip. You moaned every time he brushed against that place that needed him so much. "We're going to show them who the real problem was," he said. And then he gave you a kiss on the jaw, right where your face ends and your neck begins. That kiss was soft, but he said it with a certainty that made you believe him. That was enough for him to insert himself into you. Not all at once. It was slow. Very slow. You felt him fill you little by little, centimeter by centimeter. You opened your mouth but no sound came out. Just air.

Then the thrusts began. Slow at first. Very slow. Every time he entered, your breasts bounced to the rhythm of his movement. They went up and down like small waves. Clark's lips went straight to them. He kissed the tip of your nipple, which was already hard, very hard. He kissed it softly, with closed lips, then with his tongue. His mouth was hot and wet. Your hand tangled in his curls again, squeezing gently, pulling a little. His hot breath lingered on your skin every time he parted his lips to breathe.

"Oh, Clark," you said. Your voice came out choppy, broken by moans. "You feel so good," you admitted. It wasn't a lie. You had never felt anything like it. He filled every empty space you had inside.

"No," Clark said, shaking his head while continuing to move inside you. "You are the one who feels so good." He bit your nipple carefully, barely a pinch with his teeth. "So adapted to me," he said, and then he took your entire nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, playing with his tongue around it.

You stayed underneath him on your back for a good while. Then he turned you over gently and you were face down. He penetrated you again and again, from behind, and you buried your head in the pillow to keep from screaming too loudly. Clark's fingers dug gently into your hip, guiding you, moving you to his rhythm. Then he took you and arranged you on top of him. You sat on his stomach and he looked up at you from below. You set the pace yourself. Your hands trembled as they rested on his chest. You bent down from time to time to kiss him, and he took that moment to grab your buttocks with his large hands. He gently spread them to sink deeper into you. That made you moan louder. But you kept your rhythm. Your hips made slow circles. Your breasts moved in a back-and-forth sway, left and right. Clark squeezed them with his hands, massaged them while you moved on top of him. You moaned, but this time it wasn't just any moan. You were almost singing to him, letting your voice out with each rise and each fall. You felt so close. Clark noticed it because your rhythm began to get slower, clumsier. You were tired but you didn't want to stop.

"I… Clark, help me," you whispered. Your voice was barely audible.

He didn't need you to repeat it. You leaned on his shoulders and he lifted your body with force. Clark began to penetrate by lifting and lowering his hips. He led the rhythm now. Both moaned together, at the same time, as if their bodies were one. They were both so close. Clark grabbed your bottom with one hand, with the other he grabbed your hip, and penetrated deeper. Your eyes became moist. You didn't know if it was from pleasure or something else. You looked at him blurry, because the tears hadn't fallen but they fogged everything up. Clark's senses heated up seeing you like that. You breathed so fast you almost felt dizzy. And then you trembled. In the last thrust, your body contracted entirely. You trembled like a leaf in the wind. And you felt Clark fill you, hot, inside. Enough for you to fall onto his chest without strength. Still trembling. Still shuddering when Clark's arms hugged you tight.

He didn't let you go. He didn't push you away. He didn't turn his face to the wall like the others did. Clark kept you on his chest, with an arm around your back and the other hand caressing you gently. He waited for your breathing to normalize. He didn't speak. There was no need. He just held you. And you sank into his chest tired, happy, calm. Hugging him too. With your eyes closed. With a smile he couldn't see but surely felt.

"Confirmed," Clark said after a while, his voice still hoarse but with a laugh hidden in the words. "You are not the problem."

You laughed. A small, trembling laugh, but real. He felt your laugh on his chest, the vibrations of your throat against his skin. And he also laughed. His laugh was low, soft, like everything about him.

You pulled away slightly, just enough to look at him. You gave him a short, quick kiss on the lips. And then you hugged him again, burying your nose in his neck.

"I really like you, Clark," you admitted. Your voice came out small, as if you were still embarrassed to say it.

Clark blushed. You felt him get warm under your lips. "I am in love with you," he said. He paused, as if thinking the word embarrassed him too. "A lot," he added, so there was no doubt.

You hugged him tighter, not looking at his smile, but you knew it was there. You felt it in how his chest moved as he breathed.

"Let's clean ourselves up," Clark whispered after a while, running a hand through your messy hair. "We'll take a shower."

Clark did it. He got out of bed, took your hand and led you to the bathroom. He turned on the hot water tap and waited for the temperature to be right. Then they got in together. You curled up against his chest, stuck to him as if it were the safest place in the world. He soaped your hair first, carefully, undoing the knots with his fingers. Then he soaped your body, slowly, running the sponge over your back, your shoulders, your arms, your legs. There was no hurry. The water fell over both of them and the bathroom filled with steam. Then he soaped himself, with your eyes watching him. In the end they dried off with a large towel that Clark ran over your body first before running it over his. Then they went back to bed, still with damp skin and the smell of soap.

Clark already had his purpose for every night. He wouldn't let you think again that you were a problem. He would show you whenever necessary. With kisses. With caresses. With patience. With that very way of his of looking at you as if you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. That night, when he turned off the light and hugged you from behind, with his nose buried in your nape and his arm crossed over your waist, you knew you weren't alone. That you would never have to pretend again. That Clark would stay. And you, for the first time in a long time, closed your eyes and felt calm.

General tags: @hecticspice @garci7 @luftmenzch @rubixgsworld @sullyosully @purple-soldier @bulkanim @mangowhim @tvgirllover7 @jarnesbames108 @iangelofmusic @thychuvaluswife @justnori @aileen1237@sullyosully@3-smi @thebumbqueen @oceansstone @patroclusindeath @lockedlongings @wuluhwuhmaster @clarks-honey @mayflwrz@lunaryoongie@hikari-michiko

[achinglovers]

Shy!Jason Todd Headcanons 𐙚

shy!jason who’s looks can be deceiving. he usually looks somewhat scary, like a cliché from some dark romance book, leather jacket, his hairy messy, scars across his face and peeking out beneath his sleeves, when hiding underneath is a shy, empathetic and sensitive soul.

shy!jason who noticed you at your place of work, a small bookshop near his apartment, months before ever talking to you. the first time the two of you talked, you came up to him as you saw him behind a shelf, softly tapping his shoulder and watching him turn around, eyes wide and startled as the blood rushed to his cheeks at your presence.

shy!jason who was actually hiding behind the shelf before you came up to him, after seeing you smiling at a customer, leaving him short of breath and his brain scrambled.

shy!jason who comes back at least once a week after you introduced yourself and recommended him some books you thought he’d like. what you didn’t know is that he’d already read most of them and just bought them a second time because he couldn’t tell you no.

shy!jason who walks out disappointed in himself every time after talking to you without asking for your number. he’s been so close to just saying the words a thousand times but he just can’t bring himself to say them out loud when he’s face to face with you.

shy!jason who starts staying until you close the shop on your shift and offers to walk you home one night. this becomes a habit. sometimes he’s there during the last hour until closing, sometimes he’s held up with red hood stuff (which you don’t know about), so he comes just as you’re locking the door behind you.

shy!jason who’s face flushes so bad when you compliment him. it could be something as simple as praising his taste in books or telling him the color of his shirt is nice.

shy!jason who is walking you home one night when you’re cornered by some low-life thugs demanding your personal belongings and holding you at knife point. and suddenly he isn’t so shy anymore. he pulls you behind him, buffing his chest as he barks at the thugs to get lost. you don’t see everything, your view blocked by his broad shoulders, but from one second to the next they’re running for their life.

shy!jason who turns back to a blushing mess when you thank him for defending you. he just nods, avoiding your gaze shamefully as he continues to walk you home. he was scared you would see him in a different light after showing off his rough side. in reality, you’re thinking that the cute, shy guy who always visit your shop just stood up for you, making him even hotter.

shy!jason who’s eyes widen when you ask him on a date that night, finally giving him your number. he can feel his neck heat up as you take his phone and type in your number, your hand brushing his calloused one as you hand it back to him.

shy!jason who goes home that night absolutely delighted, finally getting your number. he can’t believe you just asked him on a date. lying in his bed, he debates wether to text you immediately or if it’s too soon. what would he even say? he didn’t want to come off as needy or too eager, but he also doesn’t want to seem like an asshole. in the end, he decided on a simple goodnight and see you tomorrow.