#DC Imagine

[milkbean69]

Southern black!reader with Clark but her telatale sign that she is into him is that she randomly comes over with a plate of food to his apartment, because she "made extra" and can't possibly eat this all by myself"

Because ya mama always taught you that a way to a mans heart is through his stomach

The more extreme version of this is stopping by his work to drop of some lunch with claims of a big boy like him needs to keep his strength up. Or offering to wip him up something when he says he hasn't eaten anything.

Now he was raised a southern boy, so he would be blushing redder than the tomato's in your garden, because he knows exactly what your doing. He'd be raving about you to his ma and pa over the phone about how his new "friend" keeps bringing him over plates of green beans, cornbread, mash potatoes, baked beans, and so on.

[velvet-milk]

♡. dick grayson just loves getting you pregnant.

❤︎──── ❛❛i just know your pull-out game is trash. what are you trying to do—start a soccer team or somethin'?❞ jason said with a funny face, watching dick’s oldest kid stuff his face with the tiny sandwiches alfred had made for the birthday party. the little dude looked just like his old man, minus the ridiculous robin outfit and the sad puppy eyes only an orphan could pull off. the younger girl beside him, dick's middle child, was going at the muffins just as aggressively, like the two of them were racing to see who could eat more.

dick didn't even look up from his drink, gently bouncing his youngest on one arm, chubby-cheeked, wide-eyed, and clinging to his shirt like a sleepy little koala. "if you had a wife as hot as mine, you'd be popping out kids too, buddy."

they both turned to look at you.

you looked effortlessly beautiful in your sundress, arranging the table with sweet treats and the homemade cake you’d baked with steph for your son. you were glowing, smiling softly to yourself as you nudged cupcakes into place, strands of hair slipping down your shoulders in that way that always made dick a little bit stupid in the head.

jason looked at him and smirked.

"okay, fair point. If i had that, i'd never pull out either."

dick shot him a glare sharp enough to kill.

"watch it."

"relax, i'm just admiring. like art in a museum. look, don't touch."

the baby in dick's arms let out a soft coo, then promptly sneezed in his face. jason burst out laughing, almost choking on his beer. dick wiped his face with a napkin, sighing. the living room was steadily filling up, your apartment buzzing with the kind of energy only a gathering of vigilantes and sugar-fueled kids could create. laughter bounced off the walls, footsteps thudded across the floor, and someone had already knocked over a bowl of popcorn.

by the time everyone had arrived, you stood near the center of the room, glancing around at the crowd with a shy smile. tim and damian were surprisingly civil, caught up in a low-stakes debate over something. bruce stood nearby, hands behind his back, taking in the decorations with his signature unreadable expression. barbara and cass sat on the edge of the couch, quietly demolishing cupcakes. wally was crouched on the floor, pretending to lose a race to your son, who was giggling maniacally.

you turned toward the kitchen doorway.

"come here, honey."

dick stood from the armchair, still gently cradling your baby girl, and crossed the room to your side. you laced your fingers with his free hand, your other hand brushing nervously over the front of your sundress.

once you had everyone's attention, you cleared your throat.

"so, guys, since everyone’s here..." you looked at dick, who gave you a reassuring nod. "we have an announcement."

across the room, wally and jason exchanged a look, like they already knew what was coming.

"we're pregnant!" you said brightly, your smile wide and beaming. steph let out an excited squeal and rushed forward to hug you tightly, practically bouncing on her feet.

"oh my god, again? you're glowing, this is so perfect!"

meanwhile, wally and jason turned to stare at dick like he'd just revealed he was a time traveler. jason didn't miss a beat.

"bro. do you have a breeding kink or somethin'? four kids? four? what the actual fuck?"

tim, without looking up, reached out and casually covered richard jr's ears. barbara did the same for your daughter on the couch, both of them sighing in sync.

dick blinked, deadpan.

"you know, some people just really enjoy fatherhood."

"you definitely enjoy something."

wally snorted. "this man's building his own titans roster at home."

dick just grinned, kissed the top of your head, and rocked the baby gently in his arm.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Clark Kent (2025) x Gothamite Reporter Male Reader 

Headcanons 

Just got back from watching the movie at the cinema, it was so fucking good, I highly recommend it, go watch it if you are able. I also really likes Mister Terrific.

Reader is a reporter at the Daily Planet, he is also a Gothamite. I thought of writing something like, childhood friends, fellow kryptonian, etc, but maybe another time if you guys are interested. 

I dont think theres any spoilers in this, but just in case, spoiler warning for Superman (2025)

I dont think Clark has ever thought much about his sexuality or attraction to others outside of normal crushes he had growing up, or that he found women attractive. 

So when he starts finding you, another reporter at the Daily Planet, and a man, attractive? Clark wouldn't know what to do with himself for a good while. 

Clark is a bumbling fool, even if he sometimes acts it up as the image of Clark Kent. But when you are around it becomes real. It's like his body is too big for anything, stumbling into doorways, knocking over papers, one time missing his office chair. 

Jimmy and Lois would not let him live it down, always giving him looks of making joking comments when you arent around.  

One time you leant over the top of the cubicles, looking right down at Clark. You tap the top of his head with a pile of papers, and he just looks up at you with the prettiest wide blue eyes, his curls a mess and cheeks slightly flushed. 

It makes your own heart race, you were a Gothamite damnit. Someone so kind, bright and pretty wouldnt make you buckle, even if Clarks parted plush pink lips look so damn enticing. 

Instead, you tell him to take a look at the stuff you found cuz you know hes been working on a specific report, and dump the pile of papers in front of him and walk off to work on your own stuff. Aka, hiding the heat rising to your face. 

You have a bit of a thing for Superman, but who doesn't. Insert Clark ducking down and trying not to choke or sputter when you mention it in passing, during a conversation with Cat. 

Superman is just a lot more approachable than the bat guy back in Gotham. You haven't been back in a couple of years, but your family told you about him. Like, the guy runs around with a kid sidekick, thats messed up even for Gotham. 

Lois gives Clark a look, even wiggles her brows at him. Might even make some joking comments about how he just needs to show up as Superman to swoop you off your feet. 

Maybe you even mention that you think Clark is more attractive to Cat when you guys are talking in another room, and Clark hears it because of his super hearing. It makes him choke so hard on his coffee that it almost shoots out his nose. 

I think in the end you are the one to make a move, kinda. Maybe you two share a case and have to work together, and you invite Clark over to your place, or out for lunch. 

Clark will jokingly and choppily ask if its a date, and you just look at him, as serious and blank faced as any Gothamite, and say, sure, lets make it a date. 

Cue Clark panicking about if he should dress up or not. Should he bring flowers? Chocolate? Another treat? His parents raised him to be a respectful and loyal man, so of course he wants to make a good impression. 

In the end Clark shows up with flowers, your favorite. It makes you a little embarrassed that he remembered what your fave flowers were. You only mentioned it once, like, last year when someone was writing about flower language. 

Clark is so lovely, flustered and kind that you want to rip your hair out. How can someone be so fucking perfect? There has to be something wrong about him. Like, maybe he's got some weird kinks, or messy past relationships. There has to be something, it's not scientifically possible. 

You end up having to accept that Clark really just is like that. Lois has found you once or twice with your face in your hands, trying to piece it all together. Lois just grins into her coffee and pats your back. 

It's not so strange for you to expect the other shoe to drop. Thats what Gothamites do. The best relationship you had back in Gotham was pretty healthy too, if you ignore the fact that the guy was covered in scales and slowly turning into some kinda crocodile creature. Last time you saw him, he killed a guy and fled to the sewers, so. 

The shoe does drop at some point, but its not because Clark kills somebody like Waylon, or blows up a bar during trivia night like Eddie. Its because he does what he does best. Hes a hero. 

Clark couldn't really help it. You were almost hit by a falling building, so of course he has to catch the rubble, standing above you and looking down at you, looking as shocked as you do at his actions. 

You guys don't talk for a few days after that, because you just need to process all of... that. But you end up cracking when Clark shows up with an even bigger bouquet of flowers, your favorite takeout, and the most powerful pitiful puppy look in his eyes. 

It takes a lot of talking to get it all straight. And... maybe you are a little flushed to be dating Superman. You are still most drawn to Clark, but Superman is a treat too. 

Clark looks both flustered and unamused when you ask if he can wear the suit, just once. You just wanna... see the material and patterns up close. 

In the end Clark does show you the suit, but it's after a fight with the villain of the week, and he's covered in dust and dirt. His curls are an even bigger mess than usual, but Clark is so pretty. 

You swear your heart lurches when he looks at you all apologetically, his smile a little crooked and blue eyes shiny and glimmering from where he's standing in your entranceway. 

Of course, you ask if you can try the cape. It's a lot heavier than it looks, and you are too busy admiring yourself in the mirror to watch the way Clarks pupils bloom at seeing you wearing the El crest. 

Dating Clark Kent and Superman has its ups and lows. On hot days, Clark can cool you down with a little puff of air. Or, when he's feeling a little frisky, Clark will cool his mouth and kiss you all over. 

He likes cooking meals for you, even if its stuff like breakfast for dinner, or those waffles you put in the toaster.  

The entire office all seem to sigh in relief when they watch Clark almost skipping into the office, giving you a coffee, and then kissing your cheek before going off to his own desk. People start passing money, cuz of course there were bets. 

Clark runs hot, so he can be the perfect weighted blanket on some days. But it also makes him so uncomfortable to cuddle in the summer. This is when he uses his ice breath. 

But there are also the times where you can do nothing but sit and watch the news, waiting with bated breath as you watch the symbol of hope fighting stronger and stronger enemies. 

Clark will always return to you, one way or another, but some days you fear he wont. It causes some issues in the relationship. You cant make yourself tell him to stop being a hero, thats just who Clark is, so you have to bite it down and live with it. 

Clark always tries to make you feel better though, so expect a lot of love and attention. He gives great massages you know, and Clark quickly learns how to press your buttons. 

You almost bite your own tongue off when Clark slides to his knees when you are standing in the kitchen, and just rests his chin on your thigh, looking up at you with those pretty blue eyes, strong hands massaging your calf. 

Blood rushes so fast that Clark has to catch you so you dont crack your head on the counter, because jesus, why would be just do that out of the blue? 

It helps that his parents love you too, and the love Clark has for you before only grows when his Ma and Pa give you the sign of approval. So, expect lotsa visits to the farm, and lotsa family dinners when you guys have time. 

[lacy-oh-lacy]

Dating Clark Kent HCs

Masterlist

ᯓ★Clark is so endearingly conventional when it comes to courting

ᯓ★He's formal, sincere, almost a bit awkward at first, but he's actually a pretty good flirt when he gets the chance, he's a writer after all, and he can surprise you with the boldness of his wit sometimes

ᯓ★It feels like he takes forever to make a move, but he's waiting for the perfect moment… and maybe working up his courage a little bit

ᯓ★He brings you flowers every date, opens doors and pulls out chairs for you, he's just so chivalrous

ᯓ★He loves physical affection, he's a bit slow to initiate it, but when you take his hand or pull him into a random hug his heart always leaps

ᯓ★He's not the type to get complacent over time, dates just get more romantic, from cooking for you or taking you to the nicest places he can get into to taking you out for picnics and stargazing in places only your superpowered boyfriend could get you to

ᯓ★He's just as fond of quiet days in together too, though he often has to pause chats or couch cuddles when his super-hearing picks up someone in distress

ᯓ★And he just loves mornings with you, he tends to walk you to work just to get that extra bit of time with you (plus he wants to make sure you get there safe)

ᯓ★Clark’s so good about doing his share of the house work (or more than it frankly), it's not just because he has super speed, though that helps, it’s because he was raised with so much responsibility and work ethic instilled into him

ᯓ★Dating is a partnership for him, respect and teamwork are so important, your input and advice are never taken for granted

ᯓ★Having similar moral codes is essential for your relationship to function, he's open to being challenged but he does ultimately need someone who understands the sacrifices he makes, and ideally who can keep his resolve strong and spirits high through it all

ᯓ★And in return, he's your biggest supporter, and the most caring, attentive partner you could ever need

ᯓ★Clark’s always your hero, even if it’s just making sure you have an umbrella on a rainy day, or his jacket when it’s cold out, or running an errand you don't have time for, and… yeah occasionally catching you, you may be thrown from a building or two with him in your life

[dollfacefantasy]

clark kent x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3

for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.

he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.

all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.

so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.

that was until tonight.

you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.

but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.

unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.

he looked pissed.

he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.

you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.

"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.

"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."

"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.

"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."

he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.

he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.

clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.

after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.

you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.

"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.

"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.

you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.

"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."

"i didn't think-"

"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"

words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.

"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.

you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.

"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.

your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.

"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."

the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.

you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.

when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.

he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.

"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."

"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.

you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.

"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.

you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.

[leilasletters]

Kiss Me, Kill Me

🏈Jason Todd X Fem!reader📖

bad boy x smarter girl | detention glances & rooftop secrets | don’t fall for him, don’t fall for him, don’t—"he kissed her like a dare. she kissed him like it was the last mistake she'd ever make. and neither of them stopped."

Masterlist

chapter 2

Your rule is simple:

If a boy has nice arms, a cocky grin, and a reputation for self-destruction, you walk away.

Or, more accurately:

You run.

And Jason Todd checks every single box.

So it makes absolutely no sense why, when you hear his voice behind you in the hallway—low, teasing, just this side of arrogant—you don’t immediately flee like you’re allergic to hot people.

“Hey, brainiac,” he drawls. “Wanna grab lunch? I’ll let you school me on feminist theory.”

You turn slowly, unimpressed. “I don’t eat with people who use ‘feminist’ like it’s a dare.”

Jason grins, all teeth and danger. “C’mon. I’m a fast learner.”

“Of what?” you ask, “Manipulation? Ego? How to weaponize cologne?”

He laughs. “You keep talking to me like this, I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

You cross your arms. “I talk to everyone like this. You’re just too self-absorbed to notice.”

Later, you sit with your legs up on a courtyard bench, sipping iced coffee and pretending not to replay the conversation. The sun’s out, the air smells like chalk dust and cheap perfume, and you’re trying so hard not to wonder what it’d feel like to kiss someone like Jason Todd.

Big hands. Bigger mouth. Idiot charm.

It’d be like setting yourself on fire for fun.

He doesn’t deserve your attention. Not when there’s a bet hanging over your head. Not when the whole school whispers about how he only got interested after someone dared him.

You don’t do bets.

You don’t do boys who think they can win you.

And you definitely don’t do the smirky kind who lean against lockers like they’re posing for a Calvin Klein ad.

But Jason keeps doing it anyway. And worse? It’s working.

You try ignoring him.

Doesn’t work.

You try intimidating him with knowledge. (“Did you know the entire structure of modern romance was designed to keep women emotionally dependent on men?”)

He just nods and goes, “Yeah, but I still wanna take you to the rooftop and listen to Talking Heads with you.”

You try calling him out in front of everyone. (“What, Jason, run out of cheerleaders willing to fake-laugh at your jokes?”)

He just winks and says, “They don’t bite like you do.”

It’s infuriating.

He’s relentless. You’re sarcastic. He shows up at your debate club meeting for fun.

You leave a copy of The Second Sex in his locker with a sticky note:

Try reading something written by a woman for once.

He reads it.

Tells you it “fucked him up a little.”

You wish you weren’t impressed.

What you don’t know: Jason didn’t mean for the bet to matter.

It started stupid. Someone rich and bored (probably that jackass Luke from the swim team) said something like, “Bet you can’t even get her number.”

Jason had shrugged. “Bet I can make her fall in love.”

Everyone laughed.

Except him.

Because Jason doesn’t do feelings, not really. Not since Gotham chewed him up and spat him out. But you? You made him feel something the second you rolled your eyes and told him to read a real book.

And yeah, maybe it was a joke at first.

But then he saw the way you sit in class, eyebrows drawn, tearing apart every assigned text like the world depends on your clarity. He saw how you walk with your head high, how you eviscerate guys twice your size in debates and never apologize.

You’re fire. And he’s never wanted to get burned more in his life.

One night, he corners you after a student council meeting. You’re annoyed. He’s cocky. The janitor’s locking up, the hallway lights flicker low, and your backpack is heavy with AP government textbooks.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says.

You snort. “Maybe I’ve been existing peacefully without testosterone poisoning.”

Jason steps closer. Not too close. Just enough that you have to tilt your head to look at him.

“You really hate me, huh?” he says softly.

You blink.

Because for the first time, his voice doesn’t sound like a joke. There’s something behind it—almost like insecurity. Like he wants you to say no.

But you’re you.

So instead, you say, “I don’t hate you. I just don’t trust you.”

Jason nods, tongue in cheek. “Fair.”

He starts to walk off—but pauses.

“I’m not doing this for the bet anymore,” he says over his shoulder.

You freeze.

He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t wait for a reaction. Just disappears down the hallway, leaving you alone with a heart that suddenly feels too big in your chest.

You don’t sleep that night.

You Google him. Read too much between the lines of his troubled past. You find a photo of him smiling before the world broke him. And damn it, he looked soft.

You hate soft.

You hate vulnerable.

And you hate that the thought of Jason Todd falling for you doesn’t sound nearly as funny as it did two weeks ago.

to be continued....

[ ➤ taglist: @reagan707 @lassoinyourlap @ravenna-rvnclw ]

[mostly-imagines]

The Venus Drug

jason todd x afab!reader

aka the side effects of a run-in with poison ivy

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), sex pollen so its inherently not strictly speaking consensual, oral (f & m receiving), free use, overstimulation

A clattering in your living room has you blearily shifting awake. The dark of your bedroom takes your eyes longer to adjust to than usual, it feels like. You peer at the time, finding it only just past midnight. Even on the good nights, midnight is pretty early for him to be coming back. 

Though, there’s really little concern of the noise-maker being anyone but your boyfriend, he’s set up too many security measures and failsafes around your apartment for anyone to get lucky waltzing in. It does worry you though that he is making such a clamor when he’s usually so careful about entering silently as to not wake you. 

You’re about to climb out of bed to investigate when the door creaks open, though light doesn’t flood through the crack like you’d expected.

Jason stumbles into the doorway, falling into a lean against the wall for support.

You sit up quickly, instantly on alert. “What’s wrong?”

He takes one glance at you and immediately averts his gaze to the floor like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to.

You look down, thrown by his behavior, only to see your usual nighttime attire: one of his shirts over underwear.

You blink back up at him, furrowing your brow. “Jay?”

You can vaguely make out a sigh from him, “Fuck…” he squeezes his eyes shut. “Ivy..”

Ah. This has happened before to the others, but this is the first time you’ve seen him affected by it. You’re prepared for it, though you hadn’t anticipated that it would be so seemingly debilitating.

“What can I do?” You try not to look as concerned as you feel but you can’t say with confidence that it’s working.

He slowly pushes himself off the doorframe, heading wearily towards the bathroom. He tugs his shirt off with difficulty, tossing it to the side. “Nothing, nothing..I jus’ need to…” he takes a deep breath, “Get it out of my system..” He’s trying to be comforting but the pain in his voice rids it of all believability.

You frown, watching him linger. “That seems like the exact kind of thing I could help with.”

His eyes close helplessly as his head falls back, “You can’t, baby.”

“Why not?”

He sighs, “I’m not…as in control as I’d like to be right now.”

Your pout deepens. This is something you’re working on with him—trusting both you and himself with vulnerability. Especially when it comes to situations where he feels like he’s putting you in a vulnerable place too. But you trust him with your whole being and you want him to know it. “That’s okay.”

“No,” he shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you say resolutely. “I trust you.”

He wavers, “No, I…No. I can’t.”

He says that, but he’s still not retreating to the bathroom. Instead, he loiters awkwardly, like he’s caught between decisions.

You feel a twinge of heartache in your chest, “Does it hurt?”

He’s quick to answer, “I’m alright.” Though he doesn’t try his hardest to sell you on the idea. 

Your face pans, “That’s not what I asked.”

“I—” he huffs, conceding. “Yeah. Yes.”

You extend your arms out, beckoning him towards you. It clearly goes against his better judgment but he can’t help himself from moving closer to you. An evident testament to the strength of Ivy’s work.

You take his hands in yours, looking up at him with begging eyes, “Let me help you? Please?”

Up close like this you can really see how labored his breathing is and how pained he looks. You sit up onto your knees, pulling his hands closer. “I wanna take care of you. Let me help my boy out. He deserves it.”

He steels his jaw, trying to replenish his rapidly weakening resolve. He exhales heavily before grabbing your chin, eyes serious. “Look at me,” he says sternly. “You stop me if I’m too rough.”

You nod adamantly, “I will.”

You fidget with the loop of his belt, waiting for permission. 

He squeezes your hands slowly, head bowing. “Help me, sweetheart.”

You’re instantly up on your feet, maneuvering him to switch places with you and sit down on the bed. You kneel down in front of him, undoing the clasp on his belt.

You tug his belt off, letting it clatter on the floor before freeing him the rest of the way. To your surprise, his eyes remain on you rather than your actions. He brushes your hair out of your face haphazardly, murmuring, “Pretty fucking girl..”

You keen at his words, fighting the urge to pause and rub up against him. Instead, you busy yourself and lick a line up his cock, immediately feeling his body stutter. You lick another stripe, this time adding a kiss afterwards.

His hands squeeze at the comforter under him, “Baby, please.”

You give a short nod before taking him in your mouth completely. He groans like it’s automatic, body practically vibrating in place. You rest your hands over his and he’s quick to turn his own over to hold onto yours.

It only works as a momentary distraction, as one of his hands leaves your grasp to move your hair from blocking his view again, petting your head nicely as you suck him off. “Oh, good girl. My good girl.”

He babbles when he gets overwhelmed during sex, though it doesn’t happen often. And especially not like this.

“Fucking—” he stammers, “God, you’re so—”

Frankly, the image of you on your knees in front of him, so willing and eager to help him out…it’s killing him. He’s putting absolutely all of his remaining restraint into not taking over and fucking your mouth the way he wants to—and it shows—so you’re doing your best to take as much of him in your mouth as you can and using your hand to compensate for the rest.

His head bobs back as his hand falls to a rest atop your head. His breathing is deep and heavy and you can see the way his abs flex through his restraint. His hand briefly fists up before stuttering back to lay open-palmed on your head.

“Oh, baby—” he lets out a gravelly moan and his arms nearly give out from holding him up as he comes.

You happily collect it on your tongue and he audibly groans when you swallow.

He’s quick to pull you up off the floor and place you on the bed so he can clamor over you. You fall back to have your arms hold you up as he finds your lips. 

“Take your shirt off,” he tells you breathlessly. “Please.”

You oblige without hesitation as he kisses and gropes along your torso. You don’t realize what he’s doing until he’s at face level with your underwear, fingers dipping under the band.

You sit up onto your hands, “Jay, you don’t have to—”

He shakes his head, “‘M not gonna hurt you,” he mumbles, very adamant. “Not doin’ it.”

It’s been a long running personal requirement for Jason to thoroughly prep you in some way before fucking you, and he’s right for it—you would definitely get hurt if he didn’t.

You feel conflicted about it now though, like it’s not fair of you to let him pay such mind to you when he’s quite literally in unprecedented pain.

But he slips your underwear down without hesitation, not wasting any time in getting to work. He doesn’t start with his usual teasing and build-up, instead he goes straight into licking at your core, eyes closed and strands of white hair stuck to his forehead. 

He hooks one hand around your knee and the other wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer. He used the newfound proximity to lap at you with more concentration and purpose, quite literally devouring you. You struggle to keep your breathing in tune with the rest of your body, not having been prepared for so much so quickly.

He’s eating you out like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, not giving himself any time to breathe or even think about anything else. You’re about to push him away so that he’ll take a breath or two when he moans into your cunt, instantly veering your brain straight off course.

He breaks from licking your pussy only to change course in favor of sucking on your clit, leaving open-mouthed kisses every few seconds. You thread your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him as best you can.

This is a new experience for both of you in terms of intensity and desperation and it has you feeling like you were injected with the same toxin he was. It throws you so completely out of your senses that you don’t even notice that he’s rutting into the bed as he kisses you. Though, odds are he doesn’t realize he’s doing it either.

His grip on you tightens as he gets more fervent, the dig from the indents of his fingers promising to bruise. His eyes flutter as he makes out with your pussy, little mewls making their way through periodically.

“Jay—” you cry, tugging harder than you’d meant to on his hair. He hums in response, letting you know that he’s here, he’s with you, he’ll take care of you. 

Even high out of his mind he can still read you like a book, and can tell that you’re nearing your peak. He gets meditated and precise with his actions, leading you right up to the edge. You whimper again and he begins to rut harder.

It takes only a few moments of this repetition for you to briefly tense up before you start to tremble, heat flooding through your body. The saccharine new taste of your cum motivates him to reach his own end, moaning into you and sending a second wave of rapture over you.

You exhale heavily as his forehead drops against your stomach, catching his breath. It doesn’t take him very long. 

You can just start to realize the persistent trembling in your thighs when he licks another stripe down your pussy. You whine, sitting up on your elbows and squirming higher up on the bed.

He pulls back murmuring, “Sorry.” He kisses the inside of your thigh, “Sorry.”

You watch as he pushes up on his forearms to look at you proper, seeming almost dizzy. “I need..I need…” his shoulders drop. “Please.”

You just nod, giving him permission to do whatever he needs. 

He pulls you up by the waist and tugs you into him as close as he can, kissing you hard. You move to hold his jaw in your hands, stroking your thumb across lightly. He leans you backwards to lay you down flat, head just below the pillows. He folds over you easily, kisses becoming less and less intentional in placement as his hands stroke and squeeze up your sides. 

He pulls away only to glance down as he lines himself up with you, pushing in slowly. He peers back up at your face as he does, watching carefully to make sure it doesn’t hurt.

You hold onto his shoulders as you take him, the stretch feeling significant but familiar.

He kisses your cheek once he’s fully inside and begins to rock in and out of you slowly. The pace picks up quickly as he continues to makeout with you.

A particularly intense thrust has you wrapping your arms fully around the frame of his shoulders, hugging him close to you. He immerses himself in the crook of your neck, fucking you with deeper and more punctuated strokes than you can remember.

“Jay,” you gasp as he places firm kisses across your jaw like he’s trying to hammer it into your head that he fucking loves you.

His thrusts gradually get faster and while it’s perfectly overwhelming for you, it doesn’t seem to be enough for him. 

He huffs before pulling out of you without warning. He untangles your arms from around him so he can flip you over to lay on your stomach. He pulls you back up just as quickly, arm wrapped around your torso, leaving you to hold yourself up by your hands and knees as he kisses on your neck messily.

This time when he reenters you he continues on with his previous pace, taking you by surprise once again. Your mouth is practically hanging open as he ruts into you, successfully sending your thoughts straight out of your head.

He lays kisses down your spine murmuring, “I love you.” He moves in and out of you without falter, “Thank you, thank you..”

His hands hold your waist in place, keeping you steady for both of your sakes. Multiple times his grip tightens only to loosen the second he realizes how hard he’s squeezing you. You don’t mind though, you’ve never had any trouble revering marks left behind by him before. 

“It’s—” you pant, “It’s okay—” you reach back to put your hand over his, pressing down.

His brash hold returns upon the permission, more assured. “Good girl, good—” he praises, “So fucking good for me, baby.”

He reaches around and dips his free hand below your hips, beginning to rub circles on your clit.

Your arms shake and you worry that they’re nearing buckling, but, attuned with you as ever, his arm wraps tighter around your middle, pulling you up a bit higher so that you barely have to mind any of the work of holding yourself up.

He makes sure to support your weight nicely, holding you in a way that he knows won’t be uncomfortable for you. His circles never cease, never falter from that just right pace he’s come to know like the back of his hand.

You’re brought to your high by the arrival of his, struggling to keep your head upright as you come.

He thumps down over to the side to lay on his back, chest heaving. You pick up your head to look over at him, finding that he doesn’t look nearly as exhausted as you’re sure you do. Still, he breathes heavy, pupils blown out and sweaty.

You notice how his fists clinch up and loosen a couple times over, trying to convince himself that he’s done, he doesn’t need any more from you, he’s all better now. 

But you also notice that he’s still hard. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, dead set on not looking at you and having to confront that he really, really does still need you.

So you force yourself to sit up, placing a hand on his chest for balance. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to relax for your sake but that’s the last thing you want him to do.

You push yourself up and over his waist, perching over his abs and brushing his hair back from his forehead. You press a kiss to his head before sitting up on your knees and reaching down to line his cock up with your entrance.

You plant a hand on his chest as you sink down onto him with a deep breath.

“You’re okay,” he rasps, watching in mesmerization as you start to lift your weight up slowly off of your thighs and sink back down.

“I’m okay,” you confirm, guiding his hands to your hips. The presence of his hands on you feels like reassurance and works wonders to help you pick back up some of your energy.

The pace you latch onto feels good, for both of you, but you realize fairly quickly that you’re not going to be able to go as fast as he needs you to.

His hands slip down from your hips to your upper thighs, helping you bob up and down. It doesn’t take long for this to give way to him grabbing your hips and moving you entirely himself.

You watch his arm muscles flex as he shifts you around, leaving you awed with the way he shows virtually no struggle while shifting the majority of your body weight up and down over and over again. Just being completely manhandled by him has you letting out an involuntary moan, letting your head fall back.

“There you go, there you go,” he coos, motions without cessation.

He has you riding him faster than you ever have before and it becomes overwhelming quickly. But Jason, ever the caretaker, coaches you through it, encouraging your every movement.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, watching the way your breasts bounce. “Perfect fucking thing.”

The acclaim in his voice makes your eyes shut and your diaphragm shake, all while he continues to fuck you senseless. 

Your body stutters above him, hands flying onto his for support. He comes only moments later, seemingly the only thing that could break his concentration for ragdolling you. The following release of your hips has you slumping over onto his chest, face laying in the bend of his neck.

He turns his head wearily to you, rubbing a hand up your back. “‘R you okay?” he slurs out.

You hum feebly, eyes unable to stay open.

“Can I…?” It takes hearing the words for you to realize that somehow he’s still hard.

You try to nod hard enough that it can be distinguished against the heaviness of your breathing, though you can’t be sure you were successful.

He sighs, “Baby…”

His hangup is immediately clear to you, even through the haze of being post-three orgasms in less than thirty minutes. It takes real, measurable effort to get this singular word through, but you manage.

“Yes,” you breathe out. A ‘yes’ is going to have to work for him because you don’t have a shot at stringing together anymore syllables.

He places a gentle hand on the back of your head, his other landing on your lower back. He slowly starts to fuck you again, this time much softer than before. It’s calm enough that you can settle into the fatigue in your bones and start to feel the exhaustion sweep over your consciousness.

In between kisses laid sweetly upon your neck, He murmurs affections to you the whole time, though you lose almost all of them to sleep. He moves you around a bit more as he goes, though careful to be gentle enough that he doesn’t disturb your peace anymore than he has to.

By the time he’s done he’s bordering on completely out of it and can’t do anything but collapse atop you, nuzzling into your neck.

There’s a pretty consistent pattern that can be found when helping him deal with post-patrol aftermath. Scarecrow’s never any good, his pop-ups tend to end in winding Jason down from panic. There’s always injuries after Bane and invariably there’ll be a mess from Clayface. Half the time he has to get an entirely new suit after a run-in with Killer Croc. So as far as Gotham’s problems go, Poison Ivy isn’t the worst. 

the morning after epilogue

✨ oh you don’t reblog? that’s…no, that’s totally fine for you! im so happy for you…i mean its just been out of fashion for like three seasons but yeah, that shows a lot of…confidence! ✨

[gay-dorito-dust]

You: *trips and lands into Jason’s tits*

You: oh no, it seems that I have tripped over something, thank gods these mounds were here to save me.

Jason: this is the firth time that you’ve ‘accidentally tripped’ and ‘coincidentally’ landed into my chest.

You: those other times were my doppelgängers-

[multi-fandom-enjoyer]

Superman: Where's the dog!

He yells at Lex, who nonchalantly drinks his coffee.

Lex: Dog? What do-

He's interrupted by an out of breath Y/n, running into the room with Krypto in their arms.

Lex: Why are you helping the alien?

He bitterly asks as Y/n catches their breath and hands Superman the dog.

Y/n: You kidnapped their dog... you diseased maniac. I didn't agree to that.

They finally catch their breath before continuing:

Y/n: And you might want to start running before my girlfriend gets here.

They point to a figure in the distance, breaking the sound barrier.

Lex: Oh sh-

[bigfatbimbo]

Hello, dearest!

--------

Thinking about joker being possibly the biggest masochist in Gotham to have ever bottomed. Getting beaten black and blue by you and still wanting more. Who gets off from every bruise that litters his body.

He wants you mad at him. He wants you seeing red everytime you see his face. He wants to feel your hands gripping his waist while you throw him around, just so he can imagine what it'll feel like when you throw him on the bed instead of the Gotham floor.

Making the bed rock? Nah. He wants you to fuck him through the goddamn floor. Call him every insult while you fuck his ass and suck his soul straight through his cock.

--------

TL;DR: He wants you to ultraviolence him in the ass.

✮⋆˙ Look at how happy he is to get his ass kicked. LIKE HELLO?

Oh my god, the return of the GOAT to my inbox!? The way I gasped. Joy and happiness is back in the world. And just like old times, YOU’RE RIGHT!

“Come on baby, beat me til’ your knuckles bleed” actual joker quote… okay king, we see you.

I agree with everything you said; this man doesn’t just want marks, he wants gashes. If you’re brave enough to dominate the Joker, you better be memorable.

So yes, fuck him hard and rough with your strap. Maybe even without prep, or lube, just so it stings. If you stop degrading him for more than ten seconds, he fake yawns. Asshole. He’s just hoping for a blow to his face, maybe a knocked out tooth… or three.

By the end of the night, countless orgasms later, he’s too fucked out to even laugh. Weak little giggles, that turn into whines, or winces. He can’t even move! He thinks you broke a rib, but he’d rather you had broken more.

[amaris-whisperer]

Kryptonite Hearts l Superman x Reader

Pairing: Superman | Clark Kent x Reader Genre: Angst · Tragedy · Sci-fi Romance · Slow Burn · Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Experimentation, radiation sickness, mild body horror, emotional trauma, past self-sacrifice, tragic love, ambiguous morality, clone themes, soft heartbreak, heavy longing, found family undertones Chapters: 1 l 2 l 3 l 4 l upcoming chapters

--

Chapter 1 The Rescue The walls were cold. Sterile. Buzzing with the constant hum of LexCorp machinery. You’d long since lost track of the days. Or yea

The green light above your head never turned off — a dull, eerie glow that kept your skin always humming, your veins slightly burning. You had stopped looking in mirrors a long time ago. Not because you weren’t allowed, but because what you saw wasn’t you anymore.

You were an experiment now. A living weapon.

They never gave you a name. Not even a number. Just a purpose: Kill Superman.

You didn't want to. You didn't even know him. But your blood did. Kryptonite flowed through your body like a parasite, fused into your DNA, making you toxic to him in every possible way.

The door to your containment cell hissed and you didn’t bother lifting your head. You expected another needle, another vial of blood drawn, another failed “test.” But then the room shook. The alarms blared red. And then you heard it. The thunderclap of something slamming into steel.

Then… silence. And one voice.

“Is someone in here?”

You blinked.

You weren’t imagining it. That voice was warm. Human. But powerful. Too steady to be scared, too calm to belong to anyone who worked here. Footsteps approached, each one sending tremors through the metallic floor.

You sat up slowly, wincing.

The reinforced door peeled open like paper. Metal curled and hissed as it bent out of shape. And then you saw him.

Superman.

His cape trailed like smoke behind him. His suit was dusted in debris, shoulders broad, chest heaving just slightly from the fight outside. But his expression softened the moment he saw you.

You.

You were barely clothed. Just a clinical gown clinging to your knees, IV lines still tangled in your arm, green veins crawling up your skin like vines under your flesh. You shrank back, arms wrapping around yourself.

“No...wait, don’t!” you shouted.

He stepped inside.

And then he staggered.

The moment he crossed the threshold, Superman faltered, like someone had just punched him square in the gut. He dropped to one knee, gasping.

“God,” he wheezed, “what… what is this…?”

You screamed. “I told you not to come in here!”

He looked up at you, eyes wide and glowing faintly red. Not with anger. With pain.

Your body trembled. “Don’t come any closer,” you whispered. “Please.”

His hand planted to the ground, struggling to lift himself. “You’re… Kryptonite,” he murmured, realization washing over his face like dread. “It’s in you.”

You nodded, teeth clenched.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said bitterly. “Luthor put it in my blood. It’s in my bones. I can’t touch anyone. Not without burning them.”

Superman stared at you. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t turn away.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he said.

Your breath caught. “Didn’t you hear me?” you snapped, pointing at the glowing veins on your arms. “I’ll kill you just by being near you!”

He smiled faintly, tiredly, but sincerely.

“Then I won’t get too close.”

Before you could protest again, he lifted a slab of lead from the broken wall and folded it into a makeshift barrier, forming a container just large enough for you to sit in like a shield. Then, still grimacing from the pain of your presence, he bent down and gently pushed it toward you.

“Get in,” he said. “I’ll carry you out.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “You’d risk dying… just to get me out of here?”

“I don’t leave people behind,” he replied, and there was no arrogance in it. Just truth.

You hesitated. Then, silently, you crawled into the lead cocoon, curling your legs to your chest. Superman sealed it carefully, leaving a small slit for air.

The world shook again as he rose, lifting you with both arms.

Even shielded, you could feel him tremble. Every inch of your presence still gnawed at his strength.

And yet he never let go. --

He flew through the night sky, weakened, slow, barely making it across the city’s edge before landing in the countryside. He collapsed to one knee, lowering the lead chamber gently to the grass.

You peeked out, wind in your face for the first time in years. The stars were real. The moon looked… free.

Superman staggered back, breathing heavily, hand to his ribs.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He leaned against a tree, eyes locking on yours across the distance.

“We’ll find a way,” he said, his voice hoarse but firm. “We’ll get it out of you.”

You wanted to believe him. But deep inside, a whisper lingered.

What if there’s no way?

What if you were born to kill the one person who finally tried to save you? --

The world was too quiet out here.

For the first time in years, you weren’t surrounded by humming monitors, needles, or voices behind one-way mirrors. There was no harsh green glow, no sterile air. Just wind, earth, and distant birdsong.

But you didn’t feel free. Not really.

You stood inside the lead-lined room Superman had built for you. A modified fallout shelter beneath an abandoned farmhouse in the Kansas countryside. Thick concrete. No windows. Sealed. The only entrance was a heavy door he had molded himself, reinforced with pure lead.

It was the only way he could be near you and live.

He visited every day. And yet, you’d never seen his face up close since the night of the rescue. Only his silhouette through the small glass window. Always distant. Always cautious.

Your blood was Kryptonite. And he was dying every time he stepped near. --

You sat cross-legged on the cot when the familiar knock echoed through the bunker door.

Three soft taps.

You stood and crossed the room, unlocking the inner seal. You didn't need to speak, and he never waited for permission to talk.

“Good morning,” came his warm and tired voice. “I brought something.”

He held up a book in gloved hands. Through the window, you saw the worn spine: Frankenstein.

You arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, you think you’re funny.”

He smirked. “Only a little. You said you liked classics.”

“Right. Just didn’t think you’d bring the one about the girl made out of someone else’s pieces.”

He hesitated. “You’re not a monster.”

You didn’t answer. You just opened the slot at the bottom of the door, which was the transfer slot he made, so he could pass things in without risking exposure. You accepted the book, careful not to let your fingertips brush the edge.

His voice came again, quieter. “How are you feeling today?”

“Same,” you replied. “Alive. Contained. Breathing poison.”

There was a pause. You hated how your words made the air feel heavier even from his side.

“Do you still feel pain?” he asked.

You ran your fingers over the page. “No. Not really. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It just… is.”

“Like a part of you.”

You nodded slowly, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see you clearly. “Yeah.”

He leaned against the other side of the door. You could hear the faint rasp of his suit against the metal. His weight pressed there, like he wanted to be closer.

“I’ve been working with Batman,” he said. “He thinks we might be able to isolate the Kryptonite if it’s bonded to calcium or marrow. But we’d have to...”

“Scoop me out like a melon?”

He went quiet.

“I’m kidding,” you added softly. “Sort of.”

Another silence. Then:

“I won’t stop trying,” he said.

You looked up at the tiny square of glass. His silhouette hadn’t moved.

“I know,” you whispered. --

The next day, you didn’t speak much. You stayed curled on your cot, reading in the quiet. He came anyway, as he always did.

“Have you ever thought about just… leaving?” you asked suddenly.

You hadn’t meant to say it aloud. But the words dropped between you like stones.

“I have,” he replied. “But then I remember who I’d leave behind.”

Your throat tightened.

“You don’t owe me that,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said.

You stood and pressed your forehead to the glass, even knowing the layers of lead between you would stop any warmth. “What’s your real name?” you asked.

Another pause.

“Clark,” he said finally. “Clark Kent.”

You let the name roll through your head. Clark.

It sounded human.

You breathed against the glass. “I wish I could touch you.”

The silence was long. Then, a slow exhale.

“I wish I could touch you, too.”

And for the first time since your escape, you cried.

Not because of the experiments. Not because of the poison in your blood. But because someone wanted you. Someone saw you. And you could never have him.

You cried for Clark Kent, who stood on the other side of a wall that could never come down.

And you cried for yourself. The one behind the lead, who dreamed of a hand they could never hold.

-- Hope you all enjoy this! The next chapters are on their way!

[velvet-milk]

──── everybody knows that i'm a good boy, officer...

❤︎──── pairing: dick grayson x officer!reader.

❤︎──── summary: ❛❛as the newest cop on blüdhaven’s force, you hated masked freaks. nightwing, the masked freak himself, wants nothing more than your delicious, sweet approval. and maybe your naked body.❞

WARNINGS. dick wants your pussy so much he looks fucking stupid. 18+, jerking off. authority kink on his part. he loves a hot woman in uniform. hints of sub nightwing. female reader. officer reader. ©velvet-milk.

❤︎──── The first time he saw you, he had just taken down two armed robbers outside a liquor store — easy work, nothing fancy. A normal friday night for him. Dick was still catching his breath, escrima sticks holstered, the night wind tugging at his suit as he turned toward the flashing lights of the approaching squad car.

He muttered something to Oracle about the cops in the area and cut his comms. The flashing lights bathed the street in red and blue, casting just enough glow to catch the look you gave him — bored, patronizing, and vaguely amused. But the moment the window rolled down, he got hit with your full pretty face. And rude tone.

"Sweetheart, I know times are hard and stuff, but soliciting’s still a crime in this part of town."

Nice.

Your partner let out a strangled noise beside you. She leaned toward you like she could physically stop the words from coming out of your mouth, but it was far, far too late. You didn’t flinch. Just blew a bubble with your gum and popped it. Dick glanced down at himself — the skintight suit, the very iconic symbol across his chest — then looked back up at you.

"I literally just stopped a robbery."

You shrugged, unimpressed. "Cool. And I just filed a report. We all have hobbies."

To his credit, Dick didn’t get mad. Just gave you this slow, stunned little laugh, like he wasn’t sure if he was offended or intrigued.

"Wow. And here I thought I had a decent relationship with the BHPD after all these years."

You smiled sweetly, razor-sharp. "Oh, don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against sex workers."

Your partner in the passenger seat looked like she wanted to crawl into the glove compartment. She pressed a hand to her face and whispered, horrified, "Oh my God… that’s Nightwing."

You didn’t even flinch.

"Night-who?" you said, glancing at her like she’d just made up a word. "Why would I know his stage name?"

She turned to you, pale. "He’s, like… famous. National superhero famous."

Yeah, he fucking was. Thank you very much.

He took one last look at you — still lounging behind the wheel, smirking like you hadn’t just verbally curb-stomped a national hero. The other cop couldn’t even meet his eyes. Poor woman looked like she wanted to dissolve into her seat from secondhand embarrassment.

"Have a good night, officer," he said, voice clipped but smooth.

Then he turned on his heel, tapped his comms. "Oracle, remind me to review Blüdhaven precinct relations tomorrow," he muttered, raising his escrima stick and firing the grapple line. "Preferably before I set myself on fire again."

The line snapped taut, and he vanished into the night sky.

❤︎──── Of course he kept tabs on you after that night. You called him a hooker, straight to his face, and somehow looked obscenely hot while doing it. What was he supposed to do after that? Move on?

He was a simple man. A simple man with a morally flexible sense of privacy and way too much access to high-end surveillance tech. At the moment, he had four tabs open on the BHPD’s internal database. When Babs and Tim asked, he muttered something about "tracking a person of interest in the department."

Which, technically, wasn’t a lie. You were very interesting. You had a sharp mouth, a mean stare, perfect lips, and the kind of tits that made even the Nightwing suit feel a little tight.

"Yeah," he mumbled to himself, eyes fixed on your ID photo. "That’s the suspect. Definitely her."

He kept digging. It wasn’t enough to memorize your patrol schedule and ID badge, no, he had to go deeper. He found your Police Academy files. Graduated top of your class. Commendations in firearms, tactical response, and, of course, disciplinary reports for "insubordination" and "excessive sarcasm."

Then came your field test footage. Blurry body cam recordings. One of you talking down a suspect at gunpoint with zero backup. Another of you pinning a guy twice your size to the hood of a cruiser.

Very sexy of you, officer.

So he kept in close contact with the BHPD — closer than he needed to, if anyone was being honest about it. It had been years since Dick hung up the badge. But as Nightwing, he still had full access to department files, incident reports, internal memos, almost everything. All the tools of his former life, right at his fingertips.

And he’d been using them for one very specific reason. You. Every report you wrote, every arrest logged under your badge number, every disciplinary note with your name at the top, he read them all. More than once. It wasn’t intel gathering anymore. It was something else.

Something worse.

And you looked at him like he was a freak, every single time he showed up at a crime scene near your precinct. Last time, there was a body on the floor, half a dozen uniforms already securing the perimeter, and you crouched low, gloves on, examining blood spatter like it was just another tuesday. He tried to offer something helpful, something sharp, something detective-y.

You didn’t even look up.

"Sure thing, doll," you said, tone dry as bone. "Let me know if you wanna borrow a flashlight."

Then you stood, brushed past him, and kept working. He was still standing there ten seconds after you walked away, jaw tight, pride stinging, wondering what the hell was wrong with him that that turned him on. The dismissal. The uniform. The way your hips moved when you walked.

Jesus, he hadn’t been that hard in months.

Later that night he found himself alone in his apartment, right after patrol, hand wrapped tight around his cock, jerking off with embarrassing urgency to the mental image of your thighs straining against those uniform pants. He moaned softly, his thumb touching his leaking tip.

Dick could almost see it when he closed his eyes with a tiny whimper.

You, officer, climbing into his lap in the backseat of your cruiser, straddling him like you owned him. Belt undone, holster still strapped to your thigh. His hands cuffed behind him, helpless to do anything but take it.

You’d ride him so fucking hard, your pretty little pussy gripping him tight, warm and soaked around his cock. One hand tangled in his black hair, yanking when he got too mouthy, the other braced against the fogged-up glass of the car window as your hips slammed down, again and again, using him like a fucking toy.

He’d choke on a groan, eyes rolling back, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, because you wouldn’t let him finish until you were done. Until you were shaking on top of him, breathless and spent, nails dragging down his chest.

He came faster than he wanted to. Pathetic, really. He groaned your name like a fucking prayer, teeth sunk into his own wrist to keep quiet, while hot, messy cum spilled over his fist, his stomach, his shirt — hips jerking up off the mattress, desperate for more.

Desperate for you.

He looked up at the ceiling with a sigh, hands still sticky with his own cum like some desperate, horny teenager who’d never even touched a woman.

What the hell had you done to him, officer?

[writerdream22]

requested by: anonymous, I sincerely hope you like this ✨🌻💛

pairing: Dream of The Endless/ Morpheus x female!reader a/n: it has been a long time since I last wrote anything on this blog, so I hope that this oneshot meets your expectations!

feedbacks are always appreciated!

Saying that you were nervous was an understatement.

You did not want to attend the family dinner, but your parents were so eager to meet the "mistery man" who captured your heart.

That "mistery man" being none other than Dream.

As soon as the two of you walked into your childhood home, it was clear as day that your brother wasn't going to leave you alone.

"So, Y/n, how did the two of you meet?" your father questioned, as everyone sat around the table.

It genuinely seemed like he and your mother were interested in getting to know him, and you were so happy.

"We met at the library. I was there to do some research for my thesis and he helped me find the volumes that I needed".

It was not true, but you had to say something.

Your brother, Brian, scoffed.

"You have something to say, boy?" your father scolded him.

"It's just typical of Y/n." he said, as he put down his knife and fork. "Don't you ever do something else than reading?"

Dream took your hand in his, in sign of solidarity. He was not going to interfere, for now.

And you sure as hell were not going to allow your brother to direspect you in front of him.

"I actually want to get my degree, Paul. It seems like you, on the other hand, want to keep living at our parents' expense" you replied "By the way, I do lots of other things."

"Yeah? Like what?" Paul chuckled "With a boyfriend like that, I highly doubt it"

You were about to say something, but Dream spoke before you could even breathe.

"For your information, I take great care of your sister, and she's an amazing partner. It seems like your ex-wife did not think the same about you"

"You don't know what you're talking about"

"Oh believe me, I do. And I suggest you stop offending Y/n"

"I was just having a chat with my sister, so mind your own business pal"

Dream's expression hardened: he was losing his patience, and you were embarassed of how tense the situation was getting.

"Paul, stop it!" your mother exclaimed "Morpheus is our guest, and you're disrespecting him! Now let's eat this wonderful meatlof that I-"

"That won't be necessary, mum" you spoke up "The two of us are going."

"Darling please, dont go. Norman, say something!"

Your father shrugged his shoulders. "Y/n is right" he stated "Paul is disrespecting her by being so stuck up, not her partner. If she does not want to stay, she can go. "

You looked at your father and the both of you smiled, while your mother was staring angrily at your brother who was keeping his head down in shame.

As you got up from your seat, Dream soon did the same and thanked your parents for their hospitality.

With that, the two of you walked out of your family home and breathed a sigh of relief .

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. Paul has always been like that, and honestly- I have much better and important things to think about in my life than a frustrated thirty-year-old man" you caught your breath "And yeah, you take great care of me so I don't have to worry about anything"

"That is the goal, my dear: make you happy. Now let's go home, shall we?"

[lacy-oh-lacy]

Ok but imagine submissive Clark

CW: Sub!Clark, edging, handcuffs, praise kink, dirty talk

•Clark hasn't given the most thought to sexual power dynamics. Sex is all about intimacy and expressing affection to him, so his default is a more vanilla approach or gravitating towards being a soft, service top

•But he can undeniably see the appeal in subbing, he always has to be at the top of his game, always so responsible, it's a nice thought to be in someone else's hands for a change, and frankly if it's something you're into it won't take much convincing, your pleasure is his pleasure

•Obviously you can't physically hurt him, it's all about the power dynamic, and emotionally you have so much power over him, it's always a thrilling surprise just how desperate and vulnerable you can make him in the bedroom

•He's so easily flustered, it's the cutest thing. Giving him just the right stern look can make him blush and squirm, and sometimes he involuntarily lets out a bashful laugh or hides his face during dirty talk, not because he's not into it but because he's so overwhelmed by the new experience

•Praise kink, praise kink, praise kink

•He loves to see your dominant side. Initiate sex, straddle him, lead him by the tie, force him to tell you what he wants or how something feels, and he's just putty in your hands

•But he has his mischievous side too, sometimes when he’s feeling bold he gives you a little backchat, a playful challenge, but of course the brat routine never lasts long, he’s a giver by nature

•Edging is the number one way to drive him crazy. It's all fun and games at first, but he comes gloriously undone after a while, absolutely wrecked. He doesn't even mean to but he's broken more than one pair of handcuffs after being denied just one too many times for his body to handle

•Aftercare is essential, and Clark’s always all for it, however even after subbing his natural instinct is still to take care of you so sometimes you have to keep a bit of that residue dominance long enough to force him into accepting your care

Divider source

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 20 - size kink jason todd x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, size kink, tummy bulge

"That's it, baby. Take it all. Oh, look at you go. Being so brave for me."

On the surface the words are soothing, but the tone of Jason's voice fills each syllable with condescension. Not in a bad way. The sickly sweet lilt strikes the perfect chord that has you wetter than any body of water on this earth.

Your hips rise and fall in measure rolls, your cunt embracing his thick cock with every motion. You have to take it slow. Otherwise, you feel like you'll tear yourself in half.

"Jay…" you whimper, lip wobbling and eyes gleaming with the need for him to coddle you, "You're so…"

A sharp whine from your throat cuts off your own words. Your head tilts back and then hangs forward. His tip brushes your sweet spot every time you sink down on him. It makes it nearly impossible to remain coherent. You'd never met somebody who could make you malfunction like this.

"I'm so what?" he coos, prompting you to finish your statement. He already knew the words on the tip of your tongue, but he still wanted to hear them spoken into the drafty air of your apartment.

"You're so big," you choke out.

Another moan falls from your lips before you grit your teeth. Your face scrunches up in tandem with your walls clenching around his length. Vaguely, you hear him chuckle. He then pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"And you like that, don't you?" he whispers.

He slumps further down on the couch. His feet press hard against the smooth wooden floor beneath the two of you. The muscles in his thighs flex as he begins to pump his hips up and down. You whine and clutch at his meaty bicep, melting against his warm skin and letting him do all the work right now.

You nearly forget he asked a question at all until he continues speaking.

"I know you do, doll. You like that when you're with me, you're helpless. Don't have to think. Don't have to move. Don't have to do anything but let me use this sweet, little pussy till I'm satisfied," he says.

Your toes curl, your thighs clamping around his own. The pressure doesn't stop him from moving though, not in the slightest. You inhale sharply before nodding against his neck. Of course, you like this. You love it.

You could never get enough of Jason's body. You'd study it forever if he let you. Your pupils felt magnetized whenever they had the chance to drift along his chiseled torso or mentally map the pathways of his scars. Adoration wasn't a strong enough word for how you felt in regards to his figure. Obsession seemed more appropriate.

Fortunately for you, Jason behaved much the same about your body.

In the mornings when he thought sleep still had a strong hold on you, he'd run his fingers over every curve he could find. He'd knead the swell of your ass and press tender kisses between your shoulder blades. As you'd start to wake, he'd wrap his hands around your waist and nearly pop a boner right then and there from how large they looked in comparison.

His favorite thing in the world after a long grueling patrol fast became coming home to you. Not even thirty minutes with your delicate body washed away all the stress caused by hard and rough people he dealt with beyond these walls. Some nights he'd prop your dainty legs over his broad shoulders and dive into your slippery cunt. Other nights he'd get right down to it, shoving his fat cock inside you and watching your belly bulge with the intrusion.

Tonight hadn't been either of those. He'd been home for a change. But having you curled up to his side and pressed against him while he read a book got him worked up pretty fast. It wasn't his fault the two of you just seemed to fit so naturally together.

"My good girl. Soft and sweet all for me," he praises as he continues fucking up into you. His heavy balls lightly slap against your ass with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as the repetitive strokes start to build on one another. Small, whimpered expletives drip from your lips like a leaky faucet. He knows you're getting there. All he has to do is ramp up his efforts a little.

His hands lock around your waist like they do on hazy mornings. Just like then, he's obsessed with the way your skin dimples beneath his digits now. He boosts you back and starts bouncing you up and down in addition to his thrusts.

Your eyes roll back at the sensation and you take your bottom lip between your teeth. You don't have to do anything in this position still. He's strong enough to hold you upright all by himself. The only thing you had to do was like he said - stay still and let yourself be used.

"Can never get enough of you, baby, fuck," he grunts. His head falls back against the sagging cushion as he keeps working himself into you over and over. He glances back up at you slightly. "Is it feeling good?"

"Mhm," you whine, "So fuckin' good. So deep. All the way inside."

Your head bobbles around with the way he jerks you up and down on his lap. He smirks at your words and the airy way you say them.

"I know. I can see it," he responds, eyes flitting down to that faint and familiar bump. Evidence of his place inside you.

You only whimper in response. He drops you back down against his chest so one of his hands can slot against your center and rub your clit in fast, tight circles. The flickering feeling draws even more noises of pleasure from you.

The edge sneaks up on the both of you fast. You fall over it first. Your body spasms and seizes between his hands, but his strong grip is enough to keep you in place. For him, it explodes in a muted burst of ecstasy before burning into a brighter one. He wraps his arms around your smaller frame and keeps you flush against his sweaty skin as he fucks his load deep inside.

The both of you stay there while you come down. His chest puffs up and down with deep breaths. Even with all his exertion, his hand rubs soothing stripes along the column of your spine. You lie against him completely motionless, limp against the muscles of his chest. A little pleasure doll all for him to play with.

[leilasletters]

Kiss Me, Kill Me

🏈Jason Todd X Fem!reader📖

bad boy x smarter girl | detention glances & rooftop secrets | don’t fall for him, don’t fall for him, don’t—"he kissed her like a dare. she kissed him like it was the last mistake she'd ever make. and neither of them stopped."

masterlist

chapter 1

He’s 6'4" of leather-jacketed annoyance.

You notice him before you want to, stomping through the school courtyard like he owns the place—or maybe like he’d burn it down just to prove a point. Broad shoulders, dark messy hair, fists shoved into his pockets like he’s daring someone to say something smart.

You don’t. Obviously. Because you are someone smart.

And you’ve heard all about Jason Todd.

Ex-Robbin-something. Got expelled from like, three schools. Rumor has it he once punched a substitute in the throat for calling him “Justin.” (You respect that one a little.) He smokes behind the gym, skips half his classes, and once stole a teacher’s car keys “for fun.” Your friend Ivy calls him a red flag in human form.

And now he’s staring at you.

Correction: smirking at you. Across the lunch quad. Like he’s already won something you haven’t agreed to play for.

You roll your eyes and flip the page in your book.

Love is a scam. Hormones are brain damage. Boys like him are walking, talking patriarchal distractions.

You're not impressed.

“You know he’s gonna try, right?” your friend Talia says beside you, watching Jason like he’s a wildlife documentary subject. “The bet’s already out there.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Bet?”

“Oh yeah. Some rich asshole dared him to get you to go out with him before senior prom.”

You close your book with a snap. “Wow. Revolutionary. A man with no substance and too much time.”

Talia grins. “You’re gonna destroy him, aren’t you?”

“Emotionally, spiritually, academically,” you deadpan. “Maybe physically. Depends on his opening line.”

The first time he talks to you, it’s during chem class.

You’re dissecting formulas and he slides into the seat next to yours with all the grace of a hurricane. There’s a pen behind his ear. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his forearms could crush small cars.

“You’re in my seat,” you say without looking up.

He leans forward, voice smooth and shameless. “You sure? Or just afraid you’ll fall for me if I sit too close?”

You blink.

Then laugh.

It’s not polite. It’s loud, sharp, a little unhinged. He grins like he likes it.

“Wow,” you say, tilting your head. “Did that line work better in the mirror this morning or when you were thinking of it during homeroom?”

Jason’s grin falters, just for a second.

“You’re quick,” he says, almost impressed.

“I’m brilliant,” you correct. “And not interested.”

He shrugs, unfazed. “That’s cool. I like a challenge.”

You lean in, chin on your hand. “And I like my brain unrotted by testosterone.”

The thing is: you’re used to being unbothered.

Most guys back off after the first attempt. Or cry misogyny when you talk circles around them. But Jason? Jason is either an idiot or a masochist. Maybe both. Because he keeps trying.

He carries your books once.

(You drop them.)

He writes you a poem.

(You correct the grammar.)

He sends you coffee.

(You throw it out. You’re not bribable. Okay maybe you are—but only by women-owned bakeries.)

Still, every day, he finds a new way to piss you off.

And you find yourself sort of looking forward to it.

There’s one afternoon—when the sky is gray and the halls are half-empty—where he finds you alone in the library, legs up on a desk, reading something dense and feminist.

“‘The Myth of the Male Savior,’” he reads off the cover. “Sounds spicy.”

You sigh. “Don’t you have a motorcycle to go rev in someone’s face?”

He leans against the table, arms crossed. “You ever think maybe you don’t hate me?”

You look at him slowly. His jaw is all sharp lines. His neck veins are sin. His chest could double as a bookshelf if he wasn’t so damn cocky.

You swallow. Then smirk.

“Jason,” you say sweetly, “I would rather staple my own tongue to a wall than date someone who thinks Fast & Furious is cinema.”

His grin is full-watt. “You’ve got issues.”

“You’ve got a death wish.”

And still… his eyes linger too long on yours.

Later that week, you find a note in your locker. It just says:

Bet’s still on. But now it’s personal.

– J

You should hate it. Hate him.

But when you walk into English and catch him already watching you—those stormy blue eyes, that cocky half-smile—you feel your pulse kick in a way that’s probably illegal in at least five states.

This is war.

This is a joke.

This is the beginning of something you’re going to absolutely regret.

to be continued....

masterlist