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thinking about dick grayson watching you smoke a joint. originally writes it off as damaging to his lungs and precious braincells — but then he sees the way your lips wrap around it, how you hold his gaze as you exhale. how you want to crawl into his lap and be as close as humanly possible.
and then he takes his first puff and he’s gone. just pliant and giggly and needy.
summary. you ask favorite co-worker Clark Kent to take care of your plants while you're away. turns out he has a greener thumb than you realized. and a massive crush on you.
word count. ~700
You didn't have a green thumb. In fact, you were the type of person to kill a succulent. As a child, you insisted to Clark Kent, your favorite coworker. Not recently, of course.
Clark knew how important your plants were to you; he noticed the way your eyes sparkled just so when they were brought up. The way you talked about them with such enthusiasm - such love.
Truth was, he could listen to you talk about them for hours. Even found himself hoping you would come over to talk to him during work. Could listen to you talk about everything and nothing at all.
So when you approach his desk one afternoon, pleading with those sweet eyes of yours for him to help take care of your plants while you were away, how could he possibly say no?
When Clark approaches your door, double and triple checking the apartment unit number he wrote down, he takes in the whimsical design of your doormat and the key you'd told him you’ve hidden underneath.
Should probably find you a safer place to stash your key. He thinks to himself.
The lock clicks as he turns the key, taking a deep breath as he steps through the doorway and into your apartment.
Clark felt the presence of you even though you weren’t there with him as soon as he stepped through your front door.
How do you even begin to describe the home of someone you were enamored with?
Clark feels the warmth bubble up in his chest as he imagines you living here, little touches of you scattered throughout the place. He's unable to help the images of being here with you that pop into his head.
He takes in the posters you've hung up, your smiling face in the photos of your loved ones you've plastered on the wall.
Catching eye of the record player that sat on your side table, he imagined you dancing around, not a care in the world crossing your mind.
He loved that about you. How full of light you were. A light that warmed him like a yellow sun. He just didn't know how to tell you, his affection couched in smiles when he thought you weren't looking.
Clark finds on your dining table a little envelope addressed to him a with an exclamation point by his name.
The delicate script of your handwriting seemed to compliment the way you spoke – it suited you.
Clark can't help the way his eyes widen as he unfolds the note into a massive, extensively detailing each of your plants by name and their needs as you've observed them.
He chuckles to himself as he could practically hear what you were writing in your own voice, details fleshed out in the stream of consciousness he'd begun to associate with you. Clark was unable to help the slight blush that crawls up his cheeks as he finds next to the letter sat a spray bottle labeled with a piece of tape with "Use Me" written on it.
As he got to work taking care of each of your plants, he couldn't help but smile thinking of the way they brought you joy. How much you seemed to cherish them. The care and love was present in your home and everything about you.
As he makes his way around the room, spritzing plants as he went and soaking pots where necessary, Clark's gaze falls upon your snake plant, which you'd affectionately named Travis – its long, sleek leaves reaching towards the sunlight streaming in through your window.
His brow furrows as he recalls the words of his Ma, memories of warm Kansas afternoons and sweet tea after helping her tend to her garden and water her plants back home in Smallvlle swirling through his brain. With a delicate touch, Clark moved Travis to a brighter spot, giving it the sunshine it seemed to be reaching for.
"Guess we're not too different, huh buddy." Clark says, brushing a finger over a leaf affectionately.
—
As you arrived back in your apartment, you smiled as you took in the familiar sight of your plants greeting you. Approaching your dining table, you see a little note scrawled on a little scrap of paper.
Moved Travis closer to the window. Think he'll like the sunshine. Left you something else on the window sill too. Thought the little guy would fit in well. Welcome home :)
- Clark
You walk over to find a succulent in a tiny pot sitting among your other plants, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.
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18+ mdni.
clark kent brings you home to meet his parents for the time and shows you his room.
word count. ~700
contains. dry humping, tit worship, more dominant reader. clark is a simp.
Clark Kent's childhood bedroom was a sanctuary locked in time, sheets smelling like the detergent Ma had picked out for her loads of laundry, and something so uniquely Clark.
Something that made you think of the soft thump of him landing on your balcony after you had chewed your nails to the bit watching news of him being Metropolis' and Earth's protector.
Like when he would take your face in his hands, thumbs swiping over your cheeks before he leaned down to press a kiss on your lips.
You feel a rush of affection as you look around, ultimately spotting Clark looking bashful in the corner as you took in his space. Like he wanted your approval, but didn't want to be too obvious about it.
"Guess you weren't messing around about your music taste," you smile as you walk over to his CD player, shuffling with a few cases before pressing play.
"Yeah," he whispers, "Guess I just like what I like", wrapping his arms around your waist before leaning down to capture your mouth.
The sounds of The Mighty Crabjoys fill the air as you kiss - something straight out of a cliche high school movie.
Breaking the kiss, you look at Clark with a coy expression as you crank up the volume.
"Now your folks won't hear a thing."
You meet his eyes, taking in the way his pupils have dilated. It's not long before you're in his arms as he pulls you into his lap.
The springs of his twin bed creaked under the weight of you both as he sat, adding to the existing cacophonous noises Clark called music.
Clark Kent adored the feeling of you in his arms. How he was able to explore every inch of you. You were so responsive as his hands continued to wander, feather light touches up your sides, movements almost seeming to stop and consider if he was being polite enough.
This was his parents' house after all.
"Touch me, Clark," you say, voice breathy.
And that was all he needed to hear. He pulls your shirt over your head, hands the warmth and softness of your skin, newly revealed to him. Bringing his hands back up, he fiddled with the clasp of your bra, brow furrowed as he struggled.
"Like a dang puzzle," he mutters to himself.
Smiling down at him from where you sat perched in his lap, you reach behind to undo your clasp, freeing your breasts to Clark's delight. He takes one in each hand, looking at you with what could only be described as wonder.
Taking one into his hand, he presses it against his face, kissing the soft skin surrounding it before taking the nipple into his mouth. He closes his eyes as he plays with your sensitive skin, tongue laving over you.
He smiles when he sees your head thrown back for him, when your grip tightens on him, when you moan so sweetly, grabbing handfuls of hair to pull him impossibly closer.
Clark can't hold himself back as he begins to rut against you, seeking any kind of friction as he feels himself drowning in you.
Pushing him back against his pillows, you descend into another kiss as you grind yourself against him, giving him what you both want.
"That's all for me?" you tease, not stopping your movements.
Clark feels something short-circuit in his mind as he sees the way you looked at him. Like he was just something for you to play with.
And boy, was he willing.
He whimpers before clearing his throat as you slow down the movement of your hips against his covered length to an excruciating pace, teasing out an answer.
"Yes. For...for you..."
"Good," you whisper against his lips before offering another kiss, drinking the way he was kissing you back, almost as if in a trance.
"Why don't you tell me what you want, Clark?"
He groans.
"You. I need you."
With hardly any effort at all, he swaps your positions so he's looming over you. You take in the fevered look in his eyes as he moves to press kisses along your throat. Almost like he's hungry.
A knock at the door.
"Clark, dinner's ready!" you hear Ma yell over the music.
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ㅤ۫ㅤ #͡♡𓈒 ⠀ 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐍’ 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒⠀ ⠀❜ ⠀safe for work content, jason todd ⅋ gn!reader : lazy evening in bed with jason, you hold the book while he peels a tangerine, feeding you pieces between page turns.
the lamplight was soft, gold against the sheets, and the whole room smelled faintly of citrus—the sharpness of rind, the sweet juice clinging to jason’s fingertips. he sat propped against the headboard, long legs stretched out under the quilt, his arm heavy around you like an anchor. you had the book open across your lap, but it felt less like yours and more like something you were holding in place for him.
his chin brushed your hair whenever he shifted. every few pages he’d nudge you, a quiet “page” in your ear, not even looking up from what he was doing.
what he was doing, of course, was peeling a tangerine like it was second nature—thumb working the skin loose in thick curls, juice gathering slick at his knuckles. the peels landed in a little pile on the nightstand, bright and messy, their scent sharp enough to sting your nose.
“feels unfair,” you murmured, turning another page, “me doing all the work while you get to lounge around.”
jason made a sound deep in his chest—half laugh, half hum. then his hand came up in front of your face, offering a wedge of orange. “open.”
you huffed, but your mouth opened anyway. sweetness burst across your tongue, cool and tart, and he didn’t even bother hiding his smirk. he ate the next slice himself, the corner of his mouth sticky-shiny when he licked the juice away.
so it went—your voice filling the room in a low murmur, jason quiet beside you, listening in a way that felt like weight more than words. every now and then his hand would drift up, feeding you another wedge, brushing the corner of your lips with fingertips that smelled of rind.
by the time you reached the end of the chapter, your voice had softened, your body heavy and relaxed under his arm. you let the book fall closed with a little sigh. “you’re spoiled, you know that?”
jason tilted his head down, his lips finding your temple—warm and citrus-sweet, the kiss lingering like the aftertaste of fruit. “yeah,” he said, low and rough against your skin. “but so are you.”
the lamplight hummed. his arm held you steady. and with the smell of tangerine curling between you, the world felt very far away.
18+ mdni.
r༘⋆wc. ~1.1k
. ༘⋆summary. despite being Lex Luthor's girl, you had a big heart. you've always had a soft spot for Ultraman and cared for him on the days Lex had him running drills for hours on end - something he never forgot. one sleepless night, you encounter him.
. ༘⋆notes. ultraman is inexperienced but eager. contains making out and dry-humping over his suit and teaching ultraman how to finger you. he is fully clothed you are naked. he is obsessed with the way you feel and smell and are.
The control room at LuthorCorp wasn't a bad place to seek out when you couldn't sleep in the middle of the night. The floor to ceiling windows offered a stunning view of Metropolis below, and the bustling streets soothed you, calling to you amidst your restless thoughts at this late hour.
"You are awake." A voice says, pulling you out of your thoughts. Ultraman comes into focus, mask-muffled voice ringing through the air, gravely, almost unpracticed.
"Ultraman," you gasp, "What are you doing here?"
He shrugs, gesturing to the view of the city silently.
You take in the way he sits, how the city lights reflect on the mask still covering his face, stool turned towards the very same view you had come here yourself for.
He too appears to stare out at the glittering city streets, the ones seemingly sleepless as you both.
"Lex is… behind you?" He asks, tone almost afraid.
"No. I…haven't seen him tonight," you answer in earnest.
You didn't see him most nights. He opted to shut you in your quarters, unreachable after a certain time each evening. Was probably fucking some other woman or dreaming of the way he would finally defeat Superman.
You were nothing to him. And you both were aware. You were just a pretty face he could take credit for as he wrapped his hand around your waist when the paparazzi were looming. A good PR move.
"It's just me."
Ultraman turns to look at you at this. His stare feels calculated, an intentional look behind the unfeeling goggles of his mask.
Unable to help yourself, you approach where he sits, footsteps pattering against the floors of the control room.
You can hear the hum of idle computers melding with the roar of your pulse in your ear.
A tension fills the air as you reach the stool where he's sitting. Ultraman can hear the way your pulse has accelerated in tempo, the way your breath grew shallow.
"I….We shouldn't…"
"Want to." he says, before pulling you into his lap where he was seated, gloved hands touching all the skin he could reach.
Ultraman takes in the way your nightgown accentuates the softness of your curves. He brushes his hand over your nipples that have pebbled in the cool air of the evening, the silk stopping at the creamy skin of your thighs.
Luthor was a fucking fool.
A growl rumbles in his chest as you reach for the bottom of his mask, touch delicate as you pull it over his head.
With his obsession with Superman reaching new heights, Lex Luthor had been forcing Ultraman to run drills all day, every day. And it was you who was patching up his wounds, touch devastatingly gentle as you talked about your day to distract him from the ache in his bones.
As you told him how proud you were of him.
Ultraman had gotten too used to your touch, your softness – it was too familiar, to the point where he couldn't help but crave it.
As you pull the mask over his head, you can see the way his pupils have already dilated, swallowing up the blue, gaze wild and fixed on you.
Ultraman can't help himself as he leans down, capturing your lips with his.
It starts off gentle, him holding you close to his chest like you're something precious, gloved hand running up and down your back, almost soothingly. He tangles that same hand in your hair, taking in the way you feel so small in his arms. How you smelled like sweet shampoo and tasted like spearmint toothpaste.
He was addicted.
A primal need raced through his bloodstream as he deepened the kiss, taking advantage of the way that you gasp at his intensity and licking into your mouth, biting down on the lip he'd so often see you worry between your teeth. He revels in the way you moan, how you wrap your arms around him, melting into him.
Unable to hold himself back, he pulls your nightgown up and over your head.
Ultraman takes advantage of the expanse of your neck being exposed to him, pressing kisses to it and feeling greedy as he drowned in your scent.
The attention he was giving to your neck would surely leave marks – he hoped anyway. Ones that you'd probably cover up expertly with makeup. The thought makes him want to mark you up even more.
He stops to place a kiss at your pulse point, your source of life, laving his tongue over it in a way that almost felt worshipful.
Ultraman was practically beside himself as he took in the swells of your breasts, brushing a gloved thumb over your nipple before leaning to take it in his mouth. His eyes are closed as he runs his tongue over the sensitive bud, swirling his tongue around it. He uses his hand to begin to play with the other, almost as if in a trance.
You grab onto his hair, burying your face into the crook of his neck and breathing in the scent of him as he grabs the globes of your ass, grinding against the erection that strained against the confines of his engineered suit.
"You feel good," he groans into your ear as he continues to move you over his clothed cock, drinking in the sweet way you moan. Peeling off one of his gloves, he runs an exploratory finger over your clothed cunt where you’re perched on top of him, damp with your arousal.
"Wet."
With hardly a struggle, he repositions to hold you in his arms, your back against his chest as he spreads your legs for him, clumsily running his hand over your cloth covered folds before tearing your panties off of you.
He wanted to feel every part of you.
"It feels good when you put your fingers like this," you say, voice gentle, moving his hand to hover over your puffy clit. Your hand covers his as you teach him how to rub your clit just the way you like it, before encouraging him to tease open your fluttering entrance with one of his fingers.
"Yes," you moan at the stretch, "Oh, that feels so good."
Ultraman groans at the noise you let out as he touches you the way you show him, finding himself getting addicted to making you make those gorgeous noises all for him. You grab onto his forearm as pushes in another thick finger, practically falling apart with need at the way you were reacting to his touch as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.
"Oh god, I'm getting close," you say, voice high and breathy.
He can hardly believe his eyes as you come apart in his arms, hips bucking as he works you through your release, tits heaving as you pant for him. He doesn't know to let up, drinking in your pleasure, addicted to the way you felt, a dangerous glint entering his eyes as you keep crying out from his touch, reaching a point of overstimulation.
"S-stop," you plead eventually, reaching out to still his hand.
You watch as he pulls his fingers out of you before bringing them up to his lips curiously. His mouth practically waters after his first taste; he's not able to tear his gaze away from you as he takes his time, thoroughly licking them clean.
Ultraman holds you in his arms as you caught your breath. Your head rests back against him, both now turned to gaze at the unsleeping city below.
a/n: trust, he came in his pants. eve!reader my beloved. thanks for reading <33
i acknowledge i’ve only slutted him out (im sorry) but thinking about jason todd makes me actually want to sob oh god. what are they feeding the tiktok editors. jason todd you deserve to fuck so good post resurrection amen
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