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senatorcat · 17 days ago

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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! ✨

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senatorcat · 7 months ago

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T’was The Night of Autumn

Celebrimbor x modern!reader

A/N: I realised that I don’t post many Celebrimbor content and that needs to change. So, here’s something to enjoy your cozy autumn.

Warnings: none, all fluff

Words: 1.9k

Synopsis: As autumn finally rolled in, you decided to teach Tyelpë a tradition from your modern world, one that involves pumpkins and crafting.

The autumn season had arrived in Eregion, and with it came a crispness in the air that whispered of change. The leaves on the trees had turned rich shades of gold and orange, carpeting the streets with their vibrant hues. The scent of the season, a mix of damp earth and woodsmoke, hung in the air, reminding you of home. It was the kind of day that made you miss the simple pleasures of your world—hot drinks, the sound of crunching leaves underfoot, and, of course, pumpkin carving. Despite being in Middle-earth, so far removed from the modern world you had come from, there was something about autumn that felt familiar—comforting, even.

Today, Celebrimbor had a rare moment of respite from his duties, and you had been thinking about how to make the most of it, wanting to share something from your world with him. After all, autumn wasn’t just about the changing of the leaves. It was about warmth, cosiness, and most of all, traditions. And there was one tradition in particular you were eager to introduce him to.

“Tyelpë,” you called softly, using his Quenya name. He glanced up from his book, his sharp, grey eyes softening when they met yours.

“Yes?” he responded, removing his focus from the book he was invested in.

“I think you’ve spent enough time reading and cooped up in the library for today,” you said, stepping into the room and crossing over to him. “It’s autumn, after all. There’s something I want to show you.”

His brow arched in curiosity. “What is it?”

Smiling, you took his hand and led him out of the library, into the courtyard. “Just trust me,” you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s a tradition from my world. Something we do every year during this season.”

Curiosity piqued—Celebrimbor followed you out to the courtyard where two large, round pumpkins sat waiting. You had found it in the market earlier that day, marvelling at how similar it was to the ones from home. And now, as the golden light of the late afternoon bathed the scene in warmth, you felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“What is that?” Celebrimbor asked, eyeing the pumpkin with a mix of amusement and confusion.

“It’s a pumpkin,” you replied, grinning up at him.

Sighing with a bit of sass, he rolled his eyes nonchalantly. “I know that it’s a pumpkin. But what I meant was the purpose of it.”

“Pumpkin carving!” you cheered.

“Pumpkin carving?” Celebrimbor’s voice was rich with curiosity and a hint of amusement, as he approached to two, medium-sized orange fruit sitting on the table.

“Yes!” you replied, turning to face him with your excitement growing by the second. “It’s something we do back in my world during this season. It’s part of a tradition called Halloween. We carve faces into pumpkins, light them up with candles, and make all sorts of fun autumn-themed treats. I thought it might be fun to try it together.”

Leaning closer to inspect the pumpkins while you spoke, he smiled from the sheer enthusiasm you expressed for the love of this festive seasonal tradition. “I’ve heard you mention this Halloween before,” he said thoughtfully. “A festival for warding off spirits and celebrating the harvest, correct?”

You nodded, grinning. “Exactly. But it’s also about having fun. You get to be creative, and it’s a great way to embrace the season.”

“It sounds…whimsical. Very different from the customs of our people,” he murmured under low. “But if it involves creativity, I imagine it’s not too different from sculpting or forging. But I must warn you, if this pumpkin carving involves skill, you might be at a disadvantage.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him, laughing. “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad. Besides, you’re the one who's never carved a pumpkin before. I might surprise you.”

Throwing an almost invisible competitive smirk at you, he chuckled. “We’ll see about that. But first, would you might showing me how it is performed?”

You handed him one of the knives, explaining how to cut the top off the pumpkin and scoop out the insides while he watched you closely as you demonstrated, his eyes intent on the task at hand. Once you were finished, he took his knife, his movements precise and steady as he made the first cut into his much larger and clearly better suited pumpkin, for carving.

“I have to admit,” he said, as he carefully removed the top of the pumpkin, “I’ve never worked with a medium like this before.”

You grinned as you passed him a spoon to scoop out the guts and seeds. “It’s a bit different from metal and stone, isn’t it?”

He nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Quite different. Though I can’t say this is how I imagined spending my day—it’s strangely satisfying.” He took the spoon from you, his lips quirking with amusement as he began to dig into the pumpkin. His movements were careful and precise—of course, they were, he was Celebrimbor, grandson of Fëanor. His entire life had been spent mastering delicate and intricate work. And yet, the sight of him here, elbow-deep in pumpkin guts, was oddly endearing.

As he worked, you scooped out the seeds and pulp from inside your pumpkin, explaining how in your world, people often roasted the seeds as a snack. And Celebrimbor seemed fascinated by the simplicity of it all, so different from the more elaborate customs of Middle-earth.

“And now, here is where the true fun begins.” You were bouncing on your toes as you passed him a smaller carving knife. “Time for us to start carving the faces. You can make it as simple or as detailed as you like.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes gleamed with interest. “A face, you say? I think I can manage that.”

You handed him a smaller knife and explained how to cut out a simple face—triangular eyes, a jagged smile. You decided to keep it straightforward for now, not wanting to overwhelm him. But as you suspected, Celebrimbor was a natural. You watched in awe as his skilled hands moved swiftly, the knife gliding through the pumpkin with ease. Despite his initial unfamiliarity with the task, his natural talent shone through. Within minutes, he had carved an intricate, detailed face into the pumpkin, far more elaborate than anything you had ever managed.

“Well,” you said, standing back to admire his work, “I think it’s safe to say that you’ve won this round, which is unfair.”

He looked up at you, a teasing smile playing on his lips, one that was rarely seen at all—symbolising his comfort and enjoyment. “Won? Was this a competition?”

Nudging him playfully, you laughed. “Everything’s a competition with you, Tyelpë. But yes, I admit defeat. Your pumpkin is perfect.”

He tilted his head, studying the pumpkin with a critical eye. “I wouldn’t say perfect. There’s always room for improvement.”

“Perfectionist,” you muttered under your breath, earning another soft chuckle from him.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, handing you the knife with a flourish. “Let’s see what you can do.”

As you took the knife, not missing an opportunity to roll your eyes good-naturedly, you warned him. “Alright, but don’t laugh. I’m not a master craftsman like you.” As you began carving, Celebrimbor watched you with quiet amusement. Every so often, he would offer a word of advice or point out a better way to approach the task, but for the most part, he let you work in peace. When you finished, your pumpkin was far simpler than his—a goofy, crooked smile and triangle eyes that reminded you of the ones you used to carve as a child.

“Well?” you asked, stepping back to examine your handiwork. “What do you think?”

“Um…” his voice trailed off as he angled his head differently to capture the image of the face you carved, not wanting to leave you under the impression that it could do with a few touch ups…and more—typical artesian behaviour. “Do you…I can help in some areas…”

Your brown immediately shut up to defeat your artistic work. “Oh, what now? Is it not as artistic as yours even though you offered advice?”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s um…artistic indeed, but just need a bit of…enhancement,” he sheepishly said with his hands up in defence.

“Ha, ha,” you dryly laughed and morphed your face to match the one on your pumpkin. “You can fix it, but just this once.”

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon carving, laughing, and teasing each other about your respective pumpkins. Celebrimbor’s, of course, ended up looking like a work of art, while yours was more endearing in its imperfection. Still, you didn’t mind. The real joy came from sharing the experience with him—watching his face light up with each new detail, hearing the soft chuckles that escaped him when he struggled with a particularly tricky cut. It felt nice to see him stress-free since your arrival at Eregion. All your memories of him hunched over the anvil or some blueprint faded into mist upon his carefree laughter and smile.

You know such a simple act could appear that beautiful, nor did you understand why people labelled him as tempestuous and dangerous. He was quite the opposite.

As the sun began to set and the courtyard grew darker, you lit candles and placed them inside the pumpkins. The warm glow filled the small area, casting flickering shadows across the table, displaying your handiwork.

“I have to say,” Celebrimbor mused, “this Halloween tradition is rather pleasant. I can see why you enjoy it.”

You smiled, leaning into him as he bumped his arm into your shoulder. “It’s one of my favourites. And now you’ve got a pretty good handle on it, too.”

Turning to him with your heart swelling with emotion. “It means a lot to me, too,” you said softly. “Being here in Middle-earth, so far from everything I knew…it’s hard sometimes. But sharing things like this, it makes me feel like I’ve brought a little piece of home with me.”

Celebrimbor’s expression softened, his silver-grey eyes full of understanding. “I will always strive to make you feel at home here, no matter the distance between this world and yours.”

“Thank you, Tyelpë,” you whispered.

As the two of you stood there for a long moment, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow over the room, you relaxed with the slight chill of the autumn breeze. You knew he wasn’t a person of many words, even though you had wiggled your way unexpectedly into his life, bringing minor changes, you understood through the silence that he reciprocated your thanks.

“Now,” Celebrimbor said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “you mentioned something about autumn-themed foods. I believe you owe me a taste of these seasonal treats from your world, and I hope they also involve drinks.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got just a few things in mind. But you might have to help me make it.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “If it’s anything like the pumpkin carving, I think you’ll find I’m quite capable.”

“Confident, are we?” you teased, heading toward the kitchen. “Let’s see if that holds up when we start baking and brewing.”

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