The Ivy's Venomous Embrace

Chapter 1: Greenhouse of Thorns

The Gotham night air hung thick and wrong, carrying the scent of rain that never fell. Poison Ivy stood at the center of her cathedral of green, fingers tracing the serrated edge of a monstrous Venus flytrap that had grown to the size of a dinner plate through careful cultivation and patient manipulation.

The greenhouse's shattered glass domes filtered moonlight into sickly emerald shadows, and her copper hair cascaded like liquid fire down her bare shoulders. A gown of living petals clung to her form, roses and orchids woven together in a dress that breathed with her, opening and closing in slow, hypnotic waves.

He would come.

They always came.

The staged ecological crisis had been perfect. A dozen endangered plant species, all supposedly threatened by a chemical spill from a Wayne Enterprises subsidiary. The sort of crisis that made heroes prick up their ears and come running with their moral compasses spinning and their capes flapping.

Except this hero didn't wear a cape.

He wore arrogance.

She heard him before she saw him, the near-silent whisper of his grapple line cutting through the humid air. Nightwing landed on the iron arch above her with the practiced grace of the acrobat he'd been trained to be since childhood, his escrima sticks already in hand, his blue eyes scanning the greenhouse with tactical precision.

"Ivy," he said, and his voice carried that insufferable smirk even when she couldn't see his face clearly. "I've got to hand it to you. Poisoning your own plants for attention? That's a new low, even for you."

She turned, slow and deliberate, letting the petals of her gown catch the light and shimmer like living jewels. He was watching her, she knew. They always watched.

"Darling," she purred, spreading her arms wide to encompass the lush, impossible greenery surrounding them. "Does this look like a scene of destruction to you?"

He dropped to the ground in a crouch, coming up with his sticks crossed in front of him. "Looks like a trap."

"Sharp as ever." She began walking toward him, hips swaying in a rhythm as ancient as the earth itself. "But tell me, hero, if you knew it was a trap, why did you come?"

The smirk flickered. He recovered quickly, but she'd seen it. "Because I thought you might actually need help."

Oh, this one was good.

She stopped just out of his reach, close enough for him to smell the heady perfume of night-blooming jasmine that clung to her skin. His nostrils flared involuntarily, and she watched him fight against the instinct to breathe deeper.

"So noble," she breathed. "So determined to save the world. Even the parts of it that hate you."

"Only the parts that threaten innocent people, Ivy." His voice had lost some of its humor. "And right now, you're setting up a lot of innocent people to get hurt."

Her laugh was like wind through leaves. "Innocent? Is that what you call the corporations bleeding our planet dry? The politicians who sell our forests for campaign donations?" She stepped closer, watching him tense, enjoying the way his muscles coiled beneath that ridiculous armored suit. "The people who would pave paradise and put up a parking lot?"

"Pretty words." He shifted his weight. "But I'm not here for a lecture."

"No." Her lips curved. "You're here to stop me. To save the day." She tilted her head, letting her hair cascade over one shoulder. "But tell me, Nightwing. What happens when the hero falls?"

The first vine struck from behind, wrapping around his ankle with the force of a striking snake. He moved instantly, flipping backward to break free, but more vines were already rising from the soil like green tsunami waves, reaching for him with hungry tendrils.

He was fast. She had to give him that.

He dodged and weaved, his escrima sticks crackling with electricity as he sliced through vine after vine. The severed plants fell to the ground, twitching and writhing, but for every one he cut, two more rose to take its place.

"You can't fight nature, darling," she called over the sound of his exertions. "You can only embrace it."

"Pass," he grunted, severing another wave of tendrils. "I'm more of a concrete jungle kind of guy."

But she could see the sweat beginning to bead on his brow, could see his breaths coming faster. The greenhouse was deliberately humid, deliberately hot, designed to sap his strength while her plants grew stronger. He was a creature of rooftops and city streets, and he was drowning in her world.

Time to finish this.

She raised her hand, and the floor beneath him erupted. Massive vines, thicker than his thighs, burst from the earth and wrapped around his legs, his waist, his arms. He struggled, muscles straining, but the vines just tightened, squeezing until his escrima sticks clattered to the ground.

"Shit," he breathed.

She walked toward him slowly, savoring every moment of his capture. He was suspended now, arms stretched above his head like a sacrifice to some ancient god. The vines had coiled around his wrists and bound them to the iron arch above, leaving him dangling just high enough that his toes barely brushed the ground.

"You know," she said, stopping in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. "I've always wondered what it would take to break you."

His blue eyes met hers, and instead of fear, she saw defiance. "You're going to be disappointed."

"Am I?" She reached out and traced a fingernail down his jawline, feeling the slight stubble that had grown there. He flinched but didn't pull away. "We'll see."

She produced a small vial from between her breasts, the glass warm from her skin. Inside, a golden liquid swirled with an almost sentient quality, shimmering with its own inner light.

"Injecting a person with mind-control agents is so crude, don't you think?" She uncorked the vial and let the scent drift toward him. "But this?" Her lips curved. "This is more of a... liberation. It strips away all the societal conditioning, all the moral posturing, and reveals what's truly underneath."

His eyes widened with understanding. "Ivy, don't—"

"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips. "Let it happen."

She tilted the vial, and a single drop fell onto his lower lip. He tried to turn his head away, but vines snaked up to hold his jaw in place. She watched the drop absorb into his skin, watched his pupils dilate almost imperceptibly.

"Just a taste," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. "Enough to make you want more."

She stepped back and watched the transformation begin. His breathing grew heavier; his skin flushed beneath the suit. His eyes, which had been clear and defiant, began to take on a glassy quality, pupils dilating as the pheromones worked their way through his bloodstream.

"What did you..." His words came out thick, slurred. "What did you do to me?"

"Nothing you didn't want, darling." She circled him slowly, letting her fingers trail across his bound arms, his chest, his stomach. "I'm just removing your inhibitions. Helping you see the truth."

"There's no truth in chemicals," he managed, but his voice was weaker now, less certain.

"Everything is chemicals, Nightwing." She stopped in front of him, close enough that her breasts brushed against his chest with each breath. "Love, hate, fear, desire." She reached up and traced his lower lip. "All just chemical reactions. And you, my beautiful hero, are currently experiencing a very specific chemical reaction."

His eyes were fully glazed now, his body trembling with tension. But she could see the war still raging behind that glassy gaze. Good. She hadn't wanted him to break too easily. Where was the fun in that?

"I want you to feel this," she murmured, lowering her mouth to his ear. "I want you to feel every sensation, every desire, every filthy thought you've ever suppressed." Her tongue traced the shell of his ear, and she felt him shudder. "I want you to want me so badly that you forget why you ever fought against it."

"Fuck you," he hissed, but the words lacked conviction. His hips were already straining toward her, his body betraying his mind.

She laughed, low and throaty. "Oh, darling. That's the plan."

She stepped back and watched him struggle against the vines, watched his body fight a war it couldn't win. The pheromones were already doing their work, flooding his system with desire so potent it was almost painful.

"What's wrong, hero?" She smiled as she began to slowly remove her gown of living petals, letting each one fall to the ground like a lover shedding their clothes. "Not so sure of yourself anymore?"

His eyes tracked her movements with desperate intensity, and she watched him swallow hard. His body was betraying him, his cock straining against the confines of his suit, and she could see the shame warring with the desire in his eyes.

"Please," he said, and she knew he wasn't sure if he was asking her to stop or to continue.

"In time, darling." She stood before him now, completely naked, her green skin glistening with dew in the artificial light. "In time."

She stepped forward and pressed her body against his, feeling the heat of him through the thin material of his suit. Her lips found his neck, and she tasted the salt of his sweat, felt the racing pulse beneath her tongue.

"You're going to be my pet," she breathed against his skin. "My beautiful, obedient pet. And you're going to love every moment of it."

His growl was primal, desperate. "Never."

She smiled against his throat. "We'll see."

Her hand dropped to the waistband of his suit, fingers tracing the outline of his erection through the material. He was hard, achingly hard, and she could feel his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.

"Tell me you don't want this," she whispered. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want to fuck me until you forget your own name."

His eyes, glassy and dilated, met hers. She could see the war still raging there, the hero struggling against the man. But the man was losing.

"I..." He swallowed hard. "I can't."

She smiled and began to slowly lower the zipper. "That's what I thought."

The vines tightened around his wrists as her hand slid inside his suit, closing around the heat of him, stroking the length of him with deliberate slowness. He gasped, hips bucking involuntarily, and she watched the last vestiges of his resistance crumble.

"Good boy," she purred. "Such a good boy."

She knelt, her knees pressing into the damp earth, and looked up at him through her lashes. He was watching her with desperate, hungry eyes, his chest heaving, his lips parted.

"Ask me," she said, her voice a silken command. "Ask me to take you into my mouth."

"I..." He struggled against the vines, but it was a token resistance now. "Ivy, please..."

"Please what?" Her tongue traced along the length of him, and she savored the strangled moan that escaped his lips. "Use your words, darling."

"Please," he gasped, hips thrusting toward her. "Please, fuck, please..."

She took him into her mouth, and the sound he made was almost a sob of relief. Her tongue worked along his length, her hands cupping and stroking while she tasted him, savored him. He was desperate and hungry and completely, utterly hers.

"Yes," she breathed against him, pulling back just enough to speak. "You're going to be so beautiful when you break."

She rose, trailing her hand along his length one more time before circling behind him. Vines began to coil around his thighs, spreading his legs, positioning him for her pleasure.

"I'm going to ride you," she whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his skin. "I'm going to ride you until you forget everything but me."

The vines lowered him, positioned him, and then she was sinking onto him, her heat enveloping his cock in one long, desperate slide. They both moaned, and she saw his head fall back, saw his eyes roll with pleasure.

"That's it," she breathed, beginning to move. "That's it, my beautiful pet. Take what you need."

His hips thrust up to meet hers, and she rode him with wild abandon, her body moving in rhythm with his. The greenhouse echoed with their sounds, the slap of flesh and the wet, filthy sounds of their coupling. She watched his face contort with pleasure, watched the hero surrender to the man, watched the man surrender to her.

"Tell me," she commanded, her nails raking down his chest. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm..." He struggled, but the words were torn from him as she tightened around him, as she rode him harder, faster. "I'm yours. Fuck, I'm yours."

She smiled, a predator's smile, as she felt his body begin to tense, felt his release building. "Then come for me, pet. Come for your mistress."

His orgasm was violent, a full-body shudder that wracked through him as he spilled into her with a desperate, animalistic cry. She rode him through it, milking every last drop, watching his eyes roll and his body convulse with the force of his release.

And when he was spent, when his head hung forward and his breath came in ragged gasps, she leaned in and whispered against his lips:

"That was just the beginning, darling. We have all night."