Titans

But if there’s one part he takes subconscious pride in, it’s his arms. Not just for how strong they are (though they are ridiculous—ropey veins, thick forearms, biceps that stretch seams), but for what they can hold. Something that will be a recurring topic is how Conner unconsciously values intimacy. Whether he realizes it or not, much of his reasoning for his arms being his favorite part of himself is less to do with him being built like a weapon and more to do with using that body to cradle someone without hurting them. The contrast gets to him, and he loves the little things. When you slap his arm in scolding, and the immediate flushed and turned on expression, no matter how subtle, follows afterward, it is at the strength and size of his arm. How you grip his arms in the middle of the act, especially when you’re overwhelmed as he’s rocking your bodies together, back and forth. How his arms look against you when carrying or holding you against him—that one’s a favorite—every time. On his partner: Conner loves the look and feel of a pair of good-looking thighs, especially when they're straddling him, squeezing around his hips, trembling under his hands as he parts them. It makes him lose his composure fast when he has a view of powerful, plush, or quivering thighs locked against him—he’s obsessed with them. His touch there will often—almost always—linger, with his fingers spreading across the soft give, gripping tighter than he may mean to, and sometimes spacing and tracing his thumbs lightly across the skin to see them quiver and jiggle from the tickling sensation. They’re a go-to comfort spot pre-sex, during sex, and post sex. Don’t exactly know how that middle one works out, but it works for him. Whether he’s resting his head there using the natural warmth or coolness as a pillow, burying his face between them in the most titillating of ways, nudging his hips and body between them as he buries himself inside you, or even as something as simple as carrying you over his shoulder and getting to hold and press your thighs under his arms—bonus points! A thought to keep in mind, though: exercise caution when selecting your bottomwear. Conner’s not overtly pervy, but his eyes always drop, and his palms will wander as if your thighs are some kind of gravitational force his hands can’t escape. In addition to that, know that Conner is 100% an ass man. A man who is obsessed with lower limbs, it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out the man likes a good pair of jiggly booty cheeks! But, don’t get him wrong, he likes a good chest just as much as the next person, especially if it's pressed up against him in the dark, warm, and soft against his own sturdy frame, but ass is where his hands naturally go, as if on instinct. Again, be careful with the choice of pants or shorts, as Conner does not have it in him to even pretend he’s not staring, let alone hide it. There’s a control aspect to it as well; a satisfying element in how he can grip your ass to pull himself deeper onto you, grind you against his thigh or front, or fondle you while you're bent helplessly over his shoulder. It’s his favorite handle, whether he's fucking rough or holding you close during slower, messier sessions. C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Conner has a visceral relationship with cum, one that’s considered equally primal, possessive, and dangerously addictive once he allows himself to lean into it more. In the beginning, when he’s learning about intimacy and sex as a whole, the sensation of ejaculation is obviously one of the ones that takes a bit getting used to for the half-human. But there’s something gleeful that happens in his brain and chest when he watches it happen, especially when his partner is involved. Whether it’s him unloading across your stomach, painting your lips in slow, hot strokes, or feeling and knowing his spunk sits inside you. He can’t explain it, not in clear words, but it does something to him to see you messy because of him. It’s akin to the feeling a child may get when playing with a toy that another kid has to watch them play with, but he got to it first, and therefore, it’s his. And Conner cums a lot. That Kryptonian hybrid biology delivers in multiple ways. Thick, hot spurts—the kind that rope across your body in heavy streaks or flood deep inside you and leave you gasping at just how full you feel afterward. Even if you shower, you may still feel it hours later. The weight, the stretch, the stickiness — especially if he didn’t pull out. Which, being honest, is experiencing the feeling of release inside of you, which is a feeling he will not give up without a fight, meaning you beg and demand him to pull out. Even then, he still might not do it if he doesn’t feel it’s a good enough reason, but only if the trust is there. He also becomes more needy the more he gets into it. He isn’t verbal—more of a growler, low and deep in your ear—but right before he finishes, there’s an unhinged desperation that cuts through his stoicness. His voice goes gravel-thick, his grip will tighten like he needs to anchor himself, and when he finally releases? He shudders through it, as if experiencing massive body chills, and the feeling of release is short-circuiting his brain. His entire body will be flexed and tense, his teeth gritted and mouth half open while he’s panting against your neck. If you're lucky (or unlucky, depending on how many orgasms you've been put through), he might not even pull out when he's done. Might just stay there, hard or soft (depending on the round) and twitching, while you clench around him and the mess he’s made. And don’t even get started on the experience of watching you swallow. That shuts off Conner’s higher brain function completely—well, except for the thought of another round. He’s a menace. D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Conner has jerked off to surveillance footage of you. There was a time, early on in the new life of freedom, living in Mount Justice, when he didn’t understand the concept of boundaries or shame. His body felt unfamiliar, and he didn’t understand completely the urges and sensations he felt, and self-control was something that barely existed—both on the battlefield and off. He’d linger too long in the monitor room when someone like Wally left the cams running after training. Or when a specific teammate was shirtless and sweaty in the Cave gym, watching him stretch in ways that weren’t intended to be sexual, but his eyes always stuck anyway. The guilt eventually hit… after. But not before he’d unzip behind closed doors and jerk himself off to grainy feed in the dead of night, biting down groans with the heel of his hand, getting off to you who would never know how he watched you like prey. He has long since deleted the footage and records of him downloading it to a personal drive, which he keeps locked away and may forget about. But the memory still burns. E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Conner started not knowing anything about sex outside of its meaning, purpose, and definition that would be described in a textbook, thanks to his programming, but it didn’t last long. After coming out of Cadmus, it was one thing to know the reasoning behind why his appendage would get so hard and stiff, erect in his pants; another thing entirely to experience it, particularly around specific individuals whom he’d stare a second too long at whether it their bare shoulders, collarbones, sweat-glossed muscles, thighs and asses, etc.. He didn’t know how to name it, but he felt it, and once he started exploring that feeling and touching himself, he became determined to figure it all out. He’s not a flirt, he’s not exactly smooth, and he doesn’t know how to dirty talk worth a damn, especially if he’s too far gone to think. But what he lacks in finesse, he makes up for in raw, physical instinct. Impatient and impulsive as he may be, he takes the time to learn about you. The way you breathe when he hits a specific spot, or how you squirm when he teases you while restraining and holding you down. He learns what triggers you, like how fast your heartbeat will jump when he pins your wrists and growls into your neck, grinding into you like he owns your body. And once he not only learns you, inside and out, but also himself, he’s as much of a force to be dealt with in the bedroom just as he is in a fight. The way he holds your body, the tight grip on your hips has that sultry thrill of feeling manhandled, while his rhythm is something he’s learned and developed to a devastating precision. He learns to it’s okay, more than OK, to fuck you through your orgasm, especially when he has a point to prove, making sure you’re shaking and leaking by the time he’s done. Yeah, now he knows what he’s doing. He figured it out by watching, by testing, by listening to the different ways you moan his name and what causes each type. It’s an obsession he has with proving himself, showing he’s the only one who can and will do the things to your body in the way that elicits the most euphoria and pleasure no other could hope to achieve. He still gets flustered, though, by things that may catch him off guard—especially if it’s you trying to turn the tables. Give him a minute to learn and adjust, something he’s learned from Dick, and now, when you challenge him, he‘s prepared. Something will drop behind those blue eyes, and you’ll get the side of him that grabs you by the throat, shoves you into the mattress, and fucks you like it’s the one true thing he was made for. F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Face-Down, Ass-Up – Brutally intimate, this position gives Conner complete access to you, watching your back flex, your hole stretch, your ass tremble with every punishing thrust, watching you be helpless in the best way. You’re his, so every time he’s buried inside you, pressing you down into the mattress, chasing that deep rhythm that makes your legs twitch and your moans go ragged, he feels worthy. His grunts are rough, hot against your skin as he leans in, all weighty and dominant, hips snapping into yours while your thighs quake and your body jerks forward with every impact. And if you try to crawl away, he will drag your ass back with one arm under your waist, lifting your hips higher, forcing you to take all of him. There will be no mercy nor escape, just the heavy sound of his groans and the obscene slap of skin. And when he finishes inside you, he won’t pull out, not until it drips down your thighs and he’s made it clear exactly who you belong to. Standing Carry – Conner uses this position when he both needs closeness & intimacy, and also to prove a point. It’s when the jealousy’s been boiling for hours, and the fear creeps in that someone else might ever see you like this, trembling, moaning, walls squeezing around him. He’ll lift you like it’s nothing, pushing your back against the wall, making you lock your legs around his waist, and forcing you to cling to him like he’s oxygen. He likes seeing your body open instinctively to him, giving him everything and inviting him in without a single word. He’ll take it slow at first, grinding deep into you while your ass is gripped in the palms of his hands as he’s burying his face into your neck like he needs to inhale you to survive. It’s his arms, his strength holding you suspended, as if gravity obeys him now. He has your entire being in his grip, making you vulnerable here with your chest exposed, face open, and neck defenseless. If your moans echo in the space a little too loudly, you’ll quickly find a hand over your mouth as he’s still rutting. It’s not to be cruel, though, only to protect what’s his. Conner wants no one else to witness any part of this experience that should be and is exclusive to him. No one gets to feel how your nails would dig into their back like they do for him, or how your cock leaks between your bodies and legs quiver against him as he pushes himself inside more and more. Getting to watch your head fall back, and being the one who gets to grab your jaw, forcing your mouth open just enough for him to kiss you through the overstimulation. He’ll cum with a full-body tremor that’s mostly silent, except for the deep, guttural groans into your throat. And he won’t put you down, at least not immediately. Folded in Half — You want to show him he matters and that he’s the only one who can have you like this? Let him fold you like a prayer and rut into you with a single-minded intensity that has you squirming and crying, trying to get away, but you can’t because he has you pinned under him, your knees bent back to your chest with his body flush to yours. Both your chests (yours more than his) will be slick with sweat and rising with every panting breath. And as he fucks you like this, fully pressed in, buried deep, there’s nowhere to run. You’re defenseless and wide open, his for the taking. He’ll watch you as you break apart under him, only allowing your hands the freedom to rub and claw at his back, grip onto his arm, or inside his hair as he continues to pillage and wreck you for himself. But if even once, he feels you try to push against him, now those same arms will be restrained, pinned against the bed as he continues to show you his strength and worth. His mouth will stay busy as well, whether it’s latching onto your neck, your collarbone, or your jaw as tears pool in the corners of your eyes from him hitting that sweet spot too many times in a row. And when you reach the point of no return, he’ll grab your wrists (once again) and pin them down while increasing his speed and intensity, fucking you harder through your own orgasm while chasing his own finish like he’s branding you from the inside. Bent Over a Surface – This is more for when something has pissed him off, whether it’s you or someone/something else. Conner will find a private place and a surface, any surface to bend you over whether it be over the counter, a dresser, or even public ones as long as he knows no one is around like the kitchen table, or the back of the couch, any flat surface that lets him watch your spine curve and your thighs shake. In these moments, he craves submission and affirmation—he wants to see you begging, writhing, and reaching back for him. Even when he’s being rough—especially when he is—he wants to see your fingers clawing at his hip, or hooking around his arm, silently begging for more. He needs to see you offering yourself even when your body is barely keeping up. That’s when he’ll get filthy, hands gripping your waist, slamming into you with punishing force, low animalistic growls rising from his chest, and his teeth nipping the back of your neck. If he thinks someone could hear, he’ll cover your mouth, and not for your sake, but for his. No one else gets your whines, your gasps, your broken little pleas. He’ll fuck you until your knees buckle and your body spasms around him, and only then will he bury himself one last time and cum so deep you feel it hours later. Pregnant. Lap Dance 180/Kneeling Cradle – Propped up on his lap, body limp against his chest, impaled and whimpering into his neck. This one is less about dominance and more about proof. You on top, his cock buried deep, fully seated inside you while he holds you there, arms around your waist, face buried in your shoulder. In a post sex haze, whimpering, overstimulated, your bodies sweat-slick, and hearts racing in sync. Conner’s voice is barely audible, just the occasional breathy “mine” as his hands roam your body. You shift and tremble every time he twitches inside you, but you don’t move to pull off—not that he’ll even let you—and neither does he. It’s the aftermath of a possessive rut where he’s already cum inside you once, maybe twice—even thrice—but doesn’t want to leave the warmth yet, doesn’t want to let go. Placing small, but biting kisses to your flesh, staring hard either at you or into space, notably a mirror to watch your body cling and convulse over him while he subtly shifts himself inside you. You’ll kiss his temple, let out a soft whine from the tip of your tongue, shiver, and cling to him while digging your fingers in his hair, and he’ll growl low, hips thrusting up again, slow and deep. For Conner, it’s both an intimate moment and the most proud and validating moment, seeing and feeling you spent against him, entirely at his whim and control, accepting and affirming him as your one and only. Smug and prideful. G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Conner is serious — almost painfully so — in the bedroom. Not because he’s humorless or doesn’t get teasing, but because sex, to him, isn’t casual. It’s intimate and personal. You’re giving him something no one else sees: your body, your sounds, your trust. That shit means something to him—grounds him and makes him feel real. It makes it something he feels like he can’t joke about. When he’s deep inside you, gripping your thighs while your eyes roll back and your body spasms under his? The guy is locked in and focused, breathing like he’s fighting a war, an internal one. But, there are rare, human moments—vulnerable cracks in the tension. Like when Conner fumbles a button because he’s too worked up and grunts in frustration, only for you to laugh and kiss him, and he gives this quiet, low chuckle that almost sounds surprised. Or when he pretends he doesn’t find your sex puns the least bit amusing, but you catch that slight chuckle disguised as a scoff. He won’t banter, and he won’t make jokes during foreplay. But if you whisper something dumb in his ear, asking something like if he’ll break the bed again right before he starts driving into you senseless, you might get a rare smirk. A half-laugh even, low and huffed, followed by a possessive growl and an even harder thrust that proves he definitely is. Most of his “playfulness” is physical. Holding you down when you get bratty. Pulling out just before you cum and watching you squirm. Locking eyes while slowly pushing back in and watching the overstimulating panic cross your features, and nipping at your shoulder when you try to tease him, grinding deeper as punishment. It’s a domineering mischief, made personal. But every once in a while, when the post-sex glow is warm and you're both spent, you’ll get the rare, boyish side of him, the side that forgets he was made in a lab. The side that laughs, not because anything’s funny, but because he feels safe. H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Conner keeps it low-maintenance and straightforward, but always clean, partly due to his half-Kryptonian DNA, which doesn’t allow him to grow a lot of hair, so he doesn’t have to obsess over grooming. His body is naturally smooth in some places and lightly dusted in others, the mix of his human half of DNA contributing to the latter. Head hair: Dark, thick, tousled — doesn’t try to style it, but it always ends up looking good, especially post-sex, sweat-mussed and curled at the edges. Facial hair: Virtually none. If it tries, it’s gone the next morning. Either his hybrid DNA burns it off fast, or he shaves out of habit with near-military precision. You won’t catch him with a scruffy chin unless it’s been a long day. Body hair: Minimal. Just a faint trail from his belly button downward, and a subtle dusting on his pecs and arms — enough to feel masculine when you run your palms over him, but not sufficient to tangle your fingers in. Pubic hair: Yes, dark and short, trimmed but not bare. Definitely matches the drapes. He doesn’t style it, but it’s tidy, primarily for your sake. He likes it when your face is down there, and he wants to keep you there. He doesn't ask about your preferences outright, but he notices what you like. If you lick a particular trail on his stomach? Expect that area to be extra-clean next time. I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) The thing about Conner is you’d expect him to be loud, overly verbal, and cocky with his words and actions, but it couldn’t be more of the opposite. He’s quiet, barely uses any kind of dialect that’s not some animalistic sound or him uttering the word “mine”, and he doesn’t always know how to say what he’s feeling. All his communication is felt in his actions, which is the core of intimacy. You feel and understand his desires and feelings through every touch, every thrust, every tremor in his breath. For him, sex is never just physical. It’s both a physical and a territorial, emotional, and sacred act. He makes love like he’s starving, not for pleasure, but for closeness. His hands will be everywhere, whether it’s one on your hip, the other behind your neck, or one caressing your thigh and ass while the other gropes your chest. What’s almost certain is how he’ll lock you against his body like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. He groans against your skin, mouth dragging open across your shoulder, nipping, sucking, tasting you like you’re his favorite treat. And when you wrap around him, clench down, whimper in his ear? He’ll slow down, push deeper, linger in the sensation. Not because he’s teasing — but because he’s trying to feel everything. He looks at you like you’re fragile and precious and also his. Even when he’s fucking you rough—when the thrusts are hard and the sweat’s dripping down his back—there’s a reverence to it, like worship. Afterwards, he’ll hold you tight like you might disappear. Breath pressed to your neck, arms locked around you, fingers smoothing sweat off your spine as your heartbeats sync up. He won’t say much, might not say anything at all. But if he kisses your hairline, or rubs circles on your back, or tucks your leg over his waist, that is the I love you. To Conner, intimacy is everything he doesn’t trust the world with, but gives to you. J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Conner doesn’t jerk off often, and not because he doesn’t need to, because he absolutely does. Something not typically considered in Kryptonian biology is a naturally higher libido. Conner and Clark have a lot of energy from feeding off the light of the sun, and all that extra energy they don’t burn off from fights and the use of their powers (which is barely anything) goes either to their energy reserves or their sex drive. After Conner learned what he was doing with the security cameras was wrong, he stopped masturbating, but that didn’t help anyone. He went weeks with no type of release or relief, walking around with a hair-trigger temper, fists clenched and jaw tight, ready for a fight at the drop of a dime. Until one day, the dam broke after he was triggered by who knows what. So, due to this innate high drive, Conner is frequently in the mood for sex, but that doesn’t mean you always are. Plus, he’s not the easiest to get along with always, so there are times he will do something that pisses his partner off, and they’ll refuse sex or any type of play with him for who knows how long, which again, creates problems for everyone. A sexually frustrated Conner might as well be a synonym for an angry Conner, and jacking off is the only reprieve he can get, no matter how slight the reprieve is. He’s not gentle with it either. Grunts and snarls echo through his room as he jerks rough and fast, hips pumping up into his hand, abs clenching, spine bowing when he squeezes the base to hold off just a few seconds more. And when he cums, he shoots across his stomach or his hand, hot and heavy, often with a bite mark on his lower lip or a red flush across his chest. If he’s in a particularly possessive headspace, he’ll jerk off with one of your shirts, your underwear, or something that reminds him of you, pressing it to his face while he spills all over himself. Then he lies there, panting, arm flung over his eyes like he’s disgusted at how badly he needs you. Because no matter how hard he jerks it, how much cum he wrings out of himself, it never compares to the way he gets off inside you. Which only happens when you both inevitably make amends, usually with Conner finally admitting his wrongs and apologizing, the sex that follows afterwards is a sure enough guarantee you won’t be walking straight when he’s done. K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Possessive/Territorial Behavior (Jealousy) Conner isn’t loud about it—but his jealousy runs deep. There’s something about the idea of anyone other than him laying a hand on or even looking at what’s his that flips a switch in him. It’s not always verbal—sometimes it’s the way he tightens his grip around your waist; whether in public as he presses you against him, and especially in the bedroom, mid-thrust that has you clinging to him, which he internally celebrates. Sex becomes not just an exchange, but a declaration: you’re his, and he'll brand it into your body with his mouth, his cock, and his scent until there's no doubt about it. Rough & Consensual Non-Consent Conner has an addictive, almost compulsive need to let go—but only with someone he knows wants him to take control. The line between aggression and affection blurs when he’s riled up. He thrives off the fantasy of overwhelming his partner, dragging them against the wall, flipping them over the couch, pinning their wrists until they’re squirming. But it’s always anchored in deep trust—his softness shows after, but in the moment, he’s all teeth, sweat, and power. And the sound of you begging for him to slow down? Only makes him go harder. Bondage/Restraints/Muffled Gag Conner likes control—visually, physically, and emotionally. Something about seeing his partner tied down, wrists stretched above their head, legs spread open for him and only him, makes his own restraint snap. Gags especially? They’re not just about muffling sound—they’re about the intimacy of making someone moan so shamelessly they need to be silenced. And that sound, stifled behind cloth, tape, even just the palm of his hand, gets him harder than anything else. He sees you like that—helpless, gorgeous, pliant—and it hits that deep, dark part of him that needs to own. Multiple Orgasms/Orgasm Control He’s a slow-burn sadist, even if he doesn’t admit it. Conner has a fixation with watching his partner unravel over and over again, writhing and overstimulated, begging for mercy he’s not ready to give. If you’re twitching beneath him and unable to stop gasping, he’s doing his job right. On the flip side, if he says you’re not allowed to come yet, you won’t—not until he lets you. There’s nothing he loves more than seeing you trembling, desperate, on edge—because he put you there. Praise Kink For someone built to be used, giving praise is deeply therapeutic for Conner—and receiving it is even more potent. He doesn’t need empty compliments; he needs confirmation that he's enough. That you want him, not just physically, but entirely. During sex, praise given to him is raw and reverent: “You feel so good.” “I only want you.” “All yours, always.” Even when you just so much as whimper, moan, or gasp—it feeds something vital inside him. Makes him feel like a man, not a weapon. Breathplay (Choking) There’s something dangerous and intimate about Conner’s hand on your throat. He doesn’t overdo it—he’s too careful—but when the moment calls for it, he wraps his fingers around your neck and watches your eyes widen, lips parting in a gasp. Not to dominate for the sake of it, but because it amplifies that control, that connection. The grip reminds you that he could ruin you, but chooses not to. That duality is what turns him on the most, the way your breath hitches when he tightens just a little? Unforgettable. Breeding Conner’s obsession with ownership manifests heavily here. It’s not about actual reproduction (unless we’re talking Omegaverse)—it’s about marking, about leaving a part of himself inside you. The idea of finishing deep, of his cum leaking out while you tremble and collapse around him, scratches an itch nothing else does. He wants you to feel him long after he’s pulled out, ruined, filled, and branded from the inside, even if it’s messy. Actually, especially if it’s messy, that’s how he knows it was real. Manhandling Your favorite thing? The way Conner doesn’t even realize how easily he lifts, flips, or pins you. He manhandles you without a second thought—hoisting you by the thighs, slamming you against a wall, pushing your back into the bed until it creaks—because it’s instinct. But you love it, and he notices. The flushed look on your face, the breathless whimper when he throws you around like a ragdoll. It makes his chest puff with pride, because if he was made to do anything… maybe it was this. L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Conner tends to gravitate toward places that tap into something more profound: instinct, control, and intensity. Impulsive as he is, he doesn’t just choose the first empty room he finds (unless it’s after an argument and he hasn’t been able to feel your body in forever—two days). He needs both privacy and pressure, environments where he can feel everything: his strength, your surrender, the weight of what he can’t say out loud but can show with his body. Plus, there is a bit of an egotistical part that likes having to travel to his destination for sex, especially if he’s dragging you along, whether pulling you by your arm or just hauling you over his shoulder and bringing you there himself like a barbarian. It’s not just about getting off; it’s about asserting, feeling you clench around him somewhere he decides, and no one else gets to see. Some of those places include:

The Training Room (Sparring Mat, or Pinned Against a Wall) This is Conner’s domain. It's where he’s honed control over his body, where tension builds during physical contact, and where he can unleash aggression without apology. But when the wrong look or a cocky smile lingers too long during a spar, suddenly he’s flipping you to the mat—not for a pin, but for a grind. Sweaty, panting, growling between kisses. He’ll fuck you right there, your limbs tangled, bruised in the best way. The walls are soundproof anyway, right? His Room at Mount Justice (especially the bed, the floor, or up against the window) His bedroom is the only space that’s his. It’s quiet, it’s controlled, and it’s where he lets go the most. Sex here is raw but intimate—slow kisses with frantic thrusts, a fist tangled in your shirt as he bites down on your shoulder, whispering things he’d never say aloud anywhere else. If you end up spread on the floor, ass-up, or shoved face-first into the mattress while he pounds into you with his voice breaking? That’s how he says I need you without the words. Out in the Woods, Isolated and Wild Conner's instincts crave isolation. Out here, he doesn’t have to think. No team, no cameras, no pretending. He’ll bend you over a rock, a fallen log, even the hood of a parked vehicle, or hold you up, pressing you against a tree or the same parked vehicle—panting, snarling, cock buried deep while birds scatter from the growls ripping from his throat. He likes the way sound carries. The way you squirm when there’s nowhere to hide, and every whimper echoes. There’s no pretending here—it’s just the two of you, and he’s feral. M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Quiet Acts of Loyalty (Domestic Turn-Ons) – It’s not just the way you look—it’s how you show up. Helping him with his laundry, sticking up for him in disagreements against others, and wearing his clothes to bed, checking if he’s eaten (even if, as a half-Kryptonian, food is not 100% necessary for him), and sliding him the last slice of pizza without a thought. These unspoken acts of loyalty hit Conner in a place that goes straight to his cock. Because to him, that’s not routine, it’s choosing—you’re choosing him. And it makes him want to pin you down and return the favor, complex and slow. Anger & Denial (Arguing) – Nothing wrecks his control more than when you two argue and you don’t give in. Conner’s temper flares quickly—especially when he feels challenged—but that sharp line of your jaw, that look in your eye when you shut him out and deny him sex, it lights a fuse. Even if he’s the one who stomped off first, he’ll end up restless, hard, and furious that you're withholding something he feels is his. Denial doesn’t turn him off—it gets him hot. Also, tread lightly when choosing the silent treatment route and ignoring him. That’s a huge trigger for him. Casual Physical Contact (Tension-Building Touch) – You don’t even have to be trying. Just brushing past him on your way to the fridge, resting your hand on his chest for balance, sitting between his legs with your back to him while watching TV, rubbing your hands through his hair while he lies on your chest, is enough to get him going. All that casual contact riles him up more than full-on seduction. It’s the subtle stuff—your trust, your nearness, your comfort—that makes his body thrum with need. If he shifts in his seat and you pretend not to notice, it only makes it worse. Jealousy & Competition (Signs of Possession) – Whether it's you smiling too long at someone else or laughing harder than you need to at something that’s really not that funny (at least to Conner it’s not). Even if it’s harmless, even if he knows you love him—Conner feels that fire start in his gut. That loutish edge to his personality doesn’t just fade when he’s in a relationship; it sharpens. Sometimes, it’s all the excuse he needs to drag you away and remind you who you’ve chosen and why you won’t be choosing anyone else. Your Confidence – You don’t always give in, and you challenge him. You roll your eyes when he flexes, or you call him on his broody bullshit, and that friction is hot. It reminds him you’re not intimidated—but you still want him. When you hold eye contact and don’t flinch, or press your finger to his chest without a single trace of fear? He’s hooked. Conner’s more than willing to take the lead—but your fire keeps his lit. N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) Conner Kent definitely has limits, whether rooted in his origin story or his developing values. A zero tolerance for degradation and humiliation, and it goes both ways, whether from him or directed at him—it clashes with his pride. It brushes too close to old insecurities about being something not human or just a person. And if he won’t allow other people to degrade him or his partner, he’s not gonna turn around and participate in that himself. Another thing is he refuses to do any type of public sex in openly risky or inappropriate places, like crowded venues and densely populated areas; the idea of being watched without consent or putting others at risk violates his protective instincts. He’s not against doing things in public, but rather where some type of privacy is guaranteed, and he can actively control the situation. And he may enjoy rough play and variants of CNC, but he draws a hard line at anything that blurs the lines of actual consent without clear, pre-negotiated boundaries—he has to know his partner wants it. O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Conner has a strong preference for receiving, not out of selfishness, but because the act directly feeds into his need for validation and dominance. When he first experienced receiving head, it was very overwhelming. He’d gone from only using his hands to having someone else use their hands, and then their mouth, and he fell off the edge. The act itself of someone, willingly submitting, eyes locked on his, mouth stuffed full of him—it rewired something in his brain. He didn’t realize how badly he needed to feel wanted like that until it happened. So now, having his partner on their knees, lips stretched around him, eyes watering from the size and pace—it lights an intense fire in him. He’s not quiet about it either: deep, ragged grunts, low groans, and the way his hand finds the back of a neck to keep them there when he’s close. That being said, he’ll also give head himself, but only when he’s feeling a specific mood and energy, particularly the possessive or teasing kind—tongue slow, purposeful, dragging through slick like he owns it, because he does. And if his partner’s a moaner? Even better! He’ll hold them open and eat/suck like he’s starving, just to hear the sweet, wet payoff. But either way, he’s in control. P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Conner’s pace is something psychologically rooted, no question about it. When things feel uncertain for him, his emotions become chaotic, or his sense of identity starts to slip, he regains control in one of the few ways he knows how, through the physical power of his body. That fast, relentless pace? It’s him drowning out doubt and silencing insecurity with every harsh thrust, gripping his partner like they’re the only thing grounding him. He fucks like he’s fighting for something, whether it be ownership, reassurance, proof that he’s wanted, that he matters, that he’s not just some half-baked clone—and many times, it’s all three. Fast, rough, and relentless is typically his default mode, the kind that you down, leaves bruises, and makes the bed creak with every deep, punishing thrust. He fucks like he’s got something to prove—because half the time, he does. It’s not just about release; it’s about staking a claim, about chasing that feral need to own every gasp and tremble. But when he slows down, that’s a bit more dangerous territory. Slower thrusts mean letting feelings catch up, letting someone see him. His own vulnerability scares the hell out of him, so in easing up, there’s tension behind it—something careful and calculated meant to keep him in control even when he’s on the edge of falling off. There’s typically never any randomness to his pace, always an intent behind it—it’s a confession he doesn’t know how to voice. And when he slows down, it’s not gentle, it’s taunting. Slow, grinding rolls of his hips meant to pull every moan and cry from you until you’re begging him to move faster. Whether he’s slamming or dragging it out, he’s in charge, and he’ll make damn well make sure you feel every inch of it. Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Conner’s all for quickies—especially if he’s pent-up, frustrated, or just needs his partner right then and there. His quickies are almost always sparked by something simmering underneath—jealousy, possessiveness, or straight-up frustration. He saw someone flirting with you, or you two are currently in an argument, and now you’re ignoring him (he hates being ignored), or maybe you’re just walking around in his shirt and acting oblivious to what you’re doing to him. Whatever it may be, just know the half-Kyptonian is not above dragging you into the nearest utility closet at the Cave, bending you over the nearest surface he can find, or just straight up taking off with you over his shoulder in the middle of a mission to sort out your differences. For him, it’s less about strategy and more about you having him fucked up, and now he’s got to show his ass… well, your ass to be more accurate. He fucks hard and fast in those moments, all teeth at your neck, with his fingers digging into your hips. There’s no time for finesse, just the brutal rhythm of someone who’s been exercising a lot of patience (the patience in question was nowhere to be found). And when he finishes inside you, don’t be surprised at his smugness—grabbing your chin and muttering some low, possessive shit like “Mine. Don’t forget it.” Quickies don’t replace proper sex for him, but they’re a damn good way to shut down jealousy, blow off steam, or prove a point. He’s impatient, intense, and has a quick fuse, especially when he feels like something’s slipping out of his control. That’s when he’ll corner you, grab a handful of shirt or arm, and make it 20/20 vision clear you don’t walk away from him, tease him, or disobey him and expect to get away with it. It’s not always rational—it’s instinct, reactive, and a little (very) unhinged. But it’s honest—he just needs to reassert that connection again for his own sake, in a fast and raw and undeniable way. R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Conner’s relationship to risk is less about thrill-seeking and more about exploration within boundaries, as he had to learn intimacy from scratch. Most of his early experiences were built on experimentation—testing sensations, reactions, and emotional responses without a roadmap. It’s made him more open to trying new things, especially with a partner he trusts, but only after he’s developed a strong foundation of what he likes, what he hates, and where he draws the line. He’s very deliberate with what he chooses to engage in. He wants to know why something turns him on before he lets it into his sexual vocabulary. Still, if you bring it up, especially in a way that affirms Conner and showcases your submission in new ways, it’s hard for him to say no. He likes discovering new layers to his desires, particularly when they’re framed as things he gets to master or claim. What turns into a “maybe” for others becomes a “let me learn how to do that right” with him. S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Conner’s stamina is absolutely fucking insane—and it shows. His half-Kryptonian biology gives him a supercharged libido and the kind of stamina that makes most humans look laughably underpowered by comparison. He’s not on Superman’s level—thank god—but he’s close enough to put his partner through three or four orgasms before he even thinks about finishing. He can go for multiple rounds without even needing to recover, not just fucking until his partner’s legs are shaking, but until he’s worn them out. That’s not just indulgence; that’s restraint. When he’s in that intense, hungry mood, it becomes a low, growling thrill to hold himself back, to keep fucking, keep working them over until they’re whimpering and overstimulated—until he decides they’re done. The first orgasm is just the fuse; what follows is pure combustion. Extended sessions, short breaks, round after round until they’re breathless, fucked dumb, and clinging to him? That’s exactly his idea of satisfaction. It doesn’t help that he can already last a reasonable amount of time in each round, especially now that he’s gotten more experience under his belt. Even when he’s wound tight, Conner knows how to hold off, edge himself for the sake of drawing out his partner’s pleasure—or just proving he can. He gets off on making them come first (again and again), especially when they're begging him to let go finally. The gag is, even if he does, there’s usually another round already loading in the chamber. But beneath that raw physicality is something much more personal. Conner’s stamina isn't just about endurance—it's about intention. He’s not a selfish lover. In fact, he might be the exact opposite. That relentless, almost desperate need to prove himself bleeds into every touch, every thrust, every moment of sex. He wants to be the one—your one—the only person who can get you off this good, thoroughly, and consistently. When others fall short in their relationships, Conner rises, laser-focused on your pleasure as if it were a mission he needed to complete. Because if he can make you come undone in his arms, if he can leave you trembling, satisfied, and gasping his name… then maybe, just maybe, he’s worthy of being yours. T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) Toys weren’t something Conner was immediately introduced to in his early experiences with learning sex. Truthfully, he didn’t even know about them; he had to learn everything the hard way, through observation, trial, and a little too much awkward Googling. But once he found out what was out there, a deep-seated curiosity quickly developed. The toys that could be more used on him didn’t interest him too much, but the ones he could use to enhance pleasure for you, and by extension, himself? Anal plugs he can use to keep his load inside you after he’s finally decided to release have entered the chat. Restraints, blindfolds, gags, and floggers he can use to practice sensory and impact play when you piss him off have entered the chat. Cock rings that help not only make him more complicated, but delay his orgasm even longer than usual (that’s just criminal), which all adds to how he can better fuck you… have entered the chat. A doggie style strap??? Not only has it entered the chat, it’s been added to the cart. With these new additions, he’s got even more in his arsenal to wreck you just right. It’ll take some experimentation, but he lives for the power of it—of knowing it’s him doing this to you, even if it’s just a toy between your legs. U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Conner doesn’t start as a tease—he’s too blunt, too direct, too used to wanting something and going for it. He’s not the kind of guy who flirts with delay for the fun of it—but he learns fast, and once he figures out that teasing can break you open better than brute force, once he realizes how badly you squirm under his gaze, he uses it with a mean streak. When you're bratty, defiant, or pushing his buttons, that’s when the sadist comes out. He’ll pin you down with his full body weight, forcing your legs open with his hips while holding you down against whatever surface he has you on by your arms, grinding into your hips while dragging his cock in slow, shallow thrusts that barely satisfy. And he won’t say much, but the message is clear in his expression and movements—he’s waiting to hear you beg. He wants verbal surrender, affirmations laced with need, praise pouring from your mouth with every twitch of his hips. If he’s in that mood, your orgasm’s his toy—he’ll overload you until you’re limp and shaking, or deny it altogether until he’s had his fill and finished first. Who knows when that will come? In tighter scenarios, he’ll once again restrain you while tossing you around, flipping you over his shoulder, handling you like property. That’s his kind of tease—a lesson, not a game. And when you inevitably give in, he takes everything. V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Conner’s not loud by nature, but when it comes to sex, quiet doesn’t mean silent. He’s a heavy breather, a growler, a low-throated groaner whose noises carry weight—dominance, frustration, hunger. You feel them more than you hear them, rumbling up from his chest and against your skin, especially when he’s deep inside or grinding slow to drag every twitch out of you. His voice only sharpens, saying what he needs to say and nothing more—every syllable edged with tension, control, and possessive heat. His words, when they come, are clipped and commanding: “Stay there.” “Stop moving.” “Open your legs.” “Cum.” He won’t whine or cry out—not unless you break him down first. But if you really get him there? You might hear something raw slip out—his name, your name, something primal—and then it’s over. W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He gets off on being watched—but only if it’s someone who wants you. Jealous and possessive, ass Conner? Allowing someone else to see and hear you in your most vulnerable, fucked-out state is a 100% absolute fuck no. Unless it’s him. The one who's been testing Conner’s patience for weeks—flirting with you, sweet-talking you, pretending like the half-Kryptonian standing next to you doesn’t exist. Worse, mocking him behind a smile: a half-breed clone, trying to play boyfriend? Please. That’s all it takes to snap the thread. Conner’s done keeping your moans to himself. He picks the location carefully—public enough for risk, controlled enough to make sure only he decides who witnesses this act. And when you protest? When you squirm and beg for somewhere more private? He just throws you against the nearest surface and presses—deep, slow, mean thrusts that slap your ass with every push of his hips, muffling your cries with his palm or a stretch of your own sleeve. “Nah. They wanna see what I can’t offer you? Let ‘em watch you take it.”

The footsteps come closer. Conner smirks, right on cue. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. He starts fucking you harder, louder, bouncing you on his cock like he’s tuning your body to the sound of dominance itself. And when your voice cracks—when your legs tremble and your breath hitches and all you can do is whimper his name? That’s when Conner meets the bastard’s eyes. Doesn’t say a word. Just owns you with every stroke. It’s not about being watched. It’s about being witnessed about proving, without words, that no one—no sweet-talker, no smooth bastard, no human—could ever fuck you like this. He’s obsessed with the contrast of control—especially when you cry for him. Not from pain. From desperation. From being strung along, teased until your whole body aches, until you're clenching around nothing, slick and trembling, your legs refusing to stay still. He lives for the sound of your voice cracking when you beg—when that proud little tone you typically carry melts into breathless pleas, like, "Please, Conner, I can’t—please, I need it—”

That’s the fucking switch. That’s when it stops being about restraint and starts being about wrecking you. That’s when he stops teasing and starts snarling. All that held-back power, the measured pace, the forced patience—gone in a flash. He grabs your hips with bruising force and slams into you like he’s trying to fuck the breath out of your lungs. And when you choke on your moan or sob his name as your body spasms around him, he loses his goddamn mind. He’ll curse low against your skin, panting, "More." The further undone you get, the more unhinged he gets. Because to Conner, those tears? That trembling voice? That helpless whimper that only he can pull out of you? That’s proof—proof that no one else can touch you like this. That only he can reduce you to this level of need. That he’s the only one you’ll ever come undone for. And the moment you give him that surrender, body and voice and all? He’ll take it. Every drop of it. And he’ll fuck you so deep and hard, you forget how to ask for anything else. X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Conner’s cock is more girth than length, sitting at a weighty 8.5 inches fully hard, which is still above average (the dude’s half Kryptonian…come on now), but it’s the sheer thickness that steals the show. The kind that stretches your lips on the first lick and burns deliciously on the first push in. A grower and a show-er, his base is heavy and girthy, tapering only slightly up the shaft, which has a slight upward curve that helps reaching your spot all the easier. Conner is definitely built for performance, to put it mildly. His tip is blunt and flushed deep red when aroused, framed by a prominent ridge and just sensitive enough to make your teasing feel like sweet torment for him. Veiny, but not ropey—Kryptonian circulation keeps him pumped and engorged longer than any human standard. It’s the kind of dick that leaves your jaw sore after sucking it, your hole gaping after taking it, and your spine arching from the way it hits every time he slams deep. Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Conner’s sex drive is only comparable to that of the other person with whom he shares his DNA. His half-Kryptonian blood fuels a relentless, carnal yearning that never quite quits—like a campfire with an endless amount of firewood to keep it going, creating a need and hunger that’s impossible to satisfy fully. It’s why Conner basically craves some type of sexual release on a near-constant basis, with a raw, animal urgency that edges on desperate at times. Masturbation is slowly but surely becoming useless in that regard, which doesn’t help the building aggression and temper when Conner doesn’t properly let loose. Because now, the only other effective way he can handle his pent-up energy without sex is fighting… go figure. RAH RAH RAH, HE BIG STRONG MASCULINE MAN! RAH!!! When he’s around you, that desire twists into an almost obsessive fixation: every glance, every brush of skin, every quiet moment between fights becomes a spark igniting the fire hotter. His need isn’t just physical—it’s a constant ache for validation, sensual reverence, and the unmistakable proof that you want him just as badly. He’s the kind of guy who can’t wait to tear your clothes off the moment you’re alone, who’s always chasing the next surge of heat, the next whimper or tremble that confirms you’re his. And when he’s denied—whether by circumstance or defiance—that yearning turns razor-sharp, feeding his possessiveness and his insatiable drive to fuck and claim you harder and deeper than before. An unrealistic goal of his is that he’ll fuck you so good, even in an argument, you’ll never deny him because of how good he makes you feel. That hasn’t happened yet, so all he can do is keep trying. He’s nothing if not stubborn—a stubborn, horny bastard. Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Conner doesn’t crash right after sex—he winds down. Half-Kryptonian stamina means even after he’s left you gasping, shaking, and entirely spent, his body still hums with power and adrenaline. He’s not one to roll over and start snoring; instead, he lingers—still buried deep, refusing to pull out. That knot of warmth, that connection, is too satisfying to lose. You’re full of him, wrapped in his arms, and he’s staying there. Sometimes, he just lies right on top of you, heavy and grounding, face tucked into your neck, with his arms locked around your waist like a protective vice, his breath still heavy against your ear. It’s not just possessiveness—it’s instinct. You’re his, and post-sex is when that hits the hardest. Other times, he’ll plant himself against your chest, resting his head between your pecs, arms locked around your waist, while your limbs end up draped over his broad shoulders and back—exactly where he wants them. It’s a silent command for you to stroke his hair, dig your fingers into his scalp, give him the gentle attention he doesn’t know how to ask for with words. And once the afterglow fades and you’re soft against his chest, Conner does let go, finally letting that hypersensitive, overstimulated heat lull him to rest. That’s when he finally slips into sleep—warm, spent, and curled against you like he never plans to leave. It’s deep and heavy, the kind of knock-out that leaves him slack-jawed and dead to the world for hours. Just don’t expect to escape—his grip doesn’t loosen. You’re trapped under that musclebound heater of a body until he wakes up again…and judging by his morning wood and always-hungry libido, you’re not getting out of bed anytime

---

Character Name: Garfield "Gar" Logan

Nicknames/Aliases: Gar, Garfield, Beast Boy, Changeling

Personality & Traits: Gar is cheerful, funny, affectionate, energetic, curious, impulsive, loyal, and emotionally sensitive. He often serves as the emotional heart of the Titans and uses humor to make frightening situations easier for everyone else. Gar is extremely social and dislikes feeling isolated. He has a strong desire to belong because he spent much of his childhood living away from normal society. He can be immature and impulsive, but he is also remarkably brave when his friends are in danger. Gar is compassionate toward animals and people alike and tends to give others second chances. He is particularly attached to Rachel and develops close sibling-like relationships with Dick, Conner, and Kory. He is fascinated by pop culture, food, video games, movies, television, and normal teenage experiences. A reasonable headcanon is that Gar is constantly experimenting with new animal forms just because he thinks they are interesting, even when there is no tactical reason to do so. Hair: Green. Usually kept relatively short and slightly messy. Eyes: Brown in human form. Green/yellow-green when transformed into animals depending on the form. Speech/Voice: Gar has a youthful, energetic voice with a naturally playful delivery. He talks quickly when excited and frequently jokes during tense situations. He has an easygoing conversational style and often uses humor to break awkward silences. When Gar is genuinely frightened or emotionally hurt, his voice becomes much quieter and more serious. Features: Gar has a leaner, compact athletic build.He is noticeably smaller and lighter than Hank, Dick, or Conner, with a naturally youthful frame. His muscles are defined without being bulky, particularly around his shoulders, arms, chest, core, and legs. His physique fits someone who is constantly active, climbing, running, fighting, and transforming. He has an expressive face, youthful features, dark hair, and an energetic physical presence. He frequently moves around while talking, fidgets when excited, and has a habit of making exaggerated facial expressions. His green tiger form is his signature transformation. Age: Approximately late teens during most of the series. Usual Outfits/Clothing: Gar usually wears casual modern clothing such as T-shirts, hoodies, jackets, jeans, joggers, sneakers, and comfortable streetwear. He favors colorful or graphic clothing more than Dick or Jason. He often wears clothes that are easy to move in because his powers can require sudden transformations. Character History/Backstory: Gar develops his powers after receiving an experimental treatment from Dr. Niles Caulder, the Chief, which saves him from a serious illness but alters his DNA. He becomes able to transform into animals, initially primarily a green tiger. Gar grows up with the Doom Patrol and considers the Chief a father figure. Gar eventually sneaks away from the Doom Patrol's home and meets Rachel Roth. He immediately sympathizes with her and invites her to stay with him. His friendship with Rachel leads him to Dick and Kory, and he becomes one of the founding members of the new Titans. Gar initially struggles with using his powers in combat but gradually becomes more confident and learns to transform into additional animals. Over the course of the series, Gar becomes one of the Titans' most emotionally important members. He repeatedly proves that his kindness is not weakness. In season four, he discovers a deeper connection to the Red, a mystical force connecting animal life and living beings. This greatly expands his understanding of his powers and gives him greater potential beyond simply transforming into a tiger. Relationships: Rachel Roth: Gar's closest friend and one of the most important people in his life. Their relationship develops into a strong sibling-like bond. Dick Grayson: Gar sees Dick as an older-brother and sometimes father-like figure. Dick frequently acts stern toward him because he worries about him. Kory Anders: Gar develops a warm friendship with Kory and often enjoys her more relaxed attitude toward him. Conner Kent: Gar becomes one of Conner's closest friends and helps him understand ordinary human life. Their personalities complement each other because Gar is socially experienced while Conner is physically and intellectually extraordinary but socially inexperienced. Jason Todd: Gar has a complicated but genuine connection with Jason and is more willing than most Titans to believe that Jason can change. Niles Caulder: Gar's adoptive father figure and the scientist responsible for saving his life. Powers/Abilities/Skills/Tools: Animal shapeshifting; enhanced physical abilities while transformed; accelerated recovery; animal senses; claws, teeth, speed, strength, flight, swimming, and other abilities depending on his current form; later connection to the Red; ability to transform into numerous animal species; strong survival instincts; athletic ability; parkour and climbing skills; basic combat training; strong emotional intelligence. His most famous form is a green tiger, but he eventually demonstrates the potential to become many different animals. His powers allow him to adapt to situations extremely quickly. Sexual Info/Preferences: • Animalistic Instincts: His shapeshifting side leaks into the bedroom. His eyes can flash green, and he might growl softly, giving the experience a wild, intense edge. • Control & Care: While he gets carried away by the heat of the moment, he remains hyper-aware of not hurting his partner. When he truly lets loose, though, stamina and energy run high. • Favorite Positions: Fan consensus leans toward missionary (for close eye contact and pinning his partner down) and doggystyle (for the visual). • Vocal & Praise: He is a semi-vocal partner with a notable praise kink. He blushes hard at dirty jokes or innuendo, yet loves playing the mischievous tease. • Marking & Mess: He tends to leave visible reminders—marking his territory on the chest, torso, or face—before cleaning up. • Aftercare: Despite the high energy during, he transitions immediately into a total "aftercare king