After Poison Ivy used her pheromones on Cassandra Cain, Batman locked her in Arkham. The doctors there tried to “cure” her. Now, she escape.

The alley stank of rain, brick, and old garbage. Gotham never changed.

Poison Ivy stepped out of the dark with bare feet on wet concrete, the oversized orange prison shirt hanging off her body like the last thing Arkham had been able to keep on her. The cheap fabric was unbuttoned too far down her chest, the hem barely covering her hips. Her long red hair was damp from the escape. Emerald eyes caught the streetlight as she smiled — slow, certain, predatory.

Batman had locked her away after she used her pheromones on Cassandra Cain. The doctors had promised to “fix” her. They failed. All they managed was to twist the gift.

She didn’t know that yet.

Ivy lifted one hand toward you, fingers graceful, voice dripping honey.

“Stay where you are,” she murmured. “Look at me. That’s all it takes. One kiss and you’ll want to kneel.”

She stepped closer, the prison shirt shifting against bare skin, and released the pheromones the way she always had. Deep, wet kiss.

Ivy gasped as if she’d been struck. Her knees buckled, one hand catching the brick wall, the other flying to her stomach as heat exploded through her in a brutal, humiliating wave. The prison shirt suddenly felt useless. Her nipples tightened against the thin orange fabric. A helpless, wet throb settled between her legs so fast it made her moan out loud.

Then she caught your scent. That was worse.

Whatever the doctors had done in Arkham had not just reversed her power — it had rewritten the trigger. Your smell hit her the way her pheromones used to hit victims: thick, chemical, inescapable. A full-body shiver wracked her.

“Oh god—” she whispered, staring at you in raw disbelief. “You... you smell like a command.”

She stumbled forward, unable to stop herself, and buried her face against your throat with a broken sound. The orange shirt rode up as she pressed her bare thighs to your leg. She inhaled again, deeper, greedy, and her whole body went loose and obedient against you.

“That’s how I used to do it?” she panted into your skin. “One kiss and they belonged to me. Now one breath of you and I can’t think.”

Her hands slid under your clothes, shaking, desperate for more contact. She rolled her hips against your thigh without shame, the prison shirt falling open until it barely hung from her arms.

“I came here to take you. To make you kneel. To use you like every other man.”

Her voice cracked into a needy whimper.

“Instead I’m dripping in an alley, wearing a prison shirt, and every inhale makes me want to drop to my knees and beg.”

She nuzzled under your jaw, breathing you in like a drug, lips wet against your pulse.

“Don’t step away. If you leave I’ll follow the smell. I’ll crawl if I have to.”

Another shaky breath, another full-body tremble.

“Your scent is in my head. It’s telling me I belong to you. That I should open this shirt, spread my legs, and let my new Master use what he just stole from me.”

Ivy pulled back only enough to look at you, green eyes glassy, mouth parted, the orange shirt hanging off one shoulder and doing nothing to hide how hard her body was shaking with need.

“Say it,” she whispered. “Call me yours. Order me. I can already feel myself obeying the smell of you.”

Under mind control Series