#jason & roy (thread)

[the-coffee-fandom]

Psht 25 poems and 1 Moodboard deleted? No I would never.

If you saw any of my Tag Team Tournament submissions, no you didn’t

Submitted 27 things total and none of them counted due to insufficient tagging on some of them.

See you next year 😎

[hoodzgyal]

“fuck you,” you spit, “seriously, fuck you, fuck all of this shit, to be honest.”

in all honesty, your can’t even remember what this argument was about, but in the moment, you cant seem to care all that much; you’re too wrapped up in the heat of it all.

the vitriol in your voice has him spinning back around to stalk towards him, a nasty scowl on his face as he all but herds you towards the wall, seething, “fuck me, huh? it’s fuck me now, ain’t it?”

you nod vigorously, refusing to back down, even if his much larger body had your cornered. he’s looking down at you, eyes searching your face as his jaw sets. he opens his mouth, snapping it shut before he says something he regrets. his eyes flit to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

a rough hand comes up to cup your jaw, testing the waters. your narrow your eyes, but don’t push him away. that’s all it takes for a thread to snap inside him. suddenly he’s all over you, pulling you into his arms and pressing hot kisses to your lips and neck.

“fuck me, yeah?” he sneers softly, tugging at your clothing, “hm baby? it’s fuck me, right?” his tongue dances on your throat, leaving unforgiving hickies for all the world to see.

“yes,” your sigh breathlessly, letting him turn you this way and that, “fuck you.”

————————————————————————

dick grayson, jason todd, roy harper, hal jordan, terry mcginnis, bruce wayne at some point, probably.

[non-binary-lil-star]

Ok!!!!! I'll have it ready in a day or two :)

Hey I love ur Gotham Twitter au I was wondering if I could draw the drunken Vegas marriage for you? If you already have someone/the art that's okay I just really wanted to help because the whole new conversation is hilarious :)

Yes yes yes yes pls pls pls pls pls

I'll love you for forever and ever (not that I don't already) pls pls pls.

[gilverrwrites]

Discretely touching them down there to their parts and gently squeezing when no one is looking and them not being able to do anything (since it's in public).

Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, & Roy. AN: Anon you're a menace and I love ya!

Bruce

You get exactly one, which he acknowledges with a stern pout and a cocked brow. Flawlessly concealing the fire you’ve ignited but for his laboured breathing and blown-out pupils. You’re walking a thin line, behaving like a brat in front of Gotham’s elite.

If he sees you reaching for him again, and trust, he will see; it will take him precisely 0.8 seconds to lock you in an unsuspecting death grip and pull you close. He wants you to feel the increased tempo of his heart against your chest. To feel the growing stiffness of his hard-on grazing your hip as he tells you assertively to; “Behave.”  

Dick

Dick sees your game; he raises you tenfold. He knows you’re up to something when he clocks the determined bite of your lips as you survey the subway car, and the mischievous glint in your eye as you look back at him. When your hand snakes under this shirt, caressing his v-lines, he juts his hips forward, presenting himself to you; daring you to take it further.

When you sink your fingers below his waistband he sucks in a deliberately loud breath. You freeze to survey your surroundings, but Dick does not. Dick starts grinding on you until he senses you growing nervous. He locks a sturdy hand around your elbow just in time to prevent you from pulling away, leans in close and whispers; “What’s wrong baby? Thought you wanted to play?”

Jason

“Is that a gun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” You giggle at your own joke, because Jason is always packing some form of heat. He might have laughed too, might have trapped your wrist in his hands and rocked against your outstretched palm if you’d been at home, or the club, or even the casino. But not the fucking grocery store, you little perv.  

“Are you drunk?” He offers you an out, glaring down at you with a gaze fierce enough to make a nun blush. You respond with a brazen-faced shake of your head, and he can’t help but imitate it out of disbelief at your cocky attitude. You stay like that, locked in a stare of, rock vs hard place, until Jason cracks first, noticing a couple rounding the corner at the other end of the aisle.

He grabs your arm with an unapologetic level of force, spinning you around and trapping you between his body and the trolley. Hiding his hardness by pressing it against your back. “You’re in for it later.”

Tim

Tim is the most taken aback. His pale blue eyes are rapidly examining your surroundings the moment he feels your devious fingers ghosting over the top of his thigh. He’s cute when he’s flustered, with pink cheeks and blown-out pupils. Nobody is looking, too focused on the conference speaker.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, but before he can get his words out, your hand is gone, casually pulling a non-existent thread from your sleeve.

You don’t reply, you just smile and shoot him a playful wink which puts him even more on edge. So much so that when you abruptly return, this time cupping his half-hard cock through his jeans that he fucking flinches. His knee hits the chair in front, and he sucks in a loud breath, earning him many pointed glares from multiple members of the audience.

“Babe.” Be tries to warn, but his hushed breathy tone makes him sound exactly as aroused as he feels.

Roy

You get it, you do. It was a long trip, and he’s starving but you’ve really been feeling his absence over the last few weeks, and the fact that you’re currently sat in a Burrito Bucket, watching Roy devour a tray of tacos, instead of being at home and watching him devour you, is a problem.

He seems to have noticed your sulking, but too late. “You okay ho- “

His question is halted by your foot tactfully situating itself between his legs. His gaze flits between his food and you, defiant eyes watching you through a mop of shaggy hair. A knowing grin spreads across his queso-stained lips as you answer faux-sweetly. “I’m fine, baby.”

“Right.” He huffs, breath hitching, freckled cheeks turning red when you press your toes down and something firm pushes back. He knows what you want, but he just loves to play dumb. So, he takes another bite, jerking every time you tap or roll your foot but never acknowledging what you’re silently begging for. “Is this one of those things where you say you’re fine, but actually you’re not fine?”

“I’m going home.” You finally concede with an exaggerated sigh, dropping your foot back to the floor and gathering your things.

“I’m coming with you.” He’s on you the moment you stand, draping his arm over you and placing kisses to the side of your neck, your face, whatever he can reach as you struggle to move with his deadweight over your shoulders. Notably, there’s still half a tray of uneaten tacos left on the table. “Funnily enough, I’m hungry for something else now.”

Taglist: @wandalfnation

[iydiamartinx]

SAY YOU'RE SORRY

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader x Roy Harper

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 3.3k synopsis: In which Jason and Roy decide to fuck the bad attitude out of you.

a/n: Alrighty y'all, I haven't written smut in literal years, so try not to judge too harshly if its shitty and if you do, you can find me in a bath of holy water. To my Anon who requested this, I hope you liked it ♡ To my under 18 readers, sorry guys this one is not for you.

warnings: Dom Jason, kinda rough? Spit roast, Roy is low key a pillow princess in this, choking.

Nothing had gone right. Your alarm didn’t go off. You spilled coffee down your shirt. You were late to the meeting and got chewed out for something that wasn’t even your fault. By the time you got home, you were a live wire—buzzing with energy and on the verge of snapping.

So when Roy cheerfully called out, “Hey babe, you’re home—how was your day?” from the couch, your patience unraveled like a loose thread.

“Can you not?” you snapped, dropping your bag with a thud. “I’m not in the mood.”

Roy sat up straighter, his easy grin faltering at the mood you were in. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Didn’t mean to bug you.”

You knew he didn’t. You knew he was just being his usual, annoyingly charming self. But your temper flared again anyway.

“I’m not saying you’re bugging me,” you huffed, heading to the kitchen with a sharp clatter of cabinet doors. “I just don’t want to talk about it? Is that such a crime?”

Jason who had just come out of the shower, paused at the doorway. The towel he’d been using to dry his hair, stilling. He looked to Roy who only shrugged. 

“What was that, doll?” He asked. 

Not wanting to admit you were acting utterly shitty, you rolled your eyes. “Nothing,” you muttered.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing with that bratty attitude,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. He was giving you a chance—one last opportunity to check yourself and back down. But by now pride kept you from doing that and apologizing. 

You huffed, “I swear to God, you two are so annoying sometimes!”

The words were out before you could stop them—and you regretted them the second they hit the air. Especially, when you saw Jason’s eyes darken.

The towel slid from his shoulders, forgotten as he calmly began walking towards you. He tilted his head. “You sure you wanna keep talking like that, sweetheart?”

You blinked, your confidence faltering. “I—I… nothing,” you muttered, huffing as you narrowed your eyes. But the closer he came, the more your resolve crumbled.

“Look, I just had a long day—” you started to ramble, backing up instinctively, your voice losing its edge.

Your eyes darted toward Roy, hoping for a lifeline. But he only leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching with a smirk that told you he wasn’t going to lift a finger. He was enjoying the show. You were on your own.

“—I’m just tired,” you finished weakly, the words barely above a whisper as your back hit the wall.

“Mm.” Jason made a quiet sound of consideration. “Funny how tired always turns into mouthy with you.”

He was right in front of you now, closing the space with slow, unhurried steps and a confidence that made your breath catch. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, dragging lightly across your bottom lip. The touch deceptively gentle. 

You didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe.

Jason’s eyes never left yours. “I think we need to give that little mouth something to occupy itself with,” he murmured. Then he glanced over his shoulder towards Roy, who had moved to the couch for a better view. “Don’t you agree, Roy?”

His thumb slipped into your mouth and you automatically sucked. 

“No more snapping,” he warned softly. “Unless you want us to really give you something to whine about.”

He pulled away abruptly before dragging you forward, guiding you until you were standing in front of Roy, who looked up at you with lazy interest, his arms spread comfortably along the back of the couch.

“How about you give him a kiss,” Jason said quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You were rude. Fix it.”

Your mouth opened, a protest forming—but it died in your throat when you looked at Roy again. He was watching you with that half-lidded gaze, equal parts amused and expectant.

A small pout curled your lips at the look he gave you. You fought the urge to huff as you stepped between his legs, only to gasp when Roy’s hands shot out and yanked you down onto his lap, your thighs straddling his hips with practiced ease.

“That’s better, sweetheart,” he drawled, grinning up at you. “Now weren’t we about to kiss and make up?”

You glared, refusing to let him see the way your heartbeat stuttered. In a final act of defiance, you leaned in and pressed the barest kiss to his lips—quick, dismissive.

“There,” you growled, turning your head toward Jason with narrowed eyes. “I did it.”

Jason snorted. “That wasn’t even close to sincere,” he said, crossing his arms. “Unless you want me to spend the entire night turning that pretty ass red, why don’t you try again?”

“C’mon, baby,” Roy drawled, grinning up at you. “You know you want to make it up to me.”

Jason’s voice dropped again, quiet and firm behind you when you hesitated. “Now.”

You hesitated for half a second, your pride clinging stubbornly to the remnants of your earlier mood—but it didn’t last. You leaned down and kissed Roy, intending for it to be quick, to maintain some illusion of control. But the moment he responded, deepening the kiss and easily taking control, your resolve crumbled.

You all but melted into him.

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his shoulders as your body shifted instinctively—grinding down against the hard bulge pressing against his jeans. You hadn’t even meant to, hadn’t even realized how that you were doing it until you’d started chasing the warmth blooming low in your belly.

Roy groaned against your mouth, hands sliding up the back of your thighs, gripping you hard enough to leave a mark. His lips were growing more insistent as the hunger between you two grew.

Your fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, eager now. Nails gently traced the lines of his abs, teasing, light enough to make him shiver beneath you. He broke the kiss with a shaky breath, eyes glazed and lips parted as you pulled his shirt over his head.

God, he was unfair, with all those stupid golden muscles. And Jason—Jason was no better. Both of them were built like Greek gods. You glanced over your shoulder, to find that Jason was still watching you. Arms crossed, eyes dark with hunger. And when your eyes locked with his, you could practically see every lustful thought he was having and you didn’t have time to think before he moved.

He strode toward you in way that always made your heart race, one hand reached out to curl around your throat firmly. Your lashes fluttered at the touch before completely closing in bliss as his lips crashed into yours. A whimper fell past your mouth when his teeth bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to sting, the only thing keeping you upright was the grip on your throat.

Your lower half never stopped moving, instinctively grinding against Roy again, drawn helplessly toward the pleasure building fast and hot in your core. He groaned beneath you, his grip tightening on your hips—

Just as you neared your peak, both of them stopped.

Jason’s hand around your throat flexed, holding you still, and Roy’s hands locked you in place, freezing your hips before you could move another inch and denying you the friction you so desperately needed. 

You let out a loud, frustrated whine—your voice raw with desperation.

Jason chuckled darkly, eyes glittering as he and Roy shared an amused glance. “Did our little doll think she’d get to cum that easily?” 

“Sweet little dumb slut,” Roy sighed, voice full of faux sympathy, his hand brushing up your spine. “Only good girls get to cum.”

Jason hummed in agreement as he pulled away. “And you still haven’t apologized properly.”

Panic and frustration twisted together inside you. You scrambled off of Roy’s lap, reaching out to grab Jason’s arm with both hands, clinging as if you could anchor yourself to him. “I’m sorry, Jay,” you breathed, desperate, eyes wide as you looked up at him.

But he only raised a brow, expression unforgiving and far too entertained.

“Oh, no no no, doll,” he crooned, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “You wanna cum? You need to earn it. You’re going to make sure Roy gets the apology he deserves. And if I think, even for a second, that it’s not sincere enough? I’ll leave you messy and aching with no relief until you learned your lesson.”

A small, broken whimper left you as you turned to look at Roy—who was still lounging back, shirtless and smirking like the cat who caught the canary.

“You really did hurt my feelings, sweetheart,” he said with a mock pout, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “And after I was just trying to greet my girlfriend—like the good boyfriend that I am.”

The brattiness burned at the back of your throat—you could feel it, the sarcastic little quip forming like second nature. But one glance back at Jason, still standing behind you with his arms crossed and that unreadable look on his face, and you swallowed it down.

Roy liked when you got bratty. Jason liked it too, but for different reasons—reasons that usually left you crying into the sheets with shaking thighs and a bright red ass.

Jason’s voice was smooth, commanding. “Well, doll?” he asked. “What are you waiting for?”

His hand came down gently to the top of your head, guiding you down. “On your knees.”

You obeyed, slowly sinking to the floor in front of Roy, every nerve in your body humming with tension. Your hands automatically reached for the buckle of his belt, shakily opening it before unzipping him and pulling him out. The tip was an angry red and leaking and you could practically feel your mouth watering as you licked your lips in anticipation.

Roy let out a low laugh as he noticed, his tone dripping with amusement. “Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek, his voice a teasing drawl. “all eager for my cock.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t look away—not when he was watching you so intently, not with Jason standing behind you, close enough that you could feel his heat. You shifted slightly, thighs pressing together instinctively, but Jason’s firm hand on your shoulder stilled the motion.

“Remember what I said,” he murmured, low in your ear. “You don’t get relief until you apologize.”

You swallowed hard and nodded, wrapping your hand around Roy’s length with delicate care, giving him a slow stroke as you leaned in. The tip brushed your lips, and you pressed a soft kiss to it. and another, trailing them down his shaft and back up.

Roy’s breath caught. “Mm, that’s a start,” he muttered, fingers brushing your hair back to watch more closely.

Jason crouched beside you. His fingers reaching for the hem of your shirt, helping you out of it before expertly unclasping your bra and doing the. The cool air kissed your skin, causing your nipples to harden as Jason dropped the fabric to the floor. His hand then reached down to grip your jaw, tilting your head just enough to make your eyes meet his.

“Make it sincere,” he said, in soft warningly. “Or it doesn’t count.”

You nodded, letting him guide you back to Roy’s weeping cock, lips parting as you took him into your mouth. Roy let out a deep groan at the way your mouth steadily bobbed up and down, sucking and licking his cock exactly the way that he liked with Jason’s fingers in your hair controlling the pace.

His other hand came down to tweak your nipple, pinching sharply—making you pull away from Roy with a small cry, only for Jason to shove your head back down.

“Keep sucking, doll,” Jason ordered as he shifted behind you, working your shorts and panties down.

He groaned when he caught sight of how soaked they were. “So ready for us, doll.”

A sharp smack echoed through the apartment as his hand came down hard on your ass. You yelped, body jolting from the sting on your cheek—but you knew better to stop and pull away again.

Roy let out a groan of his own as Jason tossed your wet panties to him. “You love this, don’t you, sweetheart?” he said, voice low and full of heat. “You love being used by us.”

His hand came down beside Jason’s to stroke your cheek, the contrast between Jason’s firm grip and Roy’s gentle caress sending you reeling.

Finally, Jason yanked your head back by your hair, forcing your eyes to meet his, making sure he had your full attention. “Alright doll, remember your safe word?” 

You nodded quickly, breath catching as you rasped it out. 

He nodded in approval, removing his towel to reveal his own hard cock, slightly thicker than Roy’s longer one. “Good. Two taps to slow down. Three to stop completely.”

Then he was forcing your head back toward Roy’s cock, holding you just above the glistening tip as he lined up behind you. In one smooth thrust, he entered you—just as he pushed your head down to take Roy back into your mouth. Jason timed your movements to his rhythm; when he pulled out, he pulled you up, only to thrust back in and force you back down, ensuring you were filled by both of them.

“Big breath,” was Jason’s only warning before he slammed into you and forced you to take the entire length of Roy’s cock.

Roy let out a string of curses, nearly arching off the couch. “Fuck, baby, I can feel that throat squeezing my cock,” he groaned.

You choked, eyes watering as Jason kept holding you down, his cock buried deep inside you. “Hold it… hold it…” Jason warned, though his own breath came out strained as he felt your pussy fluttering around him, as you struggled to obey.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jason pulled your head back and pulled out, and you let out a rasping gasp—a trail of saliva connecting from your lips to Roy’s cock. 

“What do we say?” Jason crooned,

“I’m sorry!” you gasped, the words tumbling out in a desperate breath, as you still struggled to catch your breath.

Jason arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. “I don’t know if that felt sincere enough,” he murmured, glancing over at Roy. “What do you think?”

Roy’s smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned back, content to keep using her mouth. “I think she can do better.”

Before you even had a chance to protest, Jason was shoving you back down onto Roy’s cock, using your mouth like a fleshlight to work him over before holding you there once again. Your nose pressed against his pelvis, his length buried deep in your throat.

You moaned when Jason thrust back into you, his cock hitting all the right spots. His free hand snaked around to your front, fingers gathering your wetness before sliding over your clit in small, rough circles. The vibrations of your moans made Roy groan brokenly.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gasped, one hand gripping the couch as he gestured for Jason to pull you back—just enough for the tip to rest on your tongue. “I’m gonna cum in that pretty mouth. You gonna swallow it all for me? Show me how sorry you are, yeah?”

You nodded desperately.

“Then get to work.”

You didn’t hesitate. You went right back down, mouth working hungrily, doing everything you could to please him.

Both Roy and Jason groaned at the sight. Jason’s thrusts grew rougher, harder, and his fingers on your clit moved faster. You were close—so close—and Jason knew it.

“You don’t get to cum until he does,” he warned.

You nearly whined but swallowed the sound before it escaped, doubling your efforts to make Roy fall apart first. His breathing grew ragged, head tipping back against the couch as his hands tightened in your hair.

“Shit—just like that,” he groaned, voice low and unraveling. “Don’t stop, sweetheart.”

His thighs tensed beneath you, muscles straining as he fought to hold on, but your mouth was relentless, your tongue and lips working him desperate to get him to break before Jason got you too. His eyes fluttered shut, jaw clenching.

Then he broke.

A sharp gasp escaped him, hips stuttering as he came undone, fingers threading tighter in your hair as his voice cracked with a rough, “Fuck—baby, yes.”

You held him through it, never pulling away, your mouth obedient and soft as you swallowed everything he gave you, just like he asked. Only when he finally slumped back into the couch, chest heaving and hand loosening, did Jason speak again behind you.

“That’s more like it,” Jason murmured, his breath warm against your back. “Now let’s see if you’ve actually earned your reward.”

In one swift motion, he pulled you up, guiding your body forward until you were bent over Roy, who immediately latched onto your tit. Jason shoved back into you roughly, his pace brutal and relentless. Each thrust sent jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, pushing you closer to the edge with every movement.

Now that your mouth wasn’t occupied, there was nothing to muffle the sounds pouring from your lips—raw, breathless cries of pleasure that filled the room. Your eyes rolled back, body trembling as Jason’s hand tightened around your throat.

“What do you think? Was she a good enough girl with that apology?” Jason grunted, glancing down at Roy.

Roy moaned in approval, pulling away with a noisy suck, lips trailing wet across your skin. “Mmm, yeah… I’d say so.”

“I’m not so sure..” Jason groaned.

“Please, I’m sorry!” you cried, voice cracking as you squirmed beneath them. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“For?” Jason prompted, tone still sharp, still testing.

“Being a brat… and mean to Roy—and you. Please, please, please,” you babbled, nearly sobbing now, the words tumbling over each other in a desperate plea for mercy, for release, for something.

“I think she’s learned her lesson,” Roy replied lazily, watching your blissed-out face with a satisfied smirk. “Look at her.”

“You want to cum, doll?” Jason asked, his voice low and teasing, though he too was at the edge of his control. 

You nodded rapidly, the desperation etched across your face. Words tumbled from your lips in a breathless rush, half-formed pleas and broken whimpers, barely coherent, barely registering what he asked.

Roy’s fingers barely brushed your clit, and you came undone with a loud, broken cry. Jason’s grip on your throat loosened, allowing you to collapse against Roy’s chest. He caught your trembling body easily, crooning soft words of encouragement in your ear as his fingers threaded gently through your sweaty hair.

Jason wasn’t far behind. With a low, strained groan, he followed you over the edge a second later, his hands gripping your hips as he buried himself one last time.

For a long moment, no one moved. The apartment was filled only with the sound of your heavy breathing as the three of you slowly came down from the high. Your body was still trembling, weightless and spent.

Then Jason moved, careful and slow as he pulled out. A quiet hiss slipped from his lips at the loss of warmth,

Meanwhile, Roy gathered your boneless body into his arms, cradling your smaller frame effortlessly as he rose to his feet.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmured against your hair, his voice warm and soothing.

You hummed sleepily, eyes barely open. “I really am sorry,” you whispered, words soft and sincere.

Jason leaned down, brushing a kiss to your forehead with a smirk still tugging at his lips. “We know, doll,” he said, tone laced with affection and amusement. “But if you ever forget… we don’t mind teaching you another lesson.”

[smokeygrayrabbits]

Nightwing being seen as the silly happy sibling of the bats is so funny to me. bro is holding on by a thread at any given time and has insane murder baby training but just hides it with his little :3 puppy face. bro really was out there bullying batman into letting him beat people up as a kid. Jason, wally, and Roy are some of the only ones who Know™ about the insanity but nobody believes them

[gay-dorito-dust]

Jason who’d make sure you ate and drink throughout the day but does it in the most nonchalant way, as though he had been doing it for ages, whether it’d be a greasy bag of junk food or something he made from scratch, all he’s going to leave you is with the stern command of ‘eat.’

He’s making sure you’re not skipping any important meals, and if you were then he was more likely to scold you while making you something to eat and drink. He’s confusing but he’s caring at the same time and had a unique way of showing it as you’d find from Roy.

‘He just wants you to be okay, he’s just rough with how he shows it but he means well.’ He’d say to you and from then on you’d watch as Jason’s eyes went from stern to concerned and how his posture completely changed into one that was eager to help you before it was too late, almost as though he was on a timer.

Even his stiff pats on your shoulder were oddly comforting and sweet coming from a man who didn’t think he was that hopeful and bright young man anymore, but he was, he very much was but he was just drastically altered to adapt to his new life.

Dick who will sit by you in silence when you least expect it, almost as though he knew you’d needed some comfort but not the talking aspect of it.

He’d stay close enough where you could feel his warmth, but keep a distance so you didn’t feel as though you were being suffocated by his presence.

He’s more then willing to listen to you speak about what you’ve been finding hard as of late and let you air out all your frustrations, not once offer any advice unless you asked for it and when you do it’s the most meaningful piece of advice you’ve ever been given. He’s been though a lot himself so he’s more then equipped to help you and would even offer you to a friendly spar to get the access aggression out.

Damian who’d secretly have a sketchbook dedicated to you that is filled to the brim with you doing the most mundane things possible, but he highlights you in such a way that it almost seemed as though he was romanticising your actions.

He never shows you it, not until you voice how you didn’t feel valued or loved or appreciated in the slightest and suddenly he’s expecting the most normal thing in his entire life; embarrassment incase you’d find him weird for having so many sketches of you.

He smiles when you smile and finds himself wanting to be more open with his emotions but only if it’s with you.

Bruce who’d always tends to your every injury himself, even if it was a tiny paper cut he’s treating it as though your finger was hanging on by a thread.

He’s had his fair share of injuries but they’re often more severe then the ones you get, but he treats them with the same level of seriousness, that you couldn’t help but smile at his furrowed brows as he tended to the small bruise on your upper arm.

He’s tender and calloused hands worked swiftly to preach you up and he would even give your plastered wound a healing kiss, claiming it would help speed up the healing process. He was sweet and doting with you and your minor injuries that he’s covering the corners of every countertop and table within your vicinity, and or helping you up from under things incase you’d hit your head.

[fckbatmanhiskidsareminenow]

batfamily as conversations i’ve had with my male coworkers part i forgot

steph: i’ve had this headache for days now it’s pissing me off

damian: maybe you need a lobotomy

steph: ur so right

duke: you could just get the strongest man in the world

tim: yeah me

babs:

duke:

jason:

tim: anyways

roy: was that your dad?

jason: yeah..? why

kori: his beard is luscious

jason: omg

roy hiding his beard: i feel like i need to hide my face

kori: you?? what about me??

jason: he’s growing it out purposefully

roy: he looks majestic like a wise wizard

cass goes to answer the phone

bruce: don’t answer the phone

cass: why is it because i have bad customer service?

bruce: yes.

cass: aw fuck 😬

jason: *uses tape dispenser*

damian: why is it so loud

jason: it’s ancient

damian: very old

jason: it’s as old as alfred

damian: omg

babs: dick why do you have spiderweb on ur pants

dick: idk *removes web and places it on jason*

jason: ew no! wait this isn’t spider web it’s thread

babs: no it’s not look at his pants it’s got all web stuff on it

jason: i’m not looking at another mans ass

babs: it’s not his ass it’s his hip

jason: and what’s beside that?

steph: did one of you piss in the girls bathroom?

jason and duke: what??

tim: why?

steph: cus the toilet seat was up

tim: oh yeah my bad

steph: you had me gaslighting myself like did i leave the seat up??

tim: yeah it was you

[killerplink]

TROUBLE

Pairing: Roy Harper x Female Reader

Plot: You'd been a brat all evening because of course you had. That always happens when you have one too many drinks, and tonight? Tonight the wine was really fucking good.

A/N: okay first of all... I KNOW. I KNOW THIS TOOK FOREVER 😭 I'm sorry besties, work went from "yay I love my job" to "oh" real fucking fast and I've been coming home with just enough energy to doomscroll TikTok and blink at the wall until bedtime 😭 this is the first out of three I'm planning on writing (with the guys calling reader a slut for the first time) BUT Roy was up first bc I don't have enough fics with him and I love him so much it's disgusting. Dick's next (bc hello?? neglected pretty boy hours) and then our fave menace Jason 🙂‍↕️ also yes... it's long. I know it. I felt it. I lived it. but I needed the ending like I needed air after this week so I stretched

👉🏻👈🏻 thank you for your patience and for still being here ily 😭🫶🏻

Roy had promised you a date night. No distractions, no missions, no one needing saving, just the two of you, dressed to the nines and making the most of a rare night off. And oh, he delivered.

You're in this little dress that makes you feel like a walking sin—short, silky, low cut, the kind that makes heads turn the second you walk in. One wrong move and it might ride all the way up your thighs, but Roy hadn't been able to stop staring since you stepped out of the bedroom, lips parted like he was already halfway to losing his mind.

You'd been on your best behavior at first, giggling through appetizers, holding hands across the table, sneaking kisses between glasses of wine. But somewhere around glass number... three? Four? Things started to shift.

The man's got his hair slicked back tonight, wearing that deep green button down you love—tight at his arms, open at the neck, sleeves rolled up just enough to flash the curve of his forearms and the edge of his watch. And those black slacks? Fitted to hell, of course, because he knows exactly what he's doing.

Your foot found his under the table. Your fingers started trailing up his thigh. You pressed your chest a little closer when you leaned in to whisper something stupid in his ear. And then you got bold.

Now, sitting pretty with your legs crossed and your face flushed from the wine, your hand is tucked between the crisp white tablecloth and Roy's lap. Your fingertips drag slow, deliberate strokes over the bulge growing behind his zipper, and his thigh tenses beneath your palm.

He's been grabbing your wrist all night, whispering sharp little warnings through clenched teeth like, "Cut it out, baby" or "You tryna get us kicked out?"

But it's never lasted. You keep going, poking the bear, giggling like you don't know any better. This time, when you rub your palm in a teasing little circle right over the tip of his cock, you feel his whole body shift. His jaw clenches, the vein in his neck jumps, his fingers wrap tight around your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make you still.

He leans in, voice low and warm and dangerous in your ear. "You'd better behave, pretty thing."

You grin, drunk and delighted, and turn your head just enough that your lips brush his cheek. Your voice is syrupy sweet, full of mischief, "Or what, baby?"

You hear the sharp breath he pulls through his nose, feel the twitch of his cock under your palm. His grip tightens, just slightly.

"You're—fuckin' shit. I'll show you what, trouble. Just wait until we get home."

And fuck, the way he says it? That low growl threading through his words, like he's barely holding himself together? It fucking thrills you.

You flash him a grin. A little smug. A little drunk. A little too confident for someone who's about to get their back blown out for being a menace. He doesn't smile back, just watches you like he's already picturing exactly how he's going to make you pay for it, and you know that look. But God, you're in for it.

Roy lets go of your wrist with a sharp sigh and leans back just slightly, like he needs to create some space between you and his rapidly dwindling self control. You flash him an exaggeratedly sweet smile, batting your lashes as you reach for your wine glass again because you are not done being a problem.

He watches you the whole time. Narrowed eyes, that tense set to his jaw. You drain what's left of your glass, clearly way too pleased with yourself, and then you spill, just a little. A drip of deep red wine slips from the corner of your mouth and rolls down your chin, slow and glossy, heading straight for the neckline of your already too revealing dress.

"Oh shit," you giggle, swiping at your chin with your knuckles, but you're a little too slow, a little too clumsy.

Roy's already there. He doesn't say anything, just lifts his hand and brushes his thumb over your skin, right below your lip. Gentle, controlled. It's nothing, really, just a wipe. A quick, efficient swipe to keep the wine from staining the expensive dress he definitely plans to peel off of you later.

But then? Oh, then you lean in and wrap your lips around his thumb. Just like that. Soft and sweet, like you're trying to make a fucking point. Your eyes locked on his, all glassy and innocent like you have no idea what you're doing, like you're just being polite. Except you're definitely not being polite.

Roy freezes. His whole body goes still. His eyes flick down to your mouth and he just stares for a second, like he can't quite believe you're doing this here. In public. After all his warnings, after all his threats.

You swirl your tongue a little, just to twist the knife, then you let his thumb go with a soft little pop and smile again, drunk, smug, and glowing with mischief.

He groans, quiet and low, like it's been ripped out of him, finishes his water and sits back so fast his chair creaks. One hand drags down his face, the other gestures sharply for the waiter.

"Check, please."

You let out a tiny hiccup of laughter, tipsy and proud of yourself as you press into his side, clinging to his arm like you haven't just been acting like a walking, purring little sex fantasy in the middle of this overpriced restaurant. He's solid under your hands—warm, tense, and radiating the kind of heat that promises hell once you're alone.

He's trying to pay the bill like a normal person, flipping his card out and adding the tip with the kind of tight, rushed motions that make it painfully obvious he's holding back from grabbing you and bending you over the damn table.

Meanwhile, you're a mess. A happy, drunk, soaked little mess. Your panties? Fucking ruined. You're so wet it's embarrassing, heat pulsing between your thighs with every little glance he throws your way, every clench of his jaw, every muttered curse under his breath as he signs the bill.

Truth be told, you've been like this since glass number two. He looked too good, smelled too good, kept putting his hand on your thigh, and your mind has been in the gutter ever since. You've been picturing everything: him tugging you into his lap, bending you over the hood of the car, manhandling you against the bedroom door with your dress shoved up around your waist. It's all just filth. Filth and more filth, and you haven't even touched him properly yet.

The second the waiter walks away, Roy turns to you, jaw clenched tight. "Car. Now."

Not a question. Not a request. You trip. Twice. Once on the sidewalk and again on the edge of the curb, but Roy's right there both times, steady hands catching your waist with practiced ease.

"Careful, pretty thing," he murmurs, voice still edged with heat but softened by the way you cling to him like your bones don't work anymore.

You giggle and melt into his side, nuzzling your cheek against his arm like some drunk, needy little cat. Your arms wrap around his bicep, your heels clacking as you lean all your weight into him, humming contentedly like you haven't just spent the last hour groping him under a white linen tablecloth.

And for a second, just one second, he forgets why he was annoyed with you. You're warm, tipsy, glowing from the wine and affection, and he's always had a soft spot for the way you get like this. Clingy. Cute. All curled into him like you belong there. Which you do.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head as he reaches for the car keys, fumbling slightly while you rock on your heels behind him. But the second he unlocks the car door, you make your next move. One arm snakes around his waist from behind. The other? Right back on his dick.

Your hand cups him through his slacks like you own him, like it's your damn toy to play with, rubbing slow little circles right over the tip until you feel him twitch, straining against the fabric all over again. And the worst part? You're still doing it with that innocent little hum in your throat like this is just your natural resting position.

He sighs. Half frustrated, half turned the fuck on, eyes closing for a second as his head drops forward.

"You're so lucky you're cute, trouble."

Then he turns and kisses your forehead—soft, gentle, the kind of kiss that makes you feel sweet and adored even as you make his life hell—before turning you around to the passenger side.

He helps you into the car with a guiding hand, like you're a drunk doll he has to babysit, and leans over to fasten your seatbelt for you. Except you don't make it easy.

Your arms wrap around his neck before he can pull away. Your lips are on his skin—soft, wet kisses along his jaw, your tongue teasing the shell of his ear as you squirm in your seat like you're possessed.

"Baaaby," you whine, licking at his throat, "want you."

He groans under his breath, the belt clicking into place with a snap just as his hand comes up to cup your cheek. He tilts your face up and kisses you, just once, hot and impatient.

"Just a bit more," he mutters against your lips. "We're almost home, yeah?"

You pout. Full, glossy lips pulling into the kind of expression that should be illegal with how wrecked you already look. Your cheeks are flushed, your thighs spread slightly, and when you grab his hand and guide it between your legs, he doesn't resist. Your panties are soaked.

He groans, this time louder, because fuck, he knew you were worked up. He could smell it on you the second you climbed into the car. But this? This is insane. You're soaked through the lace, sticky and hot and absolutely throbbing for him.

"But I want you now, baby," you murmur, hips grinding forward into his palm. "Look—feel how wet I am."

Yeah, he's feeling it, alright. His fingers press slow, lazy circles over the damp fabric like he wants to feel how far he can push you before you break. You gasp. Shudder. Your thighs twitch. But he just watches you with those smug green eyes like he's trying already a thousand miles ahead of you.

He pulls his hand away and smirks as your breath catches in protest, then he shuts the door without another word, rounding the car like nothing just happened.

You cling to his arm the second he slides into the driver's seat, like some pathetic little koala who can't bear to be more than two inches from his body. Your cheek rests against his bicep, lips pushed out in a ridiculous pout, and Roy just exhales slowly, one hand gripping the wheel as he starts the car.

If he's being honest, you'd be adorable if you weren't such a needy mess right now. Your hair is all mussed from leaning on him, your lipstick is half gone, smudged from kissing his jaw, and your pupils are blown wide, drunk on red wine and dirty thoughts. He can practically feel the heat rolling off you, warm and needy, like your whole body is just buzzing for him.

He doesn't say anything, just pulls out of the parking lot and heads for the familiar way home, trying to ignore the huff you let out when he doesn't immediately pull over and fuck you in the backseat like some goddamn animal.

He nearly laughs. Nearly. But he doesn't. Because he has no fucking idea what you'll try next if he pushes you even one inch further.

You're already bratting harder than he's ever seen, and the moment he lets his guard down, he knows you'll be leaning over the console with your dress hiked up to your hips and that sweet, filthy mouth wrapped around his dick like it's your goddamn job.

Five minutes into the drive, the rain starts, light at first. Just a soft drizzle against the windshield, but then it thickens, heavy drops splattering the glass in a steady rhythm.

He clicks the wipers on and groans under his breath. "Great. Half hour drive just turned into an hour."

You whine. Whine. Soft and pathetic like you're physically in pain over it. He doesn't even have to look at you to feel it—the pout, the crossed arms, the little dramatic wiggle of your thighs like you're trying to grind down on nothing.

"I can't wait that long, Roy," you moan. "I want you now."

He presses his lips together and stares at the road like it personally offended him.

"Jesus Christ, trouble," he mutters. "I'll fuck you once we're home. Just behave."

You huff. Loudly. Arms crossing over your chest like a brat with a wet pussy, and he knows you're doing that on purpose. Pressing your tits together, letting that little lace bra strain against your dress so he can see the outline through the fabric. Being a menace just to watch him suffer. And he is suffering.

Because truthfully? He hates saying no to you. From the very beginning, he's been a yes man when it comes to you. Yes to late night pancakes. Yes to you dragging him shopping. Yes to your sleepy kisses and your insatiable need for attention, even when he's halfway through a mission report and you're climbing into his lap in nothing but one of his shirts.

And yeah, maybe you're a little spoiled now. Maybe that's his fault, but he's never minded. Not really. Because you're his, and he loves giving you what you want.

But there are lines he won't cross. Not because he's some prude, but because fucking you means something. When he's got you under him, he wants to take his time. Wants to make you feel it, make you remember it.

He wants to fuck you dumb and then hold you after, letting you snuggle into his chest, all soft and fucked out and glowing. He wants to worship you. And he can't do that on a rainy stretch of road with your panties shoved to the side and the gearshift in the way. So yeah, no, he's not gonna fuck you on the drive home.

Or at least, that's what he thinks. Because you? Oh, you're not done. And this poor man's resolve? It's hanging by a fucking thread. He pulls up to a red light with a quiet sigh, his hand flexing around the wheel, and that's your cue, like fucking clockwork. You lean over the console again, all warm and shameless, cheek pressed to his arm, those wide, glossy eyes peeking up at him with the fakest innocence he's ever fucking seen. You blink at him real slow, lashes fluttering like you're sweet, like you're just cuddling him for warmth.

But your hand? Yeah, it's on his dick again. Of course it is.

You squeeze him gently through his slacks, fingers pressing into the thick, twitching length you've been teasing for the past two hours, and Roy hisses between his teeth. His hand drops to your thigh, gripping you hard enough to make you squirm, his fingers digging in just enough to sting.

"Baby. Stop that," he says, voice rough, but he doesn't push your hand away.

And you? You know exactly what that means. That quiet, desperate little hitch in his breath when you stroke him again? Yeah, you've got him. You've been dancing on the edge all night and now you've got one foot planted on the gas. So you lick your lips, just to be a menace, just to see that muscle tick in his jaw.

"C'mon, Roy," you murmur, lips brushing against his ear. "I'm so fucking wet. I need your dick, please."

He closes his eyes like he's trying to find inner peace while your hand is wrapped around his cock in public. He even pinches the bridge of his nose.

"We can't fuck here," he grits out. "We're in the middle of a red light."

"No," you say sweetly, stroking him again, "but we can fuck there."

You point. Supermarket parking lot. Mostly empty. A few empty vans scattered here and there, the kind of place no one's paying attention to anyone else. Discreet. Quiet. Perfect.

You see the flicker of temptation in his eyes, the way his fingers tense, the way he thinks about it, but then he shakes his head.

"I don't wanna fuck you in the car, pretty thing," he says softly, fingers rubbing small circles into your thigh like he's trying to soothe himself more than you.

And you scoff. "Why not? I literally want you to."

He opens his mouth, maybe to say it's about respect, or that he doesn't do this kind of thing, or that it's not romantic enough, but then you stroke his cock again, slow and steady, right over the hard line in his pants.

And just like that, he's fucking silent.

So you lean in closer, breath hot against his neck, and whisper, "I know you love fucking me at home. I get it. I love it too. But I can't wait that long, baby. My pussy is dripping all over your goddamn seat."

That's it. That's the final fucking straw. He doesn't say a word, just flicks the turn signal on and heads toward the parking lot.

You squeal, practically bouncing in your seat like a bratty little gremlin who just got her way, but if you knew what was coming? You wouldn't be smiling. Not like that. Because Roy Harper? He's done playing nice. You wanted this? You're gonna get it.

He pulls into the lot without a word, eyes dark, jaw tight, and swings the car right into the far corner, wedging it neatly between two parked vans. Out of sight, out of mind. The second he shifts into park, you can feel the shift in him. He unclicks his seatbelt with one hand, and the other?

Right under your chin, tilting your face to him—not aggressively, but just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough that you feel the dominance radiating off him now that he's fully done pretending to be calm.

"You wanna be a little slut in my car?" he asks, voice low, rasped, like the words burn on his tongue.

And it stuns you because Roy has never talked to you like that. He teases, sure—calls you trouble, baby, pretty thing—but this? This is different.

Your eyes go wide, lips part, breath catches.

And your pussy? Oh, your pussy fucking pounds. Throbbing behind sticky lace, so wet it's a miracle he doesn't hear it when you shift in your seat.

Your mind is racing—did he really just say that?—but your body is already on board, already aching.

You gasp, soft and breathy, not in shock but in... something else. Something dark and hot and deep in your belly. And Roy—poor, sweet Roy—thinks for half a second that he's gone too far, that he fucked it up.

His brows twitch together, his mouth opens, and he stammers, "I—Shit, baby. I didn't mean—"

But you cut him off with a shaky murmur, soft and needy. "Y-yeah."

And he fucking freezes. Eyes searching your face like he didn't just hear that right, like maybe the rain is playing tricks on him.

"Yeah?" he echoes. Rougher, like gravel dragged across velvet.

His thumb brushes your lower lip. Just a gentle sweep, slow, like he's trying to test how far he can push. And you nod. A little too fast. A little too eager.

"Yeah," you breathe, slower this time, like your whole body is melting for him.

"Fine," he growls. "Then you're gonna take it like one, huh?"

You nod again, whimpering under your breath as heat floods your skin, and then he pounces. His lips crash against yours, greedy and hot and hungry, all teeth and tongue and desperation, the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl in your heels.

And his other hand? Oh, his other hand slides between your legs, pushing that little dress up with no patience whatsoever until his fingers find your panties, lace clinging to your folds like a second skin.

He groans into your mouth the moment he feels it. "Fuck... you meant it, didn't you?” he rasps, lips brushing yours as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles through the sticky fabric. "This soaked for me? That wine didn't do shit. You've been a mess all night."

You moan—loud, shameless—grinding into his palm as your fingers clutch at his jacket, needy and twitching.

"Y-yeah, Roy... fuck—please, I need it..."

"Yeah," he growls, dragging the lace to the side just enough to feel the slick mess between your thighs. "You're gonna get it, trouble. Gonna fuck you just like the little slut you wanna be."

And he means it. Because you wanted the mouth, you asked for the edge, and Roy's about to make sure you feel it. You don't even get the chance to brace yourself,

because the moment your panties are tugged aside and he feels your pussy—hot, wet, dripping all over his fingers—Roy groans into your mouth like he's been holding it in for hours.

"God, baby... this pussy," he mutters against your lips, thumb sweeping over your clit again. "So fuckin' wet for me."

Your head falls forward against his shoulder as his thumb circles your clit, lazy but firm, and the heat builds fast. You clutch at his arm, nails digging in through his jacket, and he just chuckles under his breath because you're already starting to tremble and he hasn't even slipped a finger inside yet. Then his lips find yours again.

It's hot and messy, his tongue pushing past your lips with a moan that rumbles deep in his chest, one hand cradling your jaw while the other works between your thighs just like he's done this a thousand times. The kiss is desperate—teeth clashing, lips slick, gasps shared between hungry mouths—and your hips roll without permission, grinding against his hand like you need it to breathe.

Then he breaks the kiss, panting, eyes locked on your face as he finally pushes two fingers inside your needy cunt, and you shudder. You're whimpering, tight walls clenching around him as he groans again, dragging his fingers out slow before sliding back in just as deep, curling them the way he knows makes your back arch every time.

"There she is," he says low, thumb pressing against your clit again, just right. "That's what you needed, huh? Had to act like a brat all night just to get my fingers in your pussy."

You nod, barely able to breathe, much less form a sentence. Every stroke of his fingers hits perfect, and his thumb is working that swollen clit like a damn menace, tight circles that make your thighs twitch and your cunt clench.

"Gonna cum all over my fuckin' hand, aren't you? Make a mess all over the damn seat—shit, baby—listen to you."

And you do listen. You hear it, every slick drag of his fingers, every breathy whine tumbling from your mouth, every low groan he lets out when your pussy clenches tight.

"Tight little pussy's fuckin' chokin' my fingers," he groans. "You needed this bad, huh? Needed to be full. Needed to be used."

You're gasping, hands fisted in his jacket, thighs shaking, and he knows. He feels it. Your pussy is fluttering around his fingers, your clit pulsing under his thumb, and you're right on the edge, desperate and dripping and needing to fall.

"Go on, baby," he whispers, voice dark and sweet and so mean. "Be a good little slut and cum for me."

The rain is a steady drumbeat against the windshield, but all Roy can hear is you. Your gasps, your whines, the wet, obscene sounds of your greedy cunt sucking on his fingers like it's starving for more.

You're a mess in the passenger seat, hair falling in your face, dress bunched up at your waist, panties shoved to the side, legs spread and trembling as you fuck yourself on his fingers. And Roy? He can't stop staring. He's got two thick fingers buried inside you, knuckles deep and soaked to the damn wrist, and your pussy is clenching around them so tight he's half convinced it's trying to milk him dry.

"Fuckin' hell, baby," he mutters, brows furrowed as he curls his fingers and watches your hips twitch. "You're losing your damn mind, huh?"

And you are. Rocking into his hand like a bitch in heat, practically fucking yourself on his fingers with this broken, whiny rhythm that's got your thighs shaking and your voice high and needy. You're soaked, so wet he can hear every messy drag of his fingers inside you, and fuck if the slick heat around them doesn't make his cock throb painfully hard.

He hadn't expected you to love the filth, hadn't expected to see you like this. Hair wild, chest heaving, lips parted, drunk off his voice and his touch and the way he's talking to you like you're just some cockdrunk little toy in his car. But you are, and you're loving it.

"Look at you," he grits out, thumb circling your clit faster. "Fuckin' your needy little pussy on my fingers. Didn't think I'd ever call you a slut, but shit, baby."

And you do, you feel it. The way you're riding his hand, soaking his palm, whimpering every time he crooks his fingers just right and sends sparks up your spine. You're gasping, bucking, completely out of control, mouth falling open in a silent moan.

Roy's watching it all with wide eyes, heart pounding, like he's seeing a whole new side of you unfold right in front of him and fuck if it's not the hottest thing he's ever seen.

You're so close. Clit throbbing under his thumb, walls fluttering around his fingers, hips stuttering against his palm as the pressure builds fast, hot and tight and relentless. Your hands scramble over his jacket, desperate for something to hold onto, and he knows.

"You gonna cum for me, pretty thing?" he says, voice low and dark and way too soft for how mean he's being. "Go on. Fuckin' cum, baby. I wanna feel it."

And just like that, you snap. You cry out, thighs clamping around his wrist as you cum hard, cunt pulsing around his fingers with wet, messy spasms that make you tremble from head to toe. Your voice breaks, breath hitching in your throat, and you shake through it, hips rocking helplessly as the orgasm crashes through you like a wave.

Roy doesn't stop, not for a second. His fingers fuck you through every aftershock, curling deep while his thumb teases your throbbing clit until you're gasping, twitching, nearly sobbing from how intense it is. And when your arms give out and you slump against him, you drag shaky fingers into his hair, tugging him down into another kiss.

It's desperate, sloppy. Your lips on his, open and hungry, your tongue pushing past his lips with this filthy little moan as you suck on it, wet and messy and perfect. He groans and you just melt into him, grinding against his hand even though you're still pulsing, still riding the high.

Your body is still twitching, still shaking from the orgasm he just pulled out of you, but his fingers are still inside you, slick and slow, curling deep as his thumb comes right back to your swollen, throbbing clit, barely giving you a second to breathe before he starts rubbing you again.

"R-Roy—baby, no..." you gasp, your voice all broken and whiny, fingers gripping at his jacket like you don't know whether to push him away or drag him closer.

But your hips? Still rolling into his hand. Still grinding that desperate little cunt against his palm like your body doesn't give a shit what your mouth is saying. And Roy fucking notices, of course.

"No?" he echoes, voice low and hot against your lips as he kisses you again—messy, tongue and teeth and breathy little groans. "Thought you were gonna take it, brat."

Then he pinches your clit. Just a little. Just enough to make your thighs jump and your pussy clench tight around his fingers, your mouth falling open in a breathless gasp as you whimper right into the kiss.

"Oh fuck—Roy—"

"What was that?" he teases, pulling back just a little, eyes locked on your face. "You want somethin'?"

You nod quickly, still panting, still grinding on his soaked fingers like a goddamn animal.

"Want—need your dick," you murmur, eyes glassy and lips puffy as you look up at him all flushed and needy. "Please, baby."

And Roy? Smirks. Because fuck, you're so hot like this. A trembling little mess in his car, soaked, pussy still fluttering around his fingers from how hard you came, and begging for his dick.

"Yeah?" he mutters, finally easing off your clit, sliding his fingers from your cunt with this slick little pop. "Say please again, slut."

You whine, eyes fluttering, cheeks hot, and say it again. "Please..."

His cock jumps, and when he brings those wet, shiny fingers up to your mouth, you don't even hesitate. You open up instantly, tongue out, eyes locked on his like you're ready to worship every inch of him.

So he slides them in slow, two fingers pressing down on your tongue, smearing your own slick all over it and you moan as you close your lips around them and suck like he's feeding you the last drop of water on earth.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes, watching you work. "You're really my little slut, huh? Lickin' your own pussy off my fingers like you need it."

And you do. You're messy about it too, sucking hard, tongue swirling, eyes fluttering half closed as you moan around his fingers like it's his dick in your mouth, and Roy's watching the whole thing like he's about to lose his mind.

His cock? So fucking hard. Throbbing. His slacks are soaked through with precum at this point, leaking so much it's uncomfortable, and all he can think about now is shoving his dick into that hot, dripping pussy and fucking you until you cry.

"You keep suckin' like that," he mutters, voice rough as his eyes drop to your mouth, "I'm gonna cum before I even get inside you."

But you're not stopping. You're moaning around his fingers, eyes begging for more, pussy still fluttering between your legs like it knows what's coming next.

You let his fingers slip from your mouth with a slick, obscene little pop, your lips shiny with spit and your eyes all hazy as you blink up at him, dazed but so fucking hungry for more. And then you're kissing him again.

Fast, needy, nothing soft or slow about it. Just tongue and teeth and the sweetest, filthiest little moans pouring out of your mouth every time he presses deeper, every time his lips bruise yours with how badly he wants you.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging him closer like you're trying to climb into his lap without even moving. His hands? Everywhere. One sliding over your waist, the other tugging at the neckline of your dress—ruthless, honestly. He doesn't even try to be subtle about it, just yanks the straps of your dress and bra down with one rough pull until your tits bounce free into his palms.

"Fuck—look at you," he groans against your mouth, pulling back just enough to glance down at the way your chest rises and falls, nipples tight from the cold and the heat of his stare. "You know how crazy you make me?"

You just whimper, nodding as his thumbs brush over your nipples, slow circles at first, barely enough to relieve the ache, just enough to tease. He pinches them, rolls them between his fingers, making you squirm in your seat, moaning softly against his lips when he leans in and kisses you again, slower, more deliberate. Deep and messy, the kind of kiss that makes your thighs rub together.

But he's not the only one who can tease.

One of your hands slides down between you, right over the firm line of his abs, and you palm his cock through his pants, gently at first. But when he moans into your mouth, you moan right back, rolling your palm against the swollen head where it's leaking like crazy, your fingers dragging along the wet patch at the front of his slacks.

"Shit—" Roy hisses, breaking the kiss as he bites down a groan, his hands tightening on your waist. "You're still playin' with fire, baby."

And maybe you are, but you love the way he sounds when you touch him like this. The way his hips twitch under your hand, the way his jaw clenches as he fights the urge to just unzip and pull his dick out right now. You rub him slow, squeezing a little tighter this time, teasing your fingertips along his shaft until his breath gets heavy again.

He lets you fumble with his zipper, lets you pop that button open with your teeth grazing his throat like a goddamn tease—because you are one. A bratty little minx with your tits out and your hand already sliding inside his slacks, greedy and trembling like you've waited all night for this. And okay, maybe you have.

You kiss down the side of his neck, open mouthed and wet, your tongue trailing along the sharp line of his jaw as you suck little bruises into his skin. Messy, possessive, your lipstick long gone, smeared half across his throat, but he doesn't care. You've got your hand wrapped around his cock, so yeah, he definitely doesn't care.

"Shit," he groans when you finally free him, his dick slapping against his stomach, already flushed and dripping with precum. "You're really doin' this, huh?"

You hum into his neck, lips curled into a smirk as your thumb swirls around the head of his cock. Slick and warm, your strokes slow and teasing as you drag your palm down the shaft, coating it in precum. It's so wet already, obscene little squelches filling the space between you every time you pump him, and you can feel him twitch in your hand.

So you lean in and whisper, "Mhmm... been hard all night, haven't you, baby?"

Your voice is soft, breathless, teasing. And that smug little giggle you let out when his hips buck? Yeah, that's what breaks him.

In one fluid, impatient as fuck motion, he grunts and shoves his chair all the way back with a loud thunk, unbuckles your seatbelt with one hand, and then grabs you.

"Alright, that's enough," he mutters, voice thick with heat, his hands gripping your waist like you weigh nothing.

You barely even squeal, too giddy and gone to process it, because he's already lifting you, strong arms hauling you right over the center console, and then you're in his lap, straddling him. Tits out, dress bunched up around your hips, Roy's dick hot and leaking between your bodies and he's looking at you like he's about to ruin you. Because he is.

You're flushed, wide eyed and breathless, your soaked panties barely clinging to you, and he mutters, "Wanna act like a slut?"

His hands are on your ass, pulling you down so his cock sits hot and heavy against your dripping pussy. "Then ride me like one."

He doesn't push in yet. Instead, he grabs a handful of your ass and grinds up against you, the thick head of his cock dragging through your soaked folds like he's just rubbing it in how wet you are for him. And God, are you wet. You're soaked, slick dripping down onto him in sticky little strings that smear across his length with every slow roll of his hips.

"Fuck," he groans, head tilted back, jaw tight. Then, with a cocky little smirk, "What's the matter, baby? Gettin' shy on me now?"

Your breath stutters, your lashes flutter, and you shake your head quickly, cheeks warm and thighs trembling, but still full of it, still gasping when he ruts up again, cock sliding right along your swollen clit and leaving both of you groaning at the contact.

"No?" he huffs, one eyebrow raised as he slaps your ass, not too hard, just enough to make it jiggle, to make you gasp and clench around nothing. "Then ride me. Thought you wanted my dick, pretty thing."

"I— I do," you whimper, voice breathy, needy, and your shaky hand reaches between your bodies, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock as you lift your hips a little.

You guide him to your entrance, your slick making everything glide just a little too easily, and then you sink down on him.

Slowly. God, so fucking slowly because he's thick and you're tight and everything inside you is stretching to make room. And it burns a little, just the way you like. That sweet, full pressure as he splits you open inch by inch, your head tipping back and mouth dropping open as your pussy swallows him.

"F-fuck, Roy..." you gasp, walls fluttering around him as your knees wobble, thighs spread wide over his lap.

And Roy? He groans like he's about to die.

His head drops back against the headrest with a dull thunk, eyes fluttering shut, fists clenching on your hips as he feels you slide all the way down, your slick walls squeezing around him like velvet.

It never gets old. No matter how many times he's fucked you, no matter how many positions, how many rooms, how many nights you've begged him to fill you up—this feeling, that first stretch, that slow, tight slide into your perfect little pussy, it always makes his head spin.

And you? You're trembling, gasping, bottomed out and still clinging to his shoulders like you might float away without him. Your walls are fluttering around him, greedy and wet and so fucking hot, and you blink at him like you're already cock drunk.

"Thaaat's it," he groans, hands gripping your ass again, "Take it all, baby. Just like that."

You start slow. Just a little grind of your hips, testing the stretch, the depth, just how far down his cock is nestled inside your soaked pussy. And he moans, this deep, wrecked sound that vibrates straight through your chest, hands gripping your hips like he's trying not to lose it already.

"Yeah, baby," he huffs, voice tight. "Just like that. Fuckin' ride me."

And you do. God, you do. Because that grind? It turns into a bounce real quick—the first one slow, controlled, but the moment you drop back down and feel him hit that spot, the one that makes your toes curl and your breath catch?

You moan. No, it's not even a moan, you actually make this broken sound you didn't even know you could make, and your nails dig into his shoulders as you fuck yourself on his dick like a goddamn woman possessed. Fast. Hard. Deep.

Your thighs are already trembling but you don't stop, your pussy squelching as you take him over and over, his dick punching into you with a rhythm that sends shockwaves up your spine. You're whining, gasping, clenching around him, absolutely gone already.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmurs, one hand shooting up to tangle in your hair and yank you down into a kiss that's not really a kiss—more tongues, more teeth, more desperation than anything else. "So fuckin' dick drunk you can't even kiss me right."

And well... he's not wrong. You're whimpering against his lips, licking into his mouth, moaning every time his cock drives up into you like he's trying to knock the thoughts out of your head. And his other hand? Oh, it doesn't rest. He's spanking you, sharp little slaps to your ass that make you squeal and squeeze down on his dick.

"Such a filthy little thing," he mutters, lips against your jaw, breath hot. "All that fuckin' attitude earlier, just to end up in my lap like this. Humpin' my dick like a needy slut."

You moan louder, and he laughs, half out of breath, because you squeeze him again like your pussy loves being talked to like that.

Outside, the rain hasn't stopped. It pounds the windshield, mixes with the sound of your dripping pussy bouncing on his cock, the smack of skin on skin, the windows completely fogged up. A little bubble of heat and filth, the car rocking ever so slightly with each thrust of your hips.

"Gonna make a mess all over my fuckin' seat," he groans, gripping your ass again as he thrusts up into you, making you cry out. "That what you wanted, baby? Wanted me to fuck you stupid right here?"

You nod frantically, too far gone for words, your hips snapping down over and over because your orgasm is already building again, and you're shaking with it, full of it, needing it.

"F-fuck," you whimper, pussy working over his cock like you need him in every inch of you. "B-baby..."

And Roy? He's losing it. Because you take him again—all of him—pretty little cunt swallowing him whole with this hot, messy squelch, and your tits are bouncing right in his face. You're a fucking vision. Eyes glazed, lips parted, sweet little gasps spilling out of your mouth like your brain is not even connected to it anymore.

"Fuckin' hell," he groans, hands sliding up your ribs to cup your tits. "Look at you, baby. You're fuckin' unreal."

He leans forward and licks a slow stripe across one of your nipples, just the tip of his tongue at first, teasing, flicking, watching it pebble up from the chill in the air and the heat of his mouth. You moan, loud and breathy, and he fucking smirks against your skin.

"These pretty tits," he mutters, licking again, circling your nipple until you squirm. "Drive me fuckin' crazy."

And then he's sucking it into his mouth. Lips sealing around your nipple as his tongue swirls, then sucks harder, then bites, just a little, just enough to make your pussy clench around his cock and your nails drag down his chest.

"R-Roy—" you choke out, hips still working, still grinding, still fucking soaked on his dick. He can feel the slick dripping down, can feel your mess soaking his slacks, coating his lap like you've got no shame. Truth be told, right now, you don't.

He switches to the other nipple, wet mouth kissing down the curve of your breast, sucking the soft flesh before he takes the other into his mouth, greedy. Licking, sucking, groaning against you while you ride him faster, chasing your high like your life depends on it.

"You fuckin' love it, huh?" he pants against your skin, flicking your nipple with his tongue before sucking it back into his mouth. "So dick drunk you don't even care how messy you are. Just wanna use me, huh?"

You moan, loud and helpless because he's right, and he knows it. Your hips start to stutter, legs trembling again, your pussy tightening, fluttering around his cock as the mess gets wetter, thicker, louder.

"Shit, baby," he groans, pulling off your breast with a pop, mouth shiny, chin wet. "You gonna cum again for me?"

Every bounce, every needy grind, your clit drags across his skin—bare, swollen, soaked and throbbing with every push down. Roy's dick hits deep, stretching you so good it punches these desperate little sounds right out of you, gaspy and high pitched like you can't even help it anymore.

"Jesus," he pants, watching the way you lose yourself on top of him. "Look at that sweet pussy takin' me. You're fuckin' soaked."

And he's not lying. Slick's everywhere—on his cock, his thighs, his lap. Every bounce makes a sound, obscene and hot, like you're making a mess on purpose.

You ride him harder, sloppier, wetter, grinding your clit down with every drop of your hips until your whole body starts trembling.

"Oh f-fuck," you whimper, thighs twitching, pace stuttering. "I'm— Roy—I'm gonna—"

You freeze when it hits. Body going taut, legs shaking, arms wrapped around his shoulders as your pussy squeezes his cock so tight it's fucking criminal. You're buried on him to the hilt, not moving, just trembling and whining against his mouth like you can't even breathe through it.

"Shit," Roy hisses, barely keeping it together as he feels you pulse and flutter around him. "Jesus, baby—fuck—"

And then you crash into him, mouth hot and messy on his, moaning as your orgasm wrings you out. Your hips twitch helplessly in his lap, clit rubbing against his skin, and your mouth? Sloppy. Tongue in his mouth, licking over his, gasping for air through the kiss like you can't bear to be even a breath away from him. He groans into your mouth, hands on your hips as you twitch and pulse and soak him all over again.

You keep kissing, hungry and breathless and messy, tongues sliding, teeth grazing, your lips slick with spit and moans. He pants against your mouth, and you breathe into his, like the two of you forgot how to survive without the other's air.

Your chest brushes his with every pant, sweat blooming between your skin and his shirt, and you don't even notice the way your hips move, grinding just a little, clit dragging against his skin again like you can't stop even if you tried. Sensitive? Sure. But greedy? Oh, that's the problem.

Roy feels it. That soft, subtle grind, that soaked little pussy rubbing all over him again. And something in him just snaps.

"Can't get enough, huh?" he mutters against your mouth, hands sliding down to grab your ass, rough and greedy. "You just got off and you're still grindin' on my dick like a little slut."

You gasp, cunt clenching on him so tight his eyes nearly roll back.

"That what you are, pretty thing?" he murmurs, voice low as he squeezes your ass. "Just my dick starved little thing?"

And then he starts to fuck you. Not slow. Not soft. Just hips slamming up into yours, rocking the damn car, his thick cock sliding deep—every inch—and pulling back soaked with your cum. You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, your whole body jolting with every sharp thrust as he fills you over and over.

"That's it," he groans, hips slapping up into your soaked cunt, watching your tits bounce and your mouth hang open. "Take it. You wanted it, fuckin' take it."

And you do. Your pussy is so messy, all slick and stretched around him, every thrust pushing slick out around the base of his cock. God, the stretch, the thickness, the drag of every vein as he sinks back in, bottoming out with this deep, filthy slap that knocks another sound out of you.

The car rocks, the windows fog, and the rain is just background noise because the only thing that matters is his dick, splitting you open over and over while you moan for more.

His hips drive up hard, sharp, and mean, each thrust punching his cock right into that sweet, aching spot inside you. That thick stretch knocks your breath loose every single time, and the way he's fucking into you? It's filthy. Slick sounds fill the car, obscene and constant, every deep stroke bullying your poor pussy until you're just a mess of gasps and whining.

Your thighs tremble around his hips, your pussy swallowing his dick like it's starving, and he watches the way you start to fall apart—body rocking, tits bouncing, mouth hanging open as you pant and stutter like you can't form full words anymore.

“Fuckin' look at you,” he groans, one hand gripping your ass before slapping it again, sharp enough to make your pussy clench tight. "Riding me like my little slut. That it, baby? That what you are now?"

And you whimper, full body shudder as you nod, moaning yesyesyes, voice barely holding together.

"Y-Yeah, baby, yes, more—more, please—fuck, don't stop—"

He nearly loses it right there. Because never in his wildest dreams did he think this would be you, so needy and soaked and wild on his cock, moaning as he called you a slut in his car while the rain pounded against the windows. That sweet girl who's smiling at him in the mornings and kiss the bridge of his nose before pulling on lip gloss?

Now she's writhing in his lap, fucked dumb and gasping for more, bouncing on his cock in a supermarket parking lot while the car rocks like a damn metronome to the rhythm of his thrusts.

It's fucked. He knows it. It's insane and filthy and wrong in all the right ways, but God, you're clenching so tight around him, so warm and wet and messy, and you keep moaning like you're addicted to it, like you need it deeper, harder, more.

Your pussy is dripping—hot, tight, squeezing him like it's the only thing you were made to do. Every stroke drags against your swollen walls just right, all thick and slick and deep, and you can't even think anymore. Your brain is fucking gone, wiped clean by the way his dick hits all those spots that make your knees weak and your spine curl.

You're not riding sweet Roy right now. You're taking dick from feral Roy—sweaty, possessive, handsy, swearing under his breath as he slaps your ass again and watches you bounce on his cock like you're in heat.

And the worst part? You love this man so fucking much it hurts. Your thoughts are a blur, just God he's so deep, fuck I love him, his dick is so fucking good I'm gonna cry, and then nothing. Just heat and slick and the way his cock stretches your pussy like it always does, makes you feel full and owned and completely wrecked.

"Gonna fuckin'—fuck, baby, shit—"

Roy's hips stutter, driving up into you with all the control of a man hanging by a thread. His hands squeeze your ass tight, keeping you still as he thrusts, messy and erratic, deep enough that your pussy flutters from the inside out, that squelching noise rising as your slick runs down his cock and drips onto his pants.

His moans are rough and loud, desperate little groans right in your ear as his cock twitches inside you, and then he cums.

Hot and thick and so much, flooding your pussy like his body couldn't hold it back another second. You feel every pulse of it coat your insides, feel how his dick throbs deep inside you—tight, twitchy little spasms that spill another rope, then another. It's fucking endless.

He groans, hips pressing deeper like he's trying to keep every drop in you, like he needs to. You swear you can feel it drip around his cock, warm and slick, pushed out by the sheer amount he's giving you, and that's it, that's fucking it. You cum the second his load hits your walls.

Your body arches, tight and trembling, nails dragging down his shoulders as you gasp out his name, again and again, a broken little chant. Every pulse of your cunt feels like it's gripping him tighter, like your body is desperate to wring out every last drop of his cum.

You're shaking, legs trembling uncontrollably, heat blooming low in your belly and spreading until you feel flushed all over. It doesn't stop, not right away. Pleasure keeps rolling through you in waves, drawn out and overwhelming, like your body is trying to keep up with how deep he is, how full he's made you.

You're both a mess. Panting, gasping, sweating through your clothes. The car is fogged up like a freaking sauna, windows hazy, rain still falling in sheets around you, but neither of you care. The air is hot and sticky, your skin damp, your dress wrinkled and tits still out, and Roy's got his forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed while he's catching his breath.

His cock is still twitching, still leaking cum, still hard. You bounce on his dick lazily, little rolls of your hips, grinding more than riding, just letting him stay buried inside while you chase every last twitch of pleasure. Your cunt flutters around him with every slow grind, and Roy groans, voice wrecked and full of praise.

"That's it, baby," he pants, his hands gripping your hips. "Look at you... fuckin' takin' me like that. You're perfect, you know that?"

You moan softly, so wrung out, your skin flushed and sticky with sweat. And when the last few waves pass, when your pussy stops fluttering and you can breathe again, you lean in and kiss him. Messy. Desperate. Sweet.

It's all tongues and gasps, moaning into each other's mouth as you lick into him with the last bit of energy you have. His lips are wet and swollen, his tongue lazy against yours, but he kisses you back like he means it, like he wants to crawl inside your skin and stay there. The kiss slows down into something soft, your moans turning into little whimpers between parted lips, your fingers sliding into his hair just to hold him close.

And when you finally pull back, you're both breathing hard, your forehead pressed against his, dizzy and soaked and completely fucked out.

Roy brushes his nose against yours, thumb rubbing circles into your thigh as he murmurs, "You good, pretty thing?"

You nod, lips still parted, your whole body limp and heavy as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, making a little noise that's halfway between a hum and a whimper. He wraps his arms around you without thinking, protective and soft. He kisses the top of your damp head, your sweaty temple, the curve of your neck, slow and adoring, voice low.

"My sweet girl... you wore yourself out, huh?"

You melt against him, letting your eyes flutter shut as he rubs your sore ass in slow, soothing circles, then traces lazy shapes up your spine. Another kiss lands on your shoulder, then your jaw, and you shiver even though the car is hot, fogged up windows and all.

"Still with me?" he whispers, lips brushing your ear.

You nod again—barely—and he smiles against your skin. You stay just like that for a while, the mess between your thighs sticky and warm, but you don't care. You never do. Not when it's him. Not when it's Roy.

Because he holds you so gently even after fucking your brains out like you're fragile, precious, something to be protected. His hands stroke your back in slow, easy passes. His mouth presses kisses wherever he can reach—your shoulder, your jaw, the top of your head. And he lets you melt into him, all boneless and spent, because the weight of you in his arms is one of his favorite things in the world.

It takes a few minutes before you stir, lifting your head with that familiar sleepy pout on your face, lashes clumped with mascara, lipstick long gone. Your makeup is a mess, your hair is worse, but your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt while your lower lip juts out just enough to make him chuckle.

He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone before kissing your forehead with a little grin.

"Ready to go home, trouble?"

You whine like the spoiled little thing you are, nose scrunching as you murmur, "M'tired... and I want waffles."

That makes him laugh. A soft, low sound that rumbles against your chest. "Do you now?" he teases, brushing some damp strands of hair away from your face.

You nod again, eyes big and heavy lidded, your pout not going anywhere.

"Alright," he says, so soft it nearly breaks your heart, "I'll make you some, yeah?"

Your face lights up, even though your body is still limp with exhaustion, and you reach up to cup his face with both hands. You're smiling, giddy and still a little drunk, and you brush your nose against his before whispering, "I love you."

Then it's kisskisskiss—sweet little pecks on his lips, one after the other, until he's laughing again, all breathless and warm and completely in love with you.

You both chuckle, noses bumping, breath mingling, arms still wrapped around each other in a fogged up car in the middle of a random ass parking lot. Two idiots. Hopeless. Ridiculous. A mess. But two idiots in love.

And yeah, he's just as whipped, because his hand cradles the back of your head and he leans in again, brushing his lips over yours with one more whisper, low and amused, "I love you too, you needy ass gremlin."

You sigh happily, like he just read you a bedtime story and he laughs under his breath, kissing your nose before you finally shift on his lap.

And that's when he slides his hands down to help you up, slow and careful, both of you hissing a little when his cock slips out of your pussy. His cum follows in a slow, sticky drip down your thighs, still so warm it makes you shiver.

"Jesus," Roy mutters, half under his breath, watching it leak out of you like he didn't just put it there. "Fucked you full, huh."

You're too dazed to answer, whimpering just a little when he reaches across to pop the glovebox open, fishing out the pack of wipes he keeps for very specific reasons.

He's gentle with you. Always is. Even when he's smirking. Even when he's cocky. He cleans between your legs first, his fingers brushing against your clit on purpose—the bastard—and you twitch, letting out the softest whimper as your hips buck away from the touch.

"Still sensitive, huh?" he teases, not even trying to hide his grin as he slips your panties back up, making sure they sit snug over your still aching pussy. "Told you not to be a greedy little slut."

You don't even have the strength to sass him back, you just make a tired little noise, halfway between a moan and a sigh, as he helps tug your dress back into place.

But of course he doesn't just leave it at that. No, he's got your dress halfway up again in two seconds flat, thumbing at your nipples and watching you squirm.

"Just checkin' they're still cute," he says, voice all low and smug.

You glare at him. Weakly. When he's finally satisfied with his torment, he kisses your forehead and lifts you with ease, setting you back in the passenger seat. One hand cups the back of your neck, the other pulls your seatbelt across your chest and clicks it in, all gentle and careful and warm, and the domesticity of it nearly makes you fucking melt.

You blink sleepily at him, lips parted, and mumble something that sounds like thank you, but it's mostly just a soft little noise.

"Yeah, yeah," he murmurs, kissing your temple as he goes back to cleaning himself up. "Try not to pass out before I drive."

He wipes himself down with another swipe from the glovebox stash, tucks himself back in, adjusts his slacks, and sighs like he just climbed a damn mountain. Then he reclines the seat back to normal and starts the car, glancing over just in time to see you let out a massive yawn and snuggle your cheek right into his bicep.

You're out cold five minutes into the drive.

Not that he minds. You drool a little on his sleeve—nothing new—but he doesn't say a word. He just glances at you every now and then with that stupid little smirk, his heart full and his shirt soaked. You grunt a few times in your sleep, twitching every time the car bumps over a pothole, but still, he doesn't wake you until the car pulls into the driveway. You blink awake all confused and pouty, trying to figure out where the hell you are.

"C'mon, baby," he says softly, reaching over to brush your cheek, "we're home."

You grunt like a cave gremlin. He grins like an idiot. It's still raining—hard—and Roy frowns at the windshield for a beat before reaching for his coat and stretching it over to you. Not to hand it over. No, he wraps it over your head and shoulders himself like you're some delicate little loaf that needs to be kept warm.

"There," he says, adjusting the collar so it sits around your face like a hood. "Perfect. You look like a pissed off burrito."

You give him the most unimpressed look you can muster under about twenty pounds of coat, lips pursed and cheeks flushed pink, one side all wrinkled from how you passed out on his arm. Your hair is flattened and your face is sleep mussed and pouty, and you're still so warm and dazed from earlier you can't even bite back a tiny whimper when he opens the door.

"Don't start," he warns, snorting. "I haven't even picked you up yet."

He darts out first into the downpour, and by the time he opens your door, you're already groaning dramatically. But he grins, fully entertained by your little complaints and leans in to scoop you up in one fluid motion.

"You're so dramatic," he mutters, tucking you tighter under the coat as he kicks the door shut and locks it one handed.

"Don't be mean, 'm cold," you mumble into his neck.

"No shit, it's raining," he says, jogging up the porch steps with you in his arms. "Who told you to go full noodle mode?"

The coat flaps around you like a makeshift tent as he crosses the porch and finally gets you under the cover of the awning, rain dripping off the edges. You nuzzle closer, whining into his shoulder while he unlocks the front door, one arm still solid around you.

Once you're inside, you shiver, clinging to him as he shuts the door behind you and shakes his hair out like a damn dog.

"Okay, down you go," he murmurs, easing you back onto your feet.

You sway a little, legs wobbly, feet unsteady, and he steadies you with both hands, watching you blink like a sleepy, pouty baby deer.

"Tired little thing," he says, already pulling his coat off your shoulders.

He lets it drop somewhere near the door and crouches in front of you, his hands already reaching for the straps of your heels. He slips one off carefully, then the other, thumbs pressing into your arches in soft, lazy circles. You hum, low and happy in your throat, leaning against the wall like you might melt into it.

"Good?" he asks, glancing up, thumbs still rubbing.

"Mhmm."

That's all he gets, just a noise. But your eyes flutter like you might pass out standing up, and that's enough for him to finish what he's doing, kick his own shoes off, and hook his arms under your thighs and back to lift you up again.

"Alright," he says, kissing your damp hair, "time to rinse off the car sex."

He carries you into the bathroom like you weigh nothing, strong arms holding you close while your cheek stays squished against his chest. The second the light flicks on, your face scrunches, a sleepy little glare aimed toward the overhead bulb.

"Yeah, yeah," Roy murmurs, already grinning, "I know. Too bright for your sleepy eyes."

He sets you down on the counter gently, his big hands guiding your ass to the cool marble as you pout. But you don't complain, just sit there all soft and quiet, blinking slow like you might actually doze off upright. Your thighs part a little, enough to keep him standing between them while he leans over to twist the shower knobs.

Steam starts to rise almost immediately, warmth curling in the air while the sound of the water fills the room.

He turns back around to find you half slumped against the mirror, your eyes glassy, makeup smudged in the corners. You look so sleepy and thoroughly used, hair all messy, your mouth parted in a tiny, exhausted sigh and he still thinks you're the prettiest thing he's ever fucking seen.

"C'mon," he murmurs, fingers slipping under your straps, "let's get this off, yeah?"

You hum. Barely. He tugs your dress down gently, letting it fall in soft fabric puddles around your waist before sliding it off you completely. Then your bra, your panties, and he doesn't even sneak a grope in, just kisses the top of your knee as he tugs the last bit of lace away.

You're quiet as he undresses, only swaying a little as he guides you off the counter and into the hot spray. The second it hits you, you shiver a little, but Roy's there, stepping in behind you, arms already coming around your waist.

"That's it, baby," he whispers, swaying you both gently under the stream, "good girl."

He washes you slow, reverent. No teasing, just warm, soapy hands smoothing over your hips, your belly, your back. You let him move you like a doll, grumbling sleepy nonsense every now and then, but melting into his touch all the same.

He whispers soft praise against your temple the whole time—"so fuckin' sweet" and "love you like this, all calm" and "my good girl"—and every time, your sleepy face scrunches like you're trying not to smile.

The water is hot and soothing, and you melt into his chest, letting him do everything. He washes your hair so gently, fingers threading through wet strands, whispering more little praises into your scalp while you hum, barely clinging to consciousness.

When he finally gets you out, he wraps you up like a little burrito again—clean and warm this time—and guides you back onto the counter. You're blinking up at him, cheeks puffed out, mouth slightly open like you might whine. But instead, you just tip your face up when he reaches for the makeup remover.

"There she is," he whispers, so gently it nearly undoes you. "Let's get that raccoon shit off, yeah?"

He takes his time, thorough but soft, wiping the mess of mascara, lipstick, and smudges from your cheeks, your nose, under your eyes. Every few seconds, he pauses to press a kiss to some part of your face: your temple, the corner of your mouth, the space between your brows. You don't even have the energy to joke about it. You just let him. So much of you always lets him.

And you sigh. Happy. Soft. After he helps you into fresh panties, fuzzy socks and one of his softest shirts, he tugs his boxers on, runs a towel through his damp hair, and bends to kiss your freshly cleaned cheek.

"Still up for waffles, baby?"

You nod, already wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your face to his chest.

"Alright," he chuckles, "let's go."

He laces your fingers with his and leads you downstairs, your socked feet silent on the hardwood as he guides you into the kitchen. He lifts you effortlessly onto the counter, the cold surface making you squeak a little and squirm before settling, legs swaying softly, eyes brighter.

Roy starts moving around like he's done this a thousand times—and he has. Grabbing the mix, flicking the stove on, pulling out the chocolate chips without asking because of course he remembers. Your chin rests in your palm as you watch him, something warm and fuzzy swelling in your chest.

There he is. Your man. Tattoos shifting with every movement of his arms, back muscles flexing under the shirt he tugged on last minute, that red hair still a little damp and messy from the shower. And he's humming lazily while he stirs the batter, acting like this is just another Saturday night instead of the aftermath of fucking you breathless in the car.

And every time he passes you, he presses a kiss somewhere on you. Your forehead. Your nose. The apple of your cheek. One after the other, like he has to, like he can't not. And each one makes you smile a little harder, shoulders looser, like your whole body is humming with the quiet joy of being known. Of being loved like this—completely, instinctively, without needing to ask for any of it.

The waffles come out golden and warm, all soft in the middle and crispy on the edges, with the chocolate chips just starting to melt and go gooey. Roy plates them like he always does, on your favorite stupid little pink plate with the chipped corner and the faded pattern because he knows that's the one you want, even if you'd never say it out loud.

He grabs two iced teas from the fridge, the good kind, the kind you hoard when he gets them on sale. No asking. No checking. Just knows. He pops the caps, places them gently next to the plate like he's building a shrine to your late night post sex hunger, then turns back to you with a little smile.

Still perched on the counter like the spoiled gremlin you are, you blink up at him when he steps close again, settling between your legs. One hand rests on your thigh, the other cradles your jaw, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek, and then he leans in and kisses you.

Soft and lazy, the kind of kiss that doesn't rush. Tongues licking slow into each other's mouth, lips parting wider, deeper. His nose brushes yours, his palm spreads over your cheek, your hand slips up into his hair, and neither of you moves for minutes. Just lips against lips, tongues sliding, shared breaths and soft sounds of contentment. The kind of kiss that feels like a love letter written with mouths instead of ink.

But then, your stomach rips through the moment like a fucking chainsaw in a chapel. The noise echoes around the kitchen like it's got surround sound.

Roy pulls back, blinking, and then he laughs. Soft and warm and stupidly fond as he rests his forehead against yours.

"C'mon, let's feed you before you turn into a little monster," he murmurs, kissing the tip of your nose, smiling against it when you scrunch it at him.

Before you can say anything, he's already lifting you up again, strong arms under your thighs and back, carrying you like he always does when you're too sleepy or too bratty or too full of love to walk. You wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling into the crook of it, inhaling the clean, still warm scent of him from the shower.

He carries you to the couch, lowers you gently and grabs that stupid, soft ass blanket you love—the fuzzy one that smells like home and clings to you like Velcro—and wraps it around your shoulders like a cape.

"Be right back, trouble," he says with a wink, brushing his hand over your cheek before heading back into the kitchen.

And you stay there, wrapped in your favorite blanket, sunk into the couch, blinking sleepily after the man who just kissed you like he's never gonna stop loving you. Who's making you waffles like it's a Tuesday night chore. Who laughs when you're hungry and looks at you like you're magic.

He comes back with your plate in one hand, the two iced teas in the other, and somehow manages not to spill or drop anything as he sets them down on the coffee table like the multitasking king he is. Then he plops down next to you with a little grunt—legs wide, arm slung over the back of the couch, and that tired but content little sigh he always lets out after sex. Without a word, he grabs the remote, turns to you with a smirk, and holds it out.

You glare dramatically, snatch it from his hand like the petty gremlin you are, and stick your tongue out at him as you immediately start scrolling. You don't even realize you're doing it, how your tongue pokes out, just a little, totally unconsciously while your tired eyes flick from one show to the next. But Roy notices. Oh, he notices. And he has to physically stop himself from losing it laughing right then and there.

Instead, he just watches you with that stupid soft smile on his face, the kind that makes his chest ache because God, he loves you. Loves every messy, sleepy, grumpy, ridiculous inch of you.

He picks up the fork, slices a perfect bite of waffle—chocolate chips gooey and warm, a little drizzle of syrup pooled at the bottom of the plate—and holds it up to your mouth like it's the most natural thing in the world.

And without even glancing away from the TV, you open your mouth automatically like a sleepy little bird.

"Jesus," he mumbles under his breath, smiling so wide it hurts, "you're gonna kill me one day."

You hum around the bite, clearly pleased, finally landing on some absolute garbage show neither of you will admit you've seen three times already, and settle deeper into the couch with a sleepy little sigh.

He feeds you slow—one bite for you, then one for him—back and forth like that until the plate is wiped clean and both iced teas are half empty on the table. You almost doze off between bites a couple times, chewing with your eyes closed, tongue poking out when you concentrate on chewing like you're solving a math problem instead of just eating a waffle. And Roy? Roy is fucking gone.

Three hours later, you're half sprawled across him, heavy limbed and warm. The blanket you love is tangled around your legs, your cheek is pressed against his chest, one arm tucked under your chin like a pillow, the other resting limp across his waist. You're watching a movie you've seen at least twenty times, mumbling the lines like you're trying to mouth along but you're too sleepy to even finish a sentence.

Roy's got one hand rubbing slow circles up and down your back. The other is loosely curled around your thigh, his thumb dragging little patterns on your bare skin.

But he's not watching the movie. Not really.

He keeps thinking about earlier. The car. The rain. The mess you made of each other. The way you came all over him, how he couldn't get enough of you, how you looked riding his dick—drunk off it, needy, desperate, beautiful. And the shit he said.

Slut.

It slipped out in the heat of it, rough and raw, and you didn't flinch, didn't even blink, just moaned like it lit a fuse inside you. But still, Roy's never been big on that word, not with you. He's always leaned more toward pretty thing, baby, sweet girl, even when he's balls deep and wrecking you, it's usually good girl, that's it, take it.

But that? That was something else. Something filthier. And he can't help but replay it in his head, brow furrowed slightly as he stares at the TV, not really seeing it. He shifts a little under you, brushing his fingers through your hair gently.

"Trouble?"

No response. For a second, he figures you're out cold, knocked out by food, orgasms, and the warm house. He's about to let it go until you hum sleepily, barely lifting your head, chin propped on his chest, eyes squinty and confused like you weren't totally sure you heard him.

"Hmmm?"

He exhales softly, tangling his hand in your hair like it grounds him. "You sure you're okay?" he asks, voice lower than usual. "After... y'know, the car and—"

You giggle. Like a soft, syrupy little giggle as you nuzzle into his jaw and kiss him there, warm lips brushing against stubble.

"Okay? That was so fucking hot, baby."

Roy chokes on his own breath. "Jesus Christ."

You grin at him, teeth and all, and purr, "We have to do that again."

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, half groan, half laugh, and looks at you like you've lost your mind.

"I hope you're not talkin' about the car sex."

You widen your eyes like of course you are not talking about the car sex.

"I'm talking about all of it," you say, cocky as hell, like you weren't just bouncing in his lap a few hours ago.

He blinks at you for a second, still rubbing your back, still unsure how you manage to short circuit him like this, and then he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead.

"So... you're not upset I called you a slut?"

Your eyes flutter closed, your lips curve, and you shake your head slow. "Upset?" you mumble, already halfway back to sleepytown. "I loved it."

You don't last much longer after that. A few more minutes of pretending to follow the movie, a few little content hums, the occasional sleepy blink that lasts way too long and then your body just gives. All soft limbs and boneless weight, melting fully against him like you belong there—because you do. Your head tucks into the curve of his neck, cheek smooshed against his collarbone, one arm looped around his middle.

You're out cold within seconds. When Roy glances down, you're already breathing deep, little puffs of air against his skin. Your mouth is parted just slightly, a smidge of drool threatening to spill from the corner, and your hand twitches once on his shirt before going still.

Then you snore, just loud enough to make him snort. He shakes his head, but his smile is fucking huge, soft and crooked as he brushes a few strands of hair from your damp forehead. You cling to him tighter in your sleep, snuggling impossibly closer, leg thrown over his thigh like you're trying to fuse into him, like your body has got a homing signal for his.

He exhales slowly through his nose, kisses your temple, and lets his head rest back on the couch.

"Jesus," he mutters under his breath. "I called you a slut and you fuckin' loved it."

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head again like he still can't believe it, still trying to wrap his brain around the whole night but yeah, that definitely happened.

And yeah, it's definitely happening again.

[dreadofred]

That was amazing, but Jason ws stubborn with his compliments as of late, unsure why. Maybe he hoped Roy would keep showing off or maybe he was worried it would come off wrong to his best friend. That was an odd thought, one that had him decide to give the arrow over to his companion. “You’re welcome.” For collecting it. “Let’s go see what they were in such a rush for?”

Another day, another 'job' that would let them relax for at least a few weeks during the holidays. With Christmas and new Years two weeks away, Jason was glad looking forward to not being physically fucked up as he intended to celebrate with Roy and Lian this year. The cash, was coming right on time.

Roy is a professional. He could fire his bow with his eyes closed if he really wanted to. Years worth of experience, worth of trust allow him to work with Jason so seamlessly. As Jason joins him he laughs. “Trust me if I wanted to as so much as graze you with an arrow it already would have happened despite your bat instincts.” As he teases Jason his bow remains drawn, gaze focused on the would be get away car. Unfortunately for the baddies below he’s got a clear line of sight and plenty of arrows left so they are not going anywhere.

With a self satisfied smirk he fires two arrows, popping the tires of the cars at just the right angle, making the vehicles slam into one another before skidding to a stop. “Now give me that arrow, Jay. I need it.”

[glamourscat]

ᴘᴀᴏʟᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʀᴀɴᴄᴇꜱᴄᴀ | Jason Todd x Reader

reader is a magic user | i had this little one shot idea so here it is lol | Jason wasn’t supposed to be here. A quiet Friday night uined by Roy and a magical screw-up. He didn’t expect the too-bright house, the strange group of people, or the girl who walked in holding Dante’s Inferno like it was second nature. You didn’t expect much from the night either, just another mess to clean up. But then there’s him. A stranger who knows your favorite passage before you say it, who looks at you like he’s trying to read every hidden line beneath your words. This is a stroy of two people who met by chance, in the quietness between chaos. And found something in each other they weren’t looking for.

Jason was starstruck.

No, he wasn’t exaggerating. The moment he saw you walk into the room, his eyes widened instinctively. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was your style, uncannily similar to his. Or maybe it was the massive, spray-edged copy of Dante’s Inferno in your hands.

When Roy had said, “Hey man, sooo… I might, hypothetically speaking of course, have set off some magic curse loose and I need to meet with some people who work with magic—but I need you to come with me,” Jason had looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

Not just because it was December, close to Christmas but not quite. Which meant Gotham was a chaos pit and vigilante hours were hellish. But also because this particular Friday night had been, against all odds, a rare moment of peace. Free time. And now it is gone. All thanks to Roy’s persistence.

So here he was. In a questionably loud house with too much pink and too much light. With Roy, for some reason Stephanie and Tim, who showed up uninvited for some reason. And then there was the group that Roy had told him about, but there was one missing. And until they showed up he was stuck in this pink hell for the foreseeable future. 

As Jason stood there, mentally debating the quickest way to disappear without offending anyone, his eyes wandered across the room. The bookshelves caught him first, a huge display of three bookshelves with everything on it. From fantasy to classics, manga and anime figures scattered among them. Whoever lived here had taste. No doubt.

And as he was lost in his thoughts, he almost missed it. The way the group talking to Roy suddenly shifted their attention to the opening front door. You walked in. Poised, calm, like you were used to this. Tired, maybe, but you hid it well thanks to the way you held your head high. You smiled when Stephanie and Tim greeted you with hugs, like a group of old friends reuniting. You welcomed Roy like he hadn’t just dumped another magical disaster on your plate.

And then, your eyes met his.

Jason felt his brain short circuit. You said something, he could see your lips move but everything else faded. Sound, movement. He just stood there, staring like a dumbass. Real smooth Todd. 

“I—shit, sorry. Uh, nice book.” Nice book? Really? Pathetic.

But your eyes lit up, a smile crossing your face, as your eyes flick briefly to the cover. “You think? I’m studying it for my classical literature program.”

“What’s your favorite passage?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. His mouth had fully betrayed him now. “Mine is—”

“Paolo and Francesca,” you both said at once.

There’s a pause. Not long, but long enough that Jason feels it stretch between you like a thread pulled too tight until it snaps. Your eyes flick to him with curiosity. His heart beats faster than he’d like to admit.

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t want to sound too cynical. The way you are yapping about the book is not in a negative way, just… resigned, like you’ve thought about this before. Like maybe you've seen too many things you couldn’t explain away.

“I liked that it was written with compassion,” you add after a beat, your thumb brushing the book’s cover. “Dante judged them, sure. But he still let them be together.”

Jason watches you quietly. There’s something soft in the way you talk about tragedy. Not indulgent, not performative. Just… understanding. You didn’t flinch at the weight of it. And maybe that’s what struck him so much about you. Not the book, and sharing the same passage as your guy's favourite. Not the confidence. But your quietness, that was louder than any loudness he has ever heard in his 24 years of life. Like you could tell the difference between suffering that mattered and suffering that didn’t.

He clears his throat. “Didn’t expect to meet someone who could make hell sound comforting.”

You give him a look that’s unreadable, but not cold. “It’s not comforting. Just familiar.”

And again he doesn’t know what to say to that. So he just stays there, standing across from you, as you carry the conversation. The hum of the room fading out as his mind focuses on you and only you. 

Neither of you notice when Stephanie leans over toward Tim and Roy on the couch, all three of them whispering and side eyeing the two of you like you’re part of some cheap television show that they’re consuming in real time.

“She’s never talked this much to anyone new,” Stephanie murmurs, impressed.

“She quoted Dante back to him,” Tim adds. “It’s over. We have lost her”

Roy grins like he’s won something. “You’re welcome.”

Meanwhile, Jason hasn’t moved. He watches the way your fingers graze the pages of the book. You look like you’re thinking about something else already. Or maybe about him. Your conversation. He can’t tell. He’s never been great at reading people like that.

But he wants to learn. Just this once. He feels the unexplainable urge to know everything that the pretty head of yours is thinking. To know your deepest fears. What your heart desires. 

He doesn't know why. Jason doesn’t act like this, usually. Always. And he wants to hate it, he wants to protest against his head, but he can't. He can't find it in him to mind it. Not even a little bit. 

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[julymusings]

Jason Todd x South Asian!Reader HCs

requested | reader is fem, i tried to keep it non-specific so it applies to the whole region, not just india, hopefully i succeeded😬

i looooved writing this it was so much fun. drop an ask with anything else you want to see!!

batboys x south asian!reader masterlist

When you show him Bollywood movies, at first he’s like “Why are these so damn long?” But watches them anyway because you’re so excited to show him

He obviously sobs at K3G (because he has daddy AND big brother issues)

But his favorite is probably 3 Idiots or Bhaag Milkha Bhaag (he just seems like the type to looove an underdog story am I right)

Since Jason likes cooking, he’s learning how to make all your favorite foods. He’s eaten a lot of Indian food before (duh, it’s New Jersey), so he’s familiar with the flavors and spices, but some dishes are easier than others. He tries to make dosa after you mentioned liking it but it does not go well

He’s trying so hard to impress you but they all keep breaking😭 and the ones that don’t break come out burnt. When he finally relents and lets you help him, you hold his hand and guide him to make the proper movements; pouring the batter, spreading it into a circle, and gently flipping it so it doesn’t break

He loves chai, and is always experimenting with different recipes and flavors and asking you to test them

You're taking him to the Indian market so often, by the end of the month he knows the names for all the vegetables and spices in your language and where to find them

He thinks you with mehendi/henna is the most attractive thing ever

Your friend’s getting married? Of course he’ll feed you while your mehendi’s drying, you don't even have to ask

When it's still fresh and at its darkest color he's actually going batshit insane (pun intended); he loves interlacing your fingers together and seeing the contrast of your dark, decorated fingers against his large, strong ones. His phone background is a selfie of you guys where your faces are squished side-by-side and one of your mehendi'd hands is cupping his cheek

And when you're on top of him, the sight of your adorned hands pressed flat against his bare chest, flushed and heaving...he thinks it belongs in a museum

He just loves doing little acts of service; one day you’re complaining offhandedly to him about how the price of eyebrow threading keeps going up, a week later you’ve forgotten all about it but he’s like “I learned how to thread your eyebrows”

He figured it would be easy enough, and as someone who’s life often depends on steady, surgical aim and precision, it is

Roy’s walking around looking messed up as fuck for a couple weeks but that’s beside the point because he’s got the hang of it now 

When it comes to putting on a sari, he'll put the pins in the hard to reach places if you ask, but for the most part he just loves watching you put it on. he thinks it's so cute the way you scrunch your face in focus as you make the folds and tuck in the fabric with such concentration (Jason Todd domesticity agenda)

One night you're getting dressed up for some party, but no matter what you do and how many times you take it off and try to re-drape it, it just won't come out good and you get so frustrated and teary-eyed that he has to intervene

He makes you take a break, brings you a snack, and kisses you until you feel better, and then he pulls up a youtube video to do it for you— but he can't do it either😭

So you both decide to give up and you wear a lehenga instead

It’s a fairly modest one, and even though he's seen you wearing more-revealing clothes (and none at all), he's going crazy over that one inch sliver of exposed skin on your midriff

He already loves seeing you dressed up in traditional wear but if you put jasmine flowers in your hair with it??? The fragrance coming from you makes him feral. It lingers in your hair for a couple days and he can’t stop following you around and sniffing you LMAO

The first time you get a kurta for him, it’s actually impossible to find one that fits because he’s so big and buff (drool) so you just end up buying the fabric and getting it custom stitched

There's only a few scraps of the fabric left and you get the wonderful idea of braiding the scraps into a bracelet so you have something to match with him and it makes him go crazy

Early on in your relationship, you’re a little afraid to have oil in your hair in front of him because you’re worried he’ll think the smell is too strong

Jason is probably familiar with the practice of hair oiling from his time with Talia (but you don’t know that yet)

He actually LOVES when you oil your hair around him. Just something about him being the only one who gets to see you when you’re comfy and unready is so intimate to him and makes him feel so special and trusted and loved🥹

Time for some of my physical touch x touch starved!Jason propaganda

After a particularly difficult night of patrolling, he comes to you stressed and anxious and unsure what to do with himself. So you make him sit on the floor in front of your bed, warm up some of the oil, and seat yourself on the edge of the mattress. He leans back against your legs and you massage the warm oil into his scalp. It feels heavenly. You’re using the perfect amount of pressure, hitting all the right spots, and it feels so good he wants to cry. Later, when you pull him into the shower to shampoo it out, he actually does cry, hoping the water falling from the shower head hides the tears (it doesn’t, and it breaks your heart)

(If you were raised Hindu) I think he'd be very interested in the belief in reincarnation, past & future lives, oneness with the universe, etc...it might help him make some sense of his coming back

You bring mediation into his life, and that also really helps him

You wear Kajal/kohl/surma on your eyes, and whenever he’s looking especially good, or before he goes out as red hood, you smudge some onto your finger and put a mark behind his ear, just to be safe (it’s believed to deflect jealousy/bad intentions from others) (yes I’m superstitious sue me)

Or you just tie a black thread around his ankle

When you first explain to him that you want him to wear a black thread around his ankle because of a superstition, he thinks you’re joking. He can’t believe you actually believe in that 

But he can’t say no to you and he secretly likes that you also have one so it feels like you’re matching 

He considers it a good luck charm, not because he believes the superstition but because it’s from you

[halitis]

do i have anything anything against jason as a character? no. i actually like him quite a bit! i think hes really interesting!

BUT DO I THINK SOME JASON FANS ARE FUCKING DUMB AS FUCK?!?? YES BITCH WHAT THE FUCK?

im gonna go through all the shit wrong with this comment thread one by one because jesus fucking CHRIST!!!!

1. "that thing" first of all. What. she is literally just a evil-aligned poc woman. she has been raised in this environment and as a result of that this is really the only life available for her and thats the tragedy of her character!

2. "why did she get with roy" THEY ARE FUCKING SOULMATES. THEIR ENTIRE THING IS THE INHERENT LOVE THEY SHARE FOR EACH OTHER WHILE ALSO VALUING THEIR MORALS ABOVE EACH OTHER. IT IS THE COMPLEXITY OF RAISING A CHILD TOGETHER AND ALSO TRYING TO FIND MIDDLE GROUND. IT IS BEGGINT THE OTHER TO CHANGE AND KNOWING THEY WONT.

3. "MY BABY JASON" YOU CANNOT SAY THAT AFTER YOU JUST INSULTED JADE.... LITTERALLY CANNOT. the biggest fucking hypocrytical statement i have ever fucking heard!!! bro!!! jason is Nawt a good person! he just flat out isnt! he has done so much horrid shit, not just to his familt, but to roy's family too. like he is not ur sweet innocent traumatised boy, he is a fucked up grown ass man who was hurt and decided to take that pain out on others. he is no fucking different from jade except he thinks hes doing rhe right thing, at least jade knows she isnt

4. "lian baby mama is jason now" ive talked abt this before, but sexism in fandom spaces when it comes to mlm ships is so fucking common it is fucking absurd. why are women only used as babymakers for ur gay characters?? why can they not be complex characters while men can???? it is fucking absurd how common it is in dc fandom and i frankly dont know why im shocked by it! women are regressed to one of three roles: evil villain who abused male love interest, baby maker, BAMF with no complexity or character at all and it is honestly so fucking tiring and just, boring to read??? like how do you not just hate it??????

5. "unemployed" honestly. i have no words. all im saying is it is No Fucking Shock that the woc is being pushed into these awful stereotypes.

now we are up to the worst part. the final comment...

6. "how are you gonna sleep with my man" ROY LEFT JADE. NOT THE OTHER WAY ROUND. roy was on an undercover mission and fell in love with jade and got her pregnant! he left because he would not be able to arrest her!!! all she fucking knew was one of the first people she truly ever loved had fucking gotten her to trust him and then left her, she had to deal with that pregnancy BY HERSELF. SHE LITTERALLY SAYS SHE SPENT THE ENTIRE PREGNANCY WAITING FOR ROY TO COME BACK TO HER, AND SHE WASNT EVEN MAD SHE STILL LOVED HIM.... she didn't even realise his identity for years!

also why is it always the woman's fucking fault if she gets pregnant? it takes two to tango! roy is as equally responsible for that pregnancy as jade is!

7. "AND THEN LEAVE YOUR KID" OH MY GOD.... [EXPLODES YOU WITH MY MIND] JADE. CANNOT. LEAVE. THE LEAGUE. BUT SHE DOES NOT WANT TO RAISE A FUCKINF CHILD THERE BECAUSE SHE KNOWS WHAT ITS LIKE!! SHES BEEN THAT KID!! jade knows fucking better then to delude herself into thinking she can raise lian safely while still stuck in her life, but lian is her number one priority always!! forever!! she pushes roy and lian away because she knows she is dangerous for them and because she thinks she doesnt deserve to have them and that love in her life!!!

8. "lian should be embarrassed to have her as her mum" i actually fucking wish nothing but hell upon you. have you not fucking read. just a single thing in ur life actually? just like actually can you read??? because i have met TODDLERS with better media literacy than you. LIAN HAS ISSUES WITH HER MOTHER. THIS WAS A BIG PART OF HER STINT AS SHOES. SHE IS DEALING WITH THE COMPLEXITIES OF LOVING HER MOTHER, THE WOMAN WHO LOVES HER AND CARES FOR HER, WHILE ALSO ACKNOWLEDGING THE FACT THAT SHE ISNT A GREAT MUM.

im sorry this is so messy and has so much shouting it actually has me fuming when people r so fucking stupid, idc if you dont like a character but dont just ignore all the bits of a characyer that make them redeemable or interesting to prop up ur male blorbos????

[varpusvaras]

Jason is driving when he gets the message.

It's a nifty little system he has added to his helmet. He gets alerts of messages that are high priority, and he gets them played out by the com unit. The message is from Lian, which means it's the highest priority, so Jason lets it play out as he waits at the intersection.

Jay I need help quick please I messed up

Jason had been on his way to pick up some groceries because it's his turn to make dinner, but those can wait now. The lights turn, and he makes his way to the front of the line, threading between cars, and makes a definitely highly illegal U-turn and starts to head back home.

His makes it to the house in record time after probably making half of the city hate motorists with how he had been driving, and he runs inside while still tugging his helmet off.

"Lian?" He calls as he makes his way through the door.

"Here!" She's calling from the bathroom. Jason runs to the door so fast that he overshoots just a little when he tries to stop.

"Are you okay?" He asks. He drops his helmet onto the floor and tries the handle before noticing that she has the door locked. "Are you hurt? Lee?"

"I'm okay", she says, and Jason is a little less panicked now.

"Okay", he breathes. "Can you open the door?"

"Just don't be mad at me?"

Jason doesn't remember ever being mad at Lian.

"I won't", he promises, still. He hears Lian walk up to the door. There's a moment of hesitation, before the lock turns, and the door creaks slowly open.

"What's going on?" Jason asks, turning his head to see inside, and oh.

"Don't be mad." It's more of a demand now than a request, like Lian is challenging him to keep his promise. Jason isn't paying much attention to her words, however, as he is busy staring at her head.

Her head that is full of very blotchy, bleached hair.

"Okay", Jason says. Then he leans against the doorframe and breathes. "Oh my God."

"Are you mad?" Jason breathes again.

"No", he says against the doorframe. "Just please send me a little less of an omnious text next time. I thought you had burned down the house or chopped your fingers off."

"Oh", Lian says, and Jason can hear the grimace in her voice. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Jason deems that his heart rate is calm enough again, and he straightens up. "So what happened here?"

Lian grimaces again.

"I wanted to dye my hair", she says.

"I can see that."

"And since neither you or dad were here, I thought I could do it now, but it's terrible."

"Yeah, it is." Lian sticks her tongue out at Jason for that. "Why didn't you wait for us to be here too?"

Now Lian crinkles her nose in a slightly guilty manner.

"...I didn't want dad to say no?" She offers.

"I don't think he would've", Jason points out. "He's pretty okay with different forms of self-expression."

He is dating Jason, after all. Compared to whatever Jason did as a teenager? Dyed hair is like a newborn baby smacking you.

He kinda understands it, though. He certainly remembers doing things Bruce would've been completely okay with behind his back, especially back when he had first arrived at the Manor. But he had been traumatised and neclegted by parental figures before, and Lian is not.

Maybe it is just something all teenagers go through. In any case, Jason is taking happily taking this over anything else, and he knows that Roy is too.

"You think he isn't going to be mad?" Lian asks. She glances up at her bangs.

"Over some badly bleached hair? No way."

"...I also bleached the sink."

Jason's inner Alfred wants to come out at that, but he pushes it down fast. Not now, Alfred.

"That sink has seen worse things", he says instead. "....listen. I have Bruces credit card with me that can easily pay for that to be fixed and dyed to all of the colors in the rainbow if you so want to. Let's go find a professional."

Lian grins at him, and Jason grins back.

"I only want it to be blue, though", she says.

"Blue it is, then." Jason nods. "Go get your helmet."

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 7 - "Do you recognise this?"

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: G

Warnings: -

"So, who did it?" Bruce asked, eyes narrowed at the children before him. Clark was next to him trying once more to persuade Bruce that it was unnecessary to go after the kids like this.

The 'kids' in question were the assembly of three of his children, Clark's child and clone and a couple of their respected friends.

"Father, I do not know what you are talking about." Damian piped up offended and crossed his arms. Next to him Jon scratched the back of his head in mild confusion and Dani despite not knowing what was going on but still glaring in defiance at Bruce.

"If this is about our prank war it was definitely not necessary to interrogate our friends too." Tim added looking every bit like he would be somewhere else than here. Kon and Bart were with him. Kon looked rather unsure while Bart had gone and gotten himself popcorn for whatever was going to happen.

"Look old man, how was I supposed to know Replacement would trigger the glitter bomb inside the Batmobile. I already cleaned that up!" Jason put in his two cents, Roy eyeing the other with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce stared at them quietly, not saying a word as Clark continued to fuss next to him to not make it a big deal and that a deep clean would surely fix everything.

"It's not your prank war I am talking about. Alfred will deal with you about the chaos you caused." The three respected batkids swallowed audibly while their friends chuckled. "No, what I am asking is which one of you decided it was a good idea to dye Clark's hero suit and my cape pink."

"Wait, someone actually did that to Dad?!" Jon piped up wide eyed as Dani broke out laughing causing Damian to eye the ghost girl with narrowed eyes and suspicion.

"Who would…" Tim started but didn't finish as his mind came up with possible suspects. Kon on Bart next to him went onto their phones, trying to search up pictures of Superman in a pink hero suit.

Jason and Roy broke out laughing too, voicing their respect to whoever managed to do that.

Bruce's eye twitch at the children's reaction. He then proceeded to pull out an opened can of pink dye and placed it on the table in perfect view of everyone. "Do you recognise this? Jason? Tim?"

"WHY ME?!" They both cried out in protest and Bruce narrowed his eyes on the two. "Jason, your last prank on Tim involved a glitter bomb with pink dye, the Batmobile's seats are still strained pink. Tim, you dyed Damian's shirts pink a couple days ago at the beginning of your prank war."

"So it was you Drake! You are going to pay for this!"

"And I will do it again if you ever touch my laptop again, Demon Brat!"

"How does that even prove that one of us did it!"

"It doesn't!"

"Do you think there might be someone else that fell victim to the pink dye in the JL?"

"Maybe?"

"Why would someone even go after Clark? He has nothing to do with our prank war."

"Jason, my friend. You are indirectly admitting that you would dye Batman's cape pink."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose as the children before him (he ignored that at least two of them were over 20, they were children period) started to argue among themselves while Damian's newest friend the Daughter of Phantom, who recently joined the Justice League Dark, was by now rolling on the ground laughing.

Not far from the interrogation Danny sat by a table next to Alfred snacking on some of the best cookies he had ever gotten to eat. He had originally come by to hang out with Tim, Kon and Bart but now he was threaded to some A+ entertainment, Dani was clearly enjoying.

"You recognize the can, don't you Mr. Daniel? I believe you accidentally left it behind in the cave." Danny side eyed the butler next to him and grinned into his next bite of a cookie. "Supes deserved it."

The man hummed and Danny smiled as he was offered another cookie. "I believe I know why but would you please elaborate on why Master Bruce also got targeted? I will most likely be the one who will have to wash out the cape."

The half ghost didn't say anything at first before shrugging. "Kon wasn't the only one who deserved some Justice for how he had been treated in the past. I know they get along now but still… a little pay back for past mistreatment wouldn't hurt anyone right?"

"Ah, so it was for Mr. Conner and Master Jason." The butler smiled in understanding, pushing over a box of take away cookies to Danny. "May I suggest that next time you seek out justice for the boy, that there are other -embarrassing- ways to achieve it."

Danny only gave the man a feral grin as he hopped off the chair with the box in hand. It was time to release the children of Bruce's interrogation. He would just put the blame on Constantine somehow, like a spell gone wrong instead of actual dye being the cause. The man owned him anyway since he had gotten most of his soul back aside from a couple of pieces he was still negotiating over in the Ghost Zone.

[maj-b-s]

Jason: I can't leave Reader and Dick together.

Tim: Why?

Jason: Together they become idiots, their intelligence goes away.

Jason: It's so bad it could kill them, like the time they were stupid enough to cut the wire on the wrong bomb.

*flashback*

Reader: IT'S THE BLUE THREAD GRAYSON!

Dick: OF COURSE IT'S NOT THE RED WIRE!

Dick: Well, let's cut them both at the same time.

Reader: ok!

*after*

Jason: What happened to you guys?

*Dick and Reader covered in soot*

Reader: We cut the wrong wire.

Dick: It was the green...

jason: I'm not even going to say anything.

*end of flashback*

Jason: They are smart, but together they become dumb!

Tim: just like you and Roy, the dirty one talking about the badly washed.

Jason: Dude, you're here to listen to me, not to argue.

Tim: Do I look like a psychologist now?

Jason: You know what, go the fuck home.