aeperol-spritz

[aeperol-spritz]

SPRAWL

Pairing: Roy Harper x Female Reader

Plot: lazy mornings with Roy always start slow—coffee, cigarettes, and soft kisses. but you're half naked in his shirt, he's hard, and neither of you has any patience

Words: 7,8k

It's the sunlight that wakes you first, warm and slow across your legs, the bedsheets rumpled low on your thighs. You stretch a little under the weight of him, blinking the sleep from your eyes, and smile when you realize he's draped half over you like a big, clingy human furnace.

Roy's still asleep. Or close to it, anyway. One arm is slung across your waist, heavy and lazy, his fingertips curled just under the hem of the shirt you'd stolen from him last night like you always do. His face is buried somewhere between your neck and the pillow, warm breath tickling your skin.

He's only wearing boxers—hadn't even bothered with a proper pair of sweats—and you're in nothing but his old t-shirt, soft from too many washes, riding up too high on your thighs. Neither of you had the energy for much after last night's shared shower, anyway; you barely dried off before crawling into bed and knocking out mid flop.

You shift a little, just enough to adjust the tangled sheets, and his arm tightens instinctively like he can sense you trying to slip away.

"Mmhmm... stay."

His voice is rough with sleep, gravelly and low, and it rumbles against your shoulder more than anything. You hum and turn your head, brushing your nose against his soft hair before kissing his forehead.

"You gonna wake up eventually, or just keep crushing me like a weighted blanket?"

"Warm weighted blanket," he mutters, nuzzling into you with a sleepy smirk. "With abs. What's not to love?"

You laugh softly and let your hand drift up into his hair, fingers threading through the messy strands. He doesn't open his eyes, but he shifts again, this time slotting his hips more snugly against your leg. The heat of his body, the brush of his skin on yours, the low groan in the back of his throat, it all starts to melt into something messier, lazier, hungrier, but that always happens with him.

He finally lifts his head, red hair sticking up at every angle, eyes still half lidded as he reaches across you to grab the pack of cigarettes off the nightstand. The arm that stays around you slides a little lower on your body, possessive and unhurried.

"Really? Gonna smoke in bed now?" you huff, arching a brow as he taps one out and sticks it between his lips.

"Just one. Morning ritual."

He lights it, inhales slow, eyes locked on you as he exhales toward the ceiling. Then he shifts, leans in with a little smirk and a hand sliding up your bare thigh. "You want some, trouble?"

You nod, already reaching out to wrap your fingers around his wrist as he holds the cigarette steady. He watches you through sleepy eyes, smirking just a little as you take the drag, because you know damn well he's watching your mouth. You hold it for a second before blowing the smoke out smooth, letting it curl between your lips like you've done this with him a dozen times before. Because you have.

After a beat, you slide out from under the covers without a word.

"Baby," he throws his hands up, voice still scratchy with sleep, "where are you goin'?"

You giggle, glancing over your shoulder as you pad toward the doorway. "I'm just gonna make some coffee, dummy. Wasn't that part of the morning ritual too?"

You make sure to flash just the barest hint of ass before smoothing the hem of his t-shirt down again. Not enough to satisfy, just enough to tease, and God, the little sound he makes in response is so worth it.

The kitchen is quiet, sunlight spilling in through the windows like honey. You move through it barefoot, still warm from the bed, and start prepping like it's routine—because it is. You grab the good beans, the dark roast Roy actually likes but forgets he likes unless you make it for him, and load up the machine.

A few minutes later, your mug is already sitting there, coffee simple and black, just how you take it. No frills, no nonsense. His, though? That's a whooole thing. You pour his strong and dark, then dump in that ridiculous creamer he insists "just makes it taste better".

You stir it all together until it's the color of caramel, with just a little bit of froth on top. It smells way too sweet for a man who used to eat MREs on rooftops, but oh well, he's a complicated guy.

With the two mugs in hand, you head back to the bedroom, and God, there he is.

Still sprawled across the bed like he owns the damn thing—back against the headboard, legs stretched out, cigarette balanced between his fingers, smoke curling lazy in the sunlight. His red hair is a mess, and the tattoos on his chest and arms are on full display. He looks like fucking sin and comfort and home all rolled into one.

"You look good like that," you murmur as you step back into the room, handing him his mug.

Roy takes it from you with a grin, eyes dipping low to trace the line of your legs as you set yours on the nightstand and crawl back into bed.

"Yeah? Thought you liked me better underneath you, baby."

"I do," you shrug.

"Yeah?" he says, lazy and amused, eyes locked on your face.

You don't even get a second to nod before his arm snakes around your waist and suddenly you're yelping, a little squeak catching in your throat as he pulls you right into his lap. Your thighs part instinctively to straddle him, and you feel him shift beneath you—adjusting the angle, the position, just so—until his dick is nestled perfectly between your folds, already hard and hot through the cotton.

"Jesus, Roy—" you slap his chest, a soft, playful thud against muscle and ink.

"That's better," he nods, one hand sliding up the back of your thigh to palm your ass. "My pretty girl deserves a good seat in the morning."

You roll your eyes, trying to keep up the act, but you don't budge an inch. Roy stretches, reaching over to grab your mug off the nightstand with one hand while the other stays possessively on your ass. He hands it to you with a little scrunch of his nose, his expression one of pure judgement.

Roy watches you sip, but he looks like he's personally offended. "I don't know how you can drink it like that, baby," he mutters, flicking ash into the tray on the nightstand.

You raise a brow, deadpan. "Says the guy who dumps a criminal amount of sugar and creamer into it and still calls it coffee."

He just shrugs, all cocky and unbothered. "Tastes like a fuckin' dessert. I like it."

You purse your lips, take another sip, then look at him out the corner of your eye with that familiar, playful look, and he knows what it means.

He grins, brings the cigarette to your lips without a word, and you take a drag, deep and lazy, and when you exhale the smoke, you hum sweetly and purr, "Good boy."

That gets him instantly. And fuck, do you feel it—the twitch of his cock under you, pressing up against your pussy like it heard you first.

Your cunt clenches around nothing in response, slick already smearing the front of his boxers. Roy huffs a breath through his nose, grinning around the cigarette as he plucks it from his mouth and puts it out in the ashtray.

"Oh, trouble, you're so fuckin' lucky I like bein' praised."

He takes the mug from your hand with a little smirk, setting it down next to his on the nightstand like it's an afterthought—because right now, it is. What matters is you, perched in his lap, pretty and hot and so fucking wet for him already.

Both hands grab your ass, rough and greedy, fingers digging into soft flesh like he needs to feel all of you. And then he ruts up into you, lazy and slow, his cock thick under the damp cotton, sliding against your pussy and fuck, you're soaked, the friction dragging a little moan out of you before you can stop it.

Your hands flatten against his chest, fingertips brushing across the ink and muscle like you've done a thousand times before.

You lean in close, close enough to feel his breath on your mouth, your lips barely ghosting over his as you murmur with a grin, "Do you, baby?"

He hisses through his teeth, and that cocky little smile vanishes. The slap lands before you even register his hand moving, right across your ass, just enough sting to make you gasp, and you jerk against him, nails biting into his chest.

"Fuckin' brat," he mutters, low and wrecked, and then his other hand is in your hair, tangled up at the nape of your neck as he pulls you in, mouth crashing into yours.

The kiss is filthy, messy, soaked in want and need. His tongue slides right against yours, teeth catching on your bottom lip just to make you whimper, spit mixing as he devours you. He grinds up into you the whole time—slow, rough rolls of his hips that drag his cock against your slit, the wet patch between you growing hotter, stickier with every pass. You're panting into his mouth, rocking your hips to match the rhythm, desperate to get more, to get him inside already.

But Roy's greedy. He kisses like he's trying to fuck you with his mouth first, like if he licks deep enough, bites hard enough, you'll fall apart before his dick ever gets inside.

Your thighs tremble around his hips, breath caught in your throat when he sucks your tongue into his mouth like he can't stand not tasting every inch of you. One hand is still in your hair, the other gripping your ass, pressing you down harder against his dick.

"Feel that, baby?" he murmurs between kisses, "so fuckin' hard for you it hurts."

You moan his name, soft and sweet like it slips out without thinking—"Roy..."—and it's enough to make him hum like the sound alone gets him off.

"What's wrong, baby?" he says, lips brushing yours, smug and soft and fuck does he know. "Need somethin'?"

You nod, eyes fluttering, grinding down against the thick ridge of his cock, catching it right between your soaked folds. The friction makes you whimper, makes your thighs tense. He groans, dragging you closer with a tight grip on your ass, greedy fingers kneading like he's feeling you lose it.

"Yeah?" he breathes, "What do you need, trouble?"

You stutter, breath catching as you rock against him again, more slick sticking to his boxers. "Y-your... your dick, baby. Please."

And God, the way his lips part around a chuckle, like he lives for you begging like that. And it kinda shows, because you sound so fucking sweet when you're whining for his dick. Ever since the first time he heard you beg, he's been feral every single time you do it.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, voice rough. "Then take it, sweet girl. It's right there."

You moan, dragging your hands down between you, lifting your hips so you can shove the waistband of his boxers down, just enough to free his cock. And there it is: heavy, thick, flushed along the shaft with veins you can already feel, sticky with precum just from grinding against your pussy.

It's long enough to make your mouth water, girthy enough that your thighs twitch around him, and he's got a slight curve, the kind that hits just right every fucking time without even trying. From the very first time he fucked you, you've been addicted—completely gone for it—because it's hands down the best dick you've ever had.

But before you can even sink down onto him like your body is screaming to, he grabs your hips and drags you back down, cock slipping between your folds again, grinding slowly against your pussy.

"I want you to cum like this first," he says, low and mean and sweet all at once, eyes half lidded and fixed on your face because he knows you'll obey.

You whine, high and breathy, and your first instinct is to argue, to tell him you need him inside already. But really, you should've expected this because Roy's a little shit in the morning. Teases you when you're soft and pliant, makes you work for it with that smug ass smile and those hands that never stop grabbing and guiding and owning.

So you don't protest. You just whimper as his cock slides through your folds, catching on your swollen clit, dragging slick from tip to base. You're soaked, leaving his dick shiny with it, making the drag dirtier, the grind deeper.

You lean in again, lips parted, and he meets you halfway, tongue already pushing into your mouth like he needs more of you. The kiss is slower, wetter, lips parting and meeting again with sloppy little sounds as your hips roll over his cock and your cunt starts clenching down on nothing. His tongue licks into you deep, breath ragged as he keeps grinding your pussy against him, and you swear you could cum just like this, just from the pressure, the mess, the weight of it all.

"Fuckin' hot," he murmurs into your mouth. "So fuckin' wet for me. You gonna make a mess on my dick, baby?"

Your moans are getting higher, whimpers spilling past your lips with every grind, every wet little slide of your pussy over his cock. You're soaked—fucking drenched—and it's loud, those slick little noises echoing in the room, obscene and shameless and so goddamn perfect that Roy swears under his breath.

"Fuck, listen to you," he rasps, hands gripping your ass as he rocks you down harder. "You hear that? That's you makin' a mess on my dick."

Your thighs are shaking, hips stuttering, and he knows you're close. He knows your body like his own fucking name, knows how you fall apart when he talks like that, touches you just right, kisses you like you're his whole fucking world. So he gives it to you, everything you need like he always does.

"That's it, pretty thing," he coos, eyes locked to your face. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

Your breath shudders and your hips jolt forward, and that's when he knows—you're gone, right on the edge, barely holding on.

But he's had enough of the fabric in the way. With one tug, he yanks the shirt up and over your head, tossing it somewhere on the floor without looking, too busy staring at you, bare and flushed and whimpering on top of him. One hand comes up to grab at your tits, thumb swiping over your nipple as his other slides up to squeeze and tease the other.

You lean back just enough to give him more to see, bracing yourself on his thighs, your nails digging into his skin as you grind your pussy over his cock, messier, needier, slick just everywhere. He watches the way your folds spread around the thick head of his dick, how your clit catches with every pass, sees the way you're using him, and it does something to him.

He moans, low and rough. "Jesus, baby... look at you."

And fuck, he loves seeing you like this. Loves how you never hold back, how you've been bold from the very beginning, if he's being honest. From the moment you straddled his lap for the first time and whispered filthy shit in his ear like you owned him. From that first kiss, with that pretty mouth that could ruin a man, looking him dead in the eyes and telling him you were gonna ride him until he couldn't walk. And you did.

That boldness? That fire? It still wrecks him. Because you're here, back arched, tits in his hands, soaking his dick with every grind, desperate and flushed and fucked out and somehow still in control. Using him to get yourself off like it's your right, like he's yours to ruin. And he fucking is.

"You gonna cum for me like this, baby?" he breathes, voice wrecked. "Gonna make a mess on my dick before I even get it inside you?"

"Y-yeah," you whimper, voice all breathless and trembling as your hips grind harder, rougher, rubbing your clit against the thick, slippery slide of his cock.

"Yeah?" Roy breathes, and there's that little cocky tilt to his voice again, low and smug and wrecked at the same time.

His chest is heaving hard, his hands are still on your tits, and then he pinches your nipples, thumbs rolling the peaks between his fingers, just the way you like, just how he knows it drives you crazy, and it's over.

Your mouth drops open on a gasp, a moan caught in your throat as your body jolts—hips stuttering forward, thighs trembling as your pussy clenches hard around nothing and you cum, just like that, soaking his dick in a hot, messy wave. Slick coats his cock, spreads down his shaft, makes it filthier, wetter as you keep grinding through it, riding it out like you can't stop.

You're panting, keening, nails biting into his thighs, tits bouncing under his hands as your whole body shakes through it, and Roy is fucking feral underneath you—watching, feeling, losing it.

Because your pussy when you cum? It's fucking unreal. Hot and soaked and clenching so hard like it's desperate for more, like she's trying to pull him in. And he fucking wants it. Wants to feel that perfect, velvety heat wrapped around him, wants to give you more, give you everything until you can't breathe.

But first he lets you have it. Lets you take your pleasure, lets you ruin his dick with it, lets you rub your sweet little cunt on him until you've wrung yourself out.

And then you lean in again, lips finding his, and it's not gentle. It's hungry, hot and wet and messy as fuck, your mouth moving over his with tongue and teeth, licking into him like he's the only thing you'll ever need. You're moaning into his mouth and he's groaning back, grabbing your ass with both hands and dragging you flush against him, fingers flexing hard enough to bruise.

Then you lift just enough—just barely—and Roy doesn't hesitate because he already knows what you want. One hand wraps around the base of his cock, soaked and slick and so fucking hard it aches, and he lines it up, eyes locked to yours, lips still brushing.

He pushes in, slow and deep, stretching your pussy open inch by thick inch. And God damn it, you're so wet. He sinks in with no resistance, just warm, wet heat and the sloppy sound of your cunt sucking him in. The stretch burns just a little, but it melts into that delicious, overwhelming fullness that makes your breath catch, makes your pussy flutter around him.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, jaw clenched tight, eyes locked on your face. "Greedy little pussy, still squeezin' me like you didn't just cum."

But he swears he's never getting used to this. To the way you take him like you were made for it, the way your soaked pussy hugs every damn inch of his dick like it's yours. Because it is.

You start to move, hips rolling in a teasing rhythm as you begin to bounce on his dick real slow, taking every thick inch inside you. You both moan like you can't help it, like it's a relief to be connected this way, hot and tight and right where you belong. Your fingers find his shoulders, nails pressing in just a little, and Roy groans as his hands squeeze your hips, guiding your movements, making sure you take it deep every time.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, voice all rough and sweet and ruined. "Just like that. Ride me slow, sweet girl. Let me feel that pretty little pussy."

Your lips brush his, teasing a little, and then—fuck it—you lean in and kiss him again. It's lazy and messy and hot, your mouths moving together like you've done this a hundred times and still can't get enough. His tongue slides against yours, slow and deep, like he's fucking you with his mouth too, tasting every moan you give him.

And God, the way you fuck him—it's not just bouncing, it's grinding down on every stroke, rolling your hips to make sure he hits just the right spot, just the way you like it. That slow build kind of fuck that's all heat and slick and needy little moans. His dick is so hard inside you, every stretch, every grind, every lazy bounce melting your thoughts into nothing. Because you fucking love Roy.

That smart ass grin, that cocky voice that goes soft when he talks to you. The way he's always got your back, always calls you his girl, the way he smokes like it's a personality trait but still puts the cigarette out the second you get needy. The way he holds you when you're falling asleep, the way he fucks you like this like he knows your body inside out and wants to ruin it with love every damn time.

He's it, you're sure of it. He's the love of your life. But his dick? Yeah, that's a very nice bonus.

Because it's thick, heavy, hot as fuck, and it hits that spot deep inside you every single time without even trying. You swear he was made for this—for you. Fills you up just right, keeps you stuffed and clenching and soaking wet, makes you feel every inch of him like your pussy can't get enough.

And the way he watches you ride him? Fuck, it makes you feel like the hottest thing he's ever seen.

"Look at you," he murmurs against your lips, panting. "Takin' my dick so good."

You sit upright as you bounce on his cock, planting your hands on his chest to steady yourself, and the second your body lifts—just a little, just enough to show him the mess between your thighs—you know he's looking. His eyes drop like gravity yanked them there, locked in on the way your pussy clings to his dick, and the groan he lets out? Low, rough, wrecked.

"Fuck..." head dropping back against the headboard for a second like it's too much. "You see that? Pussy so wet I can hear it, baby... you're fuckin' unreal."

Sticky little strings of slick stretch between your folds and the base of his dick every time you lift yourself up, and then you drop back down with a wet smack, taking him all the way to the hilt. Again. And again. Real slow, real messy. And every single time, he grabs at your waist like he's trying to ground himself, like if he doesn't touch you, he might lose his mind completely.

You moan, low and needy, because you can feel it too—every thick, aching drag of his cock through your soaked, fluttering cunt, each wet slide making your back arch. The stretch is obscene, just the right kind of hurt, and every blunt push against your sweet spot makes your belly twist tight and your legs tremble like you're about to break.

And God, you love being on top of him. You love the way he looks at you, all flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, arms tense from holding back, like he's one second away from flipping you over and pounding into you but is so fucking obsessed with the way you ride him that he won't.

You love how he watches your cunt like he's starving. You feel powerful—his, but in control, using him, soaking him, giving him the best fucking view imaginable. His cock sinks inside you over and over again, and he moans every single time, like it gets better each time your pussy swallows him whole.

"Goddamn," he pants, thumbing at your waist, squeezing the flesh there like he needs to feel you everywhere. "You ridin' me like you missed this dick since last night, pretty thing. Missed me fillin' this sloppy little pussy up?"

You whimper, your thighs shaking from how slow and hot the pace is, how fucking full you feel, and his dick just drags through all that slick heat like he owns it. Because he does.

You're soaked for him, dripping all over his lap, and you can feel it building again, that pressure curling low in your belly, tighter and tighter with every bounce, every grind, every filthy word he moans.

You start pausing every few thrusts, rolling your hips in lazy, slow circles on his cock, grinding on him just to watch him lose his fucking mind. You know exactly what you're doing, dragging your soaked pussy over every inch, clenching around him just a little tighter every time he twitches inside you, giving him that perfect squeeze that makes his eyes roll back.

Roy hisses, hands flexing on your waist like he still can't believe how good your pussy feels wrapped around his dick. He groans your name like a prayer, hips jerking up into you helplessly, chasing the friction like he's seconds from snapping.

"Fuck, baby. That's it... That's so good. Keep goin', just like that," he pants.

He leans in, mouth hot on your neck, dragging his tongue up the sensitive skin before kissing and licking and sucking hard enough to make you gasp. He groans into your throat, lips open, messy, leaving hickeys without a second thought, claiming you all over again like you're not already his.

He bites down just enough to make it sting, then soothes it with his tongue, sucking until it blooms dark under his mouth. One, then another, and another—he's marking you like it gets him off, like he wants you wincing every time you look in the mirror.

"You're fuckin' perfect," he mutters against your skin, hot breath making you shiver. "Gonna mark you up everywhere, sweet girl. Wanna see it later all over you."

You whimper, clenching around his dick, and he groans again, licking his way down, wet kisses and teeth on your chest until he gets to your tits. He doesn't hesitate—takes one in his mouth, tongue flicking fast over your nipple before he sucks hard, pulling the soft flesh between his lips. His other hand comes up, pinching and rolling the other nipple between his fingers, and your back arches on instinct, a sharp moan falling out of you.

"Oh God... Roy—"

He bites gently, licks, then sucks again, groaning low in his throat like your tits are his favorite fucking thing in the world. And honestly, they probably are, second only to your pussy.

"You're so good, trouble," he growls against your skin, mouth trailing slick and spit over your tits. "Fuckin' love watchin' you ride me."

"I'm so close," you moan, voice all high and wrecked, "Baby, please—"

He smirks against your nipple, that cocky little shit eating grin you should've seen coming, then lets his hand slide down between your bodies. He finds your clit easy—so swollen, so fucking needy—and starts rubbing you in tight, fast circles. The kind of touch that makes your thighs shake, makes your walls clench harder around his dick as you start to bounce a little faster, harder, chasing that high with every grind and thrust.

Roy's mouth never leaves your tits, licking and sucking and biting until your whole body is on fire. His other hand stays locked on your waist, dragging you down onto his cock with each bounce like he needs to feel you take every inch.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he groans, licking over your nipple before sucking it back into his mouth. "Gonna soak my dick like a good fuckin' girl?"

"Y-Yeah," you whimper, nodding fast, your voice all breathy and high.

Roy smirks, not even trying to hide how much he loves you like this, all flushed and fucked out, tits bouncing with every needy grind of your hips, your slick making a mess of his cock. He leans back in again, mouth greedy as he sucks another bruise onto the soft swell of your chest, groaning against your skin like he lives for the way you whimper when he does it.

"Yeah, sweet girl?" he murmurs, low and filthy, voice rough from sleep and lust and love, dragging his tongue along your chest before burying his whole face between your tits.

His stubble scrapes just enough to make your toes curl as he licks a long, hot stripe up the middle. His cock twitches deep inside you as he looks you over—your tits flushed and wet, your cunt squeezing him so tight, your lips parted as you ride that edge, right there.

You can't even think, can't fucking breathe as he finally pulls back, settling against the headboard again like he's gonna sit back and watch the show. But his fingers never stop moving. Still rubbing your clit in tight, perfect circles, matching the slow, sloppy rhythm of your hips as you fuck yourself on his cock.

And it's too much. Too good. Your head falls back, mouth open on a moan as it hits you—hard.

Your orgasm crashes over you, full body and intense, every nerve lit up. Your pussy clenches around him like a vice, hot and soaked, making his cock slick with your release. It's messy, loud, your hips jerking, thighs trembling as your voice spills into the room, gasps and whimpers and helpless little sobs of his name.

You swear you black out for a second, every muscle trembling, overstimulated and wrung out and soaked as you ride it out on his dick.

Roy's still rubbing your clit because he knows just how far to push you, how to toe that perfect line between pleasure and ruin.

You whimper, twitching in his lap, your body jolting every time his thumb circles over your swollen clit. "R-Roy—it's—fuck, baby, it's too much—"

It is too much. You're too sensitive, nerves all shot and overstimulated but it still feels so good, so raw and wet and filthy. He knows exactly what you need, exactly how to wreck you and put you back together in the same breath.

"I've got you," he murmurs, eyes locked on your cunt grinding against his dick, lips parted like he can't even believe how hot you look falling apart for him, every fucking time. "That's my girl."

He gives you a little break—just a little—fingers slipping away from your soaked clit, letting you breathe for all of two seconds before smacking your ass hard enough to make you jolt with a cry. The sting blooms hot and sharp, and you barely get to whimper before his big hand stays right there, gripping a handful of your ass.

His other hand snakes into your hair, fingers tangling tight as he yanks you down, crashing your mouth against his in a kiss that's nothing but teeth and tongue and filthy, desperate need. You moan into him, gasping against his mouth as he finally starts to pound up into you, hard and deep, his cock slamming into your soaked pussy like he's been holding back this whole time just to ruin you right.

And fuck, he does. He fucks you like he's starved for it, like he's been waiting all morning for this exact moment, for the chance to make your thighs shake and your brain melt right out of your pretty little head.

Every thrust hits home, hard and brutal and so fucking deep you swear you feel it in your gut. His hips smack up into yours, skin on skin, wet and obscene, echoing off the walls like porn you don't even remember putting on.

Your slick is everywhere—dripping down your thighs, clinging to his cock, stringing sticky between your bodies every time his hips slam into yours and pull back. You're babbling into his mouth, little gasped out curses and moans, your nails dragging down his chest like you're trying to hold on to something while he fucks you dumb.

And he loves it. Loves how messy you are for him, how wet, how your pussy sucks him right back in.

"Goddamn, baby," he pants against your lips. "You're so fuckin' tight—takin' it so good for me."

He shifts his angle just a little and Jesus, it hits something that makes you cry out loud, your whole body twitching as your pussy clamps down around him like it's already trying to cum again. He groans, eyes rolling a little as his hips stutter, but he doesn't stop. Just fucks you harder. Deeper. Filthier.

You cry out, the kiss breaking as your head drops to his shoulder, too overwhelmed to even keep up. Every thrust rocks through you, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room, your slick making it so easy for him to fuck in deep, the thick stretch of his cock dragging against your fluttering walls with every thrust. He moans into your neck, biting a little, panting into your skin, and you're just... gone.

He's losing it too, jaw clenched, muscles flexing, cock buried balls deep. You're so fucking wet, so tight, your whimpers and sobs against his neck making his hips snap up faster, harder, your cunt swallowing his dick again and again.

Fuck, he's close. All he can think about is how perfect you are, how good you've been for him this morning. Letting him take his time. Letting him tease. Letting him wreck you. He loves you like this, sloppy and sensitive, still shaking from your last orgasm but grinding down like you need another one.

"You gonna take it for me, sweet girl?" he pants, voice hot and filthy in your ear. "Gonna let me cum in that pretty pussy? Fill you up real good?"

God, he knows you will. You always do.

Because you're his, and your pussy was just made to take his cock like this—so desperate, so perfect, fucking down on him like you'd die if he didn't pump you full and give you every last drop.

All he can think about is how good you feel wrapped around his cock, how you always take him so well, even when you're shaking, even when you're crying, even when he's fucking you rough and deep and you're clawing at him like it's too much, but you never tell him to stop. You just take it, like a good girl. Like his good girl.

And you? Your mind is not even working anymore. Just one messy, broken loop of yes, yes, yes, please, need it, hips grinding down faster, sharper, chasing it with everything you've got. You want his cum. Need it. Want to feel it spilling out of you after. Want him to keep it inside you, kiss you through it, tell you what a good girl you are while he's still stretching you open and making a mess.

You're so fucking close again. And so is he.

His thrusts get all sloppy and desperate, hips jerking up into your soaked pussy with no rhythm anymore, just this raw, needy push of his cock trying to bury itself as deep as it can go. You whimper, mouth falling open against his skin, nails sinking into his chest, because you know that twitch, you know that exact second right before he cums.

"Shit—" he gasps, voice all rough and broken as he slams up into you one last time and stays there, buried to the hilt, deep and thick and so hot as he finally cums.

And oh fuck, it's so much. You feel every pulse of his cock inside you, every thick rope of cum spilling into your already soaked cunt, so deep you swear you can feel it paint your insides. And just like always—just like every damn time he cums inside you—you cum too. Doesn't matter if it's your first orgasm or the fifth, the second his dick twitches like that inside you, you're done.

You shake for him, whole body trembling as your pussy flutters and squeezes around his cock, sucking every drop out of him. Your hips twitch helplessly, stuck in that sweet, wet aftershock while he keeps you seated on his cock, his hands gripping your ass, strong and sure, keeping you right there—it's too much. Too perfect.

He's moaning for you, head tipped back, jaw clenched, sweat slick on his skin, muttering your name, telling you, "Fuck—good girl, such a good fuckin' girl for me," like the words can ground him.

Your face stays buried in his shoulder, gasping through it, barely holding yourself up, just moaning soft little sounds as you milk his dick with every squeeze of your pussy, rubbing your clit against his skin to ride it out, desperate for every last wave.

He stills deep inside, just like he always does, just so you can feel every twitch, every pulse, the way he stays thick and hard while his cum leaks around him and drips from your fucked open cunt. You both sit in it, gasping, trembling, the only sounds in the room your ragged breathing and the occasional, broken moan when you shift and squeeze him without meaning to.

You lift your head, and he's already looking at you—sweaty hair stuck to his forehead, lips parted, eyes soft in that fucked out, love high way that makes your heart ache.

Your lips part for him like it's second nature and he's there, meeting you halfway, his mouth soft but starving, dragging a low moan from your throat the second his tongue brushes yours. It's not rushed, not frantic, not even about sex anymore. It's just you and him, clinging to each other, greedy for closeness, for the taste of each other on swollen lips.

You tilt your head and kiss him deeper, tongue stroking slow against his, wet and unhurried. He groans into it, low and warm, and you feel it buzz in your chest like it belongs there. His hands stay on your ass and your waist, big and strong and a little shaky as they anchor you in place while your body molds to his, still sticky and full and flushed.

He kisses like he touches—possessive, filthy, loving. His mouth fits to yours with the kind of heat that makes you forget how to breathe, your fingers curling into the messy strands of his red hair as you moan into the kiss, thighs trembling from the aftershocks still rolling through your body.

He licks into your mouth like he owns it, like he knows you'll let him have anything he wants and more, and fuck, he's not wrong. You let him take and take, let him press you down against his chest as his tongue drags over yours slow and slick and hot because you know he gives just as much, always has.

Every wet drag of your mouths makes your pussy throb around his still hard cock, makes more of his cum leak out and drip down his skin, and he moans into the kiss at the feeling of it, at the warmth of your cunt keeping him soaked and buried deep.

You kiss like that for minutes. Just gentle and messy, tongues brushing, sighs slipping out between every press of your lips. The kind of kiss that says mine, even when neither of you say a word.

He sucks on your tongue a little, lets his teeth scrape your bottom lip, like he's tasting you just because he can. And every time you breathe out a soft little moan, he kisses you deeper, hungrier, like he needs it—like he needs you—his hands tightening on your hips like he might pull you in closer still.

When you finally break away, you don't go far, just collapse against his chest with a sleepy little exhale, your nose nuzzling into his neck. He's still inside you, still hard and hot and keeping his cum nice and deep where it belongs, and God, you love that. Always did.

His arms slowly wrap around you, his grip loosening just enough so you can settle into him without losing the closeness. His palms drag up and down your back in lazy strokes, fingertips catching on your sweaty skin but so gently. You feel him nuzzle into your messy hair, lips brushing your temple, soft and warm.

"Good, trouble?" he murmurs, voice worn down to that low, rough rasp you love.

You hum, a sleepy little "Mhmm," brushing your nose along his pulse point before pressing a soft, lingering kiss where his heart hammers under his skin.

It's sweet and lazy, nothing like the filthy mess you just made together, but that's the thing about Roy. He can rip you apart one second, then hold you together in the next.

Even with everything he's been through, all the darkness he's dragged himself out of, he still loves like hell—fierce and full and without hesitation. Like he's got something to prove, or maybe like he finally found something worth keeping.

And the truth is, he has. He knows it. You're it. You're the one who never flinched when you saw the mess, who took all his sharp edges and called them yours. So when he holds you like this, it's not just softness. It's a promise, one he plans on keeping.

You stay like that for a while, bodies tangled up, breaths slowing down, just feeling each other. The sticky warmth between your legs, his cock still nestled deep, the steady beat of his heart beneath yours.

He's quiet, fingertips skimming your back in slow, lazy circles, grounding you without a word. That's how he always is—fuck the soul out of you first, then piece you back together with nothing but soft touches and a steady hold.

He doesn't always say it, not out loud, but this is how he loves. In the way he keeps you close, the way he never pulls out too soon, the way he makes sure you feel safe, feel wanted, feel his.

Eventually, Roy stretches out with a lazy groan, reaching toward the nightstand for his pack. He barely gets the cigarette between his lips before you lift yourself up on his chest, all smug, and steal it right out of his mouth.

"Hey," he grunts, eyebrows raising before his palm smacks your ass again, less rough this time but still enough to make you jolt and giggle. "You little trouble."

You grin, licking his lower lip as you purr, "You looove me."

Another playful slap lands on your ass, his hand staying there after, kneading the warm skin possessively.

"I do," he mutters without missing a beat, that soft affection bleeding into his voice, all sincerity wrapped in that cocky Roy Harper tone.

Your chest flutters with it, but all you do is bat your lashes before he takes the lighter with his free hand, flicking it and bringing it to your cigarette, watching your face the whole time as you take the first drag, eyes half lidded, his own gaze soaked in adoration.

"Jesus," he says quietly, the barest hint of a grin tugging at his lips as you exhale slow, smoke curling into the warm air. "You're gonna be the death of me, y'know that?"

You smirk, placing the cigarette between his lips this time, giving him exactly what he wants back without even making him ask. "Worth it."

You sigh, all soft and content as you slowly sit upright on his lap, making a little pleased noise at the shift of his cock still tucked inside you. He groans under his breath, eyes flickering to your pussy, all wet and wrecked and full of him.

You hum like nothing is wrong, reaching lazily toward the nightstand for your coffee mug. It's only slightly warm now, but you take a sip anyway, licking your lips as you catch him watching you again with that filthy, soft kind of hunger only you ever get.

Then—just to be a brat—you roll your hips in a slow, slow circle, grinding down on his dick like you didn't just cum three times and soak him completely.

He hisses, head falling back against the headboard as he mutters, "Fuckin'—"

You giggle, sipping your coffee again as you tilt your head, all fake innocence and mischief. "Sensitive, baby?"

He growls low in his chest, one hand grabbing your hip. "Don't push it, pretty thing."

Your stomach growls, loud and rude in the sticky silence of the bedroom. You pause, blink, and then snort into your half warm coffee while Roy grins beneath you, all smug.

He gives your hip a squeeze as he says, "Wanna make breakfast, trouble?"

You set your mug down with a little clink, tilting your head as you smirk down at him. "Only if you bend me over the kitchen counter while I make it."

He groans loud, real dramatic with it too, throwing his head back and dragging his hand down your thigh like he's already imagining it. "Fuck, you tryna kill me? Breakfast's gonna take a while."

You giggle as you grind your hips down just enough to make him twitch inside you again, giving him your best sweet little shrug. "You could just say no, baby."

"I could," he grumbles, sliding his hand up your body and letting his thumb trace over your tits again, "but then I'd miss out on watchin' you try to flip pancakes with my dick buried in you."

You bite your lip, leaning down close enough to brush your nose against his. "I'd do it. I'd make them fluffy too."

"Of course you would," he mutters, kissing you, already halfway to dragging you off the bed and into the kitchen.

And well... breakfast did take a while because apparently, it's really fucking hard to flip pancakes when your man's pounding into you from behind.

[aeperol-spritz]

SAVE A HORSE (RIDE A COWBOY)

cowboy!DickGrayson x fem!Reader

tags: AFAB reader, fluff, kinda inexperienced reader, he talks ya through it, brief dry humping, PiV (cowgirl position bc duh), he’s kinda pussydrunk low-key

a/n: you could catch me in Vegas, catch me in Tokyo..

wc: 3k | masterlist

You're all the people talk about. No, seriously. They don’t shut up, not for one second.

After all, pretty woman like you, with that Gotham City accent and those pretty lashes? Everyone is just scrambling to get a piece of you. Even the fact that you're only here for a couple months doesn’t seem to deter them; it's a death sentence for their poor hearts. One call to your dad and every guy within a ten mile radius can forget about ever seeing daylight again.

Dick is so unbelievably grateful that he’s got a slight advantage. Not only does he know you from way back when, he’s also working at the ranch every single day, your encounters too perfect to be entirely coincidental.

Sure, people talk.

But talk don't stop him from straight up falling head over his horse - for you. He’s no better than anyone else, drawn in by your pretty face.

He’s never been fond of city folk really, but he ain’t one to judge. He can’t get you out of his mind, the glitter on lips and the way you say his name, in that accent of yours he claimed to always have no patience for, but you? He’d do anything to have your voice on repeat, climbing up to your window like a cliche romance movie, earning him a solid amount of bruises when he has to hop back out and hide in the bushes.

It’s not like he’s a stranger, far from it. Dick’s been working for your aunt and uncle since he was a boy. Practically grew up, here. He ain’t sure what possessed you to leave this little town behind, but he counts his lucky stars every night that you’re back, even if it’s only for the summer.

You two are content to steal glimpses of each-other, for now.

Okay, you’re really not.

You literally can’t help yourself, you have eyes, okay? He’s certainly easy on them. Nothing short of fucking gorgeous, actually. You’re sure he’d be a model if he lived where you do. He’s gorgeous, really gorgeous, Hollywood level gorgeous, with messy black hair tucked under his hat, and blue eyes that make your head spin.

You’re under strict instruction from your aunt and uncle not to bother the poor guy. Your parents sent you here to learn a couple life skills, not to harass the stable boy.

Does that stop you? Nuh uh. Not in the fucking slightest. Especially not when he catches you staring at him from across the yard, shooting a a little wink your way with a tip of his hat.

And the way he talks? Fuck, the way he talks. Is it weird that you wanna fuck his voice?

“You tryna crack your little head open, girlie?” He pipes up, lifting his hat from his head briefly as he stares up at you, perched up on a beam in one of the smaller barns on the farm, swinging your legs.

“With how bored I am, maybe.”

Your little comment earns a small huff, his hands resting on his hips.

“Sure would be sad if you jus’ ended up as a pretty stain.” He rolls his eyes, extending his hand out to you in hopes of getting you down from there, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

You simply shake your head, swinging your leg out a little more to try knock his hat off of his head, only to feel his hand wrap around your ankle with a small “tsk” under his breath.

You blink.

“You gonna let my leg go?”

“Depends, you gonna get down from there and lemme do my work?”

“No.”

He laughs slightly, squeezing your ankle.

“Then nope.” He murmurs under his breath, his eyes roaming over you before a small grin finds itself on his face.

He looks like a literal movie star or something, it’s so fucking unfair.

He nearly lets out another low whistle as he sees your underwear peaking through the gaps in your sundress.

“Yknow, I’m gonna be blunt,” he says, looking away to avoid the temptation of looking a little too long. “Those lacy things of yours are on full display there.”

“I see why I’m not allowed to talk to you, anymore.” You huff, closing your legs as you stare down at him, only to be met with his barely hidden smirk.

“Why? He hums, his fingers tracing the curve of her calf absentmindedly.

“You know why,”

He takes another step closer, moving his hand up to wrap around the back of your leg, just below your knee. “My bad, they don’t want you bothering the stable boy, hmm?”

“Course they don’t.” You mumble under your breath, your cheeks heating up as he moves closer towards you, basically standing between your thighs at this point.

“But I do find it kinda cute that you’ve been trying to talk to me, huh?” His hands move up your legs a little, resting on your thighs now, “even though you know you’re gonna get dragged back in the house if you’re caught.”

How hypocritical, he’s as down bad as you are.

Dragged back to the house is an understatement. Fuck, you’d probably get locked in your room like a nun until your aunt sends you back home to your parents to finish college.

“Don’t worry about me, you’d be fired,”

“Oh, I’d be fired, girlie?”

That little twang in his accent has you shifting your legs in vain. You’re not exactly able to move away from him with your thighs basically either side of his broad shoulders.

He moves his hands up until his thumbs are resting right on the sensitive skin just below the hem of your dress, so close to the lacy little panties he’s so desperate to see again.

“Oh darlin, I’m too good at what I do to get fired for something like this.”

His eyes stay on you longer than they should, not even bothering to hide the fact he’s just staring at your underwear.

“Now,” he breaks the silence, giving the side of your thigh a small smack, that lazy little smirk on his face again.

“Hop down, I’ve gotta lock up for the night.”

Who does this guy think he is?

“And if I don’t?” You arch a brow, giving his jaw a slight nudge with your knee.

He stares at you from under the brim of his hat for a moment, as he’s drumming his fingers against the soft skin of your thighs, tilting his head down to the coil of rope on his hip.

“You tell me.”

His boots hit your bedroom floor with a loud thump echoing through the room, fumbling to close the latch on your window.

“Dick!” You whisper-yell, fumbling to pull a cardigan over your slip in an effort to look at least somewhat decent, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Hey, girlie.” He just stares up at you with a slightly dazed grin, catching his hat before it fully slides down over his face, unable to hold back a low whistle at your current state of dress - undress, rather.

His gaze shamelessly runs over your body, taking in every part of you— your eyes puffy from sleep, the way the hem of your nightdress rides high on your thighs.

He’s half tempted to just get on his knees right now and literally worship the very ground you stand on.

He would, no question.

“You’re lucky no one shot you.” You grumble under your breath, your lips curled downward into a pout he finds almost too cute to be real, your feet stepping up onto the tips of his boots.

“Quit your huffin’, would ya?” He chuckles, taking off his hat, holding it to his chest, the other hand resting lightly on your hip, keeping you steady.

He has to, you’re still a lady at the end of the day and he was raised with his damn manners.

“Besides, I’d take a bullet for a pretty girl like you, any day of the week.”

You want to scoff, you want to call him stupid, you want to yell at him, perhaps give him an earful about how dumb he’s being as he gives your ass a small slap.

But before you can even think to protest, his fingers wrap around your wrist, all but dragging you over to your bed, your back hitting the plush mattress with a soft thump, his form hovering over you.

“What do you think you’re-“

He shuts you up swiftly. Tossing his hat off to let it hang from your bedpost, not wasting a second before his hand finds the back of your neck, grinning against your lips as he kisses you.

“Hush, I missed you.” He mutters in a soft huff, his thumb running over the back of your hand, feeling the smooth skin under his touch.

The porch light outside casts a dim glow through your window, your pretty nails catching his attention.

“Fresh manicure to spend your summer on a farm, eh?” He smirks against your mouth, his eyes drifting down to your hand, staring at them in curiosity.

“You like to keep your hands pretty, then?”

You roll your eyes slightly, reaching up to poke at the dimple in his cheek.

“You think it’s shallow, I assume?”

“No, you’re a pretty girl who likes pretty things.” He presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, carefully guiding it to rest on the exposed skin that showed between the top of his shirt and the hollow of his throat. With your palm flat against his skin, you could easily feel his pulse thrumming under your fingers - the action feeling unusually intimate.

“And pretty boys,”

That makes you huff a little bit beneath him, shifting around to no avail, one arm still braced beside your head as he lowers his face again, pressing a line of kisses from your collarbone up to your jaw.

His touch makes your skin heat up, and he’s no better. You can literally feel his heart hammering under your hand, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt slightly.

“Take it off,” you murmur, giving the flannel a small tug, peering up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Of course, that further proves how whipped this man is for you. Just in case the way he’s all but pawing at your slip wasn’t enough, trying to push the silk up your hips while you fumble with the buttons on his shirt, his leg slotting in between your thighs.

The shirt soon hits the floor, as does his belt, near panting into each other's mouths, your hands tangling in his messy mop of black hair, tugging it every which way because close just isn’t close enough, the heat between your legs just keep getting worse, your panties almost sticking to your skin.

One of his large hands slides up to rest against your ribcage, letting out a small whistle at your evident lack of a bra.

“Lift up your hips, c’mon.”

His hands are on your hips before you can even blink, flipping both of you around, his breath heavy as he mumbles into your neck.

He’s telling you what to do, again. Now, he’d usually be met with a scowl from you or a half-assed shove to the jaw but you’re too distracted by the outline of his throbbing cock in his hastily unzipped jeans, pressed right against the inside of your thigh.

You can’t entirely focus with his fingers digging into your flesh, his hands less stable than they should be, shaking slightly as he grinds you down against him.

"I don’t think you realise how pretty you are," he’s panting, voice cracking slightly, running his hands over your body anywhere he can, crawling up under the silk till they’re cupping your tits, pinching slightly till you whine into his mouth.

You can feel your blood pumping in your ears, your head falling forward into his shoulder as you choke out some kind of slurred excuse about not really knowing what you're doing, your cheeks heating up more than should probably be humanely possible-

“Ride me.”

His words snap you out of your daze, your lips parting in a soft “huh?” as you stare up at him.

“You heard me, girlie.”

He doesn’t have it in him to repeat himself, really, giving your hip a little pinch for emphasis.

“You wanna ride me, don’t cha?”

You find yourself with your shaky legs spread wide across his manspreading lap, your slip bunched up around your torso, his strong grip on your hips to keep you steady as you keep squirming in his hold, one hand gently thumbing over the wet patch in your panties.

The fact your cunt is throbbing under his touch is enough confirmation, but he waits for you to nod.

“Yeah? Attagirl,”

Your hands are haphazardly tugging at the waistband of his boxers, almost frustrated as you scramble to pull them down, his happy trail making you groan under your breath.

His hands can’t stop squeezing your hips, and he’s doing his best to not hold you too tight, just try to take things slow for you, but it’s so damn hard.

He can’t help being more than a little impatient, pushing your underwear to the side to thumb at your clit, his heart slamming so hard he can feel it in his throat. His lip is almost bleeding from how hard he’s biting it to stay quiet, he can’t risk waking a single soul up, not at this hour.

“Fuckk, you’re wet,” he’s mouthing at your neck, pulling his hand back to your utter dismay, giving his leaking cock a few drawn-out strokes.

He was raised properly. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t swear.

See what you’re doing to him?

The thought of it just makes you dig your nails into his broad shoulders, your thighs trembling slightly as you hover over him before you feel his hands move to hold your hips, an attempt at steadying you.

His hands guide you, slowly, lifting your hips a little higher, the throbbing head of his cock rubbing against your soaked slit.

He’s looking up at you through his lashes, gently shushing you.

“C’mon, cowgirl, you can take it, yeah?”

You manage a shaky nod, your nails still digging into his shoulders as he starts to lower you down, slowly letting your throbbing cunt sink down around this cock.

“Fuck,” He slurs out a shaky curse under his breath, his sweat-slicked hair clinging to his forehead already as his thumbs press into your hips, trying to coax you down a little further.

He’s not even close to being all the way inside you, but he’s already lost, almost completely lost, and he’s trying to focus as you tighten up around him, as he pushes himself in as slow as he can, inch by inch into your pussy.

You gasp, thighs trembling as you ease lower, every moment feeling impossibly fuller, tighter, more split-open than before.

“I know, baby, I know,”

He’s trying to soothe you as if he isn’t the one making you crazy, while his cock twitches inside you, shaky groans falling from his mouth as he starts to bounce you slightly, trying to get you to move your hips.

“Attagirl,” Dick pants out, his shaky hands moving down to your thighs, “roll your hips,”

You manage to find a rhythm, albeit a shaky one. His hands are still holding you, guiding you into a soft grind, tits bouncing gently with every movement of his hips from under you.

“Harder,” he chokes out, his hand reaching up to the back of your neck to pull you closer, slurring his words against your parted lips.

“C’mon, baby. S’all yours. Ride me, harder.”

How could you not?

With a shaky nod, start to lift up your hips, then drop back down. His cock drives in deep, resulting in you biting down on his shoulder.

Fuck, he’s never done a drug in his life but this must be what being high feels like.

“C’monnn,” his words are slurred now, desperate as he ruts his hips up into you, no matter how deep he is inside your cunt it just simply isn’t enough.

You oblige him with a shallow bounce - another. The wet slap of your pussy against his cock starts to pick up now, your muffled whines filthier, and you’ve got him shaking now, head falling back with your name tumbling from his lips in slurred pants like it’s the only word he knows.

“Yeah, fuck you’re so good at that, girlie - you’re so fucking pretty-“

Your whole body is shaking, bouncing, rocking harder on his thick cock, with every drop of your hips.

“Look at you, baby, so damn tight and hot and pretty for me. She’s my cock so good, you sound so good, you’re just so damn perfect, just so damn perfect,”

He’s just rambling.

You’re so out of it that you barely even notice that his cowboy hat is no longer hanging on your bedpost, instead, it’s on your head, slipping down lower over your eyes with every desperate thrust of his hips.

“Please, c’mon- cum for me, fuck,”

He’s a mess, whining into your mouth as his lips crash against yours again, a mess of spit and teeth and not much else, his fingers back on your hips, pressing into them hard. You’ve barely got it in you to keep your head up anymore, letting him take control.

You’re nodding frantically, and he’s slamming you down on him again and again. It’s like you’re blacked out for a moment, tears rolling down your face as you make a feeble attempt to kiss the corner of his mouth. He’s distracted, his tongue darting out to catch a stray tear on your cheek.

He absolutely loses it.

His hands find their way to your ass, lifting u you up like you simply weigh nothing to him, he’s slamming you down as he thrusts up into you—once, twice, three times, four - more than he can count-

You’re cumming. His eyes are rolling back, and so is he.

You collapse against his chest, your shoulders shaking, your pussy throbbing with his cum dripping down your thighs.

His eyes are wide, breath heaving as he presses a kiss to your shoulder, twitching inside you, no way he can let you go yet.

He has zero intentions of letting you go. Not now, not ever.

“I think y’fuckin’ broke me, cowgirl.”

a/n: something SLIGHTLY chill compared to my last few posts? 🧘🏻‍♀️ (not for long)

THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLLOWS!! (130??) as always, thank you for reading!

[aeperol-spritz]

please be horny and embarrassed in my inbox!!! send me asks or hc’s or things u think characters do!!

The anon button is not for hate. The anon button is for horny and embarrassed about it.

[aeperol-spritz]

HOMECOMING

Pairing: Roy Harper x Female Reader

Plot: Roy's finally home after three long weeks, and you're not wasting a second apart. You missed his touch, his voice, the way he f*cks you like he means it, and tonight, you're making up for every minute.

Words: 9,3k

A/N: so uhm... 🥹 at some point some of you asked if I'd ever write for anyone other than Jason and Dick and I was like "nah I'm too obsessed" and then *cough cough* and THEN, Pinterest decided to show me some Roy Harper panels and my brain short circuited and went "this redheaded menace is so fucking hot and you WILL write for him" and uhm... I did. I spiraled. I wrote. I have zero regrets. hope y'all enjoy this horny little detour, besties 🏃🏻‍♀️

You're pacing around the apartment, practically vibrating with need.

It's been three weeks—twenty one fucking days too long without Roy. No lazy mornings tangled in the sheets, no filthy little whispers in your ear before bed, no warm weight of him sprawled half on top of you like you're his favorite pillow. Just the cold, empty space in your bed and the stupid ache between your legs that not even your own fingers can chase away right. Not the way he does.

Sure, he made sure to talk every night. Sweet little check ins, low raspy voice through the phone saying, "Miss you, baby. You doin' okay?"

There were even some breathless video calls, camera tilted just right while you touched yourselves together, whispering each other's names and pretending it was enough. But it's not.

You're so fucking pent up you can barely think straight, and it's all hitting you at once now that you know he's almost home. Your phone buzzed earlier, just a casual, "On my way, sweet girl", like he didn't just break you with five fucking words.

And now you're here, fresh from an everything shower and after digging through your whole lingerie drawer only to end up in one of his old t-shirts—because let's be real, he'd just rip anything else off anyway—pacing the living room, heart racing, thighs pressed tight every time you think about how desperate you are to feel his mouth, his hands, his dick.

You pause by the couch, biting your lip. You hadn't realized how much not sleeping next to him had fucked with you. You couldn't even rest properly these past few weeks, just rolled around at night in a nest of pillows, trying to trick your body into thinking it was him, but it didn't really work. Nothing works except Roy.

He's gonna be just as bad, you know that. That man clings like a damn koala when he's home, always got some part of him wrapped around you. Arm over your waist, leg slung over yours, face nuzzled into your neck while he murmurs half asleep all kinds of sweet nothings.

God, it's already been an hour since he texted, and you've been watching the clock like your life depends on it. Every little sound outside has your heart leaping into your throat, and you're this close to calling him, not even for an update, just to hear his voice, to make sure he's real and on his way and not just something you've been imagining for the last three weeks with your fingers stuffed between your thighs and your heart cracked wide open.

You're heading toward your phone when you hear the jingle of keys at the door.

Then comes a soft curse from the other side, metal fumbling against metal like he's trying to get the damn thing in the lock and not having the best luck. He's always been a little shit with keys when he's tired, and that sound—that exact sound—sends something wild rushing through your chest.

You don't even think, you fucking bolt. Your bare feet slap against the hardwood as you rush to the door, yanking it open just as Roy finally manages to get the key turned, and then he's there. In the flesh. Broad shoulders, wind tousled red hair, bag slung over his shoulder, that worn leather jacket, and a tired, hungry look in his eyes that softens the second he sees you.

You don't give him time to speak, instantly launching yourself at him, and he drops his bag, catching you effortlessly, arms locking around you as your legs wrap tight around his waist, hands tangling into his hair like you need to touch him just to believe it.

"Fuck, baby," he huffs out with a low chuckle, stumbling inside as the door swings shut behind you both. "Knew you were gonna hit me like a damn freight train."

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut as you breathe him in—leather, smoke, that stupid cologne he knows you like. Your heart is going a mile a minute and your grip on him is borderline bruising, but Roy doesn't even dare to complain.

One arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you flush against his body, while the other snakes up your back to cradle your head, his palm splayed wide as if he's trying to cover every inch of you.

"I missed you, Roy," you whisper, breath hitching against his skin. "Missed you so fucking much."

He exhales hard through his nose, lips brushing your hair. "Yeah? Missed you too, sweet girl. So much it fuckin' hurt."

And God, he sounds wrecked. Not just tired, but starved. For you. For your skin, your scent, your warmth. His arms tighten around you again—gentle, like he doesn't quite trust himself not to crush you—and he just stands there, right in the doorway, breathing you in like he's been drowning for weeks and finally got to come up for air.

You don't even realize how long you've been clinging to him until your heart starts to calm just enough to breathe again. Your hands slide through his hair, fingers tugging gently, and you finally lean back, just enough to look at him. His face is flushed, eyes heavy lidded and fixed on you like you're the only thing on the damn planet.

And then you kiss him, crashing your lips into his with all the weight of the last three weeks behind it. It's messy and eager and needy, and he doesn't even hesitate—his lips part instantly, like he was just waiting for you to give him the green light to fall apart. His tongue brushes against yours, and you moan into his mouth, swallowing the sound of his own as you suck on it just to make him feel how badly you missed the taste of him.

You can feel the shiver that runs through him, feel the way his hands shift under your thighs and then move up, gripping your ass in both hands like he's been fantasizing about it every goddamn night. Which, he has.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters against your lips, voice low and frayed at the edges. His fingers dig in harder, palms rough and warm on your bare skin. "You tryin' to kill me, baby?"

You just hum against his mouth, hips giving a little roll against him, just enough to feel it. That perfect dick, already straining against his jeans, rubbing against your bare, needy pussy like it belongs there. And it does.

The heat of his cock makes you gasp into his mouth, eyes fluttering as you tighten your hold around his shoulders. You weren't ready for how fucking good it would feel, even through his clothes. You weren't ready for how your body would light up the second he touched you like this.

And Roy? He's just trying to breathe. He's been going crazy these past few weeks. He missed you so fucking much. He missed your lips, missed the way you kiss him like you're starving, like you're trying to swallow him whole. Missed your hands in his hair, tugging at the strands when he kisses you. Missed the weight of you in his arms.

And now you're here. Warm and slick and so fucking wet for him already, the heat of your pussy grinding down on his cock like you're trying to mark him through the fabric. Like you're gonna burst if he doesn't fuck you soon.

"Fuck, trouble," he pants, forehead pressed to yours, hips bucking up into you once, rough and needy. "Gonna fuckin' cum in my pants at this rate."

"Roy..."

His name leaves your lips in a moan that's all breath and heat and broken need, and fuck if that doesn't go straight to his dick. He's got both hands on your ass, kneading it, gripping it like he's not sure whether to hold you tighter or just tear the damn shirt off you already. You can feel every slow drag of his cock beneath you as he grinds up into you—hard and hot and perfect, even through the denim.

He groans again, jaw tight as he kicks off his boots, barely managing to toe them off without stumbling. But he doesn't stop moving. Doesn't stop kissing you, doesn't stop rutting up against you.

His brain is absolute fucking mush, straight up short circuiting. Bedroom? Bed? Couch? Fuck that. He can't think that far right now. The only thing in his line of sight that can support your weight is the living room table, and that's exactly where he goes.

He steps in, crowding you up against it, and your ass meets the cold surface with a little gasp that makes his cock twitch hard in his jeans.

"Oh shit, sorry, baby," he breathes, but you're already tugging him in, not caring in the slightest.

One of his hands flies to the back of your neck, guiding you into another kiss—hot, open mouthed, messy. He kisses you like he's starving, like he's dying and you're the only thing that'll keep him alive. Lips plush, tongue greedy, teeth catching your bottom lip before he sucks on it. Your fingers tangle in the collar of his jacket, dragging it off his shoulders as you writhe beneath him, the kiss all tongue and spit and helpless little whines.

The second his arms slip out of the sleeves, the jacket hits the floor with a heavy thud, but his hands are back on you in an instant. Gripping your thighs, your waist, anything he can get his hands on, really.

Your legs lock around his hips again as he pushes in close, grinding against you harder, faster. The thick ridge of his cock drags right through your soaked folds and your slick is everywhere, soaking through the front of his jeans with every filthy, desperate little rut.

"Fuck," he mutters, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "Y'gonna ruin my fuckin' jeans, baby. Feel that? You're so wet, Jesus Christ."

But even as he teases you, he loves it. Loves how wet you get for him, loves how needy your little pussy is when he's been gone too long. His cock is so hard it hurts, boxers clinging to him from how much precum he's leaked already, but he doesn't give a shit. Nah, he can't even think about getting his dick out yet.

Because all he can fucking think about is how long it's been since he had his tongue buried in your pussy.

Three goddamn weeks. That's twenty one nights of jerking off in some shitty safehouse, fingers wrapped around his dick while he groaned into his pillow, thinking about the way you sound when you cum on his face.

Twenty one fucking nights without feeling your thighs trembling around his head, without tasting how sweet you get for him, without you grinding on his mouth, whimpering like you're losing your mind. He needs it. Desperately.

"Lay back for me, baby," he murmurs against your lips, all needy and hungry. "Let me taste you. Shit—I need it. Missed this sweet little pussy so bad..."

And God, you're already melting for him. You whimper the second he pulls back, even though it's only a little, even though you know what's coming because the absence of his body feels unbearable after feeling him again. But he's not gone for long. Just enough to grab the hem of the t-shirt you're wearing and drag it up and over your head in one smooth pull.

Your nipples are already hard, your chest rising and falling with shallow, desperate little pants, and Roy's brain just... shorts out. His hands come up like he's on autopilot, big palms cupping your tits with reverence, with possession, thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, teasing circles that make your thighs twitch.

"Fuckin' hell, baby..." he mutters as he leans in, eyes locked on your tits like he's about to devour them. "You're so goddamn pretty. Missed these tits so much."

And then his mouth is on you. He licks one of your nipples first, slow and deliberate, flat of his tongue swiping over the sensitive bud before his lips close around it with a wet pop. The heat of his mouth makes you moan, your back arching, pressing more of your tits into his face like you need him to bury himself there—and he fucking does.

He groans, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his thumb keeps teasing the other, tongue swirling, flicking, mouthing every inch of your breast.

"Fuck, baby, you're so sweet," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin. "Love these tits. My perfect girl."

Your fingers bury themselves in his hair again as you shiver under the attention, head tipped back, thighs trembling around his waist. But he doesn't stop. His mouth moves to your other nipple, giving it the same greedy treatment—licking, sucking, moaning into your skin like he's getting drunk off it before he starts kissing his way down.

Down your sternum, over your stomach, his lips soft and hot and slow. He licks along the curve of your waist, his hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, kneading your thighs like he can't wait to spread them open. He sinks to his knees in front of you like it's instinct, like it's the only thing his body knows to do.

And the moment he gets a look at your pussy—already glistening, so fucking wet you're dripping onto the table beneath you—he groans.

"Jesus, baby," he breathes, voice full of reverence and pure lust, his thumbs spreading your lips open so he can get a full view. "You're fuckin' soaked. Look at that pussy. Missed me that bad, huh?"

You clench around nothing at the sound of his voice, already trembling with need, and he sees it. Watches your pussy flutter like it's begging for his mouth, and that's it. That's all it takes. He's fucking gone.

Roy dives in without a second of hesitation, tongue darting out to give you one long, slow lick from your slick little hole all the way up to your clit, the flat of it dragging through your folds, and he moans right against your pussy.

"Fuckin' knew you'd still taste this sweet," he pants, mouth already back on you, licking and lapping and sucking like he's been in the desert for three weeks and your pussy is the only goddamn water source. "Missed this. Missed you."

And you're already shaking because Roy eats pussy like he's on a fucking mission.

His mouth is everywhere—lips wrapping around your clit as he sucks, wet and messy, tongue flicking over the swollen bud in fast little strokes that make your back arch and your fingers yank hard on his hair.

And fuck, when you do that? He moans—a deep, desperate sound that vibrates through your whole body—and it makes your pussy throb, makes your hips jerk up into his face.

"Ohh fuck, Roy—" your voice is ragged, gasping, wrecked already. You're panting, writhing, barely able to hold yourself up on your elbows while his mouth works you over. "Right there, baby, holy shit—"

You're so fucking close you can feel it. Your clit is swollen, pulsing with every flick of his tongue, and it's almost too much, too sharp, too intense, too fucking good. You're leaking all over his mouth, slick dripping down to his chin, your slit wet and aching, and he's making such a mess of you.

Then his tongue slides lower. You let out a shaky little moan when he licks down through your folds and fucks his tongue into your pussy—deep and slow at first, and then harder, faster, like he's trying to tongue fuck the orgasm out of you.

And it's so wet. His spit and your slick mixing, drool running down his chin as he thrusts his tongue in and out of your hole, groaning every time your walls clench around it.

Every moan you let out, every whimper and curse and breathless gasp, he feels it in his dick. Feels it pulse through his jeans, soaked with precum, the ache unbearable, but he doesn't stop. Doesn't even think about stopping.

Because Roy Harper's got a problem, aaand it's between your thighs. He's obsessed. Fully, helplessly addicted to making you cum on his tongue. Doesn't care how hard he is, doesn't care if he's leaking through his fucking jeans, his only priority is you falling apart under his tongue.

He lives for it. For the taste of you, the feel of your pussy clenching around his tongue, the sounds you make when he does it just right. And the way you look at him—eyes half lidded, mouth parted, sweat on your brow—it drives him fucking wild.

He keeps flicking his eyes up, checking your face like he always does. Making sure you're still coming undone for him, that your thighs are shaking, that you're using his mouth just how he loves.

"That's it, baby," he pants, pulling back just enough to breathe before he dives in again, sloppier this time. "Tastes so fuckin' good… c'mon, pretty girl, cum on my fuckin' tongue—lemme have it."

His tongue slips out of your pussy with one last languid lick, your walls clenching around the empty space he leaves behind, and then he's back on your clit.

Sucking hard, lips sealing around it, the tip of his tongue flicking fast, hot little taps that make your thighs twitch. And then you feel his fingers. Two of them, thick and calloused, slick with your arousal as he sinks them inside you like he knows your body better than you do. And he does.

"Roy," your voice breaks into a moan as your head drops back onto the table with a dull thud, legs falling open wider to take him deeper.

He's curling his fingers with each pump, stroking that spongy spot inside you like he's trying to milk your orgasm out of you, all while his mouth stays locked to your clit—licking, sucking, moaning.

And oh God, the sounds. The wet, filthy squelch of his fingers fucking into your soaked pussy, the slurp of his mouth on your clit. Your moans, high and gasping, getting louder with every second. You can barely breathe, barely think.

Your hips start moving without you even realizing it, grinding against his face, desperate for more, for everything. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers, slick gushing around them, and he groans into you like it's his favorite fucking song.

"Fuck—Roy, fuck, I'm gonna—" you sob, eyes fluttering shut, nails clawing at the table as your whole body coils tight.

And then it hits. Your orgasm crashes through you, sharp and overwhelming and so fucking deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. You cry out—loud and shameless—as you grind your clit against his mouth and your pussy clenches wildly around his fingers.

You're shaking. Full body trembles, thighs twitching around his head, hands flying to his hair like you don't know whether to pull him closer or shove him away.

But Roy doesn't stop. No, he's obsessed, completely fucking gone. He keeps sucking on your clit, keeps fucking his fingers into your spasming cunt like he wants to wring every last drop of pleasure out of you. Moaning into your pussy, licking you through it, soaking his face, smaller aftershocks tearing through your nerves, your slick dripping down his wrist, making a mess on the table under your ass.

"Roy—baby—I can't—"

You're gasping, voice wrecked, chest heaving as overstimulation starts to hit.

Your clit throbs under his mouth, every flick of his tongue sending sharp little shocks through your spine. And usually? You love it. Usually you'd let him keep going, let him tease another orgasm out of you while you cry through it. But right now? You need his dick.

You squirm, moaning again, fingers tugging hard at his hair. "Roy—baby, I need you—fuck—I can't—I need it, please—"

He groans against your pussy, nose pressed to your mound, but you're twitching, panting, too sensitive to take any more, and finally you yank him away from your clit with shaking hands.

He pulls back, lips wet, chin slick, his pupils blown wide as he pants against your thigh, fingers still slowly fucking into you.

He presses hot, open mouthed kisses to your skin, your inner thighs damp with arousal, your body limp and needy on the table.

"Please, baby," you whimper, voice all soft and wrecked, thighs trembling as your hands cling to his hair, "fuck me... please..."

Roy lets out a low, broken groan like he's trying to stay calm, but then he dips his head and sinks his teeth into your thigh, sucking a bruise right into the soft skin just inches from your swollen, wet pussy. You twitch and gasp, hips rolling up toward him, and he groans again, his mouth still hot against your skin.

He pulls back, breath ragged, and his fingers slide out of your still clenching cunt with a wet, obscene schlick. He doesn't even think, just lifts them to his mouth and licks them clean, tongue dragging over each finger.

And then his mouth is on yours. You moan into it immediately, hands threading into his hair, dragging him down as his lips crash into yours. The kiss is deep, messy, tongue and teeth and desperation, and you whimper when you taste yourself on him—salty and sweet and so fucking much. His tongue licks into your mouth like he owns it, groaning when you suck on it, both of you grinding against each other.

His hands are already on his jeans, fumbling with the button, the zipper, like he can't get them down fast enough. You hear the rough clink of metal, the drag of denim, and then he shoves them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock.

And God, you feel it. The heat of his dick, heavy and hard, dragging across your soaked folds, and you moan into his mouth, your whole body arching off the table as the head of his dick catches on your clit.

"Oh my God—" you gasp, breaking the kiss as your eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide.

Roy groans like he's in pain, forehead pressed to yours, hips rolling slow and filthy between your thighs. His cock drags through your slick, the head sliding back and forth, smearing precum over your already soaked pussy.

"You feel that, baby?" he rasps, voice dark and fucked out, one hand gripping your thigh as he rolls his hips again, "how wet you are? That's all for me, huh?"

You nod frantically, gasping, "Y-yeah, all for you—fuck, Roy, you're so hard—please, just—"

He cuts you off with another kiss, all tongue and groans, grinding his cock harder between your folds, the head nudging your clit again and again, until your whole body is shaking from the pressure.

"God, I missed this pussy," he growls against your mouth, "missed how she fuckin' melts for me..."

You pant into his mouth, barely able to kiss him back at this point, lips trembling against his as you whisper, "Please, Roy... I need you inside me—please, baby, I need it."

He lets out a breathless, choked off curse, his hips jerking forward instinctively like your words pulled the movement out of him. "Fuckin'shit..."

He reaches down, his cock thick and throbbing as he fists it, lining up with your soaked, fluttering entrance. You can feel the heat of his dick, that heavy weight just resting against you, and your hips roll up in pure desperation as he groans like he's about to lose it already.

"God damn, look at you, pretty thing," he breathes, one hand sliding into your hair, cupping the top of your head, holding you close, "you're fuckin' perfect, baby—so soft, so ready for me... always are."

The thick head of his cock stretches you open slow, dragging against your slick walls, and both of you shudder—your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your moans spilling into each other's mouths.

"F-fuck, Roy—" your voice breaks into a gasp, and he swears under his breath, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut as he sinks deeper.

"Jesus—tight," he pants, voice all fucked out and shaking, "this pussy's still so fuckin' tight, even after all that—shit, I missed this, baby."

You whimper, arms tightening around his neck as his hips roll forward again, slow and deep until he bottoms out—all the way, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

The stretch is unreal, perfect and overwhelming, and your pussy clings to him like it's been starved for this. You're both trembling, breath mingling in hot little gasps, your walls fluttering around him as he stills for a second, groaning low against your neck when he feels you squeeze around him, tight and pulsing like you're trying to milk him already.

"Fuck," he murmurs, voice thick with need, "You feel—shit—baby, you feel so fuckin' good. This pussy's got a fuckin' chokehold on me."

You moan at that, hips twitching against his as you grip him tighter. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your legs wrapped around his waist, holding him there, keeping him deep. Every inch of him buried inside, stretching you open so perfectly you could cry.

He doesn't move yet—he can't—just grinds in tiny, slow circles that make your head spin, the base of his cock nudging all the right places while your pussy clenches down around him.

He kisses you again, slow and lazy, tongue sweeping into your mouth, groaning into every little gasp you give him as he finally starts to move.

Long, deep thrusts, like he's trying to feel every inch of your tight little cunt, his cock dragging against your slick walls, making you cry out every time he pulls back just to slide in deeper.

His hand stays in your hair, keeping your forehead against his as he fucks you, the other sliding down to grip your thigh, holding you wide open for him.

"Taking me so good, baby," he rasps, eyes locked on yours, "fuck, this sweet pussy's made for me, huh?"

You pant against his mouth, noses brushing, lips barely parted between gasps as you breathe out, "Yes—"

He groans, low and shaky, like your voice pours straight into his cock. His lips brush yours, tender and breathless. "God, I've missed you so much," he says, barely more than a whisper, hips pressing forward in another slow, deep thrust.

You cry out, head tipping back just a little as your back arches off the table, and he chases your lips, his hand tightening in your hair to keep you close.

"I missed you too, baby," you moan, breath hitching with each grind of his hips, "so fucking much."

You feel everything—his lips brushing yours, his hands gripping you like you're the only thing keeping him upright, the hot weight of his cock grinding into your soaked, fluttering pussy. He bottoms out again, slow and deep, and your mouth falls open, eyes fluttering shut.

"God, you feel so good—"

That earns you a sharp inhale through his nose, his mouth ghosting over yours as he rocks into you again, slow but deep, each thrust forcing needy little sounds out of your throat.

"Yeah, baby?" he murmurs, voice wrecked. "You missed this dick, huh?"

"Y-yeah, fuck—"

"My sweet, good, hot fucking girl," he groans, hips slamming forward just a little harder, like he can't help himself anymore. "You got no clue what you do to me."

You swear your pussy clenches around him even tighter just from the way he says that.

His dick is drenched—slick, obscene, wet sounds filling the room every time his hips slap into yours. You can feel how soaked he is, how your pussy just keeps milking him, precum spilling and mixing with everything dripping down your ass. Every slow drag of his cock makes you twitch, and he's so thick, so hot, pulsing with every stroke like he's losing it inch by inch.

Your thoughts are a messy tangle because yeah, you missed his dick. The stretch of it, the way it fills every part of you, hits every sweet spot like it knows your body better than you do.

But it's him—his lips on yours, the way he holds you like you're something precious, the soft, desperate moans he makes into your mouth. His eyes locked on yours like he needs to watch your face. The way he fucks you slow like he's trying to memorize you from the inside out.

Every single part of him. His weight pressing into you, the smell of him, the warmth of his body, the feel of his calloused fingers brushing your skin as he whispers praise into your mouth.

You swear you could cry from how good it feels, how badly you needed this. Roy's hips rock into you again, slow and deep, dragging a broken moan out of your throat as he grinds against your clit. You're so wet, the slick squelch of your pussy echoing every time he sinks into you—it's filthy, raw, like the sounds alone could make him lose it.

He watches your face like he's starved for it, like the sight of you all flushed and desperate beneath him is the only thing that's kept him breathing the past three weeks. Your lips are parted, glossy from kissing him, moaning so pretty for him, all soft and whiny. You're fucking glowing, flushed and damp and trembling and perfect.

God, he missed this. Missed you.

He never stops thinking about it—about you. Not when he's out there, not when he's trying to sleep in some shitty cot somewhere, not even when he's jerking off to your voice in his ear while you moan his name through the phone.

Yeah, he's gotten himself off—fuck, he had to—but it's not the same. It never fucking is. His hand doesn't feel like you. Doesn't squeeze and flutter and pull him back in like your pussy does. Doesn't make him feel like he's home.

You moan again, soft and needy, and his whole body jerks, a growl rising from his chest as he grinds deep into you, just a little firmer, like he can't help it. Your pussy is so wet, soaking his cock, slick gushing out of you with every slow thrust.

He can feel the way your walls clench every time he drags over that spot inside you, the way your breath hitches when he grinds down right against your swollen clit.

His balls are tight, his dick twitching inside you, but he bites back the groan because he's not fucking stopping. Not until he makes you cum again. He needs it. Needs to watch you fall apart on his cock. Again. Slowly. Properly.

His voice is low, rough, nearly trembling when he murmurs, "That's it, baby... taking me so good..."

Your thighs twitch around his hips, and he moans as your pussy flutters around him, that delicious squeeze making his hips stutter.

“Fuck, you're perfect. Feel so good, baby. So warm, so wet," he pants, his forehead pressed against yours. "Could stay buried in this pussy all night."

And he means it. God, he means every word. He's obsessed—utterly, shamelessly obsessed—with every part of you. How you sound, how you smell, how you feel wrapped him, around his dick. He'll give you whatever you want, over and over again, but right now?

Right now, he just wants to keep fucking you like this.

"Look at you," he whispers, hips rocking into you again, dragging out another desperate moan. "My pretty fuckin' girl. So needy for me, huh?"

You brush your lips over his, a breathless little whimper caught between your panting as you gasp out, "Roy, baby... I need your cum... please—"

And that's it. That's all it takes. He fucking snaps.

His cock twitches deep inside you, and suddenly he's fucking you a little harder, a little faster, just like your needy little voice told him to. Every wet slap of skin against skin is filthy, your slick leaking down to the table with each stroke of his thick cock.

"Fuck, baby—fuck, you want it that bad?" he moans, voice cracking as he buries himself deep again, your pussy sucking him right back in like it owns him.

And it does. It fucking does. His thrusts grow desperate, hips jerking as his dick throbs deep inside you, the head swelling just before he spills, moaning into your open mouth like he's losing his mind.

"Take it, baby," he pants, eyes squeezed shut, forehead against yours, "fuckin' take all my cum—"

His cock pulses, and you feel every hot, thick spurt of cum filling your clenching pussy, each throb making you cry out as it hits deep inside you. You're already so close, your clit aching, your walls fluttering, and the second you feel him fill you, feel that warm gush deep inside? You snap too.

Your orgasm crashes into you all at once, a full body tremble that has your back arching, your pussy squeezing down on him, milking every last drop. Your thighs shake around his hips, breath catching as you gasp his name again and again, almost sobbing as the pleasure takes over.

He feels the way your cunt flutters and spasms around his cock, still trying to suck him in, and it drives him insane. He moans into your mouth again, hips jerking once, twice, before he stills, buried to the base, your soaked pussy choking his dick with how fucking tight you are.

His lips brush yours, hot and wet and messy before he leans in and licks into your mouth, hungry and desperate. You whimper into it, clinging to him, your tongues slick against each other as he keeps kissing you like he's trying to breathe you in, like he can't get enough even as he throbs inside you, his cum leaking around his cock.

You're both panting into each other's mouths, bodies still shaking, the table creaking beneath you as you cling together—his hand in your hair, yours fisted in the front of his shirt, both of you completely fucking lost in it.

You break the kiss, panting, lips slick and swollen as you lick them slowly, eyes half lidded, fucked out and begging. "Roy?"

His forehead stays against yours, hand still in your hair, the tip of his nose brushing yours. "Yeah, baby?"

You gasp softly, hips shifting under his, your voice a breathless little whimper, sweet and so, so dangerous. "Fuck me."

And he knows exactly what you mean. Knows this slow, sweet, deep thrust shit you've been doing? That's not how you two usually fuck unless one of you is half asleep or coming off a long night. This? This was the appetizer. You want the real thing. You want him rough, messy, fast, you want your brains fucked out and your body wrecked.

He doesn't even blink. He pulls back and slides out just far enough for the head of his cock to catch at your dripping entrance, the tip slick and soaked in your juices and his cum. And then he slams back in.

The wet, obscene slap of it punches a gasp out of your throat, and his cum spills out around his cock, leaking down your ass and pooling beneath you on the table. He swears under his breath when he sees it—feels it—and God, it just makes him go harder.

His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in bruisingly tight as he starts pounding into your pussy, dick drenched, driving in and out of your soaked hole like he's got a fucking death grip on your orgasm.

"Fuck—that's it, baby, that's what you wanted, huh?" he groans, jaw clenched, hips snapping forward so fast the table under you starts to creak dangerously. "Wanted me to fuck this needy little pussy just like this, yeah? Jesus Christ—"

And you're babbling, moaning so loud you're not even sure what you're saying, head thrown back, hair a mess, eyes rolling as he wrecks you. Every thrust hits deep, hard enough to jolt you against the table, the angle perfect every time he slams back in. You can feel him everywhere—his hips slapping yours, his nails biting into your skin, the wet drag of his cock, stretching you out, making your cunt flutter all over again.

You swear you're gonna cum again already just from how filthy it is. Just from the sound of him, the feel of his body driving into yours like he owns you. And he does.

"Look at you," Roy groans, breath coming out rough as he fucks into you, watching the way you whimper every time he slams his hips into yours. "So fuckin' perfect—"

Your tits bounce every time he drives in, fat and soft and flushed, and his gaze keeps dragging up to your face—that face, all scrunched up in pleasure, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes glassy and wild. You're a mess. His favorite kind. His perfect fucking mess.

"Fuck, you're tight—shit, baby, you missed this dick that bad?" he pants, eyes locked on your face, the way your lips fall open, the way your lashes flutter every time he bottoms out.

You whimper so sweet and broken he almost folds. Every word, every praise from him sends another pulse of heat through you, your pussy fluttering around his cock like it's starving. You're so wet you can hear it—slick squelches and obscene little pops every time he thrusts in and out, your walls clenching down like your body is trying to milk him dry. And Roy's losing it.

His jaw is tight, brow furrowed, face flushed and chest heaving as he looks at you—really looks at you. Fucked stupid on his dick, hair messy, tits bouncing, lips swollen from his kisses. You're beautiful like this. You're his like this.

"God, baby, you've got no fuckin' clue how much I missed you," he grits, voice ragged, hips stuttering for just a second before he slams back in. "Three weeks without this pussy? Without you? Nearly lost my goddamn mind."

You cry out when he grinds into you just right, clit catching the base of his cock, your pussy clenching around him like you're gonna cum again, wrecked and desperate and so fucking needy.

"Roy, fuck—" you choke on it, back arching off the table when his thumb finds your clit mid thrust, rubbing quick little circles over the swollen nub, and it's over.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a fucking wave—hot, overwhelming, dizzying. Your clit throbs under his touch, cunt spasming around his cock like it's trying to milk him, to keep him right there. You're moaning, twitching, shaking, your whole body slick with sweat, and all you can do is cling to him as he fucks you through it.

"That's it, baby," he pants, voice dripping with praise as he watches you come undone for him. "God, you cum so pretty for me. Look at you, fuckin' perfect."

Your thoughts spiral, scrambled and filthy and sweet all at once. You love the way he fucks you, love it. But every time he's been away for a while, every time he's had to go without, he always fucks you like he's starving, like he's never gonna get another taste of you again. And it drives you insane in the best, nastiest way. Like he's trying to crawl inside you, like he needs you.

And God, you love being needed like this.

He leans over you again, growling low in his throat as he grabs your thighs, lifting them higher, folding you nearly in half so he can stuff his cock deeper into your soaking wet pussy. He's buried to the hilt when he crashes his mouth against yours, desperate and messy, all tongue and teeth and spit. He licks into you like he's still tasting your cunt on your tongue, like he wants to drown in everything you are.

Your lips are slick, swollen, parted just enough to let him fuck his tongue into your mouth, and you're both groaning, panting, needy—his hips still grinding down, cock thick and heavy and pulsing inside you as your walls flutter around him from the aftershocks.

And when he pulls back just a little, he doesn't go far, just enough to mutter, "Fuck, baby, you're squeezin' me so tight," before he slams his cock in again, hips snapping forward, filthy, deep, obsessed.

Your arms wrap around his neck like instinct, your body already knowing what's coming, your thighs twitching from the last orgasm, your pussy still clenching around his cock when he groans, low and hungry, and slips his hands under your ass.

"Hold on, baby," he grits out, voice wrecked, sweat glistening on his forehead before he fucking lifts you.

Your pussy slides up on his cock and your head falls back with a gasped, "Roy—fuck—"

He doesn't even hesitate. He plants his feet, tightens his grip on your ass, and slams you down on his dick like a man possessed.

"Oh my God," you sob, clinging to him like your life depends on it. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your body bouncing as he starts fucking you, panting, sweat slicked skin smacking loud against yours with each brutal drop. "Baby—f-fuck—it's so—so fucking good—"

Your words break, stutter, melt against the heat of your own tongue because you're already gone. Dick drunk, legs trembling, head spinning from how deep he hits like this. Every thrust is dizzying. Every time he drops you onto his cock, it feels like he's rearranging something inside you—stretching you wide, fucking you open from the inside out.

And Roy? He's grunting with every bounce, eyes dark and locked on your face.

"You feel that, baby? Fuck, this pussy—"

He can't even finish that. He's too obsessed, too overwhelmed, every muscle in his arms flexing as he fucks you through midair like you're weightless, like you're his favorite addiction. Because you are.

"Tight little pussy takin' me so good," he hisses through gritted teeth, voice so rough it scrapes through your chest. "Mine. Fuckin' mine."

"Yours," you gasp into his neck, all breath and heat and raw need.

And it does something to him, snaps something in that already obsessed brain of his. Roy moans low in his throat, slamming you down harder, his cock plunging deep into your pussy with a wet, obscene sound that makes you wail.

"Fuck, baby—" he huffs, voice punched right out of him, your cunt so wet and tight and slippery that he has to fight not to slip out with every brutal thrust. "You're gonna make me lose my fucking mind."

You're both soaked, your thighs sticky where they wrap around his waist, his cock absolutely slicked up with your cum, his own mess still dripping out of you, making every thrust louder, wetter, nastier.

You can barely breathe, let alone think. Your moans stutter out in broken, breathy sobs, your head thrown back one second, then lolling forward against his shoulder the next, your body clinging to him like your bones have melted.

His cock hits so deep, nudging that perfect spot again and again, dragging against your walls on every thrust. You can feel every vein, every twitch, every desperate pulse of him inside you. And your pussy? She's greedy. Clenching around him like she knows he's close, like she wants to milk every drop he has to give.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging hard, dragging his mouth back to yours, and you don't kiss. Not really. You moan into each other's mouths, open mouthed and messy, tongues licking, teeth grazing, panting and gasping as you chase that high together.

"So good," he moans into your mouth, hips slamming up into you. "So fuckin' good, baby—shit—"

There's no rhythm anymore, no pattern. Just desperate, sweaty fucking, bodies pressed together like magnets, like you'll fall apart if you let go. No thoughts. Just you, him, and the filthy sounds of skin slapping and soaked cunt getting split open by the man who loves you more than anything.

"I'm so close, I—" Roy chokes out, voice rough and wrecked, every thrust getting sloppier, harder, needier.

And you cut him off, moaning right in his ear, "Yes, yes, fuck me full, baby, please, please—"

That's all it takes. Roy growls, a raw sound tearing from his throat as his hips jerk, once, twice, then he freezes, cock buried deep, his whole body shuddering against yours as he cums.

Hot, heavy spurts of cum flood your cunt, thick and deep and so fucking much of it you feel it bloom inside you. You sob out a moan, body arching, pussy clenching down hard as your own orgasm hits again, just from the sheer pressure of him filling you.

"Fuck," he pants, arms shaking as he holds you up, your body jerking with every throb of his cock, every pulse of cum painting your insides. "Fuck, baby, your pussy—"

You bury your face in his neck, whimpering, gasping, your thighs twitching as your cunt clenches greedily around him, sucking up every drop he gives you. The pressure of his release, the way it spills so deep it pushes against your cervix—it's overwhelming, hot, perfect—and your walls just keep gripping him, milking him for more.

Roy groans again, low and deep, hips twitching as he spills one last spurt of cum into your pulsing pussy. His arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face in your hair, inhaling you like you're the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

You're both trembling, breathless and sweaty, still fused together, stuffed full and soaked and so fucking in love it aches.

Roy finally kicks off his jeans and boxers—those poor things had been bunched around his ankles this whole time—and carefully shifts onto the couch, bringing you with him, still snug on his cock.

You let out a soft, breathy whimper as he settles down, and he rubs his big hand up your spine immediately, murmuring, "Shhh, I know, pretty thing... I know."

You stay curled into him, face pressed into the crook of his neck, still panting, still sniffling a little as the intensity of everything starts to settle. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, and he just holds you tighter, rubbing slow, calming circles into your back.

"You did so good, baby," he whispers against your hair. "So good for me." Another soft kiss, this time on your temple. "My perfect girl."

It takes a few minutes before you can even move again, before your heartbeat starts slowing down, your breath stops hitching, your body remembers it's not made of jelly. Eventually, you pull back just a little, blinking at him, eyes glossy and dazed but so, so full of love.

Your shaky hands rise to cup his face, thumbs brushing tenderly over his flushed skin. He melts into it, gaze soft as you lean in and kiss him.

It's not hungry like before. It's slow, gentle, deep. Tongues gliding together lazily, little moans slipping from both your lips as you kiss through slow breaths, like you're tasting every second of it. His dick twitches inside your cum filled cunt with each little shift, but neither of you move. You love it like this—full, warm, wrapped up in each other.

When you finally pull back for air, you don't go far. You keep pressing soft little kisses to his mouth—one, two, three, like you can't help it. He chuckles, low and warm, and you giggle, brushing your nose against his like you've got nowhere else to be but here.

"God, trouble," he murmurs as he cups your cheek, "I love you so much."

You grin, cheeks aching from how hard you're smiling, and you kiss him again, light and sweet. "I love you too, baby."

He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and lingering. "You okay?" he murmurs, voice low and soft against your skin.

You don't even have to think. You just sigh, heart full, and whisper, "I am now."

Roy chuckles quietly, one arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah?"

"Mhmm," you hum, nuzzling back into the crook of his neck like it's the only place you wanna be. And it is.

You're both still wrapped up in each other, still full of warmth and cum and that slow, aching kind of love that settles deep in your bones when someone comes home to you. When he comes home to you.

Eventually, though, he mutters, "C'mon, let's clean up, yeah?" already bracing, because he knows exactly what you're about to say.

And of course, you start to whine immediately. "I don't wanna move," you mumble against his neck, brushing your nose there just like he knew you would.

He laughs, full and fond, pressing another kiss to your hair. "Trouble," he grins, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm all yours, baby. But we're sticky, and messy, and sweaty. And I'm starving."

You pout, just a little, lips brushing his throat as you sigh dramatically before pulling away. "Okay," you huff, and he chuckles again before kissing your forehead.

"Good girl," he teases as he cups your ass, and before you can even protest, he's lifting you up with ease.

You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, laughing softly as he starts walking toward the bathroom.

The second he steps inside, he pauses to set you down gently on the edge of the counter. You're still clinging to him when he finally eases his cock out of your pussy, and the sound you make is somewhere between a whimper and a gasp. His cum trickles out in thick, warm drops, sliding down your thighs, dripping onto the floor, and you both kind of pause to look at the mess before exchanging amused glances.

"Fuck," he mutters as he watches, "that's a mess."

You blink down, dazed, cheeks flushing a little. "That's your fault."

"Proud of it," he grins.

He finally pulls off his shirt, tossing it straight into the laundry basket, and you can't help but admire him—tattoos, muscles, that smug little grin that never goes away when he catches you staring.

You cling to him even as he leans forward to turn the shower on, arms wrapped around his waist, face smushed against his bare chest. He doesn't complain—he never does. If anything, he presses a kiss to your temple and runs his hand over your lower back like it soothes him as much as it does you.

He turns on the water, testing the temperature before guiding you under the spray, arms still around you. And the shower? It's not even about getting clean, it's about being close. You wash his hair slowly, fingers gentle as he leans into every touch, and then you press soft kisses to each of his tattoos as you rinse him off.

He does the same to you, taking his time, rubbing your back, cupping your ass, smiling when you squeak or shiver under his hands. You giggle into his chest as he kisses your wet hair and groans like a man tortured.

You're both clingy and silly and tender, laughing when the soap gets in your eyes, moaning dramatically when he kneads your sore ass in apology. You help rinse the sweat and sex off him, and he makes sure to wash you thoroughly, though his hands do linger in a few places, not that you're complaining.

Eventually, you towel off, still dripping a little as he grabs one of his shirts—soft and worn and way too big—and slips it over your head. You giggle again when he helps you into a pair of panties, tugging them gently over your hips with a kiss to your tummy.

"You're so cute like this," he mumbles, sliding his arms around your waist. "Drives me fuckin' nuts."

You help him pull on his boxers and shorts—because if left to his own devices, this man would just walk around naked—and the two of you head back into the living room to deal with the... aftermath.

He grabs some wipes and a cloth, scrubbing the table down with a shake of his head and a smile tugging at his lips. "Jesus, baby. We really did a number on this thing."

You snort as you gather your scattered clothes—his too—and toss them all into the laundry basket. "You mean you did."

He just smirks, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh, you weren't complaining."

You pass by him with a little smirk, and he swats at your ass playfully, catching the soft giggle you try to hide behind your hand.

You wander over to him, quiet footsteps across the floor, and wrap your arms around his waist from behind. His skin is still warm from the shower, bare under your cheek as you nuzzle into his back.

"Pizza?" you murmur softly.

Roy lets out a little laugh, all fond and low. "You read my mind, pretty thing."

You smile against his back and press a kiss between his shoulder blades before he turns around in your arms, hands sliding to your hips as he pulls you flush against him. He leans down, those warm green eyes locked on yours like you're the only thing he ever wants to see again, and then he kisses you.

It's soft—so, so soft. The kind of kiss that tastes like home, like love, like everything being exactly where it's supposed to be. His lips linger against yours, slow and gentle, his nose brushing yours before he finally pulls back just enough to press a kiss to the tip of it.

"On it," he whispers.

Neither of you moves at first. You just stand there, clinging to each other in the soft quiet of your shared space. But then he grins, and with no warning at all, he scoops you up into his arms, making you yelp as you grab onto him with a laugh.

"Roy!" you squeal through a giggle, and he laughs, walking you to the couch like it's nothing.

He plops you down gently and kisses your forehead. "Stay here. I'll order it."

You hum, pleased, and smack his ass as he turns to walk away. He throws a look over his shoulder, biting back a grin, and grabs his phone from the pocket of his jacket hanging on the hook.

You watch him as he orders, his voice calm and casual as he rattles off your go to order, the one you've both settled on after many lazy nights and far too many toppings.

Then he heads to the fridge and calls over, "Want some Coke, baby?"

"Yes pleaaase," you say, already curling up on the couch, voice all sweet and eager.

He chuckles under his breath. "Comin' right up."

As he pops the caps off two bottles, he catches himself smiling again. God, he missed this. Missed you. Missed being home, being around the little things that make it all feel worth it—your voice echoing down the hall, the smell of your shampoo in the bathroom, the way your laughter feels like sunlight.

He turns around, and his heart just fucking squeezes. You're already tucked into the couch, buried in that absolutely ridiculous fluffy blanket with his face printed all over it, the one he gave you as a joke a year ago, thinking you'd laugh and never use it. But you have, every damn time. It's far too big on you, swallowing you up completely, but it just makes you look that much smaller and softer as you flick through the TV with the remote, lips pursed in concentration.

His pretty little trouble, cozy and warm and waiting for him, and fuck if this isn't the best thing in the whole world.

[aeperol-spritz]

✨ANNIVERSARY✨

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Plot: Your three-year anniversary with Dick turns into a night of teasing and tension, with you tying him up and keeping him on edge ✨ ( @angeleyes1376 , finally posting this one, sorry for the delay )

Words: 12k

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, oral sex, overstimulation, praise, orgasm denial, light bondage, creampie, rough sex, fluff, aftercare

Dinner had been perfect—romantic, intimate, and everything you could have hoped for on your three-year anniversary. The dim candlelight, the hushed murmur of other patrons, the rich aroma of wine and decadent dishes, it all set the stage for a night neither of you would forget.

Dick looked absolutely sinful in a dark suit, the fabric perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and trim waist, the crisp white dress shirt underneath only adding to the polished elegance of it all. You barely ever saw him in something this refined, and God, it made you want to rip it off of him the second you got the chance.

You weren't exactly subtle about it, either. The way your eyes lingered on him, the way your fingers traced the lapel of his jacket, the way you let your foot brush against his leg under the table. And he wasn't any better—his hand stayed on your thigh for most of the evening, squeezing whenever you leaned in too close, whispering things in his ear that had his jaw tightening.

But it was the dress that truly undid him. A deep, dark burgundy that clung to your curves like it was made for you, long and elegant but with a slit up your right leg that had his gaze flicking down every time you shifted. He loved your legs, and you knew that. You wore this dress for that exact reaction, and judging by the way he kept shifting in his seat, it was working.

The wine helped loosen you up even more, warmth buzzing through your veins as the two of you finally made your way back home. He expected you to be tipsy, maybe a little giggly, a little clingy. What he didn't expect was for you to be this hungry, this desperate.

The door barely shuts before you're on him, your lips crashing into his, your hands tugging at his suit jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. He barely gets the chance to let it fall to the floor before you're kissing him again, hot and messy, your tongue slipping past his lips as you suck on his tongue, dragging a low, helpless groan from him. You taste like wine, like heat, like pure desire, and fuck, he's already hard, his cock straining against his boxers, already leaking just from the way you kiss him.

You're insatiable tonight. Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging, pulling him closer, your body pressed flush against his. You can feel him—every hard line of him, every bit of tension coiling in his muscles as you kiss him like you'll die if you don't. And then, before he can get a grip on the situation, before he can take control like he always does, you push him.

He stumbles back onto the bed, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide as you climb over him, straddling his hips, grinding against his cock through the thin fabric of your lace panties. He groans, hands flying to your ass, gripping you tight as he pushes up against you, seeking more, needing more.

You look fucking wrecked already. Your face is flushed, your lips swollen from kissing, your hair a little messy from where he ran his fingers through it. Your eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and you grin as you tug at his tie, loosening it, slipping it from around his neck with slow, deliberate movements.

"Let me tie you up, baby," you purr, your voice low and teasing.

His breath hitches, his body going still beneath you. His lips part slightly, his chest rising and falling faster now, and you can see the gears turning in his head. He's never let you do this before. He's always been the one in control, always been the one to take the lead.

You lean down, brushing your lips over his jaw, then lower, down his neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin as you whisper, "What do you say, my love?"

His eyes flutter shut for a brief second, like he's weighing the idea, but then you grind down on him again, and whatever argument he might have had dies in his throat.

He nods, his voice coming out rough, needy. "Yeah."

That's all you need. With a pleased hum, you slide the silk tie around his wrists, tying them together with practiced ease before securing them to the cool metal bars of the bed frame. He shifts, testing the restraint, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard, his cock twitching beneath you.

You take your time with the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, dragging your fingers over his firm chest, his sculpted abs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. He's breathing heavily, watching you, his blue eyes dark and hooded, half-lidded with need. His lips are parted, and you know he's already wrecked, already desperate, but he's trying to be patient. Trying to let you take your time.

And fuck, he looks so good like this—tied up, shirt open, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. Yours. Completely at your mercy.

You press your lips to his collarbone, soft, lingering, and then you work your way down. Slow, wet kisses across his chest, your tongue flicking over his skin, over the hard muscle of his stomach, down, down, until you're kneeling between his thighs. You can feel him shudder, his muscles tightening beneath your lips as you press kisses lower, right above his belt, your breath hot against his skin.

His cock twitches beneath the fabric of his slacks, straining against the material, and you grin, nipping softly at his skin before finally unbuckling his belt. You undo his button, drag his zipper down with aching slowness, teasing him, making him wait. And when you finally tug his slacks down, freeing him from the fabric, your breath catches because fuck.

You've seen him like this a million times before, hard and leaking, thick and heavy, but it never gets old. Never stops making your mouth water, your cunt throb.

You lean in, pressing a lingering kiss to the flushed head of his cock through his boxers, and he groans—low and needy, his hips jerking up, desperate for more. You hum, dragging your tongue over the damp fabric, tasting the precum seeping through, and his head drops back against the pillow.

When you finally pull his boxers down, his cock slaps against his stomach, thick and heavy, flushed so dark it almost looks painful. Your pussy clenches at the sight, at the way it twitches when you breathe over it, at the way his thighs tense like he's trying so hard not to beg.

And then you lean closer, tongue flicking over his slit, licking up the warm precum that beads at the tip, and his whole body shudders. His breath catches, a deep, broken moan spilling from his lips as his hands flex uselessly against the tie restraining him.

He needs you. Needs to feel more, to bury himself in your mouth, to grip your hair and thrust deep, but he can't. And the realization—being completely at your mercy, unable to do anything but feel—only makes his cock throb harder.

And when you press soft, teasing kisses along the thick vein running down his length, he groans again, his hips shifting, straining toward you, toward the heat of your mouth. But you're not done teasing him yet.

Your fingers wrap around the base of his dick, stroking him slow, teasing, watching the way his breath stutters, the way his abs tense, the way his wrists flex against the tie holding him in place. He's so fucking hard, leaking all over himself, all over you, and it's delicious—the way he's at your mercy, the way his whole body is reacting to every little thing you do.

You hum, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the thick head, swirling your tongue over his slit, tasting the salt of his precum again. His moan is deep, raw, his hips jerking, but you pull back just enough to keep him from getting what he wants.

"Fuck, baby—"

His voice is wrecked already, strained and breathless, and he groans when you drag your tongue down the length of him, tracing that thick, pulsing vein, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath the head.

His whole body shudders beneath you. He's so fucking gone for you, for your mouth, for the way you're touching him like you own him. And you do because he's yours.

You hum against his skin, your fingers stroking him slow, teasing, and he's moaning again, deep and broken, his thighs trembling, his head thrown back against the pillow. He's already losing it, already unraveling, and you love it.

"So fucking pretty," you murmur, kissing along the underside of his cock, sucking softly at the base before licking your way back up. "So perfect for me."

His breath catches, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven pants, and fuck, he's never been this turned on in his life. Never been this desperate. His hands flex against the tie, his muscles tight, straining like he wants to touch you, to fist your hair and guide you deeper, but he can't. He has to take it. Take whatever you give him.

And then your lips wrap around his cock, sinking down, slow, wet, deep—and he moans, his back arching, his hips trying to thrust, but he can't, he fucking can't, and it's fucking killing him.

"Jesus—fuck, baby—"

His moan cracks when you hollow your cheeks, sucking him in, your tongue flicking over the slit, dragging along the underside as you bob your head, slow and steady. His thighs shake, his fingers twitch, his whole body tense with pleasure, with need.

And when you take him deeper—fuck, so deep he can feel the tight clench of your throat around him, so deep you're swallowing him—he whimpers, his head dropping back, his jaw clenching so fucking tight it aches.

He's losing his fucking mind. He knows it. He can feel it. And it's so fucking good.

Your throat flutters around him, holding him there, swallowing around his cock, and he swears he's about to fucking die. His stomach tightens, his abs clenching, his breath coming out in sharp, ragged moans.

And fuck, you love this. Love the weight of him on your tongue, love the way he sounds, the way he's falling apart just from your mouth, just from your touch. Your pussy clenches, aching, dripping, needy—but this isn't about you. Not yet.

This is about making him beg.

Your lips wrap around the head of his cock again, sucking just right, stroking him slow and tight, and he moans, hips twitching, stomach tensing. He's close—so fucking close, his whole body wound up so tight he can feel his orgasm building, that sweet, hot pressure coiling deep in his gut, in his spine, in his balls, ready to snap—

And then you stop.

You pull off him completely, letting his cock slip from your lips, throbbing, slick, so fucking hard it twitches against his stomach, leaking all over himself. His breath comes out in a broken, desperate moan, his head dropping back against the pillow as he whimpers.

"Fuck—baby, please—"

You just smirk, licking the taste of him from your lips, watching the way his chest rises and falls in uneven pants, the way his arms flex against the tie holding him down. He's suffering, and it's so fucking beautiful.

So you do it again.

You take him back in your mouth, sucking slow, deep, pumping the base with your fingers, feeling him throb, hearing the way he groans, deep and wrecked, his whole body trembling beneath you. And just when you know he's about to cum—just when you feel him tense, his moans getting higher, his cock pulsing, ready to spill—

You stop again. And again. And again.

By the fourth time, he's gone. A complete, desperate fucking mess. His skin is damp with sweat, his stomach tight, his thighs trembling, his cock so red and swollen it looks like it hurts. His abs flex with every ragged breath, his jaw clenched so tight it aches, and his voice is a wrecked, broken plea when he gasps—

"Baby... please. I'm so close."

You hum, crawling up his body, straddling him again, teasing him with the slow, deliberate roll of your hips. His dick is hot, aching, trapped between your soaked panties and his stomach, every little grind making his breath stutter, making his moans crack, his hips jerking desperately for more.

And then—slowly, torturously—you peel your dress off.

The straps slip down your shoulders first, and his breath catches, his eyes glued to the way your tits spill free, soft, perfect, bouncing slightly as you move. And then you tug it down, down, until it pools at your waist, and you lift yourself up just enough to push it off completely, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

You're left in nothing but your panties. Your soaked, slick panties that are currently pressed right against his throbbing, neglected dick.

"Fuck—"

His head falls back against the pillow, his abs tightening, his whole body shuddering when you grind down on him, teasing him with the wet heat of your pussy. The lace is soaked, clinging to your cunt, barely there, and every roll of your hips makes his cock throb, makes his breath stutter, makes his muscles strain against the tie holding him down.

And he can't fucking take it anymore.

He lifts his head, mouth latching onto one of your nipples, sucking hard, desperate, his tongue flicking over the peak, his teeth nipping gently, just enough to make you gasp, to make your hips jerk, to make your pussy throb against him.

"Yeah, like that," you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair, holding him there, arching into his mouth as he groans against your skin.

And he doesn't stop. Doesn't hesitate.

His tongue swirls, slow and teasing, before he sucks again, harder, his lips wrapping around you, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shudder. And then he moves to the other, giving it the same treatment, licking, sucking, worshiping you with his mouth, all while your hips keep moving, keep grinding, keep rubbing your soaked panties over his throbbing, desperate cock.

And he's losing his fucking mind.

Your moans spill into the room, soft and breathless, melting into the wet sounds of his mouth on your tits. Every suck, every flick of his tongue sends a sharp pulse of pleasure straight to your clit, making your hips stutter against him, making you grind down harder, needier.

And then, slowly, you reach between your legs, fingers slipping past the damp lace of your panties, tugging them to the side. The second your bare cunt presses against his cock, his whole body shudders. A ragged, desperate moan rips from his throat as his dick twitches against you, slicking up between your folds, smearing precum and arousal all over your slit.

"Fuck," he groans, head dropping back, his fingers curling into fists where they're tied above him. "Baby—"

You roll your hips, dragging your pussy up the length of his cock, coating him in your slick, letting the head nudge right against your clit. And it feels so fucking good, the thick, heavy heat of him slipping against you, the way he throbs under you, the way he aches for you.

"Shit—"

He jerks his hips up, trying to slide inside, desperate, needy, fucking gone. But you just chuckle, pulling back just enough to stop him, smirking when he whimpers.

"You're so cute, baby," you murmur, leaning down, brushing your lips against his, teasing him, keeping just out of reach.

"Please," he gasps, voice raw, ruined. "Doll, I need to cum, please—"

You coo, tilting your head, swiping your thumb over his flushed, swollen lips. "Oh? You need it, huh?"

But you don't let him. You keep grinding, keep rubbing your soaked, needy cunt all over his cock, keep rolling your hips just right so the swollen head nudges your clit over and over again, making your breath hitch, making your stomach tighten, making the pleasure build so fast, so fucking intense.

It's so slippery, so fucking messy.

His cock is drenched in you, soaked, slick with how wet you are, and it only makes you hotter, only makes you grind harder, makes you chase that tight, burning pleasure curling low in your belly, makes you moan into his mouth when you kiss him, wet and slow, filthy, licking into him as he whimpers beneath you.

"God— baby, you're so wet," he gasps against your lips, his cock throbbing against your pussy, twitching every time your clit rubs against the thick, swollen head. "Fuck—let me feel you, please—"

And then it hits you.

So hard, so sudden, it makes your whole body jerk. You cry out, gasping against his lips, nails dragging down his chest as your orgasm slams into you. Your cunt clenches, pulses, gushing all over his dick, soaking him, dripping down his shaft, coating his stomach.

"Oh— fuck—" you whimper, hips stuttering, rolling through it, grinding against him even as you shake.

Even as your legs go weak, even as the pleasure leaves you breathless, your pussy convulsing, fluttering, rubbing slick and soaked and so fucking messy all over his dick. And he feels it. He feels the way your cunt clenches, how you drip for him, how fucking wet you are, how you're making a mess of him.

"Shit," he groans, head falling back, his biceps flexing against the tie, his breath ragged, desperate, his whole body trembling under you. "Baby, please—"

But you're still cumming, still gasping, still grinding slow and deep, dragging it out, making sure he feels every second of it.

Your breath stutters as the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, leaving you flushed, panting, still grinding on his soaked, aching cock. You can feel how hard he is, how swollen, how his whole body trembles beneath you, desperate, wrecked.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his, murmuring breathlessly, "You look so hot right now, baby."

And then you kiss him—deep, slow, so filthy.

Your lips part against his, your tongue teasing, licking into his mouth, tasting the whimpers he lets out as you keep rolling your hips, dragging your slick pussy up and down his throbbing dick. Your tits brush against his chest, soft against the heat of his skin, making him shiver, making his fingers flex.

He groans into your mouth, tilting his head, trying to chase your lips, kissing you back just as deep, just as messy, moaning when you suck on his tongue, when you nip at his bottom lip, when you pull away just enough to breathe against him, teasing, cruel.

"Please, baby," he gasps, his voice shaking, his whole body tightening beneath you. "I need to cum, I can't—"

But then you lift yourself up, and his breath stutters, his whole body tensing, his cock twitching, aching, desperate for you, for your heat, for anything.

And then your hand dips down, your thumb brushing over the swollen, leaking head of his dick, smearing his precum, teasing him, making him jerk beneath you, a strangled moan ripping from his throat.

"God, baby," you whisper, smirking, your voice full of heat, full of control. "You have no idea how good you look like this. Tied, begging to cum..."

His head drops back against the pillows, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, his mind spiraling. Because, fuck—you do something to him. It's not just the way you touch him, not just the way you tease him, not just the way you keep him on the edge, ruining him, making him ache for you, making him need you like this.

It's you. It's how beautiful you are, even when you're making him suffer, even when you're playing with him, toying with him, making him beg. It's the way your lips shine from kissing him, the way your hair is messy, wild, like you've been thoroughly fucked already, the way your flushed skin glows under the low bedroom light. It's the way you look down at him, amusement and heat flickering in your eyes, so confident, so in control, like you know he's yours, like you know he'd do anything for you.

Because he would. And when you finally line him up with your soaked, throbbing cunt—when you sink down, taking his dick inch by inch, stretching your tight, sensitive walls around him—he swears he could die like this.

"Oh—fuck," you moan, head tilting back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting as he fills you, as your walls clench around him, fluttering, gripping him so tight he almost loses it right there.

"Shit—baby—"

His voice is wrecked, strained, his hands twitching in the restraints, aching to touch you, to grab your hips, to hold you down, to thrust up into you, to fuck you senseless.

But all he can do is watch.

Watch the way your body moves, the way you take him so fucking slow, dragging it out, making him feel every inch as you sink down again, taking him deep, all the way, until your soaked pussy is flush against his base, until your clit rubs against his skin, until his cock nudges against your end.

"Ohhh—"

Your moan is sweet, drawn-out, full of pleasure as you start to ride him, rolling your hips, taking him all the way, over and over again, grinding down so he presses right where you need him.

And he's losing his mind.

Because you feel so good, so tight, so hot, so fucking perfect wrapped around him, squeezing him, milking him, using him exactly how you want, fucking owning him.

And he can't do anything but moan for you.

Your hips move in a slow, steady rhythm, rolling, grinding, taking every inch of him, stretching your pussy wide around his thick, aching cock. He's so hard, throbbing inside you, and you can feel how desperate he is—his whole body tense, muscles straining.

The way he shudders when you squeeze around him, when your slick, ruined panties rub against the base of his dick, adding to the friction, making him groan, making him suffer in the best way.

"God, baby," you moan, your lips parting as you take him deep again, dragging your soaked cunt down his cock, making him feel you. "You feel so good. So hard for me."

He whimpers, his head tilting back, his throat exposed, his arms pulling at the tie holding them to the bed frame, his fingers twitching, aching to touch you. But all he can do is take it.

Take the way you ride him, the way you move, slow and filthy, teasing, rolling your hips just right so your clit drags against his skin, so your cunt squeezes tight, so your ruined panties make everything messier, wetter, hotter.

"Fuck—please," he gasps, his hips jerking up, chasing you, desperate to cum, desperate to fill you.

And just when he's close—just when his cock throbs, when his breath stutters, when his whole body tenses beneath you—you stop.

Lifting yourself up, letting his swollen, leaking tip slip from your fluttering walls, leaving him aching, leaving him empty.

"No—no, please—"

His voice is wrecked, his eyes blown wide, desperate, staring up at you as if you've just ruined him.

You moan softly, rubbing his sensitive tip against your slick lips, teasing him, making him ache, making him need. "Just a bit longer, baby. Please. You're so fucking hot."

And he trembles, his whole body shaking, every muscle in his body drawn tight as he fights the urge to beg, to plead. But then, after just a few agonizing seconds, you sink down again, taking him all in one slow, deep movement, making him moan as your hot, dripping pussy wraps around him again, squeezing him, clenching around him so fucking tight.

"Ohhh—fuck," you gasp, your head tilting back, your mouth parting as you start to move again, rolling your hips, grinding down on him, making his cock throb against your slick walls, making him suffer in the most delicious way.

And then, one of your hands trails up your body, cupping your tits, teasing, playing, rolling your nipples between your fingers, making you shudder, making your walls flutter around him.

The other dips between your legs. Pressing to your clit, slick and swollen, rubbing tight, slow circles that send sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making your whole body tingle, making your pussy clamp down around him, milking him.

"Fuck—fuck, baby," he groans, his head spinning, his breath ragged, his arms pulling at the restraints, his whole body fighting to stay still, to let you take your pleasure, to let you use him.

And you do.

You keep rolling your hips, keep riding him, fucking him, moaning as you play with yourself, teasing your tits, rubbing your clit, sending pleasure crashing through you, building higher, higher, higher. Until—

"Oh, God..."

You cum. Your body tenses, your walls spasming around him, milking his cock, squeezing so fucking tight as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, making you shake, making your breath stutter, making you moan, high-pitched and wrecked.

And you don't stop. You keep rubbing your clit, keep teasing your sensitive tits, keep grinding down on his cock, overstimulating yourself. Making your whole body shudder, making your cunt gush around him, soaking him, making a mess, making him feel every pulse, every spasm, every fucking throb.

His breath is ragged, his cock is twitching, his whole body is on fire as he watches you, as he feels you, as he suffers through every second of your pleasure, knowing that he can't cum, that you won't let him. And it's killing him. Because you're so fucking beautiful like this. So wet, so needy, so desperate, so perfect. And you're his.

You fuck him harder, faster, chasing that high, needing him to fill you up, needing to feel his hot cum spilling deep inside you. The bed rocks beneath you, the slap of your hips meeting his echoing through the room, wet, obscene, so fucking filthy. And he's falling apart beneath you, his moans breaking, his thighs tensing, his hands still bound, fingers twitching, desperate to grab at you, to pull you down, to feel your body against his.

He's gasping, his chest rising and falling, his cock twitching inside you, your slick making it so easy, so slippery, each thrust sending heat licking up your spine.

And when he finally chokes out, "I'm gonna cum, baby," you fucking shiver.

Leaning down, licking the words from his tongue as you murmur, "Yes, cum for me, my love. Fill me up."

And fuck, he does. His whole body goes taut beneath you, his hips snapping up, burying himself as deep as he can go before he spills, thick ropes of cum flooding your pussy, coating your walls, painting your insides in that delicious warmth. You moan at the feeling, at how fucking full you are, how your cunt clenches down, milking him, sucking him in, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

But there's too much, and you feel it spill, thick and messy, leaking out around his cock, dripping down between your thighs. And you love it—you fucking love it—the way it makes everything even more slippery, the way it drips onto his slacks, the way he whimpers when you keep fucking him through it, even though he's so overstimulated, even though his dick keeps twitching, throbbing, spilling the last few weak spurts of cum inside you.

He whines beneath you, body trembling, head lolling back, but you're relentless, rolling your hips, grinding down, desperate for just one more orgasm. And fuck, you can feel it, so close, so fucking close, your fingers slipping between your thighs, rubbing your swollen clit, gasping as slick gushes out of you, mixing with his cum, coating your fingers, making everything so wet, so filthy.

It crashes over you like a fucking tidal wave, your whole body going tight, thighs shaking as you moan his name, as your pussy pulses, clenches, convulses around him, soaking his cock in even more of your slick. Your head tilts back, lips parted, breathless, overwhelmed, your entire body trembling as the pleasure ripples through you, dragging you under, leaving you spent, sated, ruined.

And still, even as you finally slow, as your muscles go lax, as you collapse onto his chest, you can still feel it—the heat of him inside you, the way his cum still trickles out, messy, sticky, perfect.

Your whole body trembles, gasping against his skin, still shuddering from the intensity of it all. His chest rises and falls beneath you, his breath unsteady, wrecked, and then—

"Untie me, baby, please."

His voice is hoarse, pleading, his wrists flexing against the restraints.

But you just hum, lips curling into a lazy smirk as you murmur against his neck, "I'm not done with you, love."

And then you start kissing him again, soft at first, teasing, before dragging your tongue along his pulse, tasting the heat of his skin, the faint salt of sweat. You feel his body react instantly—his dick twitching inside you, still so hard, still so needy—and fuck, it makes you dizzy, knowing he's still aching for you, knowing you have him like this.

Your lips move lower, your teeth grazing his throat before sucking a deep, dark bruise into his skin, marking him, claiming him, yours. He groans, his hips shifting just slightly, desperate for friction, and you chuckle against his neck, breath warm, teasing.

Finally, you lift yourself up, slow, making sure he feels every single inch of it as his cock slips free, slapping wetly against his abdomen, still sticky and messy, still drenched in your slick and his cum. A thick trail follows, trickling out of your swollen pussy, dripping down onto him, onto his stomach, his thighs, but neither of you fucking care.

You just watch him for a second, still panting, taking him in. The way he looks beneath you—flushed, fucked-out, so goddamn beautiful—makes your chest ache. He's yours. This sweet, perfect, good man is yours, and it still fucking stuns you sometimes.

But then, his cock twitches again, still so hard, still so ready, and your lips curl into something wicked. You shift, moving to straddle him again, but this time in reverse cowgirl. His breath hitches, and you know why—your ass.

He can't fucking take his eyes off it, his fingers flexing against his palms like he's aching to grab you, hold you, squeeze you. But he can't. And the realization makes him whimper softly, needy, desperate.

Fuck.

The sound sends a hot pulse straight between your legs, your cunt clenching around nothing, so eager to be filled again. You glance over your shoulder, watching his face as you wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him a few times, smearing the mix of both of you all over his length. His hips jerk, just barely, and he exhales a shaky breath, eyes locked on you.

And then, finally, you guide him back inside.

Your slick makes it so easy, his cock sliding in so smoothly, but the angle—fuck, the angle. You feel him in a whole different way, his length rubbing right against that sweet spot inside you, making your toes curl, your thighs tense. A gasp catches in your throat, and he groans behind you, hands still uselessly bound, forced to just watch as you start to move.

Slow at first, just getting used to the stretch again, to the way he fills you so deep. But then, as the pleasure builds, your pace quickens, your ass bouncing with every roll of your hips, every downward thrust that takes him to the hilt.

And he watches, fucking mesmerized.

Your moans spill out unchecked, desperate and breathless, your body moving—no, fucking yourself—on his cock like you can't get enough. And fuck, you really can't.

"Oh my God, baby, you feel so fucking good," you gasp, head tilting back, mouth parted, pleasure wrecking you. "So deep—fuck, so hard—"

And you keep going, babbling, mindless words falling from your lips between moans, between the slick, obscene sounds of your soaked pussy taking his dick again and again. He's so big, so thick, and every time you drop down, he hits it—that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake, makes your walls flutter, makes you see stars.

Under you, Dick is struggling. You don't even notice at first. You're too focused on how fucking good this feels, how he stretches you so perfectly, how your clit throbs every time your hips grind against him just right. But he's desperate. His fingers flex, his arms pull as hard as he can. He needs to touch you. And then—rip. The tie snaps.

You don't hear it, don't even feel it, too lost in the rhythm, too drunk on pleasure, but then, you feel his hands. Big, warm, rough hands gripping your ass.

You freeze for a second, a shuddering gasp escaping your lips, your walls clenching hard around his cock. And when you turn your head to look back, eyes half-lidded, breathless, the only thing you manage to moan is—

"Dick..."

He just groans, his grip tightening, fingers sinking into the plush of your ass as he spreads you open. "Just keep going, baby," he rasps, voice thick, raw, wrecked. "Take what you need."

And fuck—fuck. That does something to you. So you do. You keep fucking him, moaning louder, rolling your hips harder, pushing back onto his cock like you're trying to take him deeper.

And Dick is losing his fucking mind. His grip is firm, desperate, greedy, his thumbs spreading your cheeks so he can see better, watch the way your soaked cunt swallows his cock, clinging to every inch of him. You're dripping.

Every bounce, every grind leaves a slick, wet sheen along his cock, your swollen lips stretched around him so tight, so perfect. It's a fucking mess, your arousal shining on his length, coating his pelvis, dripping down onto his thighs.

And your ass, God.

Bouncing, shaking, soft and so fucking beautiful. He grabs at it, kneads it, his fingers digging into your flesh, spreading you open wider, watching the way his cock disappears into you with every downward thrust.

And the sounds you make—fuck. The way you moan for him, the way your voice breaks when you take him deep, the breathy, wrecked little gasps you let out every time his cock nudges against your sweet spot—it's too much, too good.

His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight. He's close. And he knows you're gonna ruin him. Your body is a live wire, every nerve buzzing, every muscle trembling as you grind down on him, taking his cock so deep, so perfectly.

You can feel it—feel everything. How thick he is inside you, how the head of his dick presses into that sweet, aching spot with every bounce of your hips, how your slick makes each movement so smooth, so messy.

You're close. So fucking close, you can taste it, can feel the coil in your belly winding tighter, burning hot, unbearable. You're whimpering, babbling, barely aware of the words spilling from your lips.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, baby—"

And then it hits. Your climax crashes through you like a wave, violent and all-consuming, and you sob as you cum, your entire body shuddering, your cunt clamping down so tight around his cock that you feel every throb, every pulse of his length.

You gush around him, drenching his cock, your slick dripping down onto his balls, onto the sheets, making a complete fucking mess—but you don't care, can't care, not when it feels this good, this deep, this intense. Your walls flutter, spasming uncontrollably, and the pleasure is so much, so overwhelming, that your arms nearly give out.

And then—you feel it. The way he shudders beneath you. The way his hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh so hard that you know you'll feel it tomorrow.

The way his cock twitches, throbbing as he groans, deep and wrecked, "Fuuuck, baby—"

And then he's cumming. His cock pulses hard, and you moan as you feel it—the warmth of it, the thickness, the way his cum floods you deep, so deep, pumping against your cervix, coating your walls, filling you to the brim.

Dick moans, a breathless, needy sound, his grip on you tightening as his body jerks beneath you. His abs tense, his thighs flex, his fingers dig into your ass, squeezing as he rides it out, as he gives you everything.

Your body thrums, your chest heaving, your mind dazed with pleasure, but before you can even catch your breath, before you can even whisper his name—

He moves. In one swift, fluid motion, he lifts you off of him, and you gasp, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. His cum leaks out immediately, dripping down your thighs, pooling between your legs, making a mess on the sheets.

"Baby—" you barely manage to say.

But he's already moving you, already positioning you. Ass up, face down. And then, he's inside you again, burying himself deep. You moan into the sheets, your entire body jerking forward, your walls clamping down around him as he fills you again in one smooth thrust.

"Okay," he growls, his voice low, wrecked, dangerous as his hands settle on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants you. "You had your fun, doll. My turn."

And then he fucks you. Hard. Deep. Your pussy is still so sensitive, still aching from your orgasm, but you don't tell him to stop—you don't want him to. You want more. You need more. And he knows it.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, obscene, wet, loud, mixing with the desperate, wrecked little moans spilling from your lips. His balls slap against your pussy every time he thrusts in, slick and messy from how much you've cum.

He's so sensitive, but he doesn't care. Not when you feel this good. Not when your tight little cunt is still gripping him perfectly, still soaking him, still taking every inch of him so beautifully. His perfect fucking girl. And he tells you as much.

"Fuck, baby. Look at you."

His voice is low, rough with arousal as he watches the way his cock sinks into your swollen cunt. The way you're creaming around him, leaving a messy little ring at the base of his dick.

"Taking it so fucking well, huh?"

Your moans are high-pitched, needy, desperate, muffled against the sheets as you tremble beneath him. He chuckles, dark and wrecked, before slapping your ass. You cry out, shuddering, walls clenching around him.

"Yeah? You like that, baby?"

He does it again, harder, watching the way your soft flesh jiggles beneath his palm. Watching the way your pussy tightens up around him in response.

"God, you're so fucking good for me. My perfect girl."

You sob, grinding your hips back into him as he pounds into you, deep, shallow thrusts that have you moaning into the sheets, completely fucked out, completely ruined. And you love it.

Because you're his. And he's gonna make sure you remember it. Everything is too much—too sensitive, too raw, too fucking good.

Your body is a mess of pleasure, every nerve lit up, every touch electric, your cunt so swollen, so overstimulated from how many times he's fucked you through your orgasms. But he doesn't stop—he won't stop.

Not when you're still so tight around him.

Not when your walls are hot, puffy, gripping him like you never want to let him go. Not when you're still pushing back against him, still desperate for more. And God, you are. You need it.

Even as your thighs tremble, even as you moan and whimper into the sheets, begging, pleading, "Baby, please, I can't—"

But you still arch your back, still spread your legs wider, still take it. And fuck, he loves it.

His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock, forcing you to take every deep, obscene thrust as he fucks into you again, again, again.

The bed creaks beneath you, the frame knocking against the wall. The wet, filthy sound of your slick and his cum squelching with every thrust makes his stomach tighten, makes his cock throb inside you, makes him groan.

His hips slap against your ass, sharp, deep, every thrust forcing more of his mess out of your wrecked cunt, more wetness dripping down your thighs, onto the sheets, onto his balls. And fuck, you're so full. So full of him, full of his cum, full of everything he gives you.

He groans, voice wrecked, low and deep, fingers flexing on your hips. "God, you're so fucking good for me, baby."

You sob at his words, whimpering, because you are. You're his good girl. You take it so well, take him so perfectly, so deep, so tight. And then—his hand slides lower.

His fingers skim down your stomach, and you whine, already knowing what he's about to do, already dreading it, already needing it. And then, he rubs your clit. Your body jerks, and you gasp, shuddering, because fuck, it's too much, it's too much, it's too fucking much.

Your clit is puffy, swollen, throbbing, so fucking sensitive, so messy, slick and sticky from his cum, and his touch is a shock, making you feel like you're going to fucking break apart. You try to pull away, try to close your thighs, but he doesn't let you. He keeps you spread open, his fingers circling your clit, pressing, teasing, forcing you to take it.

And you sob, your body shaking, your walls fluttering around him as you whimper, "No, baby, please, I can't—I can't—"

But he knows you can. And he tells you.

"Oh, doll, I know you can take it." His voice is low, teasing, but his fingers don't slow, his hips don't stop, and he leans over you, lips at your ear as he fucks you deeper, harder. "Be a good girl for me, yeah? Let me feel you."

And you do. You can't stop it. Your orgasm hits you like a fucking shockwave, violent, unbearable, earth-shattering.

You choke a moan, your whole body convulsing, your cunt milking his cock, gushing around him, soaking his length, drenching his balls, making the mess between your thighs filthier, hotter. And he can't stop fucking you.

Not when you're creaming around him like this. Not when your pussy is pulsing, sucking him in, refusing to let him go. Your body is wrecked, trembling, your thighs quivering as another aftershock ripples through your cunt, your walls still clenching down around him, still squeezing him so tight he can barely fucking breathe. And he watches it all.

He spreads your ass, forces you open, and the sight knocks the breath out of his lungs. You're a mess. His cum is dripping out of you, slick and white, coating your folds, smeared on your thighs, sticky and wet and filthy.

Your walls cling to him every time he pulls back, stretched around his cock, slick and messy, gripping him like you never want him to leave.

And fuck, he never wants to.

Not when you look this good, not when you feel this good, this warm, this wet, this tight. He groans, low and deep, hips rocking into you slow, deep, dragging out every second of it, savoring the way you pulse and throb around him.

And you take it. Of course you do.

There is nothing this man could give you that you wouldn't take—nothing. If he wants to fill you up again, you'll let him. If he wants to fuck you until you can't move, you'll take it. If he wants to ruin you, make you his perfect, fucked-out, dripping mess, you'll fucking let him.

Because you belong to him, and he belongs to you.

A whimper slips from your lips, and he leans over you, pressing his chest against your sweaty, overheated back, mouth hot against your shoulder.

"Shhh, baby," he murmurs, voice wrecked, deep, tinged with so much hunger, so much adoration.

His lips press to your damp skin, soft kisses, slow kisses, trailing over your shoulder, your spine, your neck, as he fucks you. His thrusts slow, deepen, rolling into you instead of pounding, giving you a moment to catch your breath, come back to yourself.

But he doesn't stop. Because he's not done with you. His voice is low, husky, a breathless plea against your sweat-slicked skin.

"Can you take more, love?"

You barely lift your head from the sheets, your body trembling, already raw and wrecked. But you still nod, sucking in a shaky breath.

"Y-yeah," you whisper, voice cracking, "I can take it."

A groan rips from his throat. "That's my girl."

His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he keeps fucking you, dragging his cock in and out of your swollen, overstimulated pussy. Every thrust is deep, slow, but firm—making sure you feel every thick inch stretching you, making a mess of your insides.

The slick, obscene sound of him pumping into you fills the room, mixing with your soft sobs of pleasure, the way your pussy clenches down on him greedily, milking him with every deep stroke.

He fills you up so completely, so perfectly, and he knows it. He can feel it in the way your body trembles under him, the way you still push back, desperate for more even when you're whimpering, even when you're so fucking sensitive.

And he can't stop watching you.

Your body is glowing with sweat, flushed, gorgeous, every inch of you made for him, made to take him. His eyes drop to where his cock is splitting you open, to the way your swollen, slick folds suck him in hungrily, coated in a creamy mix of his cum and your arousal. It drips down, so messy, so fucking perfect.

"God, baby," he groans, fingers spreading you wider, just to see more, just to watch the way your tight little cunt clings to him every time he pulls back. "You're so fucking beautiful. Look at the way you take me. You were made for this, weren't you?"

You sob into the sheets, but you nod again, arching your back, pushing your hips higher, giving him more.

"Yes," you gasp, "God, yes, baby, I—oh fuck, I love it. I love you."

His thrusts stutter, something breaking in his chest at how wrecked and desperate you sound, how much you want him. How much you need him. He leans over you, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulders, your spine, his dick still stretching you, filling you, keeping you pinned in place.

"I love you too, doll," he murmurs, voice raw. "So fucking much. So good for me. My perfect girl."

Your body shudders under his, but he doesn't stop fucking you, stretching you, pushing you higher, deeper into the heat of it. You can barely breathe, your body wrecked, your mind swimming, but you can't stop, you don't want to stop. The pressure builds again, faster this time, so intense it leaves you shaking, gasping, so close you can barely think.

And then you snap.

A loud, broken sob leaves your lips as your orgasm crashes over you, drenching his cock, your walls pulsing, gripping him so tight he chokes out a moan.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers digging into your hips as your tight little pussy milks him, sucks him in, makes him lose control.

He can't hold back. Not when you feel this good. His thrusts turn desperate, sloppy, pounding into you as he chases his own release, needing to fill you up again, needing to claim you completely.

"Oh my God," you babble, still shuddering, still moaning. "Baby, you feel so fucking good. More, please, give me more."

He groans at your words, at how fucked-out and wrecked you sound. And then he feels it—the heat coiling in his spine, the unbearable pressure, the way your slick pussy is sucking him deeper, milking him, begging him to let go.

"Gonna cum, baby," he pants, hips snapping against your ass, fucking you faster, harder, needier.

"Yes, yes," you moan, pushing back against him, drunk on the way he fucks you, on the way his cock throbs inside you, so close, so fucking close. "Fill me up, give me everything, please."

His head drops forward, a ragged groan escaping his lips as he finally breaks. A shudder racks through him as he slams deep, holding you tight, burying himself as far as he can go.

And then he cums. Thick, hot ropes of his seed flood your womb, spilling deep, painting your insides as his cock throbs, twitching against your cervix.

"Fuck," he groans, voice cracking, hips jerking, fucking it deeper, even as it leaks out around him, even as your walls keep clenching down, milking every last drop.

Your body trembles beneath him, and then, before you can even catch your breath, you shudder and moan, your pussy fluttering as another orgasm rolls through you. Just from feeling him cum inside you.

"Oh my God," you sob, your slick gushing out, mixing with his, soaking his thighs, making a mess of both of you.

Your walls squeeze around him in relentless, fluttering pulses, greedily milking every bit of warmth he pours into you. The overstimulation hits you like a tidal wave—sharp, hot, and all-consuming—each pulse of his cock sending sparks of pleasure crackling through your nerves.

It's too much and not enough, leaving you breathless and squirming, your body caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to keep him buried inside you.

He groans again, deeper this time, hips giving another shallow thrust as if he can't help himself. The movement makes his cum spill out even more, thick and sticky as it drips down to the mess pooling beneath you.

Your cunt flutters around him, still contracting, still hungry for him. It's filthy—the way you're both soaked in it, the way you're trembling, overstimulated and wrecked—but God, it feels so good.

His breath stutters against your neck. "Fuck, baby," he pants, voice wrecked, "you're squeezing me so tight... can feel you milking my dick."

His words send a fresh shiver down your spine, another weak moan slipping from your lips.

"Look at that," he murmurs, voice rough but so fucking tender underneath. "So full of me... making such a mess, pretty girl."

And you can't even answer—you're too far gone, too lost in the aftershocks rippling through you. Your thighs twitch as another small, involuntary pulse grips him, your slick gushing out in a sticky rush. It mixes with his cum, dripping down your skin, leaving you both soaked.

Your cunt clenches so tight he whimpers, digging his nails into your hips, panting, groaning as you keep trembling around him. Even when he's empty, even when he's so fucking sensitive he could cry, he still keeps thrusting, still keeps fucking his cum deeper, because he just can't stop.

His arms tighten around you, holding you close as his hips still, breath hot against your skin. The air is thick with heat and the sound of your ragged breathing, bodies pressed together, sticky and warm and completely spent.

You're a mess. He's a mess. And God, you've never felt so good, his body heavy and warm over yours, chest heaving, heartbeat hammering against your back.

And then, slowly, he moves, pressing soft, breathless kisses to your back, your shoulders, your spine. He doesn't pull out.

Just stays there, inside you, still throbbing, still leaking, one hand soft on your hip, the other smoothing over your spine, grounding you, keeping you there with him.

When he finally pulls out, you whimper, a broken, needy sound, your cunt clenching instinctively at the loss. And then you feel it—his cum trickling out of your swollen, stretched pussy, thick and warm as it spills down your folds.

It drips in slow, lazy streams, pooling between your thighs before seeping onto the sheets beneath you, sticky and messy. You twitch at the sensation, oversensitive and spent, body shuddering with every pulse of aftershock still lingering in your core.

"Fuck," he breathes, eyes locked on the way you leak all over the bed.

His gaze darkens, jaw clenching, and there's something filthy about how proud he looks—like he loves seeing you ruined like this, fucked open and dripping with him. But then his expression softens, guilt creeping in as he notices the way you flinch with every tiny movement.

His thumb ghosts over your slick-coated folds, watching how more of his cum spills out with the slightest touch. "Didn't mean to be so rough," he adds, though there's still that lingering heat in his tone.

You whimper again, thighs instinctively trying to close, but he gently keeps them apart, soothing circles drawn into your skin. "I've got you," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your lower back.

Your head spins, body thrumming with a mix of exhaustion, overstimulation, and the lingering warmth of his touch. You're a wreck—leaking, stretched, and completely undone. And God, it feels so good.

He presses a soothing kiss between your shoulder blades, murmuring softly, "Shhh, baby, I've got you. I've got you."

And his hands are already on you, grounding you, smoothing over your hips and up your back, tracing light, gentle circles into your overheated skin. His touch is warm, reverent, pulling you back to him even as he shifts to settle beside you.

As soon as he's on his back, he guides you against him, gathering you in his arms, and you go so easily, pressing yourself into him, your body melting against his warmth, skin against skin. Your legs tangle with his, your breath uneven, chest still heaving as you cling to him. He can feel the way you're shaking, small aftershocks rolling through you, and his hold tightens, protective, reassuring.

"Hey, baby," he whispers, tucking his nose into your damp hair, kissing your temple. "Breathe, pretty girl. You're okay. You did so good for me."

You let out a soft sniffle, your fingers gripping his bicep, and he shushes you gently, stroking your back, slow and steady, coaxing you into calmer breaths. His lips trail down, brushing over your cheek, down to your jaw, his touch featherlight, affectionate.

His hand finds your face, cradling it so delicately, his thumb swiping over your cheekbone before he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze softens as he takes you in—your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, the dazed, exhausted look in your eyes, still glossy, still lost in the intensity of it all.

"You with me, baby?" he murmurs, his voice low, coaxing, full of love.

You nod, barely, your breath shuddering, and he tilts your chin up just enough to brush a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"That's my girl," he whispers. "Come back to me."

He watches you, patient, letting you settle in his arms, letting you come back down from it at your own pace. His fingers keep moving, tracing over your spine, your ribs, brushing over the swell of your hip, never stopping, never letting you feel anything but the warmth of him, the love in his touch.

"You were perfect," he murmurs. "So perfect for me."

And the way he says it—so soft, so full of everything he feels for you—it makes your chest ache, makes your body curl even closer to his, like you want to mold yourself into him completely.

He smiles against your temple, kissing you again, his arm tightening around you. "That's it, baby," he breathes. "I've got you."

You blink up at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion, your lashes clumped together from sweat and whatever was left of your ruined makeup.

He chuckles softly, brushing a thumb beneath one of your eyes. "You look so cute."

You groan, rolling your face into his chest, voice muffled when you mumble, "I look like a fucking raccoon."

His laugh is warm, full of affection, and he tilts your chin up so you have to look at him. "No, baby. You're beautiful."

You let out a small, tired huff and slap his chest weakly, pouting up at him. "Don't lie to me."

He grins, shaking his head. "You know I never lie to you, my love."

You narrow your eyes, lips still in a soft pout before you give up, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He lets you, wrapping his arms around you, his palm rubbing soothing circles against your back.

His lips press gentle kisses into your damp hair, and for a while, the two of you just stay like that—warm, tangled up in each other, the steady sound of his heartbeat beneath your cheek lulling you into something dangerously close to sleep.

Then, you shiver softly, a little tremor running through you, and he frowns. He can feel your body sinking into his like dead weight, your breaths coming out slower, deeper. You're so close to dozing off, and he almost lets you, but he knows you can't sleep like this.

Not with how sensitive your skin is, not with the way sweat and smudged makeup still cling to your face. You'd be miserable in the morning, and he's not about to let that happen.

So he shifts.

You whimper, clinging to him instantly, your hands fisting at his back, and he hushes you softly, stroking your side. "Let's get you cleaned up, baby."

You shake your head, nose still buried in his neck. "Don't wanna move," you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

He chuckles, pressing another kiss to your temple. "I know, pretty girl. But we can't sleep like this."

You groan, shifting just enough to pout up at him. "Why not?" Your voice is so small, so tired, like a sleepy little kitten, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

He cups your cheek, thumb stroking your warm skin. "Because the sheets are a mess, your makeup is still on," he murmurs. "And I know you hate sleeping like this."

You make a soft, grumpy sound, and even though you can't argue with that, you still murmur, "Can't move, baby."

He smiles, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "No problem," he reassures, voice as gentle as the hands holding you. "I'll carry you to the bathroom, yeah? Slowly, my love."

You whine softly, clinging tighter to him, but when he shifts again, lifting you into his arms with ease, you don't resist. Your head lolls against his shoulder, and he cradles you close as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Once he sets you down, you immediately reach for him again, arms wrapping around his waist as you press yourself against his warmth, looking up at him with big, pouty eyes.

"Can we take a bath?"

And how the fuck is he supposed to say no to that?

"Yeah, we can," he says, voice impossibly soft.

His arm stays wrapped around you as he moves to the tub, only pulling back slightly to turn the faucet on. Warm water starts to fill the basin, and he keeps you close, holding you against him as he reaches for the oils and bubbles he knows you love.

He pours them in carefully, swirling the water with his fingers as delicate foam forms on the surface, the scent of soft florals and vanilla filling the air. His other hand remains steady on you, rubbing soothing circles against your back, keeping you close, keeping you grounded.

"You okay, baby?" he murmurs, looking down at you.

You nod sleepily, your cheek pressed to his chest. "Mhmm. 'M just tired."

He smiles, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "I know, my love. We'll get you all clean and cozy, and then we can sleep, yeah?"

You hum, nodding again, and he tightens his hold on you, just for a moment, before reaching to shut off the water. You whine softly when he pulls away, even just an inch, your fingers instinctively curling into his skin, not wanting to let go. He chuckles, the sound deep and warm as he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby," he murmurs, reaching for your makeup remover and a stack of cotton pads.

You blink sleepily as he soaks a few, then hands them to you. You take them with clumsy fingers, swiping them over your face in slow, lazy motions, barely putting in the effort, but it's enough. He watches you, his lips twitching when you pause, your hand growing still against your cheek, clearly too tired to finish.

He huffs out a soft laugh, plucking the used cotton pads from your fingers before guiding you to the sink. "Come on, pretty girl. Let's wash the rest off, yeah?"

You hum in agreement, letting him help you as he always does. His palm rests against your lower back as you reach for your cleanser, and when you start rubbing it over your face, he strokes slow circles over your skin, grounding you, making sure you don't drift too far.

You rinse away the remnants of your makeup, patting your face dry with a fluffy towel, and by the time you look back at him, he's already kneeling in front of you, those strong hands of his hooking into your panties.

He tugs them down slowly, his fingers brushing against your thighs, and you shiver under his touch, even though it's barely anything. His gaze flickers up to yours, checking on you, and when you nod sleepily, he slips them off the rest of the way, tossing them into the laundry basket.

"Good girl," he murmurs, voice soft as he helps you into the tub.

The water is warm, the bubbles thick, and as soon as you sink in, you let out a tiny, contented sigh. He smiles, watching you for a second before quickly shedding his own clothes.

Then, he's stepping in behind you, settling in the water before pulling you against his chest. His arms wrap around you easily, like it's second nature, like he was made to hold you.

You rest your head on his shoulder, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to his skin before murmuring, "Are you mad that I teased you like that?"

He exhales a quiet laugh, lips grazing your temple as he says, "No, baby. I kind of liked it."

You giggle, the sound so sweet, so sleepy, and his heart clenches.

Then, your gaze flickers up to him, those big, drowsy eyes locking onto his. "I ruined your tie," you pout.

His brows lift slightly, then he lets out a soft chuckle. "That's okay," he murmurs. "It's just a tie. I'll buy another one, sweet girl."

You hum, satisfied with that answer, sinking further into the warm water, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. For a moment, it's just the two of you, breathing each other in, warm and comfortable, the quiet sound of water lapping against the tub filling the air.

Then, you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, "Can you believe it's been three years?"

His chest rises and falls beneath you as he exhales slowly. "Honestly? No." His voice is softer now, thoughtful. "I can't believe you put up with my ass for so long."

You scoff, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Who else is gonna do that?"

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "I don't know," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. "But I don't care. I just want you."

You tilt your head up, gazing at him with tired, affectionate eyes, your lips parting as you murmur, "I love you so much."

His expression softens instantly, those warm eyes of his locking onto yours like you're the only thing that matters. "I know, baby," he whispers, leaning down. "I love you too."

Then, he kisses you. Soft. Slow. Sweet. His lips press against yours with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten, makes your breath catch in your throat. His hand cradle your face, thumb stroking over your damp skin as he kisses you deeper, his tongue slipping past your lips to brush against yours. A tiny, breathy moan escapes you, muffled between his lips, and he swallows it down, pulling you closer, pressing into you like he can't get enough.

You melt against him, fingers gripping his forearm as the kiss lingers, warm and lazy, unhurried. He hums against your mouth, savoring the way you taste, the way your lips move with his, so soft, so familiar.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are pink, glistening, and he lets his forehead rest against yours, his breath fanning over your skin.

For a while, you just lay there, wrapped in him, your body relaxed, your mind quiet. Your eyelids grow heavier, and before you know it, you're on the verge of sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you lulling you closer and closer.

But then, his voice rumbles through you, gentle and warm. "Let's clean you up, okay?"

You nod sleepily, making a small, clumsy move to sit up, but your limbs are too heavy, your body too lax. He catches you easily, chuckling as he steadies you.

"Let me, baby," he murmurs, reaching for the body wash on the side of the tub.

You hum in agreement, letting yourself relax again as he takes care of you. His hands are slow, deliberate, so gentle as he runs them over your body, washing away the remnants of sweat and slick and him. He murmurs sweet praises between soft kisses, his lips pressing against your shoulder, your temple, your cheek.

"You did so good for me, doll," he breathes, sliding his hand over your arm.

You shiver, letting out a tiny, contented sigh as you sink further into his embrace.

"My pretty girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair, his voice filled with nothing but love. "So perfect for me."

Once he's finished washing you, he moves on to himself, making quick work of rinsing off before reaching over to drain the tub. Then, with ease, he stands, stepping out before offering you his hand.

You take it without hesitation, letting him help you up, and the second you're on your feet, he's wrapping you in a thick, fluffy towel, tucking you against his chest.

You sigh into him, pressing your face against his skin, savoring his warmth, his scent. He rubs his hands up and down your back, drying you off gently before leading you to the sink.

You don't bother with your full skincare routine—too sleepy, too relaxed—but you do swipe on some moisturizer and dab a bit of under-eye cream beneath your tired eyes while he steps out, making quick work of changing the sheets.

He returns a few minutes later, already dressed in a pair of soft gray shorts that hang low on his hips, hair still damp from the bath, and in his hands, he's holding a pair of your panties and one of his t-shirts. He smiles as he approaches, eyes warm and gentle.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs. "Let's get you out of that wet towel."

You lift your arms without protest, letting him peel the towel away from your body. His gaze softens even more at the sight of you—freshly cleaned, skin dewy, hair damp and tousled, cheeks flushed with lingering warmth. God, you're beautiful.

He kneels in front of you, holding the panties open. "Step in for me," he coaxes.

You place your hands on his shoulders for balance, and he steadies you as you step into them one foot at a time. He begins sliding them up your legs, slow and careful—until, just before he pulls them over your hips, he leans in and presses a kiss right to your pussy.

"Dick!" you squeak, cheeks burning.

He grins up at you, completely unrepentant. "What?" he teases, laughter dancing in his eyes, and finally tugs the panties up properly.

You huff, playfully swatting at his shoulder, but he just chuckles, standing back up. He reaches for the t-shirt next, pulling it over your head and gently guiding your arms through the sleeves.

It's big and soft, smelling like him—clean laundry mixed with the faint trace of his cologne and something inherently him. Comforting. Warm. Home.

Just as he starts to turn away, you reach out and grab his wrist. "Come here," you murmur.

He groans softly, head tilting back with exaggerated exasperation. "Baby," he pouts, "I thought you were tired."

But he already knows what's coming. You grin, half-asleep and utterly sweet as you grab your moisturizer and dab a bit onto your fingertips. "You have such nice skin," you mumble, dotting some onto his face. "It'd be even nicer if you took care of it from time to time."

He pulls a face, pretending to be annoyed—but still leans down so you can reach better. His nose wrinkles at the cool sensation, and you giggle, smoothing the cream into his skin with gentle fingers. His eyes flutter shut under your touch, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries not to smile at your concentration.

"Stop making faces," you laugh.

"I can't help it," he mutters, lips curving upward despite himself. "Feels weird."

"But good for you," you counter, tapping his cheek once you're done.

Once that's over, you both reach for your toothbrushes, standing side by side at the sink. He keeps nudging you with his hip, playful as ever, making you shoot him exasperated glances between mouthfuls of toothpaste. He just grins around his toothbrush, utterly unbothered.

When you finally finish, spitting out the minty foam and rinsing your mouth, he wraps an arm around your waist and guides you back to the bedroom. The sheets are fresh, soft, and he's already picked up the clothes you both left strewn across the floor earlier.

He pulls the covers back for you. "Come on, pretty girl," he murmurs, coaxing.

You don't need to be told twice—you plop down onto the mattress with a happy squeal, limbs sprawling out as you sink into the warmth.

His heart clenches at how adorable you are—eyes sleepy, hair a mess, but smiling like that, so content, so soft. God, he loves you. Loves how easily you make his world feel right. He slides in beside you, reaching to pull the covers over you both.

You immediately cling to him, nuzzling into his chest as the warmth of his skin wraps around you like a cocoon. His arms instinctively tighten, pulling you closer, and he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple.

"Mmm..." you hum sleepily, fingers curling into his side.

He shifts just enough to tuck you under his chin, resting his cheek against the top of your head. You're already half-asleep, breaths evening out against his skin, your body melting into his like you were made to fit there. And God, he thinks you were.

His thumb strokes slow circles against your lower back as you drift off, and for a moment, he just... lets himself be still. Lets himself feel the quiet weight of you in his arms. The way you trust him enough to fall asleep like this—safe, warm, loved.

Three years.

His chest tightens. Has it really been that long? It feels like just yesterday he was meeting you for the first time—those eyes, that smile that hooked him from the start. And yet, it also feels like he's known you forever, like you've been stitched into the fabric of his life from the beginning.

He thinks about everything you've been through together—the laughter, the fights, the quiet nights, the chaotic mornings. The way you hold him when he's had a rough day. The way you light up when you talk about things you love. The way you look at him like he's the only thing in the world that matters.

He's so fucking lucky.

The best three years of his life. And God, he wants more. More lazy mornings, more nights tangled up in fresh sheets like this, more soft kisses, more sleepy grins, more of you. Always you.

His fingers drift along your back, tracing slow, absentminded patterns as his thoughts wander. There are nights—plenty of them—when he comes home to you bruised and beaten, body aching from patrol.

And God, he hates that. Hates how you worry, how your eyes soften with concern the moment you see him limping through the door. But you always take care of him. Always.

You patch him up with the gentlest hands, tending to every scrape and cut with that same unwavering tenderness. And it's not just the care—it's the way you press soft kisses to his bruises like you can kiss the pain away.

The way you murmur praises against his skin—Thank you for keeping me safe, for making Blüdhaven better, for always coming back to me. It's enough to make his heart clench every damn time.

And when he first told you—really told you—that he was Nightwing, you didn't even flinch. Just looked at him with those knowing eyes, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you said you figured.

Like you always knew. Like it didn't scare you away. If anything, you just pulled him into your arms and held him tighter. No judgement. No fear. Just love. Just you.

God—he doesn't know what he did to deserve that. To deserve you.

His lips brush your hair again. "I love you," he whispers, voice barely audible in the quiet room.

You murmur something incoherent in response—half a hum, half a sleepy sigh—but it makes him smile anyway. Because you're here. In his arms. Safe. Loved. His.

And as you breathe slow and steady against him, warmth blooming in his chest, he thinks—yeah. This is it. This is home.

[aeperol-spritz]

Hi:)!! I love your writing, but just wondering if ya'd do some dick Grayson smut, like with the sex pollen stuff just making him all needy,

Fem reader? Even nb reader o_O?

Like ur real good at writing man^_^.

And I mean if you'd add some of your own kinks? I'd love to see him acting like an lil whiner it's cute in a way, feels so odd to ask lmfao please laugh LMFAO 💔..

pretty bird

Summary: Dick gets hit by a new Poison Ivy pollen, and there's only one way, or rather one person, to get it out of his system.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ SMUT - sex pollen but explicit consent is given, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, thigh riding, praise/degradation, sub!dick, biting (lmk if i missed any)

Author's note: The fact that this took me over 3 months to finish is embarrassing and I'm sorry and please don't hate me and fuck how I love bottom Dick. I also fear that you can kind of see my kind of worryingly high ao3 screen time in between the lines, because I am not ashamed to admit it that omegaverse is one of man's best creations. Enjoy !!!!! No beta we die like Jason (Todd and/or Grace)

Word count: 2,4k

You wake up with a jolt. Somewhere, a door slams shut, but the noise comes from someplace a lot closer than you'd like when living in Blüdhaven. A string of soft curses float through your apartment, something falls and breaks, and by then you’re sat up atop your mattress, reaching for the knife Dick always insists you keep nearby. It could be him, it probably is, but since when does your acrobat make this much noise when coming back home in the middle of the night?

Dick stumbles through the doorway, one of his hands resting on the wall, seemingly to keep him upright. The lights of the city that bleed in through your bedroom window illuminate his face, and you know instantly that he’s been hit with something, whether that's a gas or some pollen, you’re not sure. His skin is glowing under a sheen of sweat, his cheeks flushed pink. He growls in frustration when a strand of inky black hair falls on his face and he pushes it away with a bit more force than necessary, chest heaving up and down with short and shallow breaths. 

You push the blanket off your legs, ready to stand up and walk over to inspect him for any injuries, possibly force him to take a bath with you when a throaty whine makes you stop in your tracks. He shakes his head and you look at him with furrowed brows, tilting your head in confusion.

“Ivy hit us with a.. ah, a pollen. Bruce sent me home right after, but that was before…before the effects showed up.” He rests his head against the doorframe, eyes squeezed shut. He swipes his tongue over his lips, the pink muscle heavy in his mouth which went dry the second he spotted you on that bed, waiting for him.

“What effects, exactly?” You ask him, the little crease of displeasure between your brows that Dick has a habit of soothing over with his thumb making an appearance. You cross your arms on your chest, both to show off your worry and to protect your body from the chill of the bedroom. “Are you in pain?”

As if on cue, another wave of something hits him and he lets his head fall back, his Adam's apple bobbing before he lets out another one of his drawn out whines. The sight of him like that makes something turn inside your gut, a dull ache in between your legs making itself known. “In pain, yes. Just not in the way you might, fuck!..think.” He claws at his Nightwing suit, seemingly desperate to get it off his heated skin and that's when it clicks. Ivy, pollen, not letting you come near him, sweaty and flushed as if…

Dick Grayson is currently standing in the doorway to your room, desperate to get his dick inside you and fuck his brains out. 

The sheer absurdity of the situation almost has you barking out a laugh, but it dies down in your throat when a soft plea leaves his lips, now slick with spit, reddish pink from his teeth abusing the soft flesh.

"There isn't an antidote for this. Not yet, anyway. 'N I was wondering if you'd maybe, shit, help me uh, get it out of my system? If you'd want, of course. 'S all good if not, sweetheart. Not really sure it'd be safe for you if I can't really, ngh, control myself."

His eyes stay locked on you, the usually light hues of blue tinted dark as the flush on his skin deepens, the worst of the pollen only starting to take effect. You don't say anything, but instead take a few quick steps towards him and before he has a chance to open his mouth to protest, you cup his cheek with your hand, other one laying flat on his chest. His heart is practically vibrating inside his ribcage from the sheer speed of it beating but that quickly leaves your mind at the absolutely obscene sound that leaves Dicks mouth at the feeling of your skin against his. It's a sob of pure relief mixed with agony because somehow even more blood pools at his groin, making him harder than he has ever been in his life. He turns his head and nuzzles his face into the palm of your hand, his heated lips nipping at your skin like flames of fire.

You coo at him, moving your hand up so you can run your fingers through his hair, now curly from the moisture of his skin. You grab a handful and gently pull his head back, letting your lips leave a trail of open mouthed kisses all over his jaw. His mouth has fallen open, spewing out soft pants and incoherent sounds.

"Wait, wait, baby," he hiccups softly, pulling away from you. "Don't know if m'gonna be able to control myself. Promise me that you'll tell me to stop if it gets too much 'n if I don't listen you'll punch me in the face?"

"Promise, Dickie." You nod, letting your other hand fall down to rest on his waist. You can feel the muscles of his core flex at your touch, and you gently drag the tips of your fingers through the divots of them. His eyes never leave yours and he's looking at you so earnestly, so devotedly it makes you feel sick for a moment. It's as if you are a god, a divine creature who has seized his ability to think, to breathe, and who he needs to guide him, tell him how to do the simplest things in case he even dares to think about doing them in a way you dislike.

You pull him down into a kiss, one slow, sweet and earnest. He has your face cradled in his hands, not daring to let them wonder in case it gets him punished later on. You gently guide him backwards with you, pulling him along by his hip, until the back of your legs meet the edge of the bed, and you fall back on it, pulling him with you. It's as if a switch has been flicked - the once languid and adoring kiss now turned messy, needy, desperate. His mouth is hot as it parts against your lips, tongues brushing against each other in an erotic dance. He tastes sweet, he always has, like honey and mint from the gum he seems to chew at any given moment.

He pulls away to catch his breath but somehow his hands have wandered under your shirt and are now tugging it over your head, throwing it over his shoulder. Your chest is bare in front of him, skin glinting under the light of the night, and he mewls, desperate. He brings his mouth down on your collarbone, leaving open mouthed kisses down until he reaches your breast, and before you can react, his sharp teeth have pressed down into the supple flesh. It hurts, and you keen off the bed with a soft cry.

He slides his tongue over the bite in a soothing manner, pressing a kiss on it as well. Despite the initial pain, by the fifth bite (which has your breasts positively red), your back is arching off the mattress for a different reason, and you're sure that if he'd try to slide your panties off, they'd stick to your cunt in the most obscene way possible.

Your insides are aching by now, desperate to be filled to the brim by his cock. You let him know by tugging on the top half of his Nightwing suit, pulling it over his shoulders. His hair is sticking up in every direction after that and you can't help but giggle, his lips silencing you with a playful kiss. He gets the lower half off by himself and is left just in his boxers, the visible tent in them making you unconsciously part your legs further.

Dick, however, decides that he needs something and he needs it now because another wave of pollen is tugging on his insides and the pain of it makes his stomach cramp up. He starts to slowly rut against your thigh, riding it like he has many times before as a punishment for being bratty. Each movement of his hips has him panting out soft ah! ah! ah! 's and his face is pressed against the crook of your neck, where he's desperately mouthing at the skin, drool soaking it up. You coo at him, masking the degrading terms of endearment under the guise of your sweet tone, but it's still just egging him on, and before he can realise that he's close, he's already come inside his boxers with a high pitched whine. His whole body shakes as the orgasm crashes over him in waves, and his arms give up, making him fall on top of you. You slide your arms over his bare back, pressing small kisses around his hairline.

"You did good, baby. So good for me, aren't you? Gonna fuck me now, pretty bird? Get your cock inside me, fuck yourself stupid 'til all the pollen is gone?"

He keens again, baring his neck to you in an act of submission. His head is fuzzy and he can't really understand what you're saying, but he heard "pretty bird" and "fuck" and suddenly his cock is all hard and leaky again, desperate to be surrounded by something warm and wet and tight. The pollen is making his skin itch unbearably and he needs you to bite him just like he bit you, marking you with pretty shapes and colours. You lean down and do just that, digging your canines right above his pulse point, sucking on the flesh until its angry and purple and so, so pretty, just like the man in front of you.

His body goes seemingly more lax at that, though his hips are still squirming. Somehow, you manage to tug your panties down and off your legs and you slide your fingers into his curls, harshly tugging on them to bring him back to the real world.

"Fuck me, Dickie." You purr, bringing him into a kiss. He can't seem to catch up with your pace, but his instincts speak for themselves, and although the kiss is way sloppier than it should be, all the happy noises he's making makes it worth it.

He cages you between his arms and you help him guide his tip to your opening, clenching around nothing but air. You hadn't noticed when exactly he'd gotten rid of his now soiled boxers but there's nothing exactly to complain about. Your arousal mixed with the cum thats covering the length of him make it easy for him to slide fully inside you with a single thrust, the feeling of so suddenly being filled to the brim punching all the air out of your lungs.

He starts fucking into you like a madman, incoherent whines and pleas and moans spilling from his swollen lips like wildfire. You can't understand anything, but you hold him close, pressing kisses on top of any strip of skin you can reach. "Good, birdie, just like- fuck! that. Fucking me so good, you're the best boy."

You wrap your legs around his, digging your heels into his thick thighs, letting your head fall back in bliss. You can feel a few droplets fall onto your skin and then trail down, and you can't help but giggle e. "Is my pussy so good that it's making you cry, baby? You're so pathetic, Dickie, it's embarrassing. Just look at you."

Your voice is sickly sweet in his ear and he just cries harder, cheeks burning red from embarrassment, but it's as if his body has a mind of its own, continuing to fuck into you like a dog, a dog in heat. He doesn't want to feel stupid and incompetent, and he hates the fact that you're laughing at him, making him feel like he isn't doing a job good enough, but despite your cruel jokes, you're choking on moans of your own, and he also knows by the wet sounds of your cunt that he's fucking you better than anyone ever has and anyone ever will.

He brings one of his hands between your two slick bodies and starts to rub aggressive and tight circles on your clit, eyes locked on you as your face scrunches up, mouth falling apart at the mind numbing pleasure. He knows you better than anyone, so when your muscles start to tense and the pitch of your moans is getting higher and higher, he knows you're close. He picks up the pace of his hips, the sound of skin slapping echoing all around the bedroom. One, two, three snaps and you're coming on his cock with a loud cry, body convulsing painfully. He follows you not even a moment later, coming in the tight heat of your stomach with a loud whine, his whole body shuddering. Despite your vision swimming, you let your hands wander all over his skin, pulling his shaky body to your chest, where you shower him with kisses, touches and soft praises.

"Good, good boy, birdie. You did good, fucked me so good. How are you feeling?"

He just, whines softly on your chest, looking up at you with glassy eyes, blinking owlishly. You pepper his face with tiny kisses until he comes back, and when you feel his nose scrunch up under your lips, you know he's with you once more.

"Talk to me, baby. Are you good? Do we need to go again?" You run your fingers through his hair, letting your nails scratch over his scalp. He leans into your touch and you're pretty sure that if he could, he'd be purring.

"M'okay, I think. At least for now. I feel good, but I can tell that it's not completely gone from my system. Might need to do another round later." His voice is scratchy, and you reach for the water bottle on your bedside table, making him drink half of it. He thanks you with a soft kiss and settles back down on your chest, arms curled around your body.

You can't help but smile at him, heart overflowing with affection. "We should take a shower, pretty bird. You're sticky and I'm sticky, and we could do another round there. That sound good?"

He perks up at the mention of showering together and you laugh, pulling him up with you.

"Come on, then. If you're good then I'll use my mouth on you."

[aeperol-spritz]

DICK GRAYSON who has one of his large hands wrapped around your throat, not tight, but enough to make you dizzy and light headed. He has you straddling his thighs, back pressed to his chest as he whispers absolute filth into your ear, hot breath fanning against your skin. The mirror infront of you displays the sinful scene, sweat soaked skin, hickies trailing down your neck towards your thighs. “look at you” he’d purr “all spread out for me, taking it”. He’d respond to every whine and moan with a soft hum and a coo, holding your head up to force you to watch as he slowly fucked into you “that’s it baby, look at how gorgeous you look for me” he coos “go on, look”. He’d gently forces your head up to look in the mirror, hair disheveled and skin marred in red splotches, slowly turning purple, a true sin.

[aeperol-spritz]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][established relationship][oral (f! receiving)][fingering][shower sex][wrongful use of water][wet t-shirt][temple kisses][i don't make the rules, but there's a lot of them][grinding but not where you thinkkk~][maybe food play, idk][just the tip][missionary][mating press]

Wally had a plan.

A good plan, relatively thorough, and romantic. All of which were crucial to whether or not this date would go good.

A good, sweet morning wrapped up in the loving embrace of your arms, paired with the sweet, tightness of your cunt cockwarming him while the sun rises from just below the horizon. With the feeling of your fingers carding through his hair, your lips ghosting over his jaw and murmurs of sweet 'I love you's in the air.

Then, you'd have breakfast that HE learnt how to make. Through numerous WikiHow articles and YouTube tutorials.

Then, you'd go about your day where flowers would be mailed to your job, and the two of you would have a nice lunch. Specifically, a picnic in the park and for dinner, you'd have take-out and the scallions in the soup would be shaped like cute hearts, because if your love is in soup, it's eternal.

But noooooooooooo.

The universe has a fucked up way of ruining the speedster's hopes and dreams.

The takeout place burns down, the flower company doesn't get his order, he oversleeps so he doesn't get to make you the whole, magical experience of cockwarming while he feeds you breakfast.

"I'm sorry." Wally murmurs softly. "I should've planned better."

Rain continues to soak through his shirt, the fabric getting heavier and clinging to his torso in the way that makes your eyes linger, a slow smile spreading on your face as you unabashedly watch the way the shirt sticks to his tightly toned belly. Abs on display in the most demure yet slutty way.

"It's okay."

You reassure softly, although your eyes don't move from where you can see his nipples through his shirt.

"Are you seriously staring at my nipples?" Wally let's out a choked laugh, dimples deepening in his cheeks as he looks down at you, gingery hair wet and clinging to the back of his neck, as well as his forehead.

Your outfit's less soaked than his.

Seeing as he made a makeshift gazebo with his windbreaker, using his speed to his advantage to tie the arms to the lowest hanging branches and tucking either of the ends between messy and spiky edges of the branches.

Too small to accomodate both of you but good enough to keep you from thoroughly soaking your plaid Chanel skirt and you shift, your boots scuffing against the wet grass.

"Yeah." You hum softly. "They're so cute and like, hard."

Reaching out, you press down one of his perky nipples and Wally snorts. "Freak."

"Come stand with me. You're gonna get a cold." You chide Wally with a huff, grabbing the front of his shirt and tugging him out of the rain, his body pressed against yours and strong, muscular hands move to bracket your hips, his thumbs brushing over the flesh your fluffy knit sweater fails to over and he looks down at you.

Fucking hearts in his eyes.

The moment seems perfect right now. Raindrops pelting around you, the sound of wet grass sloshing underneath your boots as you shift at the feel of nipping cold and a warm hand moves to cup your cheek as Wally leans down, his lips pressed against yours. It's so sweet.

He kisses you like it's the only slow thing he'll ever do. Lips moving against yours in a slow, synchronised motion that you both seem to fall into so flawlessly, his hand on your hip shifts and instead, his arm's wrapped around your waist while your own hands interlace at the nape of his neck.

You can barely hide the giggle that leaves you when you feel the way Wally's hand lowers, taking the sweet and romantic opportunity to slide his hand beneath your skirt. Damp digits paw at the fat of your ass and you pull away.

"Creep." You mock him, nipping at his bottom lip and you see the pretty twinkle of his eyes as he stares down at you, a grin on his face, freckles dusted over his rosy cheeks.

"Guilty." He hums softly, before leaning forward, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"We should get out of the rain, yeah?" There's a low huskiness to his voice, a sweet yet sultry tone that hints that there's a lot more waiting for you at home than there was waiting for you at the park.

And you nod your head, bashful and adoring as you murmur a soft 'mhm'.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

Hot water sprays down on your skin, and you let out the softest sigh, frozen bones easing at the warmth before the shower door is abruptly opened and Wally stands in all his freckled glory.

Hair still damp from the rain, that shit-eating grin on his face.

"Scoot over." He instructs, but he's already stepping over the threshold of the shower, shutting the door behind him and readjusting the showerhead to spray more in his direction.

Wally's always been a bit of a selfish showerer.

His body nearly presses yours against the tiled walls as he soaks up the scalding water, letting out controlled breaths before meeting your narrowed gaze and he lets out the softest little breath. And he reaches towards the temperature dial, shifting and switching it, until the water's a pleasant, lukewarm temperature before he hums.

"Upsy-daisy." He lifts you with ease, your knees hooked over the crooks of his elbows, your back pressed against his chest and he presses a sloppy kiss against your temple.

"Wally, what are you— oh..." The gruff complaints die in your throat when Wally shifts your body towards the shower stream, your thighs spread obscenely wide as the solid stream of water pelts down against your clit, and you purse your lips, brows knitting at the pleasure that's not quite enough to get you anywhere but it's nice enough for you to not want it to stop.

Wally hums in pride, freckled cheeks splitting into a grin as you feel the muscles of his core flex absentmindedly, his cock twitching to life, hardening and pressing itself against your neglected cunt. And he presses the sweetest kiss against your cheek, loving and adoring before he breathes your name so sweetly.

"Help me out?" He coos softly. "Just the tip, though. I wanna make you feel good."

You nod your head, biting your bottom lip as you reach down between your thighs, grabbing a hold of his cock and you give his tip a few swipes of your thumb, feeling the way his breath hitches against your back before you ease his flushed tip into your hole.

Just the tip.

Wally can't help the way he sighs at the warmth of your cunt, wrapped so sweetly around his leaky tip as you spasm so subtly. And he clicks his tongue, his hips twitching and giving you the most shallow thrusts, all as he reaches for the showerhead, detaching it and bringing it closer.

"Wally, I don't think—"

Your opinion dies quicker than you'd like to admit because when the water pressure changes, and Wally's controlling the placement, you feel your head tip back against his broad chest. Your lashes flutter closed and faint moans leave your parted lips as your thighs tense and flex, although they're still kept in a long distance relationship.

"You look so pretty." Wally coos sweetly, cheeks flushed and his wet body feeling slightly cold at the breeze that creeps into the bathroom and he dips his head, pressing a soft kiss against your lips before asking you, so sweetly.

"How do you wanna come?"

That question has no business making your cunt drool, walls and nerve endings burning with that sickening desire to come as many times as you can and you swallow.

Sure, this feels great but nothing beats—

"Your tongue and fingers."

You sigh softly, bringing up one hand to curl in his wet hair, nails scratching at his scalp so affectionately.

"Nasty, greedy girl. Tongue and fingers?"

Wally teases you but he wastes no time in setting you on your feet, placing the showerhead back on its spot and kneeling in front of you.

The muscles in his thighs spread out, his core tensing and his cock twitching upwards at the water that pelts down onto the two of you. It's a comforting spray, warmer than before so Wally must've changed the temperature while you were trying to find your brain.

And he guides one of your thighs to rest over his shoulder, the heel of your foot bumping against his back and Wally presses a kiss against your inner thigh. And he places your hands on his head, before lowering his head.

He drags his flattened tongue over your cunt, tasting your slick and feeling you throb against his tongue and he groans softly. Your fingers tangle in his hair, head tipping back against the condensating tiles and you let out the softest sigh. Your tummy tenses when he swirls his tongue around your clit, just before he dips it into your cunt, only for a little bit.

He can taste himself just a bit, the taste of his precum has drastically improved since you've started seeing each other.

Maybe because instead of living off energy drinks and take out, Wally's seeing fruit on a daily basis, instead of treating it like a distant relative.

Two fingers plunge into your cunt at a speed that makes your belly dip inward and your hands fist his hair tighter, a low moan leaving your lips and Wally lets out a boyish giggle.

"Yeah. Does it feel good?" He coos softly, juniper gaze lifting to glance up at your face, seeing the way your brows scrunch in that adorable way, the way your lips part to let out whimpers and whines as his tongue rolls around your clit, suckling at the bud until you let out a pitched moan.

Wally hurls you at your oncoming orgasm with the strength and speed that a cat knocks a glass off the table. And you nearly scream, your knees giving out beneath you but Wally keeps you steady as you buck against his face, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to draw out your orgasm for as long as possible.

Because he loves watching the way you crumble against a damp, tiled wall. Hair clinging to your forehead, face ruddy and hot breaths mingling with the steam in the air and you look so fucking gorgeous when you look down at him through bleary eyes. Watching as his tongue cleans up the slick that paints your puffy pussy with glossiness, licking along your thighs before Wally rises, forearms braced on either side of your head before he smiles down at you, head cocked and he presses a kiss against your forehead.

"You good, pretty?"

You can barely nod your head as Wally's hands move to bracket your hips, thumbs brushing over the protruding bones as his head dips to press kisses along the curve of your neck. Before his hand shifts, to squeeze the fat of your ass, feeling the flesh in his calloused palms and he groans softly.

"Shit." He breathes out before swallowing. "Okay, we're gonna finish showering, then you're gonna order pizza while I get the room ready and then we're gonna... Fix this Valentine's Day, okay?"

This is the most instructions Wally's ever given you. Literally ever.

And you can't deny that it's kind of sexy.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

"Wally, I'm eat—" Your words are broken up in a gasp, cheese, sauce and doe tucked into either of your cheeks and you shift, letting out a slurred whine while Wally's hands pry your thighs apart.

"Don't be selfish." Wally hisses, his tongue curling against your overstimulated clit, sensitive bud peeking out from between your folds and he forces your legs apart, your plate resting on your belly, and Wally lays down on his stomach as he sucks your clit so sweetly, peeking up at you over the decorated porcelain rim of your plate. And you whine, completely unsure of which route to take.

You could keep eating.

Or Wally could keep eating.

"Just keep eating." Wally's nose bumps against your clit, his tongue tracing hearts over your cunt before he flicks it just right, and he rests his head against the flesh of your thigh.

And he doesn't even pretend that it's tedious.

Delightful hums leave his lips in the form of low, reverberating groans, his grip on your thighs borders on almost clingy as he paws at whatever flesh he can get to and his sock-covered feet kick. You don't even have the time to question why his socks has your pictures on it before he's tucking two fingers away in your gummy walls.

Gently curling them, sweetly coaxing you towards another orgasm that has your heels digging into his back, your eyes rolling back and your hand nearly dropping the cheesy slice. And you whimper.

"Wally... 's too much, too sensitive...—" You gasp with a whine, lashes fluttering and tears brimming at the corners of your mouth as his fast flicks and his eagerness make you see God.

Wally ignores you.

Blatantly.

Only lifting his head to scowl at you before ducking back down, his feet kicking and his hips occasionally grinding against the messy sheets, a perfect hill for him to rub against like an animal in heat.

Needy, whiny and so, so achingly hard.

He lets out a familiarly whiny groan, tears brimming on his lower lashline, green eyes becoming bleary as he sucks, nips, drags his tongue and circles. All in perfect movements and God, being a speed freak really had it's perks.

Including the fact that he had the uncanny ability to make you come whenever he wanted to.

A walking, talking vibrator.

Wally coaxes your third orgasm out of you, slick dribbling down his chin and his palm, before he lifts himself, carding his fingers through his hair and staring at you with a heated gaze.

His broad chest heaves, his carved abdomen tenses and flexes, and his hands rest on your thighs, warm palms easing the almost painful burn in your core, and your gaze lowers. Lowers all the way to below that gingery happy trail and you swallow.

"Wally, did you come?" You question softly, lips pursed as you try not to let out a snort of laughter as pearly beads continue to be pushed out with each twitch of his still-hard cock.

"I got really into it." He's not even embarassed, simply moving the messy sheets out of the way and guiding your thighs over his, and notching the flushed tip of his cock at your sopping, slick-soaked pussy.

And he pushes into you, hands grasping the sheets before he stops. Abruptly.

"I need to pull out." Wally announces and you wish you could say he was joking. But his expression doesn't say he's joking.

"Like, right now?"

"Literally right now. Please don't move. I'll lose so much aura, baby, please. Keep still."

Wally begs you, and like a normal woman, and a woman in love, you obviously start to clench and spasm around his leaky tip. And Wally whines.

"You're gonna make me come..." He whimpers, bringing his hand up to bracket your face, forcing you to look away from him.

Wally knows you'll never let it down if you see the way he looks. All red and flushed, weak and teary-eyed as he tries to keep his cool.

He doesn't get why now, of all times, his stamina's playing games with him but he does know one thing.

"Can I come inside?"

Taglist:

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@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

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@queen-of-gotham 🦇

[aeperol-spritz]

roy harper with snake bites…

[aeperol-spritz]

the mask stays on… good to know…

Nightwing by Nick Robles

[aeperol-spritz]

hi spritzy!

was wondering if you’ve got any jason todd hcs you want to share?

sunnie (@sunnie-angel)

Hi Sunnie! (@sunnie-angel)

I have a few jason hcs that i’d love to share, a mix of fluff and smut :))

so so so sorry this took so long! I wasn’t ignoring, just had a lot of life issues atm and wasn’t writing, so very sorry 🫶🏻

JASON TODD HC’s

This man is LARGE alright? like he’s 6’2, 200 pounds, so when I tell you that man EATS. he eats enough for a baseball team. Added with the fact he lived on the streets for the formative years of his life not knowing when he would eat next, he packs in food. If that so happens to carry over into sex, i’m not denying he wouldn’t love a little whipped cream and chocolate syrup

SIZE KINK!!!! not in a weird way, more so in the fact he’ll stand behind you and realise how small you are and all he can think about his how large he will look pressed up against you with a hand on your throat.

I head canon that this man hates taking risks if you’re involved. Riding his bike? he’s got all the protective gear. You’re a fellow vigilante? yeah, he’s taking lead and entering the building first. I just think he’d never risk your life over something he can prevent. Which can be overbearing at times! Like yes, you’re very capable of going to get groceries yourself.

for whatever reason I see him like refusing to admit he likes your shows or movies, but does the thing that dads do and stands in the doorway with his arms crossed and watches the full episode, not wanting to admit he’s enjoying it

A sad hc is that I feel like because he grew into his body so quickly, that he forgets he isn’t that scrawny kid in traffic light colours anymore so he does accidentally move around like he isn’t 6ft+ and 200 pounds. Kind of like a dog that’s no longer a puppy, and accidentally can hurt you if he lies on you and you have to remind him that he is quite large.

he LOVES a shoulder massage. Something about your hands working through the tough knots has him ready to propose on the spot

which leads me to my next hc that he’s a little bit of a commitment phobe. BUT when he is committed it’s just his own self worth that takes him a while to get over. SO once you grab him by the scruff like a kitten and let him know that YES you do love him, he’s all heart eyes.

[aeperol-spritz]

Can you write more for Wally? I rarely see anything about him 😭

hi nonnie! i absolutely can, send me another ask if u have anything specific!

I’m so so sorry this took so long!! life has been CRAZY but i hope this doesn’t disappoint!

——————————————————————————

He didn’t know how much longer he could last. With your hands on his chest and the slow roll of your hips, it was driving him insane. You’d made him promise to not intervene, to let you have your fun, after all, you’d missed him.

Wally was away on a mission for the last two weeks, before he left though, he’d riled you up. Pressing soft kisses down the column of your neck, grinding into your ass softly. Whispering how much he needed you, as soon as you let out a soft moan? he’d given you a shit eating grin and told you he had to go.

Now he was paying for his actions. Could he have fazed through the restraints in less than a second? absolutely. Was he going to? absolutely not. That left him with you straddling his lap, slowly rolling your hips as he begged and whined for you to ‘please, go a little faster baby’. His forearms strain as he pants underneath you, needy whines leaving his lips. This was your favourite view in the world, the fastest man alive, faster than light and sound, quivering and whining under you

‘what you did wasn’t very nice’ you coo in his ear ‘leaving me alone after that’. Pulling in his ear lightly with your teeth, his words come out pleading and broken as he tries to piece together a coherent sentence. This wasn’t about pleasure solely, it was a game. You both loved it.

Eventually after moving at a torturous pace, you let him cum. His chest flushed red with splotches of hickies across the muscled skin.

[aeperol-spritz]

ROY HARPER who is so nasty with it. He’s got you in the backseat of his pickup, windows fogging and the car rocking. Pulled over to a secluded side rode as he pants into your ear, your nails raking down his back. He’s grunting in your ear ‘shh come on baby, don’t want anyone to see’, mumbling like there was a chance you could be found. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you pant heavily into the crook of his neck. ‘that’s right baby, taking me so well’, he groans into your ear, one of his feet planted on the gravel, his other planted on the floor of his truck, the car rocks underneath his thrusting, ‘there we go. good, baby, so good’ he mumbles as he peppers kisses in your hair

[aeperol-spritz]

Hi hi !! I discovered your account a few minutes ago and I've already read all your works, you write very pretty (⁠｡⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠)♡

hi!!

thank you so much! that’s so amazing to hear! i’m so glad you like my writing! ♥️♥️

[aeperol-spritz]

mhmhmhm bsf!dick is my favourite

18+ content, MDNI.

cw ;; male masturbation, fantasizing, doggy style, breeding kink implied, body descriptions, cum descriptions (i tried 🤥), female masturbation mentioned for 2 secs, poorly proofread as always :) pls enjoy

think about best friend!dick grayson after a late-night facetime call. right after a soft ‘goodnight’ from you, voice low and groggy before hanging up and leaving him alone. his is raspy and sultry by a default, groans already slipping through his lips as he palms his bulge at the memory of your pretty tits pushed together while laying on your side that’s basically tattooed onto his brain. it’s one of those i’ll regret this moments for him, simply due to the guilt of perverting his best friend that he’ll feel later on. for now, though, just the fabric of his plaid pajamas getting tighter around his cock is enough to disregard it.

it sucks that he can’t see you for a while; sucks that instead of feeling your tight cunt milk him dry he’s gotta do it himself. he’s stuck with the vivid image of your body bent to his needs, going “oh- fuck,” when the back of his head thumps the headboard, dick twitching with your back arched and ass bouncing against his pelvis. it’s so lewd he swears you can be heard, pathetic and high pitched uhn, uhn, uhn’s into his pillows that’d only make him anchor his fingers under your tummy and pummel your pretty pussy harder.

his hand glides over the thick vein along the underside of his shaft and he shudders, hips meeting his strangling grip as precum dribbles from the tip. he adds a twist to his wrist and lets out a particularly drawn out moan, abs contracting as his bicep tenses at his efforts. his climax builds as his heavy balls tense and he forces himself to a slower stroke, drawing a metallic taste when his teeth bite into his lip. he can hear you begging him to keep going.

“shit. shit, baby,” dick’s adam’s apple bobs as he rolls his neck, free hand tugging wrinkles in the sheets. his bright idea of bringing himself to the edge is abandoned once his reality is drowned out; balls deep inside of you instead, getting you crying on his cock when he fucks you full. mmfuck, ‘s so good, dickie, please- you’re whining incoherently for him, eyes rolling as drool soils his pillowcases, left at his mercy while his long cock breaks you in. by now he’s palming your asscheeks like he’ll lose you, just as loud as you when he’s groaning for you to be a good friend and keep throwing it back onto him.

once his hips stutter, dick calls your name, peeling his eyelids open at the sign of overstimulation. he almost feels pathetic now, dealing with the sight of his cum splattered along his abdomen and dripping down his shaft with a few more long thrusts. he’s made a mess just for you, cum thick and warm against his skin—it’s a shame you won’t see it. a curse leaves his lips in defeat, thumb grazing his tip and bringing himself to a twitch once more.

inside, though- he needs to be inside of you and he craves it so much that he can’t bring himself to stop. matter of fact, he couldn’t stop—not once he realizes he’s still throbbing for your cunt. your best friend fucks his hand just wishing he could indulge in your pussy, pulling all those pretty noises outta you. those same pretty noises you’re muffling into your own pillow right now, aching for his dick to bruise your insides and fuck you stupid.

[aeperol-spritz]

got my first inbox message and now i feel unstoppable

[aeperol-spritz]

Hello, lately i'm into sub dick grayson. If you could write one and you have some idea i'm very thankfull, he's kind of cocky and sass him act being brat so should put him to his belong

DICK GRAYSON who whines as you stop the slow roll of your hips, one hand gripped at the hair on his nape ‘I told you I was busy, did I not?’ you look down at him ‘but you you still had to push my buttons’ tsking at his insistence to bother you, when you very clearly told him you had an important meeting today. ‘yeah, but you love it’ he smirks, trying to roll his hips up to meet yours. A soft slap to his cheek and a narrowed gaze is all it took to shut him up. ‘why must you insist on being a brat?’ you grab his jaw ‘I don’t like when my baby acts like a brat’. He huffs, once again trying a futile effort to meet your hips ‘maybe i’m starved for attention’ he taunts. You squeeze his jaw tighter, eyes narrowing dangerously ‘you saying I don’t give you enough attention? hm? that i’m not good to you?’ punctuated by a roll of your hips he lets out a stuttered gasp ‘because if that’s true then I may as well stop. Since i’m not good to you’ with a teasing smirk you let go of his chin.

He lets out a pleading whine, hands threatening to move from the bed frame, where he was instructed to keep them. ‘please, baby please’ he downright whimpers ‘i’ll be good. please just keep going’. With a smirk you straddle his lap once again, continue the rhythmic rocking of your hips as he babbles out broken pleas to keep going. ‘see. all you have to do is ask’ you coo ‘I don’t like my baby being a brat. I much prefer him to be all sweet’