#arsenal

[cooneycrossed]

Christian Norgaard seeing his kid in the arsenal kit for the first time 🥹

[squarelight]

Occasionally feral about this man

Roy Harper appreciation post

[zubimyhero]

MZ3️⃣6️⃣

[sillysealll]

Bestied too close to the sun

[batfamgalore]

Roy: I’m just trying to protect our family. I don’t want to wake up dead.

Dick: I can’t believe I have to say this to you again. You cannot wake up and be dead.

Roy: It’s an expression.

Wally: It’s not.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

I'd like to request a good old smut story with Roy Harper!

Stuck in a closet together when he knows reader has a crush on him.

Maybe he can be smug and a bit filthy mouthed about it? Just whispering everything with a low tone into her ear in the dark 👉👈

Oooooo I ended up really liking this idea!! Hope I met your expectations babes💗

You're Kidding

Roy Harper x Fem! Reader

SMUT. SMUT SMUT SMUTITY SMUT! Not much for warnings with this one, but we've got some dry humping and clit rubbing, maybe some choking if you squint!

“You’re absolutely fucking kidding me,” your voice echoes slightly off the walls of the dimly lit closet.

“Afraid not, sweetheart,” Roy confirms, giving the door another tug, only to be met with the resistance and tension of a lock—probably from the other side. You really shouldn’t have offered to help him clean out an old safehouse; the place is lined with hidden traps and gadgets. You can’t blame him for that, though… not when he has a young daughter to protect, even if he isn’t physically here.

You can, however, blame him for forgetting where nearly all of them are and getting the two of you locked in a closet.

Clothes scatter everywhere, almost painting the floor in some kind of abstract art. Some are older, looking like they’ve survived since Roy’s teenage years. Others seem like they could only have been bought in the past couple of years. You doubt he’s ever worn much of it—he has a habit of buying things, then forgetting them in some abandoned corner.

You can tell he’s holding back a laugh when you let out a weary sigh, your head tilting back to meet the wall with a light thud.

“Come on,” he teases, a large, calloused hand patting your arm lightly, “it’s a little funny, ain’t it?”

At that, you scoff. “Funny?” you repeat, sending a stone-cold glare in his direction. “You seriously think that being stuck in a closet with a ginger is how I planned to spend my Tuesday?”

You sigh again at his lack of response, closing your eyes before resting your head against the wall once more.

There’s silence—for a while, anyway. With Roy, any kind of silence is a blessing. Too much silence, though, feels like a curse straight from the pits of hell.

You almost decide to open your eyes to check what kind of nonsense he’s gotten into—until you hear the iconic flash! of a Polaroid. A bright light snaps you out of your trance.

“Dude, what the hell?” you slap his arm lightly, blinking as your eyes adjust to the dim room again.

Roy doesn’t seem too bothered. Instead, he laughs, shaking a small photo in his hand. You actually have to tear your eyes away from how his muscles and tattoos flex with the movement.

You think you get away with the harmless stare at your closest partner.

You don’t.

He sees. He always does. Roy knows how to play the role of the idiotic friend, but he’s always watching you. The way you stare a little too long when he flexes. The way your eyes water when you patch him up mid-mission. The way you always seem to cling to his side.

He always notices, even when you don’t.

“Loosen up a little, stiff,” he says instead of revealing anything he’s picked up on. “We’ll be out of here in no time.” His voice—so certain, so carefree—almost makes you believe him. Almost.

“Yeah, right,” you mutter, brushing past him to look for some kind of hidden exit. Your skin burns as it brushes his, but you don’t falter. You dig through at least a decade of clothing, desperate for escape.

Silence stretches between you again, interrupted only by the occasional shuffle of a shoebox. Roy tucks the photo into his back pocket; the image is already developed. Knowing him, he’ll probably frame it with something tacky like “Partners’ first time stuck in a closet <3.”

Surprisingly, he actually starts helping. Underneath all the witty comments and terrible timing, Roy is a great partner—until he isn’t. But it really isn’t his fault this time. How’s he supposed to resist when your sweet little ass brushes right up against him while you move?

Your breath hitches at the contact, and Roy nearly groans. He’s a grown man who gets his needs met often enough, but now he’s about to moan like a teenager over a bit of friction. You try to scramble away, but a firm grip on your belt loop keeps you in place.

“Don’t,” Roy whispers, keeping you exactly where you are. “Don’t move. Don’t you dare move.”

It’s a mistake to listen. His large, calloused hands find your hips, pulling you ever so slightly closer to the bulge forming in his jeans.

You stay bent, your palms pressed against the closet wall. It’s impossible to ignore the pressure of your best friend pressed up against your ass, the fabric between you doing little to mask how badly he wants you. Your breaths come out in hot bursts, hitting the wall and probably leaving a patch of condensation.

The room is too hot. Roy’s jeans are too tight. Your pants are too constricting. Everything is burning—a fuse waiting to be lit. He wants you to strike the match and set your friendship on fire. And honestly? You’d be crazy to say you don’t want to.

Slowly, Roy’s grip tightens, pulling you just close enough to create delicious friction through the layers. A soft sigh escapes his lips just as a puff of air leaves yours.

It starts small—just a slight roll of his hips, syncing with yours, building tension with each subtle motion. Each movement has you squirming, your core clenching around nothing. Roy’s not a patient man, and you’re reminded of that as soon as one of his hands sneaks forward to toy with your clit through your pants.

His breaths are hot and heavy in the silence, and you feel them immediately as he leans in, pressing closer. His pace picks up—both his fingers and his hips.

To anyone else, the scene might look ridiculous: Roy Harper, Arsenal, losing his mind over a bit of dry humping.

To you? It’s hot. Hell, it’s probably the hottest thing that’s happened to you in a long time.

His hair brushes your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he leans in, nearly cradling you. The two of you must look feral, grinding like you’re in heat, moaning in the dark closet.

Roy lets out soft whimpers—“Fuck…” and “Such a pretty, perfect ass.” You’re not even moving fast, yet your body’s already lighting up like fireworks.

Your hips jerk when his fingers press harder against your clit. The pressure in your gut builds fast. Normally, you wouldn’t be so close from something so simple, but the desperate pace he’s set? It’s overwhelming.

“Fuck…” you gasp as you press back into him, letting his bulge slide between your ass cheeks.

“Getting this worked up from me rubbing you the right way, baby?” Roy coos, picking up the pace just enough to have you seeing stars.

He’s not doing much better—his breath is ragged against your neck, practically steaming. There’s probably condensation on your skin from how hard he’s panting.

When you don’t answer, his free hand slides up to your neck and gives it a light squeeze—not enough to hurt, but definitely enough to grab your attention.

“Really?” he mocks, his palm warm against your throat. “All fucked out before I’ve even gotten my dick out? Pathetic.”

You know he doesn’t mean it. He wouldn’t say that unless you were close enough to know it’s a joke. But something in you wants to take it seriously, and that something makes you moan, loud and strangled. Your toes curl, your hips buck, and your orgasm crashes into you like a wave.

The world spins, but Roy is your world right now, and he might as well be the sun with how hard you’re burning.

He grunts, pressing his cock against you one final time. His cum seeps through his jeans and onto yours. His movements slow but don’t stop until both of you are trembling, twitching messes, riding the last shocks of release.

Silence returns, broken only by labored breathing and racing heartbeats. Slowly, you both come back to earth. He finally pulls away. You stay still for a moment, gathering your thoughts, then slowly stand upright.

“Shit,” Roy mutters, letting go of your trembling frame with such gentleness that the curse nearly goes unnoticed. You expect him to be annoyed—maybe about the mess in his jeans—but when you turn around, he’s holding a key.

“Forgot I even had this old thing on my keychain…” he admits, meeting your gaze. His cheeks are flushed, but it isn’t embarrassment.

“Sorry about the delay in this old closet… but I think I might’ve left some condoms in the nightstand—if you’re up for continuing this."

Masterlist

[archduchses]

🇳🇴 Martin Ødegaard and 🇪🇸 Martín Zubimendi of Arsenal training in La Manga ⚽️

[moviecritc]

✦ ˚ : · PIERCING THROUGH THE HEART · : ˚✦

pairing ☆ roy harper x fem!reader

word count ☆ 1.5K

summary ☆ out of boredom, you conviced roy to let you give him a piercing

warnings ☆ none

main masterlist | letterboxd

Roy still remembered perfectly the first time you took off your mask —the one that covered your entire face— to reveal your identity to the rest of the Titans. His jaw had dropped slightly. Not just because you were gorgeous, but because you were covered in jewelry. A brow piercing, a silver septum ring, a hoop on your lip, and both ears stacked with piercings in a perfect arrangement, with earrings of different colors and shapes.

You were one of the coolest people he’d ever met. Your sense of humor always made him laugh out loud, you executed your part of the missions flawlessly, and although you sometimes came off a bit distant, whenever you were with Roy, you showed a warmth that completely disarmed him. That mix of mystery and sincerity had him utterly fascinated.

Roy wasn’t exactly sure when the affection he felt for you had gotten out of hand, but he was starting to realize he was looking at you differently. And it didn’t help that you always showed up with those impossible outfits and that attitude like the entire world belonged to you by natural right.

Sometimes, when you were training together in the Titans' training room, he'd find himself watching you a bit too long. He tried to play it off, of course. Or at least he thought he did. But Dick had already elbowed him a couple of times meaningfully, and Kory looked at him with a smile like she knew everything.

Now you had the tower all to yourselves, the rest of the team busy with different missions or personal matters. You’d spent the morning training, making fun of each other, then figuring out how to cook the simplest thing, only to end up ordering takeout.

That night, you both collapsed onto the couch, food on your laps, a movie playing in the background. It was bad. Really bad. The kind that isn’t even funny because of how bad it is. But it didn’t matter. You were comfortable. So was Roy.

Or at least, you both were until you'd been shifting side to side for about twenty minutes, sighing, turning toward him.

"I'm bored," you finally said, letting your head drop onto his shoulder.

Roy smiled without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Yeah, well, the script is a crime."

"I'm not talking about the movie. I mean everything. Bored of not doing anything."

Roy turned his head slightly toward you, just enough to meet your gaze a few inches away.

"You wanna do something?"

Your eyes sparkled with that mischievous expression he already knew meant danger.

"Can I give you a piercing?"

Roy blinked, clearly expecting something else.

"Sorry?"

"A piercing," you repeated naturally. "I’ve got my kit. All clean. All sterilized. I’ve practiced a million times."

You gestured at your rows of piercings. Roy blinked again, he had tattoos, several scars, but it had never occurred to him to get a piercing.

"You did those piercings yourself?" was all he asked, slightly frowning.

You nodded enthusiastically, clearly proud.

"All of them. Well, except the industrial," you said, raising an eyebrow slightly like it was a trophy. "That one hurt like hell. But the rest? Nothing compared to what we do."

Roy stared at you. Your relaxed expression, the way your fingers played with one of your earrings. The heat creeping up his neck wasn’t just from the idea of the piercing, it was from you. From how close you were. From how casually intimate the conversation had become.

"And what kind of piercing do you want to give me?" he asked, a mix of suspicion and curiosity in his voice.

"A small one," you said, sitting on your knees and looking at him more intently. "A hoop on your ear. No big deal. Won’t hurt. And it’s going to look amazing."

Roy hesitated. You were too close. He was feeling too much. But then you did it.

You smiled. That smile of yours that was a little cocky, a little sweet, and he felt all the air in the room collapse into his chest.

"Come on. If you don’t like it, it’ll close in a few weeks."

He felt stupid for taking so long to nod.

Twenty minutes later, you were in your room, sitting across from each other, your tools perfectly laid out on the table. He was trying to stay relaxed, but the way you were so focused, so close, with your cold fingers touching his ear, his pulse was through the roof.

"Which ear do you want it on?" you asked after picking the hoop.

"Which one is the gay ear? I want it the other one," he said completely seriously, like he was making a public statement.

You stared at him in silence for a second. Blinked once. Twice. Then burst out laughing.

"What?" you said, leaning back in laughter. "Did you seriously just say that? What year are you living in, Roy Harper?"

Roy shrugged, half-smiling, with that embarrassed sparkle in his eyes he got when he knew he’d said something dumb but wanted to keep a little dignity.

"I just wanted to avoid any misunderstandings."

"Sweetheart, if someone looks at you because of this piercing, it won’t be a misunderstanding."

You kept laughing as you leaned in again, grabbing his face to examine his ears, unable to hide your amused smirk.

"You're such an idiot sometimes," you whispered with a smile that hit him like a punch to the heart.

"And you're laughing too much," he retorted, raising his eyebrows. "You gonna pierce me or not?"

You rolled your eyes and moved closer, standing between his legs while he remained seated in the chair. You put on the gloves, cleaned the area with soft movements, and even though Roy was trying not to show it, his chest was rising and falling harder than usual.

It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t pain.

It was that you were so close. That your fingers brushed him so delicately. That you focused on him with so much care it felt like… like he was truly being seen. Like no one had ever touched him with that kind of intention before.

"You’re going to feel a little pinch," you whispered, as if that could prepare him.

"Go for it."

And you did. Precise. Fast. Silent.

Roy barely flinched, surprised at how little it hurt. But even more surprised by how you leaned in right after, checking the hoop with your fingers.

"You look… fucking good," you murmured. Your voice had dropped an octave. Your eyes locked onto his. Your hand still resting on his cheek.

Roy didn’t say anything.

He just looked at you.

Like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you in a different light, with a different truth. His pupils dilated, his breathing slow. His eyes so wide, so soft, that for a second, even you froze.

"What?" you asked, almost in a whisper, suddenly shy under that intensity.

Roy swallowed.

"I’ve always liked that you have so many piercings, you know?" he said without thinking too much. He hadn’t even looked at his own yet. "I like the one on your lip."

The redhead gestured shyly toward your lip, pulling his hand back before touching you.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Although… doesn’t it get in the way when you kiss someone?"

You raised an eyebrow, not backing off.

"You wanna find out for yourself?"

Silence. You could practically hear his heartbeat. Roy looked you in the eye. Then down to your mouth.

He didn’t respond with words. You were so close, your lips so temptingly near his, that all he could do was nod slightly, as if that were enough to give the universe permission for it to happen.

And you kissed him.

Softly at first, barely a brush, like giving him the chance to back out. But he didn’t. On the contrary, he leaned into it, held your waist with one hand, the other still trembling slightly from gripping the chair as you came closer.

The kiss deepened, slower, loaded with a tension that had built over time and now, finally unraveling, felt endless. Roy wasn’t sure if it was the heat of your mouth or the cold metal of your piercing against his lips, but something in him had ignited like gasoline near a flame.

When you pulled back, only a few centimeters, breathing like it was hard to come back from the moment, Roy looked at you with a mix of disbelief and desire.

"Yup, doesn’t get in the way at all," Roy said, like he’d just confirmed a theory.

You looked down, a little flushed, and as Roy leaned in again, you put both hands on his jaw and turned him toward the mirror. "You like the piercing?"

Roy barely looked at it for a second, of course he liked it. You’d done it.

"I love it. I’m halfway to being as cool as you."

You let out a soft laugh, the one you used when you were too close to taking something seriously but still wanted to play. You stared at him through the mirror with an expression that was a dangerous mix of sweetness and mischief.

"I’m not as cool as you think," you said with a dumb little smile.

"Well, for me, yes, baby," Roy shot back, pulling you closer between his legs. "You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met."

For a second, you didn’t know what to say. That comment caught you off guard. Because people knew you for being sarcastic, for your punk aesthetic, for not letting anyone get too close. But Roy always found a way to see through the smoke.

"You’re so silly," you said, running a hand through his hair. "How long have you liked me?"

"I’m not gonna answer that," Roy started. "’Cause it was embarrassingly soon."

[rachelfreak]

alright u r my appetizer my main dish my dessert whatever

[pitchsidestories]

Happy Birthday, Vivianne Miedema ! 🤍🤍

image sources: pinterest, mancitywomen instagram account

[zubimyhero]

🥅🎯⚽️👊🏻💥

[redpool]

You guys do know what the word 'sober' means right? Roy Harper & Bob Reynolds both have a history with drugs and are now sober, and yet, you keep writing about them drinking? Being sober isn't just not doing drugs. It's also not drinking any kind of alcohol.

This also applies to Toji, if you actually got to know the characters that you write about instead of just sexualizing them, you'd know that he doesn't like drinking.

[odegaardobsessed]

Martin Ødegaard & Ben White

[andy-in-space]

Roy Harper headcanons!

general hcs:

- he makes the best breakfast but can't cook much other than that. he can make ramen and mac n cheese, but his specialty is breakfast foods.

- very loud snoring. he snores like a dad, which he is, but it's that stereotypical annoyingly noisy snoring.

- surprisingly, not very big on sports, but he likes watching hockey games. he maintains that he would win any and every hockey fight.

- Roy LOVES movie marathons. he'll buy themed snacks with his very limited budget and try to make it as special as possible. if he's watching movies with Lian, then he'll make a day of it.

- he listens to dad rock, but he also LOVES punk music. it reminds him of being a teenager again, which isn't all good memories, but he has some pretty cool ones, too. in the same vein, he's an amazing storyteller.

romantic hcs:

- Roy adores his partner. he knows he's not perfect, but GOD will he try to be for you. he'll be honest with you about his struggles with addiction and mental health, but your support means the world to him.

- it may take him a while to fully open up about himself, but he wants to take that chance with you. he genuinely wants to come out of his comfort zone with your help.

- he'll listen to whatever music you like and very badly sing to you, purposefully, of course. he has a nice voice when he tries, but he likes to mess with you.

- he loves doing things for his partner, but if you do things for him? oh, he's down BAD. you made him dinner? he's holding you for the rest of the night. you brought him coffee while he's working on something? you're not leaving his garage now, come sit on his lap.

- cutest dad bod EVER. please appreciate it. he's just the slightest bit (maybe more than that) insecure that he no longer has a perfectly toned tummy. he'll drink up any praise you give his body like it's water, and he's dying in a desert. the desert being his own insecurity.