#roy Harper is a menace

[killerplink]

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.

[timmydraker]

Jason, giving a detailed plan to The Outlaws in a huge room filled with weaponry, screens and a war table: Artemis will cover Bizo-

Tim, in civilian wear crawling through the window and climbing up Jason so he’s cradled by him in one arm: *instantly falls asleep*

The Outlaws: …

Starfire: Oh! I wasn’t aware you reproduced!

Jason, too focused on his plan to properly listen: yeah, it’s whatever, anyway, then I need Roy to arm-

The Outlaws: *no longer paying attention because Tim, who is at least eighteen, is snoring slightly and drooling on Red Hood’s jacket like a toddler*

Starfire: a baby…

Bizzo: he’s not our baby?

Roy: damn Liam had a brother?

Artemis: group baby. Ours now.

[ahfrickenfrick]

dick: i just think it’s really funny how you call tim pretender

jason: why

dick: roy and kori were MY friends first :(

jason: get over yourself

dick: and now tim has a speedster best friend too :(

dick: heh, guess you can’t beat the original blueprint 😙

jason: you really jumped from being upset to accepting that

dick: to be fair the one thing that bruce really taught us was to compartmentalize our emotions

jason: yeah that was really the only thing that has really stuck for me, huh?

dick: really pisses alfred off

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Look I’m not the biggest JayRoy fan bc I have shipped DickRoy since I was like 13. However this idea is rlly funny to me.

Bc Dick helped Roy raise Lian in the beginning when he was lost and needed to get his life together.

If Roy and Jason started dating

And Roy introduced her to his boyfriend

And it’s Uncle Dicks little brother.

You think shes calling him anything else???

Like picture this bc once again these. Characters are like 9000 years old and they do not follow the timelines of aging

Lian is born and Dick is helping Roy out in person for a long time, but by the time she’s like 6-7 Dicks very busy with Gotham and bludhaven and new York and him and Roy have had a bunch of falling outs but they’re not letting affect the kid but Dick doesn’t visit as much in person.

Lian is still very attached so Roy will sometimes call Dick on FaceTime and let Lian update him about her life and everything and ramble and for a while that’s the only times Dick and Roy have contact is the text message of

You free Lian misses you?

And Dick spoils the kid rotten, he sends her birthday presents but also half birthday and quarter birthday present. if Roy needs to be somewhere Dick will take her on a trip somewhere just the two of them.

He tells her about his family and Lian becomes obsessed with becoming an acrobat. In the way kids are this gets tacked onto everything else she wants to become

She doesn’t wanna be an astronaut no she wants to be an acrobat astronaut.

She doesn’t wanna be a doctor she wants to be an acrobat doctor.

So on

He tells her cartoon versions of what happens in his life

So the penguin is peddling drugs through the city that he’s purchasing through laundering money with illegal businesses

Becomes

A penguin walked into a laundromat and ate all the Pennies so now he has go find the penguin to get the money back.

And it’s an event when he does come to see her.

She gets so excited and happy bc Dick carries her around all the time and she gets princess treatment 24/7. And he teaches her games they used to play back in the circus and at first Roy was worried bc Dick doesn’t exactly have a scale of normal and he’s not gonna call dick and talk To him but that’s not something they’ve done in years

but then Lian falls off the monkey bars at day care and flips before landing on her feet, perfectly fine.

And when they call him about it they ask about it bc what is a kid doing with flips ofc they’re curious but whatever he is doing? The moms want to know? Is there a class because that could’ve been a really nasty fall and catching yourself is a very good skill to have especially as an active child.

And when he asks Lian if she was scared “no! It’s like game uncle Dick taught me why would I be scared!”

And Roy calls Dick for the first time in years just to talk to him not for him to chat to Lian.

And he asks and Dick just kinda awkwardly admits that that’s how his parents taught him not to be afraid of heights or falls. If you teach kids a life skill through a game they’re less likely to freak in the real life scenario. And Roy is kinda reminded why he became friends with this asshole and why he stuck around and it kinda rekindles their friendship.

And then Roy starts dating Jason and it’s on the DL, bc Jason has issues and Roy isn’t going to introduce someone who isn’t a certain thing to his child. Right.

But things are going well

Very well

And then he decides well fuck it

And they tell people

And everyone is happy for them even Dick despite his very very pained “really Roy my kid brother?”

“Are you gonna give me the shovel talk Grayson”

“God no, you’re a titan which means you’re family which just makes this weird because people I both consider family are dating.”

And then Roy tells Lian

And she is pissed

“Why is Uncle Dicks little brother here”

“Well Lian he’s gonna be around a lot more”

“Does that mean uncle dick is gonna visit more”

“No sweetie but you see uncle dick a lot, Jay over here will just be more around”

“…why?”

“Well because he’s daddy’s boyfriend now”

“Like how Casey’s new mommy and daddy are boyfriend girlfriend”

“Yeah sweetie exactly”

“So he’s gonna be like my new daddy?”

“Well no, unless you want him to but-“

“I don’t”

“What Lian-“

Lian is very angry because she wants her uncle Dick around more and when she told her friend at school her friend said that her new stepmom was around more since her and her friends dad got married

She then logically assumed the ideal way to get her uncle around more was simply to force Dick and Roy to get married.

And since Dick asks for a list of things she wants every year for her birthdays and Easter and Christmas and st. Patrick’s day and All Saints’ Day and Eid and Labor Day and Halloween and holi and Passover and … (no she does not realize not everyone gets gifts on all the holidays that exist, this is very normal to her. Roy had to rent a storage room by the time she was 5)

And Dick has never once not gotten her what she wanted (once she asked to meet the penguin who stole the Pennies and dick took her to the zoo and the showed her the penguin who had a little ziploc baggie of coins tied around its middle-she pointed out that he still had the Pennies and dick said that he felt bad and let him keep just a few)

So anyway she was gonna ask for them to get married on her Christmas list but she wanted to ride a pony and so she was gonna add it to her 1/4 birthday list but now her dad is ruining it because she knows you have to be boyfriend girlfriend before you get married and this is not fair.

So she has a parent trap style vendetta against Jason. He is Meredith Blake.

And Jason who loves little kids is devastated bc his boyfriend’s kid does not like him.

And Roy is confused bc Lian and never acted like this ever.

And Dick has no idea what’s going on bc Lian is eternally an angel with him bc he has gentle parented the shit out of her and also bc he will never see anything she does as wrong ever he knew her when she was a baby that young lady is perfect if you say a derogatory word against her he’ll steal your knee caps.

And one day Lian calls him from preschool and is like “daddy is busy he wants to ask if can you pick me up” and Dick of course says yes because they’ve done this before and sometimes you only have time to make one last phone call.

So he picks Lian up.

And Roy gets there and freaks bc where the HELL IS HIS CHILD. And bc he’s a hero he assumes his identity is compromised and calls Ollie and everything is on lockdown and WTH his going on.

And like 8 hours later Dick calls him and he almost doesn’t pick up and Jason is trying to calm him down and they’re all tracking her but on a whim he answers cuz maybe Dick can help find his baby.

“Hey Roy any ideas when you’re coming to pick Lian up or should I take a day off work tomorrow?”

“What?”

“Dude are you okay you sound wrecked what the hell happened”

“Lian is with you?”

“Yeah- what’s happening Roy?”

“Why is LIAN WITH YOU?”

“She…called me to tell me you were busy and needed someone to pick her up.”

“I-“

“Roy is everything okay”

“She- she called you?”

“Yeah? from the school telephone the same way she does Everytime you have a mission. Roy brief me? Are you okay? Is? Is Jason alright?”

“Can- put Lian on the phone right now.”

“Roy-“

“NOW GRAYSON!”

“Yeah sure okay”

“Hi daddy!”

“Lian why did you ask Dick to pick you up?”

“Yep!”

“Why?”

“Because you were busy”

Deep inhale “who told you I was busy”

“You did”

“I did not-“

“Yeahhh u did, you said you would be with Uncle Dicks little brother”

“What does that have to do with-“

“Go be gross with him I’m mad at you”

“You’re mad at me, young lady I HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU FOR HOURS.”

“Why? Just because you forgot about uncle dick doesn’t mean I did”

“Wha- Lian what are you talking about”

They go to Dicks apartment and Lian explains that she is very cross with Roy because he knows uncle dick is her favorite baby sitter and it’s not fair that he gets to marry Jason when Dick is her favorite and since everyone knows that it’s babysitter and dad , boyfriend girlfriend, married. And that’s how Roy finds out that Casey’s new mommy used to be her babysitter and his daughter has been under the assumption that him and Dick were gonna get married since she was four.

And it’s annoying because Jason has never babysat her this whole time and Dick is her favorite baby sitter and he’s dating Dicks brother like that’s the wrong one dad.

Anyway Dick excuses himself to laugh until he cries in his room and Roy is bluescreening while staring at his daughter.

They clear some stuff up but when she’s mad she still calls Jason uncle dicks little brother.

[the-lights-are-loud]

Light's House as Batfam Part 13

At Oliver and Dinah's wedding

Speedy!Roy Harper: So Mr. Wayne, why aren't you married?

Bruce, who has had all the sidekicks and teen titans harassing him with the same question all night: Dick put you up to this, didn't he?

Masterlist

[mstrickster]

I feel like the first part is what would happen if Roy Harper and Clint Barton worked together.

The second part is a very unfortunate henchman.

*dipping a dart into an unlabelled flask and loading it into my crossbow* you better not try anything stupid because i don't even remember what this one does

[royharperwifey]

♡Flowers and Gift

Baskets♡

~♤Roy Harper♤~

[roy harper] [mlw] [roy harper x teacher!reader] [reader is lian's teacher] [girldad!roy] [x reader] [fluff] [lian learned the word 'wingman'] [slowburn] [no kiss yet] [awkward!roy]

It all started when Lian got a new teacher at her kindergarten in the beginning of the new year. Roy wasn't able to make it to the meet and greet, but the bright smiles and theatric stories Lian told him about you gave him a pretty good first impression of you.

After about 6 months of hearing about how lovely you are, how pretty the flowers looked in your hair, how lovely your dresses looked and how worried you got about one of the kiddies who scraped their knee on the pavement, Roy was quite curious about you.

One day, Lian came home and told Roy that you'd gotten the bronchitis and you were off for the next two weeks. Roy decided that this didn't make him just a little concerned about you. No. Not at all.

The day that he knew you were coming back, he sent a care package with Lian to class. A little basket with a blanket, bath goodies, a hot water bottle, some fluffy socks and some hot chocolate. Not a big deal. Lian was more than happy to tell you that her daddy had spent a lot of time asking her if you likes cats or raccoons on your socks.

You smile and try to hide how it made your heart skip a teeny tiny beat when you'd heard how Roy had gone through such trouble for you.

>>—♡—>

About a week later, there was a mandatory little end of semester garden party. It's a private kindergarten. It was Autumn and you were wearing a long sleeved coffee coloured dress with some black leggings, boots and your hair was tied into a bun with wispy hairs sticking out.

You were busy talking to another parent when Roy saw you. To say that his jaw dropped was an understatement. You were drop dead gorgeous. Your smile? Radiant. Your laugh? Absolutely encapsulating. It was so full and whole, like when Emilia Clark laughs. Even the way you walked was nice.

"Daddy, you're staring." Said his sassy 5-year-old daughter.

"Yes, thank you, Lian."

"You're welcome." she smiles her missing-toothed smile. You walked up to him with a grin and a cup of tea in hand.

"Hi, you must be Lian's father. I'm her teacher." you smile. You must admit he is attractive. The tattoos, the 5 o'clock shadow, the long-ish hair, the leather jacket paired with the sweater vest, a white collar peeking out? Sold.

"I'm Roy. it's nice to finally meet you, did you enjoy the care package that I sent with Lian, or did she steal it?" he teases Lian and ruffles her hair.

You smile, remembering how thoughtful and sincere the little basket was, making your heart do funny things. "I loved it. Especially the socks. I love the cats."

"I like your dress, miss." Lian says with a crooked smile.

"Thank you, pumpkin. Why don't you go play and grab a little snack?" you suggest. Roy watches as the tot runs on her little legs.

"How is she in class?" He asks, not entirely sure what else to ask.

"She is one of my best. She's so interactive, and happy and willing to learn. She's compassionate. The other day, she wouldn't let me kill a bug that was in the class, asking me to take it outside. No, she really is a lovely student and a pleasure to teach." You say. Your passion for both Lian and teaching kindergarteners makes his heart do little flips in his chest.

"Im glad she isn't being a little menace."

"Lian told me you put a lot of effort into that basket. I really appreciate the thought. No one's done that for me before and it made me really happy." You smile. That smile does things to his heart and stomach. He hasn't felt this way since Lian's mother, Jade. Except this time it isn't so much the thrill of dating a villain. You are a kindergarten teacher. And you are so beautiful when you smile at him like that.

"It was really my pleasure. Lian loves you as her teacher and I was just trying to give you a little kickstart to the new week back at school." Roy pauses. "I make a lot of bike references. Not sure if that was obvious." he adds sheepishly

"You like bikes?" You ask.

"Yeah. I am something of a mechanic. I bought the bike that I have now after working on a really huge project." Roy says proudly. He really likes his bike. "You have really pretty eyes." He says sheepishly as she shifts.

"Aw, thank you." Your smile makes him want to go out and marry you. Your glasses are so pretty. His eyes travel around your face, the soft, natural roundness of it, the cute rosy cheeks.

Roy shuffles from foot to foot and you just find it so adorable. He's so cute.

"Did you like the colour of the blanket i got you? I thought 'well, you cant go wrong with black'. Unless you hate it and you wanted the pink one. But the pink one isn't as thick. Unless you get warm easily and-"

"Roy, I loved the blanket. The black is also nice. Thank you" You interrupt his rambling and smile at him.

"You have a beautiful smile." Roy realises what he's said and he blushes redder than his hair back in highschool. "I mean- like- your teeth are really white. I MEAN--" He cuts himself off with a groan and his face tilted to the evening sky like 'why me, God?'.

"You okay there?" You ask, slightly concerned ig he's having a stroke.

Lian saw her father struggling and walked up to you. "Miss? My daddy really thinks your pretty and wants to invite you to a tea party." She then whispered loudly, "Don't worry, daddy, I have your back." And kept playing with her friends.

"A tea party meaning, like, a café date? But- Like- it doesn't have to be a date date. It can be a friend date. Or a work date." Roy says nervously as he wipes his clammy hands on his jeans.

"What if it wanted it be a date date?" You ask, halfway to clarify that you're single and into him and halfway to tease him a little, it's fun watching him squirm.

"That's cool. Totally cool. Rad." Roy then decided to shut the hell up before he threw himself into oncoming traffic for using a term that died 20 years ago.

"Rad?" You ask with a raised brow.

"Rad." He decides to roll with it. Go with the flow. Be rad.

He was doomed to forever be a millennial who used the term 'rad'. And now he was going to lie down on the highway.

"So what do you say, miss?" he asks and there's something about the way the blush on his freckled cheeks and the way his blue eyes shine in the evening sunset that make you smile softly as you nod your head.

"Fine, you've convinced me, I'll go on a super rad date with my student's dad."

"Well, you didn't have to say it like that." he grumbles as she looks down at his feet.

"I am the best wingman ever." Lian says to her friends. She only learn that term last weekend and was determined to use it as much as she could.

>>—♡—>

The two of you were having brunch at a nice outdoor restaurant that you chose. You're in a nice sun dress and Roy is in a t-shirt and a pair of slacks. Slacks. This man is wearing slacks to brunch. He is down bad.

"I love the steaks here." You say with a smile. You're wearing makeup. Barely noticeable makeup that accentuates your lashes and hides the blue hue under your eyes from dealing with kids constantly. It look so pretty, but he wonders what you'd look like when you've just woken up, all mussy and frazzled, no makeup. He's pretty sure you'd look just as beautiful as you do all dolled up.

"I've never been here before. But I like the scenery." Roy says as he looked out to the fields where the horses graze and the corn grows. The part of the property the restaurant/café is on is well trimmed and lusciously green.

"Its half the reason I love it here. In winter it's just as pretty, but I like being able to smell the roses." You say, pointing to the rose beds behind Roy. He glances briefly over his shoulder.

"This morning when I was getting ready, Lian kept asking me when you were going to wear so that I could match with you, because it's 'more romantic', as she put it." Roy chuckles. And you kind of just stare at him with a dreamy smile as he speaks animated about his 6 year old daughter. His hands move and his face shows vivid emotion. His smile is charming and his freckles and sunspots adorn his nose and cheeks. His orange nape-length layers are tied back into a bun where pieces that won't reach the elastic have fallen out to create a lil something something that makes his 5 o'clock shadow that's just barely there all the more attractive.

"Are you listening?" Roy pauses mid-story about a time Lian was trying to climb up the kitchen cupboards to reach sour gummy worms at the tippy top.

"Yeah. Lian, gummy worms, kitchen cupboards." You recount key points.

"That was, like, 3 stories ago." He sips his milkshake.

"Right. And which one are we on, now?" You ask, slightly embarrassed that you've been too busy ogling him to listen to his stories properly.

"When I was 20 and juggling life as a new father? Am I talking too much?" Roy asks, suddenly self-conscious that he's talking too much and he's boring you. "Enough about me." He says, making that you don't have to answer the question, in fear that you'll say yes. "Tell me about yourself. I'm sure that there are tons of stories about being a kindergarten teacher that made you think 'what are kids these days?', right?"

"Honestly it's not so much 'what are kids' and moreso 'what are parents these days'." As you tell interesting stories about how some kids show up to school literally coming to school naked and others throwing their poo at people they do not like, Roy watches with a smile, chin in hand as he watches the way the late morning sun brightens your eyes and brings out the soft golden flecks. He admires the way your face goes slightly more rosy due to the warmth that comes with the transition between spring and summer. He watches the way you take bites of your beer steak schnitzel in between stories about what the parents allow and/or encourage their kids to do.

After brunch, Roy insisted paying. His excuse was that he was simply a gentleman and always payed for the first date, but he also saw the hefty bill that came with both of their meals and compared to a kindergarten teacher's salary, he wanted to be nice. Not that he pitied her, he just didn't want to make het broke after the first date.

"So, date 2?" You suggest as you turn to face him once he has escorted you to your car.

"Really? I didn't talk your ear off?" He asks with a playful tone, but a hint of seriousness coloured his voice.

"Nah, I liked listening to you talk. It tells me you can keep a conversation. I'd rather have a guy who talks too much than too little." You say.

"So I do talk too much?" Roy asks.

"No! I meant like, someone who talks a lot. Not too much. Just a lot. Like me. I talk a lot, too." You say quickly.

"Date 2 it is then, Miss." He says with a smile as he takes your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, making you swoon.

"Im glad." Before you can get into your car, Roy tugs lightly at the hand he had kissed and pressed a soft, almost feather-like kiss to your cheek.

"Drive safe. Until next time." He whispers before pulling back, winking and walking away.

Safe to say you are kicking your feet a giggling all the way home.

You can add yourself to my tag list by commenting/ DMing and asking for specific characters/ fandoms.

[juicykvnture]

SPRING BREAKERS (2)

Jason Todd x fem!Reader x Roy Harper | Challengers AU

Tags: AFAB reader, somno (brief), PiV, thigh fucking, threesome, Jason’s a loser, Roy’s a perv, Reader’s a menace.

a/n: I don’t have a single respectable thing to say.

wc: 3k

part 1 | masterlist

You hate the Stanford dorms more than anything in the whole world, especially in the heat.

All these thousands of dollars poured into your college every single year, only for every single AC unit in the building to be unusable.

“I’m literally going to die.” Roy all but whines as he stares up at the ceiling, fanning his face with a random copy of Vogue he found somewhere in your closet.

“Roy, do me a favour, yeah?” You lift your head from the pillow, reaching over to give the busted fan on your nightstand a solid whack so it keeps spinning, then another one for good measure.

“Mhm?”

“Go slam your head into that wall over there.”

He’s dazed for a moment, his brain working overtime to figure out what you could possibly want from him before he blinks, his lips curling into a small, almost childish pout.

“What did I ever do to you?” He frowns like an idiot, strands of his red hair clinging to his forehead.

“Live, breathe, exist in the same vicinity as me, perhaps?”

What? He asked, you answered.

“You’re lying. You love me.” He grins up at the ceiling, waving the magazine around in his hand before attempting to swat your thigh with it.

Unfortunately, he underestimated how dizzy the heat makes him, resulting in it landing on the floor.

“I can assure you, she doesn’t.” Jason mutters, standing in the doorway of your bathroom, water dripping down his neck and rolling down his bare chest from dunking his face in the sink in a desperate effort to cool off.

“We’re just her boy toys, no? Destined to end up somewhere in a landfill like the rest of ‘em.” He remarks dryly, but you’ve learned to read his expressions and what they mean, he’s just slightly amused judging by the way his eyebrows are slightly raised.

Scoffing, you sit up as you fan your face with your hand, peering over at him through your lashes.

“You make me sound like a bitch.”

Silence.

Jason’s eyes are anywhere but yours, deciding to focus on the fan on your bedside table and how unpredictably it moves, spinning in one direction, and then the other before stopping completely.

A lot like you, he thinks.

Did he seriously just compare you to a fucking busted-up fan?

Roy isn’t saying anything either, now suddenly extremely fascinated by the seam running across your pillow in his lap, dragging his fingers over it.

Okay, maybe you deserved that?

You haven’t brought up what happened last week, like at all. But fuck, if they’re blaming you for this then it’s just hypocritical.

They were literally both there. You’re all somewhat functional adults, yet all three of you are dancing around this.

It seems you’ve all decided to park that thought for now. It’s the hottest day of the year so far and you’re more focused on trying not to literally evaporate on the spot.

Still, this week has been different. You’re spending more time together which is a miracle considering how much of a headache both of them are. Jason has the communication skills of a plank of wood and Roy is so painfully ridiculous you wonder how he’s even made it into adulthood.

The glances linger now, they’re not fleeting like they used to be. Jason is now able to handle a conversation with you for just about 15 seconds at a time, which is great compared to the one or two syllables you used to be able to force out of him.

Roy is still Roy, just more shameless, a feat you didn’t even know was achievable by human standards. His tennis mightn’t be good enough for the Olympics but if there were awards for being the biggest manwhore, he’d know all about having balls in his court.

You haven’t gotten your shirt back either, it’s the only sort of cotton house shirt that wasn’t some kind of overpriced, polyester piece of shit like the ones you wear on the court.

He claims he lost it but knowing Roy, it’s probably shoved under his mattress or something like the freak he is. You grimace at the possibility of him jerking off into it. Your poor T-shirt.

As some weird kind of compensation, he offered you one of his instead. You were hesitant but you needed something breathable in this kind of weather.

Jason blinks for a moment, stepping out of the doorway to stare at what you’re wearing.

I TOLD YA

Bold, black lettering, printed across your tits.

“How’d you get my shirt? I’ve been looking for it.”

You glance down at yourself, then at Jason, and then over at Roy in confusion.

Okay, well you may be on the verge of a heatstroke but even in this state, you all know that items of clothing don’t tend to magically duplicate themselves.

“Roy gave it to me? It’s his shirt..” you trail off, glancing between the two of them once more.

Jason’s hands fall by his sides, staring at Roy.

“How? I have the exact same one and haven’t been able to find it since-“

He pauses, resting his hands on his hips.

Glancing between the two of them, you’re confused for a moment, fidgeting with the hem of it as the three of you work to find the true origins and rightful owner of the shirt you’re currently wearing.

And just like that, it all falls into place, Jason running a hand through his hair.

“Dude.”

If Jason’s shirt has somehow been in Roy’s custody this long.. you’re nearly sure it has gone through the same fate as your one at some point.

Oh!

“Roy you fucking freak.” You mumble into your pillow, reaching out to flip it so the cold side presses against your face.

He just curls his lips into an awkward, somewhat apologetic smile, offering a shrug.

“Jesus, I washed it before I gave it to you, okay?”

Yeah, as if that makes this any better.

“That doesn’t make this any better for me, you fucking degenerate!” Jason groans into his hand, his cheeks flushing from equal parts grave embarrassment and the sweltering heat in your dorm.

“No no no, Jay, you don’t get to call me the degenerate, not after what happened last week-”

Silence, again.

Rolling your eyes you give the fan another solid whack, glancing between them with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, so you two have zero problems jerking eachother off every fucking night, but facing last week is a stretch too far?” You let out an irritated scoff, only to be interrupted by Jason sputtering, throwing his hands up in surrender, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“He did it in his bed, okay? I did it in my bed. We did it together, but like opposites sides of the room..”

He’s rambling, over-explaining.

Roy makes a dismissive gesture of his hand with every syllable he utters, unable to hold back a smirk.

“No, Jason. If my memory serves me right, I can recall you getting up and-“

“Confront your crippling feelings at another time. My head hurts, kay?” You cut them off, letting your face hit the pillow again.

You’re not sure what time it is, you don’t care to check. All you know for sure is the fact you’re still boiling out of your skin and you swear the fan on the side table has been stuck like that since you fell asleep, it sputters awkwardly every couple minutes but judging by the sweat dripping down your neck, it’s useless.

“..stop moving.” You hear a mumble muffled by the pillows, not entirely sure if it’s Jason or Roy talking. You’re too tired to ask, too lazy to lift your head, and too hot to think.

“You’re fuckin’ sweatin’ all over me.” You grumble under your breath, the heavy bodies draped over you on either side making the whole space even warmer.

None of them move, and you hear no response either.

“Jason?” You whisper-yell, only to be met with a sleepy grumble into your neck, his arm draped over your torso.

Right, so it’s Roy who’s complaining then? You’re not entirely sure, though. That must be who’s back you’re facing at the moment.

It seems Roy’s grumble was a one-off and he’s gone back to sleep, thank god, you’ve had enough of his whining for the day.

You shift slightly, attempting to push them off of you, even if it’s just by an inch, only so you can breathe better.

Jason’s having absolutely none of it. Not after Roy cockblocked him last week. He’s not letting that happen this time. No fucking way.

“No, come back,” he breathes against your neck, his fingers curling into the fabric of your (his? Roy’s?) shirt, pushing it up and out of this way.

You’ve heard him say those exact words before. The night all of you refuse to acknowledge.

That goes straight over your head though, your face pushed into your pillow until you feel hands sliding up from your hips to your stomach, fingers pressing into your ribs.

“The fuck?” Your mutter is barely audible, unable to bring yourself to open your eyes.

Jason’s breathing is unsteady, trying to keep himself quiet by pushing his face into your neck, your skin heating up even more.

One of his hands slides back down to your hips, fumbling with the waistband of your underwear to pull it down your thighs, a small, frustrated whine soon following, his sounds muffled by your shoulder.

“Shit, you’re so pretty,”

He swallows, his cock throbbing in his sweatpants as he pushes himself against you, pressing himself against your ass. It’s like he needs to be as close to you as he physically can, despite the heat. He really does.

“M’sorry, fuck m’so sorry..”

His mumbles into your neck are barely coherent, pressing a trail of sleepy, haphazard kisses down the back of your neck, his shaky hand now going to fumble with his waistband, tugging at the drawstrings while he pushes his face into your shoulder in a desperate effort to keep himself quiet.

Your tired little mumbles are so sweet he swears he could just die (or cum) on the spot. You’re so sweet like this. As much as he secretly loves when you make fun of him or boss him around, what he’s feeling for you now is just indescribable.

He almost has a heart attack when he feels you moving, his breathing shaky as he stares at the back of your head through half-lidded eyes.

No, No, No

You’re going to hate him. He’s ruined everything. He feels like he could cry, but he wouldn’t even have a fucking excuse to explain himself other than his almost pitiful need for you.

Shit. He’s done it. He’s definitely fucked up now and you’re gonna know he’s a fucking creep and you’re gonna turn around any second and yell at him and-

He blinks in disbelief, feeling your hand resting over his to stop the fact he’s still fucking around aimlessly with the flimsy cotton, trying to get your panties down your thighs.

And when he feels your hand slide down lower, pulling your underwear to the side - he swears he can’t breathe.

“Thank you, thank you - fuck - thank you,” He’s panting in your ear like a mantra, his hips stuttering as he attempts to line himself up against you, his pre-cum already leaking down your thighs.

Jason seems to be hell-bent on keeping his face hidden in your shoulder, where he attempts helplessly to stifle his own sounds. He’s spooning you in a tangled mess of limbs and bedsheets, in an almost laughable attempt to restrain himself.

He can't fuck you like he wants to, unfortunately, and that kills him inside. Of course, Roy just fucking has to be here huh?

“Fuck,”

Just the thought of it has his grip on your hips tightening.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves Roy, really. But come on, the fact they’re literally fucking inseparable from the court - to sharing a dorm - to literally bending over backwards for the same woman is ridiculous.

“Shit,” he half-whispers, half-whines into your ear with a shaky thrust of his hips. “I don’t give a fuck if he wakes up, serves him right for givin’ me blue balls this whole fuckin’ time.”

He’s lying, he cares.

He’d probably cry out of embarrassment for the fact Roy could see him as weak, sobbing over pussy like last time.

God, he cares so much what that guy thinks. It’s almost laughable.

But he cares what you think more.

Besides, that’s like the most you’ve ever heard him talk in one go. He sounds like he just learned what swearing is.

“Jason,” Your grip on your pillow tightens, reaching your other hand back to the nape of his neck, giving his hair a tug, “S-shut. Up.”

You manage to open your eyes, your half-lidded gaze landing on the back of Roy’s head, trying to keep yourself and Jason quiet.

Roy is quiet. Eerily quiet.

Now, those are two words that simply shouldn’t belong in the same sentence.

He hasn’t moved an inch in a while you swear you're getting wetter by the second. You can tell Jason can feel it too, panting into your shoulder like a bitch.

You’re tempted to just roll your eyes and somehow find a way to move this to the couch or something, part of you feels bad that you’re making Jason hold back like this. Another part of you wants to ignore Roy, tell Jason to hurry up and make you cum so you can forget about all of this even happening.

Then you hear it.

A quiet creak from the far side of the mattress.

Your eyes narrow, now locked on Roy’s back in front of you, the muscles rippling under his skin as he moves.

The thought of it makes you tense, Jason can feel it too, you’re moving your hips back against him, your hand going to hold his as he ruts against you, his teeth sinking into the back of your neck.

Roy sighs, loudly. Loud enough to have your eyes fully open along with Jason trying not to cry into your neck, shaking with need and rambling under his breath about how badly he just needs to fuck you harder.

“Harper,” Your words leave you before your brain even registers them, Jason hiding his face in your hair.

“Uh-huh?” Roy swallows, internally praying to every single deity to ever exist that you’re not about to ask him to-

“Turn around,”

He’s silent when your words hit his ears, echoing through his otherwise empty skull before he jolts, his shorts halfway down his thighs with his hand wrapped around himself, pushing his face into your other shoulder.

When words finally find him, he’s biting down on your collarbone, a stark contrast to Jason’s messy kisses as he tries to hold himself back.

“You two aren’t fucking subtle.” Roy’s words leave his mouth in a rasp, lifting one of your thighs up so he has a better angle for himself, his chest now presses against yours.

“I could feel your fucking eyes on the back of my head,” He swallows, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh, moving to slot himself between them.

“And don’t get me fucking started on Jay over here.” He scoffs, fumbling with the drawstring of his shorts to push them down his thighs.

Jason’s trying to hide his face in your neck, but it’s clearly not working, considering the way he throbs inside you when Roy’s eyes lock onto his.

It’s a weird mixture of shame and sheer desperation, his arm locking around your torso like you’re his only shield from his own embarrassment.

You can hear Roy pant out a shaky laugh, running a hand over his sweat-slicked hair to tuck it out of his eyes, his form keeping you boxed against Jason.

It’s like you’re walking in on something again, even when Jason is literally balls deep inside you.

“Fuck,” he lets out a shaky breath, pressing himself into your thighs while Jason’s hips are trembling, trying to keep himself together as he fucks you from behind.

Roy tilts his head to kiss you, his breathing laboured as his pierced tongue brushes against yours, his half-lidded eyes aren’t on you though.

They’re locked on Jason, unwavering.

He pulls his lips away from yours, staring at Jason through his half lidded gaze before your pushing his face down into your neck, biting lightly at your skin as he pushes himself into your thighs, pulling one of your legs over his hip.

“He’s obsessed with you, yknow that? And you think I’m the perv.”

“Roy, can you just shut the fuck up?” Jason’s voice cracks, his grip on you tightening with an all but desperate thrust of his hips, hiding his face in your hair again.

“What? Am I hurting your feelings jaybird? Embarrassing you in front of a pretty girl?” Roy sneers, his teeth gleaming under the dim streetlight coming in through the cracked blinds, his grin not leaving his face for a second.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Roy making him embarrassed, that is.

“No, no, he’s lying, fuck- I swear he’s lying.” Jason’s words are more of a plea than anything else, trying to act like he’s normal about all of this, as if he hasn’t been rotting his brain.

“See why the fuck would I lie about that?” Roy murmurs, his one going to your waist as he thrusts himself into the gap between your thighs, his other reaching over your shoulder to pull Jason in by the neck do his chin rests on your shoulder, pressing his thumb against his bottom lip.

Right in front of my salad?

You let your head fall back against Jason’s shoulder, his shaky pants muffled by the nape of your neck as you push yourself back against him.

Your lashes flutter slightly as you stare at Roy, leaning your head against Jason’s now.

“The longer you spend running your mouth about him, the longer you’ll be making it up to him.”

a/n: yeah.

asks + reqs open, thank you for reading my heinous brainrot ily bye

[killerplink]

TROUBLE

Pairing: Roy Harper x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Check, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, he's fucking silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes go wide, lips part, breath catches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh fuck—Roy—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gonna fuckin'—fuck, baby, shit—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ready to go home, trouble?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're out cold five minutes into the drive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhmm."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Still up for waffles, baby?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slut.

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

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

"Trouble?"

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

"Hmmm?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yeah, it's definitely happening again.

[mysterycitrus]

have you shared your thoughts on the slade and dick relationship anywhere on your blog? i've seen you mention the handling of that relationship as an issue you have with the devin grayson run and i'm so interested in seeing your further takes on them as characters and their relationship, especially after reading persephone

i think their relationship is suuuuper interesting but also that popular interpretations of slade forget two crucial details — he’s obsessed with dick grayson to an unhealthy degree, and he’s canonically a child rapist.

first ill elaborate on that last part — the retcon that deathstroke is a badass, sometimes grey morality type guy that people respect tends to ignore his first proper appearance in comics, wherein he was sleeping with fifteen year old tara markov. slades history in comics is inextricably tied to many iterations of the titans. he has always, always been a freak with kids. he should never be framed as anything but that. none of that suave, menacing dude thanks. adeline should’ve taken both his eyes.

wrt dick i think they’re interesting because slades thought process goes — i just got defeated by a kid in a stupid costume -> that kid in the stupid costume defeated me, meaning he has to be something special. slade is a very proud person with a lot of faith in his own abilities, so dick grayson must be truly exceptional to have outmanoeuvred him. slade imo works best as a nightwing villain (rather than a batman or ga villain) because that egotism is crucial to slade’s character. dick grayson is exceptional, and slade takes pride in both defeating him and briefly allying with him. like i said in persephone: it’s all about power. slade will do anything to get the upper hand.

where shit gets lost in the sauce is devin graysons explicit coding of their relationship as romantic which. i won’t elaborate on. but ignoring everything else whack about it i think it flattens their relationship. slade is all about control and doing anything to achieve his goals. dick is a significant obstacle to that. slade hates dick, but in a twisted way he also respects him, because dick having to fight slade is a positive reflection of slades own abilities (in slades eyes). slade killed 100k people in dicks name. dick mourned both slades sons and taught his daughter. the power that comes with trying to smother that kind of light would be intoxicating to someone like deathstroke. there’s a lot to chew on there.

anyway tldr the person slade hates most in the world is roy harper

[leoruby-draws]

Decided to post some more random, mostly minor characters from the DC universe, mostly ones that seemed they would be fun to draw. I guess technically these drawings are all based in my TrWh au, as always. Here they are:

Wanted to draw heroes with wings, I draw Vanessa quite a bit so I had to learn wings and feathers. Still working on it, but its fun. You can see Vanessa there at the bottom middle, looking a little menacing.

The girl with red wings is called...Redwing aka Carrie Levine. I thought she was a sweet kid, so her ultimate fate was pretty sad. Wonder if she'll come back to continuity at some point.

The guy with the mohawk is Northwind aka Norda Cantrell, part of Infinity Inc the earth 2 version of a Teen Titans group. He honestly didn't get a whole lot of focus in Infinity Inc, like the writer didn't know what to do with him. Maybe they should've made him into the magic fighter of the group, almost felt like thats what they were going for him before they wrote him off.

The girl in yellow is Dawnstar, part of the Legion of Superheroes. I haven't read much of LoSH, mostly some 90's issues. But her design is soooo pretty I had to draw her, her costume here is a mix of her various outfits.

Lastly, here's Bluejay aka Jay Abrams again, part of Justice League Europe. Kinda thought JLE was a bit of a letdown, I mean the team's made up of mostly americans not europeans! I think Crimson Fox was the only european, I thought her set-up of being two people was cool.

Little extra Infinity doodle, here's Hector Hall (Silver Scarab) hating on poor Norda, with Lyta Trevor (Fury) looking on with confusion. Hector's just a hater (tho there's reasons for it ig), an archetype you see sometimes in some superhero groups, like Roy Harper or Guy Gardner. The plot-line of Hector's resentment of Norda was kinda interesting, but like with most things in Infinity it didn't get the focus it should've gotten. Speaking of Infinity, here's some more doodles:

There's Rex Tyler (Hourman 1) with little Rick Tyler (Hourman 2), enjoying some father-son time. Apparently Rick's first costume isn't well liked (so says reddit). I thought it seemed cute but maybe it works better as a kid's or sidekick's kinda costume?

In the middle is Jack Knight (Starman) suffering as he interacts with Sylvester Pemberton (Skyman, formerly the Star-Spangled Kid) and Courtney Whitmore (Stargirl, actually she should still be S-SK but whatever). In my au he actually joins Infinity Inc, since everyone becomes heroes earlier he's actually around when the team's still running. I suspect his dad (Ted Knight) forced him into it. Also Courtney doesn't respect Jack at all, he's so annoyed at this. Look at her mini-staff, I presume Ted made it for her.

Also there's Beth Chapel (Dr. Mid-Nite) and Jesse Chambers (Jesse Quick) looking cool. Jesse also joins Infinity Inc in my au, will there be a love triangle going on between Beth, Rick and Jesse? Don't think Rick's gonna survive that, aw well.

Look at baby Jade and Obsidian, Alan is overwhelmed by their antics.

In another post someone asked if I could draw more of the Relative Heroes, a super obscure hero group. So @draculaura1660, this one's for you. Here they are:

I kinda had a hard time drawing this group, cuz their costumes are so complicated! I wished there was a reference/concept art for them cuz it was a struggle trying to figure out the details, the comic art did not help matters at all. You might have noticed I changed details anyways, I tend to simplify costumes for my au both to make it easier to draw and also to signify their younger ages. It's just fun to play around with costume design ig.

Some more characters!

Jinx, who looks very different between her comic and cartoon self. I did like her pink hair, so decide to see how it would look on her comic self. There's Kole, who also has different designs in comic/cartoons. I think her comic costume is so cool, esp that color pallet! But I love her pink hair in the cartoon, so she's got pink hair here! Just like pink hair a lot lol.

The other pink haired girl is Laethwen, love interest of Ray Palmer in Sword of the Atom. I think I made her hair more pink to better differentiate her from Starfire, also, again I just like pink hair. I wished she and her little kingdom didn't die, in my au Ray saves them! Maybe he relocates them to his backyard or something?

Little Donna and Vanessa doodle, did you know they never once interacted on panel? The closest is when Donna brings her stepsister Cindy to talk to Vanessa instead. I wonder how they would even interact, I know Vanessa wanted to be wonder girl (and resented Cassie for 'taking' it from her). Did she look up to Donna, or wanted her out of the way? Funnily enough Donna wasn't even Diana's sidekick when post-crisis started, due to both their origins being reworked and contradicting each other's timelines. It's all very confusing.

Anyways, some bonus doodles:

Had fun making a new outfit for Laethwen, I imagine she took some inspiration from indigenous groups from the Amazon, seeing as that's where her people crashed into.

Kole's costume is just so beautiful but so complicated, maybe that's why she got killed off so soon in Crisis on Infinite Earths.

Lastly, here's Bette bugging Dick with Barbara being super amused about it. I said in my post about her that I didn't really care about her crush on Robin, which is true, but I still wanted to doodle something making fun of it. Poor Dick is doesn't know how to get outta of this social situation.

Well that was a lot, hope you liked all that.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

You asked for the truth so we told you it (Well half of it)

by RAVEN_raven_RayRay After a world ending crisis, which forced the Justice League Titans Outlaws and Young Justice to work together, everyone was on edge, not because they just faced a world ending 29-hour event but because Batman Wonder Woman Superman John Constantine and the Flash dragged the Young Justice team away. Superboy mumbled under his breath. "Let's run." Robin looked extremely over living. " First oof all. We're in space, and second, we've ignored this long enough." Cassie sighed."I think avoiding this subject is easier." Impulse give a nervous "Ha. We're never going to be allowed to do hero-ing after this" Superman spoke first "What did Klarion mean by 'Time is something you don't have'?" Impulse pushed Cassie in a 'you speak first.' Then Cassie turned and pushed Superboy to speak, then Superboy pulled Raven infront of him and hid behind her with Robin and Impulse. RedHood Arsenal and The Flash laughed at the scene but stopped when Wonder Woman gave them a 'Shut up, this is serious' look. Raven sighed, looking at Batman. "Where to begin? Words: 319, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Young Justice - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Raven (Teen Titans), Tim Drake (DCU), Bart Allen, Cassie Sandsmark, Kon-El | Conner Kent, The Outlaws (DCU), Justice League (DCU), Members of the Team (Young Justice), Teen Titans (DCU), Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Jason Todd, Jaime Reyes, Clark Kent, Diana (Wonder Woman), Bruce Wayne, Barry Allen, Damian Wayne, Hal Jordan (Green Lantern), John Constantine, Koriand'r (DCU) Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Kon-El | Conner Kent is So Done, Young Justice Team as Family, Comic: Young Justice (1998-2003), Tim Drake is a Menace (DCU), Bart Allen is a Menace, Raven is So Done via https://ift.tt/k2Ffmdo

[birdiedoesdc]

my fics

batfam:

the misfortune of knowing anything: gen, 3.8k

Jason has dragged Tim Drake into his attempt to run away. Batman wants it to be known that he does not eat children. This is what you get for hoarding orphans, Bruce.

my shoulders are heavy already: teen, 9k

Damian is not sick. Dick is not having a crisis. Also, freezer pops.

exponential childhood acquisition: gen, 2.7k

An average morning in the life of Bruce Wayne, single father to approximately six children.

what right had you not to let me die?: teen, 3.8k

Jason Todd is about to find out why hundred and four degree fevers are, generally, considered detrimental to one's well-being. Tim Drake is about to commit crimes against Top Ramen and humanity. Bruce Wayne is about to fret. What else do you expect?

a hundred different ways to say the same thing: teen, 2k

Dick and Jason are very normal people with a very normal sibling-ish relationship.

whole package, babe, i like the way you fit: teen, 3.9k

Officer Tomás Martinez is beset upon by precocious, acrobatic children. Featuring child endangerment, celebrity crushes, and candy.

just a boy who had to sing this song: teen, 4.8k

Dick Grayson, in the week after his parents' murder.

i know it's over, still i cling: teen, 1.8k

Jason Todd, in the immediate aftermath of Under the Red Hood.

yarn over, pull through: teen, 11.4k

Jason Todd learns how to crochet. It turns out that having healthy emotional outlets improves your mental health and your relationships with others--like, say, a certain set of Bats.

love me like a child, hold me in the dark: gen, 3.9k

Steph gets thrust back in time, deals with some closet monsters, and has some pretty major emotional revelations.

blood is thick, but water is forever: gen, 3.1k

Jason, Dick, and Tim learn about communication.

won't stop til i get where you are: t, 3.3k

Roy Harper decides he will not be broken up with so easily. Especially by a guy he was never technically dating. Jason Todd takes it very well.

it takes guts to be gentle and kind: g, 1.9k

Dolores Patton gets some help with her groceries.

superman:

since you looked at me different: gen, 1.7k

Jon gets engaged like this.

it’s all relative fiction anyway: gen, 7.8k

Lois thinks Batman is Bruce Wayne. Jimmy thinks Batman is a vampire. Clark thinks it would be really nice if they could go to one gala without something terrible happening. (Also, Bruce Wayne is a menace.)

if you don’t remember, i will try to remind you: gen, 1k

Clark Kent gets a goddamn break.

hr form a113: teen, 2k

Slade Wilson terrorizes the employees of Lex Corp. Lex Luthor is no help. The new head of HR is at the end of their wits.

[grayson-slash-thunderdome]

DICK GRAYSON/ROY HARPER: Roy and Dick have been been best friends since they were kids, have led teams together, saved Roy's daughter together (since Dick was the only one Roy would trust), and Roy straight up started a team to help Dick when he was depressed. They have been described in canon as, "mom and dad" of the Outsiders, "Lennon and McCartney in tights," and "would make a swell couple in an erotic Butch and Sundance kind of way" which is only made more romantic by Dick claiming that "there is no one…NO ONE I'd rather have fighting at my side than you."

- They have been childhood rivals and friends that have seen each other through their worst and best!

- Their deep passionate tension stems from their love and affection for each other!

DICK GRAYSON/JOEY WILSON: in fair gotham where we lay our scene, the son of his greatest enemy and his dad's archnemesis. dick trusts joey from the first time they meet and respects him enormously. they haven't interacted in like 30 years and i am begging dc to feed us.

WILDCARD!! DICK GRAYSON/DICK GRAYSON: Dick/Dick is chaos; an illusion; a menace. it's him but also not him; there but not there. Dick/Dick is everywhere, in every universe. Dick/Dick is love, Dick/Dick is life.

at first i thought dick/dick was kinda dumb but tbh i think he's the only person who would understand him

[nox140497]

07. You're an idiot you know that?

Authors Note: Ok, so this was an idea from SandoraMidoriya, and I think it's a cool idea, and it inspired me to write this, so thank you!☺

---------------------------

Y/n's P.O.V

It's been a couple months since Jason started to go out with us, and I really could not be prouder of my two little birds really I couldn't, and I love them more than anything in the world. Other than Bruce, obviously.

But on days like these.

Days like these that I truly want to strangle them and question my choices in life.

*Sigh*

Let me explain.

Ok, so us being members of the league means that our boys have met the children of the other leaguers. Now, for some reason Dick has formed a brotherly bond with the children/sidekicks/prodegés of Flash, aka Barry Allen, and Green Arrow, aka Oliver Queen

One Walace Rudolph West and one Roy William Harper.

Now I love these boys as my own, I do, but when the three are together, it usually ends in some kind of disaster.

And Thus,

we get to my current situation. The three of them figured that it was a good idea for Dick to teach the gingers how to do some tricks.

What's the problem with that, you may ask?

The thought it would be best to do it near one of the second floor windows.

The first thing I heard was the shattering of glass and then three screams of my oldests name, and in a flash (hehe sorry I had to) both Bruce and I were upstairs looking through the now broken window down at my bloody and probably broken eldest bird laying on the ground two stories down. I blinked a few times before I snapped out of it and sprinted back down the stairs and out the door. When I got to him, I fell to my knees and checked for a pulse. I found one and sighed in relief before hearing footsteps behind me. Looking behind me, I watched as Alfred came over and picked Dick up and took him inside and down to the cave. I was slightly paniced, but I also knew that Alfred would kick me out if I followed him, so I turned to the three panicing kids and walked over to them.

"He's gonna be ok, boys." I murmurred softly to them as I took all three in my arms.

Wally and Jay sniffed and nuzzled closer. I sighed as I slid my fingers through Roys hair, knowing he wasn't very fond of affection.

-------Time skip to when Dick wakes up-------------------

I walked into the room where the boys were all gathered. I leaned on the doorframe, taking in the scene of my youngest cuddling up to his big brother and the gingers on each side of his bed.

With arms crossed, I made my presence known to the boys.

"Now that I know you're all alive and in mostly one piece, does someone want to explain to me why you four thought that it was a good idea to practice infront of a SECOND STORY WINDOW!!???!?!" I asked, yelling at the end and glaring at them.

They all looked sheepish and remained silent. I sighed and walked over.

"Boys, I'm not mad about the window. Hell, Bruce is already organising it to get replaced. But boys, we CANNOT replace the four of you. You mean the world to Bruce and I. He doesn't always show it, but he loves you boys. All of you. Not to mention your parents. Boys, if something were to happen to you, we would not be able to forgive ourselves." I said in a soft, gentle voice.

"We're sorry, Mamma." All four boys said in unison, all looking down. I sighed softly and then smiled softly at them.

"Alright, you menaces, how about we go up and drag B out of his ofice to whatch a movie." I said, and all four boys perked up and nodded. I chuckled and helped Dick up off the bed and up the stairs.

The rest of the day was spent watching movies and eating pizza.

[future-fire-dragon-blog]

What Comes Around: Chapter 3

Masterlist

Pairing: Jason Todd x Mafia! Afab Reader

Synopsis: In this intense chapter, (Y/n) navigates the gritty underbelly of Gotham to meet with Black Mask, the city’s notorious crimelord. Tensions run high as (Y/n) and Black Mask negotiate terms that could shift the power dynamics in Gotham’s criminal world. Meanwhile, Matthis delivers a mysterious message to Roy Harper, setting off a chain of events that leads to a suspenseful rooftop encounter with the Red Hood. As alliances are tested and secrets are hinted at, the chapter dives deep into the dangerous game of survival and trust in Gotham's dark streets.

(y/n) = your name

(l/n) = last name

Content warnings: Violence and Threats, Drug and Chemical Trade, Surveillance and Distrust, Character Trauma and Past Experiences, Threats of Harm, Manipulation and Coercion

Crime Alley, once known as Park Row, was where the underbelly of Gotham scheme. (Y/n) santered through the area, glaring straight ahead. Looking down at their phone they rolled their eyes, “Why does Black Mask even want to meet?” they grumbled. Black Mask is the current crimelord, a sleaze bag in (y/n)’s opinion, he sells drugs to kids and hurts kids, something that (Y/n) does not tolerate. 

Matthis, who had been trailing behind (Y/n) spoke up, his voice monotone, “You know why Boss. He doesn’t like that we are setting up shop,” (Y/n) rolled their eyes at this, “Yeah well he’s a sleaze bag, he needs to be put down like the dog he is.” they grumbled. Matthis let out a laugh at this, “I know Boss, but unless Gino said you can, you know the rules,” (Y/n) stopped and turned to Matthis, their gaze softening slightly, “I know Matt, but he hurts kids. That should be an automatic target in my opinion. He’s just obsessed with money and power.” they said, frustration evident in their voice. 

Matthis nodded, reaching out to put a comforting hand on (Y/n)’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I know Boss, but look on the bright side, since we came to town our other soldiers have busted multiple schemes involving kids, all of those kids are safe because of us.” He said leaning closer trying to look (Y/n) in the eye. “Just promise me that you won’t be too rash.” he pleaded, his grip on their shoulder tightening slightly. (Y/n) sighed and nodded, “I promise Matty.”

Matthis smiled and released his grip on (Y/n), “Good now let's get going we can’t be late,” he said giving (Y/n) a small playful nudge. (Y/n) chuckled and turned around, their face going back to the menacing glare. 

Black Mask’s goons greeted them at the door, puffing up and acting all menacing, “Look Matthis they’re trying to be scary,” (Y/n) guffawed as they slapped Matthis on the back. Matthis laughed, a frightening sound. “Move it, uglies, I don’t have the patience to deal with low-level goons today,” (Y/n) commanded, a menacing glare on their face. The goons visible gulped, comically deflating and moving out of the way so Matthis and (Y/n) could enter the compound. (Y/n) smirked and pushed open the doors, the doors slamming against the wall, alerting everyone to their arrival. “Oh, Black Mask!” they called out, their voice playful. Matthis followed, his hand resting on his gun, ready to draw at a moment's notice. 

Black Mask, a supposed crimelord who has a disfigured face that looks like a black skull, greets them as they enter his office, "Ah, welcome," the crime lord's voice wavered slightly, though they quickly masked it with a thin veneer of arrogance. "I trust your journey was... uneventful. Not that it matters to me, of course—just a formality, you understand." Their smile was tight, forced, as they leaned forward, their eyes betraying a flicker of unease. "Let’s be clear—you’re here because it suits me... for now. Your life, your fate, every breath you take—it’s all within my control." They hesitated, just for a moment, before adding with a strained bravado, "But let’s not waste time, shall we? I'm sure you wouldn't want to give me any reason to doubt your... intentions." 

(Y/n) grinned wickedly, “You hear that Matthis, he thinks he's in control,” they laughed, turning to Matthis who had a similar grin on his face. “Black mask, let's make one thing clear. You're only still alive because Gino said I wasn’t allowed to kill you,” they responded, their voice dropping into a menacing snarl. “I hope we are here to accept the terms of Gino’s agreement. I would hate to become the crimelord of Gotham in less than a week. I bet  Arkham Asylum has a nice little cell for you, or perhaps a trip to the bottom of Gotham Bay is more your style.”  

Black Mask’s facade of control wavered as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his fingers drumming nervously on the desk. A bead of sweat traced a slow path down his temple, despite the cool temperature of the room. “Oh, I’m well aware of Gino’s... conditions,” he said, his voice trembling slightly despite his effort to sound dismissive. His eyes darted toward the window, a subconscious sign of his unease as he struggled to maintain his veneer of bravado. The thought of losing his grip on Gotham’s criminal underworld gnawed at him, and he clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the rising tide of panic.

"You might have Gino’s protection now, but that won’t last forever. And when it runs out, when his favor shifts... you'll see just how ruthless I can be." He tried to muster a confident grin but failed to hide the fear behind his eyes. "But for now... yes, let’s talk terms. I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement, can’t we?"

The last words dripped with a forced attempt at confidence, but the unease in his posture was unmistakable.

(Y/n) let out a sharp, barking laugh that echoed through the dimly lit room. "Yes, let's get down to business. I’m sure we can find some common ground." They eased into the chair across from Black Mask with the same casual confidence of someone who controlled the room, crossing their legs and weaving their hands together in their lap. Matthis stood behind them, a silent but looming presence, his hand still resting on his pistol, ready for anything.

With a smile that carried no warmth, (Y/n) continued, "Let’s start with the basics. The Moreno family will allow you to continue your work—" they paused, their gaze hardening, "—as long as you stay out of our business and keep your hands off the children and women of Gotham."

Their tone sharpened as they leaned forward slightly, the playful facade vanishing in an instant. "That means no trafficking, no exploitation, none of your people using them as pawns. You do, and I won’t hesitate to tear your empire apart piece by piece."

The air in the room grew tense, but (Y/n) didn’t flinch. They held Black Mask’s gaze, letting the weight of their words settle before easing back into their previous, more casual tone. "Now, as for the rest, I’ll be taking over the drug and chemical market. Specifically, Crane’s and Joker’s operations." They leaned back, cool and composed. "You can keep your foothold in the weapons trade. That’s your bread and butter, after all."

Pulling a folder from their suit jacket, (Y/n) slid it across the desk, their eyes never leaving Black Mask’s. "All I need now is your signature," they said with an almost playful tilt to their smile, though their gaze carried a dangerous promise. The unspoken message was clear: Refuse, and I’ll handle it another way—one you won’t like.

Black Mask’s jaw clenched tightly, his hands gripping the arms of his chair as (Y/n) spoke. His eyes flicked from the folder to (Y/n)'s expectant smile, then up to Matthis, whose hand hovered ominously over his pistol. He forced a tight-lipped grin, trying to keep the edge of fear from creeping into his voice.

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” he said, his tone strained but still laced with forced arrogance. “The Moreno family pulling strings and you stepping in as Gotham’s new chemical kingpin. Bold... reckless, even.”

He paused, his fingers twitching slightly as they hovered over the folder. "Crane, Joker… those are dangerous territories you’re encroaching on. I’d be curious to see how long you last before their… unpredictability becomes a problem. And Gotham’s children and women?” His voice hardened, though a nervous tick betrayed him. “What do I care about them? Fine, we’ll leave them alone."

He leaned forward slightly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "But you think you can waltz in and take the drug market, just like that? Push me into weapons alone? You really think that’s all it’ll take to control Gotham?”

He reached for a pen, his fingers wrapping around it tightly, but hesitated, his eyes locking with (Y/n)’s. The threat behind their gaze was unmistakable. He forced the pen to the paper, scrawling his signature with an irritated flourish. "I’ll play along for now. But remember, the moment Gino’s not watching your back, you’ll wish you stayed in your lane.”

Black Mask tossed the folder back across the desk with a scowl. "I’ll see to it that your precious market remains intact… for now."

(Y/n) grinned, taking the folder, “I’d like to see you try Black Mask,” they said, a threateningly calm look in their eye. “Thank you for your cooperation. Gino will be in contact. Arrivederci!” With that said (Y/n) stood and left the office, Matthis following close behind. 

Matthis ascended the creaky stairs of the aging apartment building, each step groaning under his weight as dust danced in the dim light of the flickering hallway lamps. His fingers absently toyed with the crumpled slip of paper in his pocket, the familiar rustle almost comforting. "What’s their obsession with this Red Hood guy, anyway?" he muttered under his breath, the irritation clear in his voice.

He paused in front of apartment 8, its door slightly scuffed, paint peeling from the edges. For a moment, he hesitated, listening to the distant hum of the city outside, a strange quiet settling over the corridor. His knuckles met the wood in a sharp, decisive knock that echoed through the stillness, bouncing off the cracked walls and traveling further than it should have. He shifted on his feet, waiting, the silence deepening as if the very building was holding its breath.

The door creaked open, revealing a young man with fiery red hair and piercing green eyes, his brow furrowing in suspicion. He studied the stranger for a moment, leaning slightly against the doorframe. "Can I help you?" he asked, his tone cautious yet curious.

Matthis offered a sickly sweet smile, the kind that never reached his eyes. "Hello, Roy Harper," he greeted, giving a subtle nod of acknowledgment. Without further pleasantries, he pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket and extended it toward Roy, whose confusion only deepened. "The Boogeyman wants Red Hood to meet them at this address at midnight," Matthis continued his voice calm but carrying an ominous weight. "Tell him not to be late."

Before Roy could respond, Matthis pivoted on his heel and made his way back down the creaking stairs, his footsteps fading into the eerie quiet of the building.

Roy stood frozen for a moment, staring down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. His heart skipped a beat, a cold chill creeping up his spine as the reality of the message sank in. With trembling fingers, he fished his phone from his pocket and hastily dialed a familiar number. His voice came out shakier than intended. "Jason, get to my apartment. Now."

The rooftop of Benny’s was quiet, the hum of the neon sign below buzzing faintly against the backdrop of Gotham’s infamous Crime Alley. (Y/n) stood at the edge of the roof, their sharp eyes scanning the empty street below. A light breeze caught the edges of their coat, but the chill of the night air didn’t bother them. They had grown accustomed to Gotham’s cold nights—nights where deals went bad, and survival often hinged on instinct and reputation.

(Y/n) had been waiting for nearly an hour, their arms crossed as they leaned casually against a rusted rooftop vent. Their posture was relaxed, but their mind were sharp, and calculating. Midnight was fast approaching, and they knew Red Hood would be on time. They shifted their weight, resting a hand on their hip, where the handle of a pistol was concealed under their coat. The city below seemed almost too quiet, but that was typical of Crime Alley at this hour. The place had a pulse, one that slowed after dark, but never fully stopped. A few dim streetlights flickered weakly, casting long shadows down the alleyways, and Benny’s—the rundown diner below them—was the only place still open, a beacon for Gotham’s late-night stragglers and criminals looking for an easy hideaway.

At exactly 11:59, the distant growl of a motorcycle echoed down the alley. (Y/n)’s gaze snapped toward the sound, their expression unchanging but their heart quickening slightly in anticipation. The roar grew louder as the bike sped closer, until the unmistakable figure of Red Hood came into view, cutting through the fog of the city like a shadow.

He parked the bike just outside Benny’s, his movements were as efficient and precise as the rumors suggested. He dismounted the red of his helmet reflecting the flickering streetlight. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, scanning the area with the practiced eye of someone who knew when they were being watched.

(Y/n) remained on the rooftop, watching him in silence, their fingers tracing the cool metal of their pistol for reassurance. They didn’t need it, not yet. This was just the beginning—a game of power, influence, and carefully chosen words. Red Hood was an unknown factor in Gotham’s underworld, and (Y/n) was about to find out if he was an ally, a threat, or something far more dangerous.

(Y/n) smirked as Red Hood’s head snapped up toward the rooftop, catching their silhouette in the faint glow of the streetlight. If they could see his eyes behind that mask, they’d bet anything they were narrowed in suspicion. They gave a little wave, playful, taunting, before stepping back from the edge.

The familiar thunk of a grappling hook followed a second later, embedding itself into the ledge, and (Y/n) watched with mild amusement as Red Hood flew over the edge with fluid precision. He landed in a perfect three-point stance, his movements as controlled and efficient as always.

"Heya, Red," (Y/n) greeted, their voice laced with mocking sweetness. They flashed a smile, sharp and unsettling, the kind that made it hard to tell whether they were genuinely friendly or just a little unhinged. "How’s this fine night treating you?"

Jason Todd, a.k.a. Red Hood, rose to his full height, his body tense and coiled like a spring ready to snap. Even behind the red mask, (Y/n) could sense the intensity in his stare. "Why am I here?" he growled, his voice low and edged with irritation. His hand instinctively drifted to the gun holstered at his side, fingers resting lightly on the grip.

(Y/n) rolled their eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, come on, Red, let’s not go straight to the dramatics." They waved dismissively, unfazed by his hand on the pistol. "I’m not here to shoot it out with you. That’d be bad for business." 

(Y/n) casually toyed with the edge of their suit jacket, as if standing in front of one of Gotham’s most ruthless vigilantes was nothing more than a routine meeting. "I’m here to talk business," they began smoothly, their tone almost disarmingly light. "I assume your associate, Roy Harper, gave you the gist already. I had my own man deliver the message, but I thought I’d make things clear in person."

They glanced at Red Hood, who remained silent and tense, his stance ready for action. But (Y/n) didn’t seem bothered, their demeanor unnervingly calm. "As long as you and your bat-family stay out of my business, no harm will come to you. That’s a promise." A smirk tugged at their lips. "Though, I do regret what happened to little Robin. He’s just a kid—too young to get caught up in this mess. Even if his mother does scare me a little," they added, their smile faltering for a fraction of a second.

(Y/n)’s gaze sharpened, locking onto Red Hood’s masked face with cold precision. "But let’s get to the point, Jason Todd. I give you my word—no harm will come to children, women, or any innocents in Gotham, as long as I’m around. That’s my line, and I don’t cross it."

They extended their hand, an offer hanging in the air between them. "And, for what it’s worth, I’m willing to cooperate with you and your bats—feed you information, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my own business. Call it a… mutual understanding."

Jason felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine as he stared at the hand extended toward him. His instincts screamed not to trust them. "Why should I believe a word you say?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His fingers twitched toward his pistol, his body coiled with anger. "You shot at us! You used tranq darts on us!" His voice rose, his fury barely contained, the memory of being ambushed still fresh in his mind.

(Y/n) rolled their eyes, the gesture as dismissive as it was calm, before lowering their hand back to their side. "Please, don’t be so dramatic," they said, almost bored. "I won’t fault you for being angry—it’s expected. But I’m not here to justify the past. I’m here asking for trust, a mutual understanding. You and I both know the streets of Gotham demand a certain code."

They paused, meeting Jason’s glare with a steady gaze, their voice firm but measured. "I may be in the mafia, but I have my morals—ones that, if you’re honest with yourself, aren’t so different from yours. I protect the innocent, just as you do. That’s why, despite everything, I won’t reveal the civilian identities of your bat-family."

The tension in the air thickened as (Y/n) straightened, eyes never leaving his. "If it helps you sleep at night, I’ll even give you my own name, and show you my cards." They bowed their head slightly, offering a gesture of respect, though their tone remained unwavering. "I am (Y/n) (L/n), capo of the Moreno family."

They lifted their gaze, giving Jason a small, knowing smile. "Now, tell me—what’s worth more? Holding onto your grudge, or building something that keeps both of us on the right side of the line?"

Jason’s eyes narrowed behind the red mask, (Y/n) straightening after their introduction. The silence stretched between them, thick with tension. After a moment, Jason’s hand fell away from his pistol, but he wasn’t backing down.

"You say you won’t harm innocents, and you want us to stay out of your business," he said, voice still edged with suspicion. "But you’re not exactly on my list of trusted allies. I don’t work on faith alone."

He crossed his arms, his posture still rigid, clearly testing (Y/n)’s patience. "If you’re serious about this ‘mutual understanding,’ I need to see proof. A safe house, your operations—something more than just words."

(Y/n)’s smile faltered for the first time. Their mind raced, calculating how to keep Jason from stepping into dangerous territory. The safe house was off-limits—too many eyes, too many risks. They couldn’t let Jason, or any of the Bat-family, see the inner workings of the Moreno family. And certainly not with Gino’s surveillance.

They chuckled softly, playing it off, though their fingers twitched slightly, betraying a hint of unease. "Come on, Red. What, you think I’m going to invite you over for coffee and a tour of my hideout?" They tilted their head, eyes flicking up to meet his. "This isn’t how trust works. You don’t show me your safe house, and I’m not about to parade you into mine. That’s not how I do business."

Jason’s jaw clenched. He was clearly used to being the one in control of situations like this, but (Y/n) wasn’t backing down. "So you’re telling me I’m just supposed to take your word for it? You really think that’s gonna fly with me?"

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, leaning forward just slightly, showing they weren’t rattled by Jason’s pushback. "What I’m saying, Jason, is that trust is built over time. You want proof? Fine. I’ll give you information on one of Crane’s next shipments. A test, if you will. You stop it, and you’ll see that I’m not playing games. But my safe house? That stays off-limits."

Jason’s gaze hardened, and (Y/n) could almost feel the weight of his distrust. "You expect me to work with you, and you don’t even trust me enough to let me see what’s going on behind the curtain?"

(Y/n) shook their head, smiling, though there was a sharpness in their eyes. "It’s not about trust, Red. It’s about survival. I don’t trust anyone in my safe house. Not you. Not even my boss. And if I can’t trust them, why would I risk trusting you?"

Jason’s eyes stayed locked on (Y/n) as their words settled in. His instincts screamed not to trust them—after all, he’d been burned too many times before. But there was something about the way they spoke, that flicker of truth beneath their guarded exterior, that made him pause.

He crossed his arms tighter over his chest, still sizing them up, his face unreadable behind the mask. “You don’t trust your own boss?” he asked, his voice low, testing.

(Y/n)’s smile didn’t waver, but their silence spoke volumes. Jason knew that kind of tension well—he’d lived with it in the Bat-family, keeping one eye open at all times, never fully trusting anyone. It was familiar.

“Fine,” Jason finally said, his tone sharp, but with an edge of reluctant acceptance. “I’ll take your offer. But if you’re playing me, or if innocents get hurt while you’re running your little empire…” His hand hovered over the grip of his pistol, a not-so-subtle warning. “I won’t hesitate to come for you.”

(Y/n) didn’t flinch. In fact, they seemed almost amused. “I’d expect nothing less, Red. But you’ll find I keep my word.”

The tension between them lingered, thick with the weight of an unspoken understanding. Jason gave a small, curt nod, signaling that—for now—he’d give them the benefit of the doubt. But trust? That would come much, much later, if at all.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he muttered, turning on his heel and heading toward the edge of the rooftop. In one fluid motion, he fired his grappling hook into the night and disappeared into the shadows, leaving (Y/n) standing alone.

I hope everyone enjoyed the longer chapter, I will be revealing more about Gino, and Jason's developing trust in (Y/n) in the next Chapter!

Arrivederci!