jason todd, who moans like a pornstar. first they're raspy and deep, the kind you'd expect from a burly man who drives a motorcycle. but as he gets closer to the sweet taste of release, the noises become pitchy, almost whining. he's embarrassed by how easy he sounds; the way a well placed nip of your teeth can pull a broken, whiny noise from the man's throat, no matter the length he goes to hide it.
jason todd, who can't shut the fuck up when he's inside you. it's like his brain shuts down; he's unable to stop himself from saying "you look so pretty like this, ma," when he's folding you in half, his lips between his teeth like it'll keep the sound of low, broken whimpers from leaving his throat. it never does.
jason todd, who underestimated how much he'd end up liking the feeling of your hands wrapped around his neck, just barely providing a hint of pressure. something about it just makes his mind feel fuzzy with pleasure, like nothing matters but the feeling of your fingers on his skin and the feeling of being inside you.
jason todd, who wants you to smack him around a little during sex. you're riding him, hips slamming down over his in a sweet rhythm. yet it's not enough; he's perilously close to the edge, but jason just needs... needs... "hit me," he babbles from beneath you, his brows furrowed in flustered frustration, "hit me, ma."
your hips stutter as you cock your head, murmuring a low, "what?"
"hit me, i... i need--" he groans in quiet frustration, "smack me, baby, please."
and ever one to please, you do.
the moan jason lets out is sinful. its a broken, needy thing; the kind of sound you want to keep for yourself alone, like a treasured secret.
The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.
Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.
So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.
Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.
As the OP of this post, I’m going to threaten that if this gets to one million notes by the 10 year anniversary on 1 June 2026, one year from today, I will get a lower back tattoo of the loch ness bear monster.
Monsterfucking is so normalized on Tumblr I kinda forgot it even counted as a kink. I thought it was like liking boobs on girls. The basic normal stuff most people like.
this might be too niche but bob or john drabble (perhaps.. both.. 🤭) with reader puffing vape clouds near them/in their face… do you see my vision 🤤
all i can think about is my new strawberry vape mmph.. baiting them into coming closer to give them a taste from my mouth 🤤🤤
- 🕊️
he’s already a mess for you, already spread out on your bed like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, flushed pink to his ears, hand working his cock lazy and wet while his eyes barely stay open. the room’s warm and thick with the syrupy scent of whatever you’re vaping — strawberry, bright and candy-sweet and artificial in a way that clings to the back of your throat.
and you’re sat there, smug and comfortable, one leg folded up under you, watching him fall apart like it’s nothing. vape pen perched between your fingers, taking slow, indulgent drags just to blow the smoke in his direction. little clouds that drift and curl, catching the low light and breaking over his face as he throws his head back against the pillow.
he moans when it hits him — the taste of it, faint and clinging, sickly-sweet on his tongue. and you see the way his hips twitch up, chasing nothing, so desperate for anything you’ll give him.
"fuck," he whines, voice breaking on it, eyes fluttering open just enough to look at you like you hung the fucking stars. "gimme… c’mon, please, wanna taste it from you."
and it’s filthy, the way he says it. needy and soft and wrecked, begging for the ghost of fake strawberry off your tongue while he jerks himself off like he’s dying.
you smirk around the next hit you take, leaning in slow, exhaling it in a thick plume just barely from his lips — close enough that he chases it, mouth open, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to catch every last bit of it. you press your lips to his just as the last of it leaves you, and he fucking whimpers into your mouth, tasting it sweet and bitter and thick from your tongue.
his hand stutters on his cock, so slick and red at the tip, he nods off seemingly about to pass out from the pure amount of pleasure, desperate and messy, mouth still parted like he’s hoping for more.
"again," he pants. "please, do it again — wanna taste it while i come."
and god if you don’t. because how could you say no to that?
roy harper x reader: you’re on top—riding your boyfriend..and just figured out an old piercing is still a little sensitive
content level: basically no plot.. 18+. NSFW.
rolling your hips again, roy groans from under you.
“yes, fuck!” his gravelly voice sends your pussy pulsing around him, eyelids fluttering as you pull him back in.
your hands trace along his torso, leaning in to kiss at a scar along his collarbone.
you slow your pace completely, feeling roy whine into your mouth as you kiss him. you can’t help but smile, cupping his face with your hands as he sticks his tongue into your mouth.
you can feel him getting restless, needing you to fuck him within an inch of his life to be happy. your bed is your safe haven, like therapy for the man who does everything but refuses to go.
the bedroom becomes a bubble, one that you two could spend hours in and not notice. you know roy needs it. his job is really grueling, and when he’s a little more tired, like today, you take the lead.
big, tough guy..but not when he’s in bed with you. definitely not when you’re on top.
the room’s dim, but in the lamplight, his piercing glints. a gold ring with a ball in the middle, it sits threaded through his right nipple.
roy notes your expression, giving you a wary look. slowly, so slowly, you kiss your way down his neck, savoring the saltiness you taste from how long you’ve been at it.
you’re not really sure why you haven’t done this before. you love it, roy always catching you staring, but it took so long to heal that you got into the habit of leaving it alone.
that was all about to change.
you kiss his collarbone again, taking your time to suck at it until it leaves a deep red mark. you place open mouth kisses down his chest, trailing your way down to his nipple.
“it’s still sore, babe,” roy says, his voice low. you stop to look up at him, seeing nothing but pure want in his eyes. you sit back farther, but he shakes his head. “jus’ be careful.”
“absolutely.” you reply, nodding. he sees the look on your face and visibly relaxes, and you feel like he’s just set the whole world into the palm of your hand.
you grab one of his hands, lacing your fingers with his as you lower your head down to his chest. rolling your tongue around it, you suck at the piercing and the pink bud it’s pushed through, humming like you’re eating gourmet.
his hand tightens around yours, his cock jerking inside of you. you keep going, running your tongue around the area and then back to the piercing, using your free hand to glide over his other nipple.
you roll it between your thumb and forefinger, your hand resting on the supple skin of his pec.
you tug at it lightly with your teeth, and roy doesn’t even try to stifle the moan he lets out.
seeing you look up at him with his piercing between your teeth has his hips twitching his cock deeper into you.
he swipes his auburn hair away from his forehead, his other hand clenching yours. you know roy likes a little pain along with his pleasure.
but you’ve never heard him whimpering like this, enjoying the way the pretty sounds fall from his lips in time with your tongue.
roy’s bucking his hips off the bed, groaning through his teeth as you tease the piercing. you pause, and he opens his eyes, growling.
“did i tell you to stop?”
your resulting smile is enough for him, and roy’s grabbing your hips, pushing them into a rhythm that has your back arching. the continued friction feels amazing, heat pulsing between your shared connection.
you run your hands over his budded nipples, a satisfied smile on your face at the chafed, pink skin. roy sits up from the headboard, pulling you to his chest as he scoots you both back, leaning against it again.
his mouth is rough on yours, kissing out of necessity, not leisure. he starts thrusting, his arms banding you to him.
skin to skin, chest to chest, hips to hips. you’re right where you want to be.
“god, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he grunts, looking up at you from where his face is nestled between your tits.
his pace is relentless, the friction’s amazing, the curve in his cock hitting you deep—just where you like it. you can’t help the sounds you’re making, the way he’s fucking you could keep you wet for weeks.
“‘m almost there, baby,” roy says, moaning into the crook of your neck. his hips snap into yours, speeding up as he reaches towards the finish line. they stutter, his thrusts hard, making the skin of your ass ripple as he finishes inside of you.
he’s undone, murmuring into your skin as he fills you with his cum. breathing heavily, he pulls out. he’s hissing a little. so sad to see you go.
his cock’s got a ring of white around it, no doubt matching what’s dripping out of you.
he tugs you to the edge of the bed, crouching against the side of the mattress. he pats your pussy, light and affectionate.
“let me make it up to you, baby.” he says, although you’re not really sure who he’s talking to.
he licks a flat stripe up your folds, sucking harshly on your clit. roy pushes your legs farther apart, nose buried. you pull at his hair, and he chuckles into your pussy, teasing a finger at your entrance.
he pushes it in, using his finger to fuck his cum back into you as you writhe on the bed. your thighs clench around his head, his mouth relentlessly working at your clit, and your hips rock against his face, on his (now three) fingers inside of you.
“that’s right, use me, jus’ like that,” he mumbles as you grind against his face.
your thighs fall to the bed, shaking as the orgasm hits you. you moan, loud, as roy tongues at your clit, the pleasure almost too much to bare.
you feel so full, his fingers as deep as possible as they curl into your g-spot.
roy’s making you feel it, never gonna be the one to pull away first. you pat his head, feeling like you’re melting into the mattress, and he slows, stopping.
he kisses your forehead, his hand spanning your waist as he holds you.
his nose and cheeks are flushed, your heart melting. you could just look at him for hours if he’d let you.
“maybe i should get a matching one?” you push his hair back from his face, smiling sweetly.
Okay but imagine Adrian accidentally calls you mommy during sex and gets so flustered by it, like full on blushing of embarrassment <3
I haven't seen any fics with adrian calling the reader mommy.
Oh hes fully lost in the moment
As usual he's fucking rambling on and on and he's straight up degrading you and praising you at the same time, he's not even concentrated on you fully but just what your hands doing, eyes closed
Holy fuck you've got him on the bed on his back, pushed back into the pillows by the headboard, he's got a knee up and one down
He's got a hand in his hair pulling hard as fuck on that shit, your hand is at fast pumping down and up on him and you twist your wrist a certain way on your way up and his eyes fly open and he let's out low whiny "Oh, mommy,"
And his face is beet red, eyes wide and breathing hard,
Huffing out, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, with his hands over his face
Like him just letting go and going all caveman brain about it after begging you to just let him pretend it'll take😖😖😖
bob’s pull-out game is genuinely awful. like, laughably bad.
which is how you ended up insisting on condoms in the first place—not that it ever stopped him. he’d find ways. not in a sleazy, frat-boy kind of way, not with lines like “i’m allergic to latex” or “it doesn’t feel the same”—no, bob’s excuses came soaked in something too sincere, almost sweet, if it weren’t for how calculated it ended up being.
“jus’ wanna be close to you,” he’d murmur, voice all thick and needy from where he lay slotted against you, his whole body tacky with sweat and arousal, a gleaming sheen of it covering every inch of skin like lacquer. his weight always followed—not rough, but whole. he liked collapsing on top of you after he slid in, his arms hooked under yours so he could wrap around your back, chest pressed to yours, breath fanning against your ear as if the closeness wasn’t just desire, but some primal need to merge. be inside and on top and around you all at once.
you never got the chance to argue. half the time the condom was off before you’d even realized he’d unrolled it—pulled off between sleepy kisses and soft “please”s, left sagging and useless somewhere near your hipbone. once, he didn’t even bother pretending. you caught him, right there in the bedroom light, jabbing something—his key? a paperclip?—into a row of condoms like he was testing for weak spots.
“bob,” you’d said flatly, and he blinked up at you, all wide-eyed innocence. like he might lie. like he might not lie.
“…thought i saw air bubbles,” he mumbled. his cheeks flushed. his fingers fidgeted. you knew damn well he was lying. knew it, and still did nothing.
because what were your options? fight? withhold sex? as if that would’ve been possible with the way he looked at you, touched you, moaned so gratefully every time he was inside you, like it healed something. instead, you started taking birth control—not as rebellion, but as quiet damage control.
you didn’t hide it. didn’t even think to mention it. why would you?
then came the morning—early, light still soft and blue through the windows, your legs sore, your thighs sticky with dried cum. bob behind you with one arm around your waist, trailing down the stairs like a sleepy barnacle. he didn’t even try to untangle, just followed, skin warm and clinging as you went through your morning routine.
you grabbed the small bottle of vitamins, handed him two, and he popped them without looking. a routine. natural. his chin rested against your shoulder as you reached for your birth control.
instinctively, he held his hand out again.
you hesitated. glanced at him with a faint smile.
“do you plan on getting pregnant anytime soon?” you teased.
his brows pinched, lips parted just slightly.
“birth control,” you clarified, still smiling.
and just like that, his expression shifted. confusion first. then something deeper—quiet, raw. hurt, maybe. or worse: betrayal.
his arm fell away from your waist.
“…you’re taking that?” he asked, voice low, soft. as if the question pained him to ask.
you turned, brows drawing together. “yeah. i didn’t think—”
“but why?” his voice cracked. “why would you do that?”
you turn toward him fully now, your lower back pressing against the counter edge, cool marble grounding you—but only barely. you can feel the way he watches you, gaze heavy and warm, like it might scorch you if you held it too long. he isn’t mad. not really. there’s no raised voice, no cruelty. just this awful, quiet hurt, like you’d taken something from him he didn’t even know he couldn’t live without.
and maybe you had.
the pill still sits between your fingers, tiny and pale in the soft morning light, like it’s nothing—just 3mg of synthetic hormone—but his eyes are fixed on it like you’re holding a loaded gun.
you open your mouth to explain, to give him something gentle and sane and logical, but the words clog up behind your teeth. the kitchen feels darker now somehow. close and still. like it’s holding its breath for you.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper, the words barely there. you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. but you mean it. that’s the worst part.
“i—i don’t want you to be upset. i love you. you know i love you. i’d do anything to make this better—”
his voice slices through your chest, quiet but wrecked. “throw it away.”
you blink. “bob—”
“please,” he breathes. “just throw it away. right now. i’ll feel better. i promise. i’ll feel better if you just—just let me—” his voice cracks around the edges, fraying like old thread. “i need to.”
you glance at the counter. at the pill. and you set it down without a word.
he breathes in like he’s just surfaced from under water.
his hands are on you again—gently first, palms warm and reverent at your hips like he’s still afraid you might back away—but you don’t. you let him close the distance, let him slot his body between your legs as he leans in to kiss you, deep and messy and grateful.
“i wanna be inside,” he mumbles against your mouth. “don’t wanna wait. let me… please—let me stay this time.”
you nod, not even realizing you’re nodding until he sighs like it’s relief and drops to his knees.
your sleep shorts are gone in seconds. no teasing, no preamble—just his mouth on you, warm and wet and desperate, tongue working like he’s trying to unravel something inside you, hands wrapped around your thighs like handles, pulling you open as if you owe it to him.
he licks until your legs shake, until your voice breaks, until he’s practically whimpering into your cunt, nose buried so deep you wonder if he can even breathe. when you finally try to push him back—half from overstimulation, half because you need him in you already—he doesn’t budge.
“you taste different when you’re not on the pill,” he murmurs, drunk off it. “sweeter. like your body knows.”
you don’t even know what that means. you don’t care.
“bob—fuck, come on, please?— do it for mommy”
that does it.
he rises like a wave, chest flushed, breath ragged, cock already slick and leaking through his briefs. he tugs them down with a frustrated groan and nearly cries when he presses against your entrance—his forehead drops against your shoulder, his voice high and fragile.
“gonna come so deep,” he moans, sliding in inch by inch. “gonna stay there, i swear—i’ll stay in you. don’t want it to leave.”
your hands thread into his curls, nails dragging at his scalp as he bottoms out. he’s trembling, hips stuttering already before he’s even pulled back. “i’ll be good. i’ll be so good. just wanna give you something—wanna fill you, please, let me—”
the counter digs into your spine. the kitchen lights feel too bright. and still, none of it matters except for him.
he starts fucking you slow at first, rolling his hips up into you like he’s memorizing it—like if he gets the angle just right, your body will take him in and keep him there. his hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, sweat slick between your bellies, every wet slap echoing too loud in the quiet morning space.
you can feel it when he gets close—when the whining gets louder, the thrusts more erratic. he’s babbling again, forehead pressed against your cheek now, voice ruined.
“make me a dad,” he gasps. “let me—please—fuck, i wanna come in you so bad—wanna give you everything—i’ll stay inside forever if you let me—please—”
you pull him in deeper. his body jerks.
then he’s coming—hard—right against your cervix, crying out into your neck, hips twitching with every desperate pulse of cum spilling into you. you can feel it, hot and thick, pooling where you’re still joined. he doesn’t pull out.
doesn’t even try.
instead, he slumps forward, cock still hard inside you, panting against your throat. “don’t move,” he whispers. “i’ll fuck it in deeper. just—lemme stay here.”
2087
stormborns
yousharknotpass
annaxmalina
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