YOU HAVE A DATE ˚. ᵎᵎ with frat boy!roy harper (,,>ヮ<,,)
Words from our Hostess: Congratulations! You've been selected for our Host Club. After reading your application, we decided that your best pairing for you might be Roy Harper. We prepared a little cute scenario of you and him dating
frat boy!roy harper x criminology student!reader ╱ the vice president of the frat stops going to parties... to study with his girlfriend?
art by zestynestyyy on x
Roy Harper was a dickhead, he knows it, he’s accepted it and he’s trying to do better. You were the main reason for that, the sweet and smart girl who was his partner for a project during one semester. After all those months together, of you rejecting him, making fun of him and making him realize how stupid he was… Roy Harper fell in love. With you, despite your wishes. And sadly, you kinda liked him too.
It started small, one Friday night you were buried in your criminology notes, highlighter in hand, when your phone buzzed. Roy’s name popped up with a simple text: “Hey. You busy? I’m outside your dorm with snacks if you want company.”
You peeked out the window and there he was, leaning against the brick wall in his usual hoodie, a plastic bag dangling from his fingers.
When you let him in, he kicked off his sneakers and flopped onto your bed without even asking. “I brought those sour gummies you like,” he said, pulling them out like treasure. “And those weird healthy chips because I know you’re on your ‘fuel the brain’ kick.”
You raised an eyebrow, sitting at your desk. “No party tonight?”
He shrugged, cheeks going a little pink as he watched you. “Nah. I’d rather be here bugging you while you study serial killers or whatever. The conversation is better.”
That made you smile despite yourself. Roy had always been loud and reckless before, the guy who showed up to class hungover and still managed to charm half the room. But lately? He showed up at the library during your late-night sessions with coffee exactly how you liked it. He sat through your rants about criminal psychology without interrupting, even asked questions that proved he was actually listening.
One evening you caught him staring at you again while you explained the difference between organized and disorganized offenders. His chin rested in his hand, green eyes soft making your stomach flip.
“What?” you asked, trying not to laugh.
“Nothing,” he said. “You’re really fucking smart. It’s hot. I think my brain short-circuits every time you talk like that.”
You threw a pen at him and he caught it easily, grinning like an idiot. He didn’t care when his old frat buddies started texting him, asking where the hell he’d been. Whipped, one of them called him when they spotted you two at a campus café. Roy just pulled you closer by the waist and kissed the top of your head.
“Let them talk,” he whispered against your hair. “I’m exactly where I wanna be.”
And he meant it. The obsession was quiet but constant. He remembered the way you liked your hoodies oversized and stole one from his closet just so you could wear it during study dates. He showed up to your criminology club meetings even though he had no clue about half the topics, just to sit in the back and watch you light up when you presented.
Late at night, when your eyes got tired from reading case files, he’d tug you into his lap on the tiny dorm couch. “Take a break, babe,” he’d whisper, arms wrapping around, his fingers would trace little patterns on your arm while you leaned into his chest, breathing in the faint smell of his cologne.
“You’re turning into a total sap,” you teased one night, tilting your head up to look at him.
Roy just smiled, it reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. “For you. I don’t care if the whole campus thinks I’m pathetic. I probably am. But you make me want to be better. Someone who deserves to sit here with the smartest girl on campus.”
Your heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always did around him now. You reached up and brushed his red hair back from his forehead. “You’re doing okay, Harper.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek, taking his time memorizing every inch of you. “Mhm, I’m not going anywhere. Frat parties can suck it. I’ve got everything I need right here.”
a/n: this is so cheesy oh my god. @bat1nsignia my queen and my baby, i hope you liked this<33 this was such a cutieful thing to write i can't i can't i'm dying of cuteness
Small. Stupid. Jason shutting down the second things got too real.
You’d asked him - gently - why he’d disappeared for three days after a rough patrol. No text. No call. Just radio silence while you sat in your apartment worrying yourself sick.
“I was handling it,” he’d said, voice flat, arms crossed like he was bracing for impact. “You don’t need to know every detail of my shit.”
“I’m not asking for every detail,” you’d replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m asking you to let me in. I’m your girlfriend, Jason. Not some civilian you have to protect from the truth.”
He’d laughed - short, bitter. “Yeah? Well maybe I don’t want you in. Maybe I don’t want you seeing the parts of me that are still fucked up from the grave.”
The words had landed like punches. You’d stood there, chest tight, and said the thing you’d been thinking for weeks.
“Maybe we need a break.”
Not a breakup.
A break.
Time. Space. Air.
Jason had gone very still. “What?”
“Just… a break,” you’d said, voice cracking. “Not forever. I just need to breathe, Jason. And you need to figure out if you even want me in your life or if I’m just another person you’re protecting from yourself.”
He hadn’t argued. Hadn’t fought. He’d just nodded once, jaw tight, and left.
That was nine days ago.
Jason Todd had never been good at feelings.
He’d spent years building walls so high no one could climb them. Death had only made them taller. But you - quiet, patient, stubborn you - had somehow slipped through the cracks anyway.
Now those cracks felt like canyons.
He’d spent the first few days throwing himself into work. Patrols. Warehouse raids. Anything to keep his hands busy and his mind quiet. But every night he came home to an empty apartment and the silence screamed louder than any gunshot.
Then he saw you.
It was at a small café near the university. You were sitting outside with a guy — some tall, friendly-looking idiot with glasses and a soft smile. He said something that made you laugh, head tilted back, eyes bright the way they used to be with him.
Jason’s stomach dropped.
He told himself it was nothing. Just a friend. You were allowed to have friends. But the image stuck - you smiling at someone else while he was falling apart.
That night he did something he’d sworn he’d never do.
He drank.
Not a beer. Not a glass of whiskey.
A bottle. Then another.
The alcohol burned going down, but it didn’t quiet the noise in his head. It only made it louder. By 2am he was drunk for the first time in his life, sitting on the floor of his apartment with his phone in his hand, thumb hovering over your name.
He pressed call.
You answered on the third ring, voice sleepy. “Jason?”
“You’re out there smiling at other guys,” he slurred, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “While I’m sitting here like a fucking idiot thinking about you every second. You said a break. Not a breakup. But it feels like you’re already moving on. Like I was just a phase. Like-“
“Jason,” you cut in, sounding more awake now. “Are you drunk?”
He laughed — ugly and raw. “Yeah. First time in ages. Congratulations. You made the emotionally constipated zombie drink. Happy now?”
There was a pause. Then your voice, sharper. “Stop it. You’re spiraling. Come over. We need to talk.”
“No,” he snapped, but his voice cracked. “You wanted space. You got it. Go smile at your new friend. I’m sure he’s nicer. Doesn’t have blood on his hands. Doesn’t wake up screaming—”
“Jason Todd,” you said, voice firm but gentle, the way you always got when he was like this. “Stop. You’re breaking my heart right now. I’m coming over. Do not hang up.”
He didn’t.
He sat on the floor, phone pressed to his ear, listening to you move around your apartment, the sound of keys, the door closing. Twenty minutes later there was a knock.
He opened it.
You stood there in sweatpants and one of his old hoodies, hair messy, eyes wide with worry. The second you saw him - red-eyed, swaying slightly, looking smaller than you’d ever seen him - your face crumpled.
“Oh, Jay…”
He broke.
The tears came fast and ugly, shoulders shaking as he tried to hold them back. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so fucking sorry. I thought… I thought you were done. I saw you with that guy and I just… I panicked. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be someone worth staying for.”
You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and pulled him into your arms. He collapsed against you, burying his face in your neck, arms wrapping around your waist like you might disappear.
“I’m not done,” you whispered, holding him tight. “It was a break, Jason. Not a breakup. I needed space because I was scared too. Scared that you’d keep shutting me out until there was nothing left of us. But I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”
He cried harder, the kind of raw, broken sound that tore at your chest. You guided him to the couch, pulling him down so his head rested in your lap. Your fingers stroked through his hair, slow and soothing, the way you knew he liked.
“I love you,” you said quietly. “The angry parts. The scared parts. The parts that think they’re too broken to be loved. All of them. You’re not too much. You’re not too damaged. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Okay?”
He nodded against your thigh, fingers clutching the hem of your hoodie. “Okay,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I got drunk. I’m sorry I said those things. I was just… scared. I saw you smiling and I thought I’d lost you for good.”
“You haven’t,” you assured him, leaning down to kiss his temple. “I’m right here. And I’m staying. We’ll figure out the rest. Together.”
Jason stayed curled in your lap for a long time, breathing gradually evening out as your fingers continued their slow path through his hair. Every so often he’d press a kiss to your thigh or your wrist, like he needed the constant reminder you were real.
“I love you,” he said again, softer this time. “More than I know how to say. I’ll try to be better. Less… constipated.”
You laughed quietly, the sound warm. “I love you too. Even when you’re emotionally constipated. Especially then.”
He shifted, pulling you down so you were lying beside him on the couch, your head on his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you like you were the only safe thing left in the world.
The city hummed far below. The argument, the fear, the drunk call — all of it faded into the background as Jason held you close, his heartbeat steady under your ear.
“I’m keeping you,” he whispered into your hair. “For as long as you’ll let me.”
You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
In the quiet dark of the apartment, Jason Todd — the man who came back from the dead, the one who built walls so high no one could climb them — finally let someone in.
And you?
You stayed.
Because loving Jason Todd had never been easy.
But it had always been worth it.
a/n : this is a newer request I got but I’m working on older ones sorry! (Reqs open <3) @moviecritc bc u wanted to be tagged babe 🌷 ac as usual : @/ciricearts
"if you stop, i stop, baby, you know the deal. don't you wanna make me happy?" clark's voice is so condescending with a faux pout jutting out his bottom lip. the hint of a smirk is hidden in his pout and amusement dances in his eyes. you're barely coherent, you hate how easily he reduced you to putty under his tongue. he’s sooooo smug. so smug.
you nod through a whimper. the comic — you forgot the name of it, though clark had been circling the letters incessantly along your slit — crinkling under the tightening pressure of your fists.
"keep reading," he adds, head dipping back down to press a long teasing kiss to your clit. clark smirks as the muscle jumps against his lips. “come on, baby, she’s begging for it.”
“you come to metropolis and have to stop a burglary?,” your voice comes out shaky. you struggle to focus on the words on the page just above superman's head. your thighs fall further apart, hips lifting to chase clark's mouth. "you should have called ahead, i would've gotten you theatre tickets."
"huh. forgot about that part," clark murmurs against your folds. his brows wrinkle in contemplation, completely ignoring your choppy breaths. his nose traces down your slit as his tongue dips inside you. one thumb holds you open for him as your thighs threaten to tighten around his ears, while the other presses softly against your clit, applying enough pressure to have you begging for more.
"little louder for me, baby, wanna hear what bruce does next,"
an: the obsession is this serious. I want him, your honour!
2087
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