#((ha))

(she couldnt kill a lady even if she tried (BUT SHE WOULD NEVER TRY))

not the best day so i draw awesome saturday fluffy robe drinkingtomato soup date (i didnt plan the tomato soup part it just came about naturally)

Hermit a day 27: Grian

something about DICK GRAYSON coming back to your apartment after a looong night of patrol, absolutely throbbing for you….

yeah.

he doesn’t know what hit him— one second he’s easily twisting and maneuvering his way through a crowd of gang members, yet the next?? he’s stumbling his way to your shared bedroom, hand desperately pawing at the thick and heavy erection between his legs.

you’re dead asleep, unmoving as the bed dips under his weight; snoring soundly as he crawls up behind you and begins to rut like he’s lost all sense of self-respect.

he should feel embarrassed. he should feel shame— burning, coiling shame.

but he doesn’t.

the only thing he feels is the way, even in your sleep, you’re arching back into him; cunt beating to life as his hips buck sporadically, chasing friction like it’s the only thing on his mind.

“m’sorry,” he mumbles, hot against your neck. dick isn’t sorry though. especially not as he feels the tip of his cock, sticky with pre-cum, kiss your throbbing clit overtop your sleep shorts. “jus’ needed this pretty pussy s’bad,” the man whispers, moans, grunts, and whimpers in your ear— all the while your face barely contorts, unknowingly being used by your horny fucking boyfriend.

when dick feels his balls begin to tighten, he can’t help himself— a finger hooks into the crotch of your sleep shorts n’ panties, pulling them to the side. he gives a few more grinds, eyes rolling and jaw slack, before he cums intensely— cock pulsing and jumping as his hips stutter against yours.

it takes him a few seconds to realize he hadn’t even pulled the lower half of his hero costume down— cum beginning to seep through the fabric at a humiliating rate.

something about dick grayson feeling the blood rush to his cock again as he looks down to see your pussy sopping for him; he grins, pressing a kiss to your temple, before whispering:

“baby,” he gives himself a lazy stroke, watching your eyes blink open dimly, “need your help with somethin’.”

PLUVOiA '25 ® - masterlist

loren's thots: dry humping is a lost art