#freak shit

[tiredyaoi]

nerds play chess as foreplay

[vinnyvamppp]

Runway Walk

"Let me see your runway walk, make your heels click, make the runway talk, c'mon."

A/N: The way... I got carried away with this word count. Can ya'll tell I've been holding back when it comes to Dick Grayson? Thanks to a fellow creator here for helping my creative flow with scrumptious fan art. You know who you are.

Warnings: Door-Knocking Time Pressure Smut™, Canon Violence Mentioned, Porn WITH a Plot, Fingering, Clothing Kink (Suit & Costume Removal), Desk Sex, Switchy Energy, Slight Powerplay, Emotional Tension, Dick Grayson Being Hot, Reader Being Sarcastic, Past History, Smut, Etc.

Synopsis: With twenty minutes to curtain call, a locked dressing room door, and a desk sturdy enough to ruin, you're about to discover there's nothing more dangerous than a man in a suit… especially when you designed it to come off.

Dick Grayson x Fem!Stylist!Reader

WC: 2.7k

The auction was hidden beneath the illusion of extravagance. Above ground, it was a high-profile Gotham fashion event—glittering with elite influencers, foreign investors, and too many champagne flutes balanced on too-thin fingers.

But below the stage, behind mirrored walls and beneath silken drapes, was the truth: a rotating selection of stolen tech, rare weapons, smuggled magic, and “exclusive clientele” that were, apparently, too powerful to touch. And right at the center of it all was you and Dick Grayson. You and him. And the walk that would undo everything.

The first time you saw Dick again after months of silence… He was ten minutes late, annoyingly calm, and wearing the wrong pants.

"Let me guess," you said, not even glancing up from the rack of hand-stitched blazers. "You stopped to rescue a cat from a burning building. Or flirt with a barista. Or maybe both?"

He laughed, that familiar sound that used to rattle your self-control. “You forgot ‘stop a black-market weapons deal in the Diamond District,’” he said, easing into the dressing area with the kind of grace that should’ve been illegal. “But yeah, the cat was cuter.”

You finally turned to look at him. Mistake number one. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, probably on purpose, and his smile had that particular tilt to it: a mix of charm and apology. And those damn eyes. Ocean-blue and too damn knowing. They flicked to your hands, your mouth, your outfit—absorbing everything like he always did.

“What?” you snapped, folding your arms. “Forget what I look like when I’m not yelling at you?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s actually my favorite version.” You held his stare for two seconds longer than you meant to. Then you turned back to the rack. “You’re here to play runway model, not walk memory lane. Get your ass into the fitted pants before I change my mind.” He whistled low. “Still mad I ghosted, huh?”

“I’m not mad,” you said sweetly. “I just find it fascinating how a grown man can leap across rooftops, dodge bullets, and still somehow be deathly allergic to returning a text.” He winced slightly. Not enough to satisfy you, but enough to keep the fire burning.

"Look, I didn’t want to drag you into the mess," he said, softer now. "There were things I couldn’t explain, and I figured it was safer—" You cut him off with a wave. “Don’t care. Don’t want to hear it. You walked away, remember? Just like you always do.”

His smile faltered, then faded entirely. “…You always watch me leave,” he said, almost under his breath. You hated that it hit you. Right where he knew it would. And then he smirked again—pivoting, as always, from vulnerability back to charm. “So what do you think?” he asked, striking a pose in his current pants — the wrong pants, mind you. “Do I pull these off?”

“Not even a little,” you said flatly, snatching the correct pair from the hanger. “Put these on. And try not to break Gotham’s collective brain when you hit that runway.” He took the pants, brushed your fingers on purpose, and leaned just a little closer. “If I do,” he murmured, “you’ll take the credit, right? Since you’re the one dressing me to kill.”

You pretended his words didn't make you shiver, but now wasn't the time.

You stood at the edge of the bustling prep area, clipboard in hand, headset buzzing with last-minute changes. But none of it mattered. Because when Dick Grayson stepped onto that runway, tailored midnight-blue suit hugging every line, eyes cutting through the crowd like headlights, the world paused. It was straight out of a movie.

He moved like he owned the moment. Like the spotlight was just another streetlight to dance under. Nothing in your training prepared you for the sight of him. Every step is fluid, lethal, and smooth as silk. He wasn’t a model; he was a weapon, and he was wearing your design.

You swallowed hard. Goddamn him…

It was a slow burn of motion and magnetism, his body sculpted by shadow and spotlight. The suit— your suit—fits like sin itself. It's a dark navy with obsidian threading, subtle enough for the naked eye but glimmering under a flash. Cut low at the chest, hugging the lines of his torso, a whisper of rebellion against traditional formality. And he’s looking at you. Not the crowd, not the buyers, not the high rollers holding hidden paddles for illegal bids. But you.

As he walks—no, prowls—down the runway, his gaze never strays. Every step was a conversation: Do you see me now? Did you miss this? Are you still pretending you don’t want it?

Your breath catches, your heart racing as if going into a heart attack. The world blurs around the edges. That was until—chaos struck. Just as he reaches the end of the walk, the lights flicker once. A coded signal. You know it immediately; the auction is beginning.

“You didn’t tell me they were selling an energy core designed by WayneTech,” you hiss, dragging him into a side hallway behind a curtain of velvet. His back hits the wall. You’re close, too close, but you don’t back off, rather inching in. He exhales, lips twitching. “Was gonna tell you after the encore.”

“Dick.”

“Hey,” he says, voice lowering. “It’s not like I planned for them to use a fashion show as a front. But now that I’m here… we improvise.” You glare at him in silence. He doesn’t flinch; his eyes slowly flick to your lips. “I saw you watching me,” he says softly. You scoff, but your voice wavers with little confidence. “You were strutting like a damn peacock.”

“And you liked it.”

“…Shut up.”

His smile turns devilish. “You always get like this when you’re turned on and mad at me.” You shove his chest, not hard, but enough to let him know you're not playing. Except your hands don’t leave his suit, and his don’t leave your waist. For a moment, everything stills. Again. What is up with this? Then he leans in, mouth brushing your ear.

“I only have a few minutes before I have to intercept a buyer in the west wing,” he murmurs. “But if you don’t want to wait anymore…”

You inhale sharply. "Don't tease me," you whisper. "Not unless you mean it." His voice drops. The flirty edge disappears, and what replaces it? A raw and unfiltered longing. “I’ve always meant it,” he says. “You just never let me prove it.”

His hands slowly slide around your waist until your back hits the wall, too. There’s no air between you now. Only months of missed calls and unspoken confessions, but you want to kiss those pink lips. You want to take his damn suit off piece by piece— you designed it, after all.

He leans in again, mouth brushing yours, and stops. “Say the word,” he murmurs. “And I’ll forget the mission for one night. Just one.” Your hand's fist is in his lapels. You hate him, but, god, you need him.

BZZZZZT.

His earpiece crackles. Oracle’s voice, cutting in sharply. “Nightwing, buyers’s on the move. You have sixty seconds.” His forehead drops to yours. Frustrated and desperate. “Damn it,” he sighs.

You close your eyes. Try to calm the fire in your blood and the thrill that sent a heartbeat to your core. “…Go,” you whisper. “But you better come back.” His fingers skim your cheek. “Always,” he promises. And just like always, he walks away. But this time? You follow him with your eyes. And when he turns back, just before vanishing into the dark… He’s still watching you.

…

There are exactly twenty minutes until you're supposed to walk onstage and take your bow as the head designer. Which makes this —him— the worst idea. But when Dick Grayson slams the dressing room door behind him and shoves his earpiece deep into his jacket pocket, you know the decision's already been made. He’s out of breath with his cheeks flushed and hair tousled. “That’s it,” he pants. “I’m done pretending I can focus on anything else tonight.”

“You intercepted the buyer?” you ask, stepping back just enough so he couldn't hear your heart rattling within your chest. “Yeah,” he nods. “Swapped the intel. Knocked out two guards. Didn’t get shot. High score.”

“And your reward is barging into my dressing room?”

His smirk goes crooked, and his head tilts. “No. My reward is you looking at me like you’re two seconds from tearing this suit off with your teeth.” You blink and then scoff. “You’re delusional.” He closes the space between you in three long strides. “Then make me hallucinate harder.”

It's exciting, hands in hair, mouths crashing excitedly together. The heat between you is like fabric and friction and fire. His suit jacket—your suit jacket— rustles under your fingers, the tailored lines warping as you grab him and pull. “You're wrinkling my masterpiece,” you mutter against his mouth with a hiss. “Good,” he growls. “Maybe you'll have to make me another one.”

His hands are everywhere. Gliding under your shirt, gripping your waist, then up to your throat, not choking, just holding—possessive, reverent, but lost. When he backs you into the mirror, you gasp, and he drinks in the sound of oxygen. But the moment he reaches behind his neck and tugs hard at something hidden under the collar, you pull back.

And immediately burst into laughter. Because under the elegant suit? The Nightwing suit… is still on. “Tactical layering?” you snort, head dropping. “Seriously?” He groans. “I didn’t have time to take it off.”

“You never have time, Dick. Not to call, not to stay, and apparently not to remove your ridiculous birdsuit.”

“Hey,” he says, mock-offended, breath still shallow. “This is iconic.”

“It’s clingy.”

“So are you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

You hook your fingers under the utility belt and drag it down, peeling the skintight suit from underneath the runway outfit. It's an awkward, tangled mess of Kevlar, spandex, and silk lining. “God, there are too many zippers,” you mutter, shoving one sleeve down.

“Bet you say that to all the vigilantes.”

“Only the hot ones.”

He huffs out a laugh, and then you're both quiet, staring at each other, the tension thick with want and everything unspoken. His voice drops. “You don’t have to pretend this is just a quickie, y'know.”

“Then stop acting like it has to be.”

He kisses you again, but slower this time, a little deeper. His fingers trail up your sides, under your shirt, sliding fabric away from your skin. “I want all of you,” he whispers against your jaw. “Not just this. Not just tonight.”

“Then prove it,” you breathe, undoing his suit pants. “Right now. Before they call my name.” He pauses for a moment before flashing a toothy grin.

“Oh. So this is what it's like to date a designer.”

“I’m not dating you.”

“You’re definitely about to fuck me.”

“Semantics.”

The next five minutes are a blur of kisses too hot to be gentle, fingers fumbling with fabric, and you swearing every time a perfectly placed seam rips. His mouth is everywhere—throat, collarbones, behind your ear, whispering things that should not be this tender when he's pressed between your thighs like a man possessed.

“I knew this suit was dangerous,” you pant, rolling your hips against him. “You designed a weapon,” he groans, breath-catching. “I’m just… following instructions,” an excuse hidden behind smiling cheeks.

The desk creaks, another light flickers, and your hair is a mess. His gloves are somewhere on the floor. And through it all, the two of you move together like this has been coming for years. Because it has. This isn’t just a release; it's a reunion of sorts. It's: You left. It's: I still waited. It's: This isn’t over when the zipper comes up.

"How fast can you come?" he mutters, breath hot against your collarbone, as he hikes your leg up onto his hip. You arch toward him. “You offering to set a record?” He grins something sharp and teasing, but there’s heat in his eyes. Not just lust, but aching… and maybe yearning.

His hands slide over your thighs, palms rough from training but gentle now. His fingers barely brush the seam of your panties, and you jolt with just the slightest twitch of your hips. He smiles against your throat—a wicked, reverent thing. "There it is," he murmurs. "Still know every little switch that flips you." Your panties are pushed aside, and he exhales sharply as his fingers stroke over your puffy, slick folds—almost in awe. As if golden gates had just parted for him, and all his desires lay in his wake. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked.”

"You're late," you hiss before getting cut off with a kiss. Your teeth clash as tongues tangle in slippery heat. He slides two digits inside you without warning, and your breath stutters against his mouth. You can feel the desperation in his touch and the urgency in his movements.

His fingers slide inside you, curling to hit that spot deep within that makes you see stars. You moan, your hips bucking against his hand. His hand almost went numb as it basked in the silken warmth of your cunt as its nectar coated his palm. His forearm shifted beneath your weight, every stroke caressing a new inch. Every few pumps—his fingers take a new shape to stretch you out. Every second is being savored. "You gonna let me fuck you on this desk?" he says, voice thick. "Or should I put you on your knees first?" You bite his lower lip. “I’ll decide,” you whisper, pulling him in by the lapels.

He’s thick and hot in your hand when you reach for him. His cock is heavy, flushed, and already leaking at the tip. There's a slight purple hue, like his balls would bust if he didn't have you here and now. He groans low when you stroke him, your thumb circling his head, dragging down the length. His hips twitch against your touch. He chuckles—almost instinctively —as his nerves short-circuit, his eyes twitching. “Bossy,” he murmurs. “Always had a thing for your hands.”

“You're not exactly subtle yourself,” you smirk, squeezing a little harder. Causing him to suck in a breath. His hand tightens around your thigh. His thumb circles your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a rhythm that’s driving you wild. You can feel the orgasm building, the pressure coiling tight in your abdomen. Shivers scale your spine, your head slamming back against the mirror as hushed, yet pornographic moans crawl from your lips.

"You gonna sit up here and look pretty, then?" he rasps, stepping between your legs and lining himself up against your entrance. The head of his cock teases at your slick, not yet pushing in—just pressing, waiting. You glance at the clock, and there's seven minutes ‘til curtain. “Hurry,” you breathe.

“You don’t tell me twice.”

He rasps, sinking into you slowly enough to make you claw at the desk, his hips grinding against yours, messy and hungry. There's a slight pop from the ring of muscle, blanketing him in a new warmth. It's thick and deep, stretching you full. You both groan at once. Your hands scramble for purchase at the edge of the desk, the lapels of his suit jacket—anything as he buries himself to the hilt. Makeup products clatter loudly on the floor, yet fall silent between the labored gasps you share. His hands are everywhere. Gripping your thighs, shoving fabric aside, palming your ass hard enough to leave bruises, desperately parting anything in his way.

“Oh my god—” you gasp, causing him to still with his cock pulsing inside you. “Too much?” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing your cheek with a gentleness. “No,” you breathe, digging your nails into his back. “Move.” He obeys. The pace starts rough and frantic, almost the kind of thrust born from months of unresolved tension. The desk rattles beneath you, your back arching with each push. His hands grip your hips, then your waist, and then one rises to cradle the back of your head as he leans in to kiss you through it. It's like he doesn't know what to do, yet he does it all so well at once. The silk lining of his jacket burns against your bare skin, sliding rough where your body’s slick and trembling.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls against your mouth. You moan, dragging your nails down his spine. “Bet you say that to all your stylists.”

“Only the ones who fuck me like they own me.” You clench around him—hard, juices sputtering—and he gasps. “Shit. Don’t do that or I’ll—”

“Already close?” You tease, sweat beading at your temples. “Grayson, I expected better.”

He pulls out almost completely, letting the tip of his cock rest against the rim, then slams back in hard enough to jolt a moan from your throat. “Keep talking,” he pants, “and I’ll bend you over the chair next.” His thrusts are slow and deep, just to tease, but hungry. His lips find your throat, ghosting over your pulse. Your chest, where one hand cups your breast, mouth latching to a nipple as he rolls his hips against you, every movement built to ruin you. You groan, clinging to one another. “Say it,” he whispers. “Tell me you still want me.”

“Fuck, Dick—”

“Say it.”

You kiss him instead—all teeth and tongue and breathless confession. “I wanted this every night you left.”

His forehead drops to yours. “Never again.” You’re so close. And he knows it. He can feel it in the way your legs lock around him. The way your velvety ridges contract around his cock. The way your pussy kisses every vein, caressing him like he never left. His jaw tightened, truly trying his best to remain quiet.

Yet, the desk thuds against the wall with every frantic thrust, papers scattering, a mug crashing to the floor. It's a riot of noise. Panting, gasping, the cascading sound of skin colliding—and Dick’s voice, low and rough in your ear: "You gonna come for me right here, baby? Gonna soak my cock while half of Gotham waits for your big debut?" At this point, you're driven back against the mirror with each pummel of his pelvis. There was a tension and risk bleeding in every frantic breath that made it impossible to think. The door rattled once, perhaps someone brushing past or trying to enter. You stiffened upon instinct, but Dick's pearly whites beamed against your neck. "You make the prettiest fucking mess, y'know that?" Oh, this fucker. He's trying to embarrass you.

The rhythmic rocking of his hips begins to take a new shape, purely focusing on making you cum. Wet strings of arousal strung to his pelvis, his cock absolutely smothered in combined juices. He could practically taste it. He wished he could take his time with you—spread you open and suck on that clit ‘til you’re limp and shaking, pleading and praising him. But none of that mattered, not as he watched his dick disappear and return wetter than the last.

Just as your orgasm builds and tenses, he reaches between you, rubbing your clit in tight, expert circles. “Come for me,” he breathes. “I want to feel you lose it. Right here. Right now.” He grows frantic as his hips stutter when slamming into yours with desperate but bruising force, and you cling to him, your legs trembling, your climax burning so close you can't form words. Dick buries his face in your shoulder, "Cum for me. Fuck, please — let go — I need to feel you lose it on me," He says, voice ragged.

That mind-numbing restraint snaps within. A sudden heat unfurls within as your body lurches forward into him. Your guttural groan is muffled by his shoulder as you cling to him—pulsing around his cock. He follows with a broken sound, knees nearly buckling and hips still rolling as he spills into you. He purposefully nuzzled himself—hoping he could view it drip out later. His dick felt raw.

Now, it's just silence and sweat and eyes boring deeply into one another. You slide your fingers through his hair, still trying to come down. “…You ruined my underwear,” you whisper. He smiles against your skin. “You ruined me.”

A knock. “Designer to the stage in three minutes!” You both groan. His head drops against your shoulder, and you bite back a laugh. “I have to go,” you whisper. He pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes. “Can I see you after?”

“Not this time.” He presses one more kiss, softer than all the rest—to the corner of your mouth. “Break a leg,” he murmurs. You adjust your shirt, and he zips up before you toss him his wrinkled suit jacket. He catches it midair, grinning as he helps you fix your clothes, pressing soft kisses to your jaw as he zips you up and tucks himself back into the damn suit.

You both look wrecked. Perfect. And as he slips out the back door—one last look over his shoulder, he says, “You're still the best thing I’ve ever worn.” You smile, smitten, before calling out to him. "I know you'll be watching, and you better stay close. Because next time? I'm on top."

A/N: Feel free to leave comments and suggestions! This is my first DC related post.... woooo Dick Grayson the man you are.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[shecrabonmyrangtiligoon]

ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣? ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕋𝕨𝕠

Warnings: smut. pnv. munch madness(paige bueckers reference) freak shit. big dih chrih. praise and size kink if you squint

“Have you ever?”

You stared at him dumbfounded. He can’t be serious.

“Chris i’ve never-“

“I know baby. Just trust me, let me make you feel good”

You told him yes and he wasted no time.

your shorts were off in an instant. leaving you in a lacy black underwear and your bra. Chris took a second to take it in. His best friend, who he’s wanted for so long, right in front of him. Ready to get completely ruined. He got up from where he was laying on the bed and moved toward the end of it.

“What’re doing? Did you change your mind?” you asked nervously. Praying for a no.

He looked at you like you were crazy and climbed over your body, grabbed your chin, looked you in the eyes.

“Change my mind? And give up the chance to fuck you? You’re funny. I was gonna eat you out, can i do that baby?”

You nodded slightly

“That a yes?”

“yes” it came out pathetically. but what else could you do?

Making his way back to the end of the bed, he grabbed your legs and pulled them towards him. You both let out a small laugh. He made eye contact with you as he got down on his knees and pulled your panties down to your ankles. Slowly running his hands up to your thighs, he spread you open.

“So beautiful” He was practically drooling

Peppering small kisses on your upper thigh. He got higher and higher until finally giving your clit a kiss. That was when you fell back and your hand fell to chris’s hair.

“Mmmph- Fuck Chris”

His hands were holding your thighs open and digging into your flesh. His tongue plunging in and out of you at an impossible rate, his face so deep that his nose pushes up against your clit, building up your high. Your helpless moans and whimpers only turning him on more as he continued to devour you. Chris could tell you were close by the shaking and by your legs threatening to close due to so much stimulation

“Gonna cum, baby? Hmmm? Gonna cum for me?” You let out a moan in response.

“Come on that’s not an answer baby. Words, or i’ll stop”

“Yes, Chris! Yes m’gonna cum! so-so close” another helpless whimper escaping

Doubling his efforts, Chris brings you closer and closer to your breaking point. He reaches his hand up to grab your boobs, grasping for anything and everything on your body to convince himself that this is real. In no time you came, Chris working you through your high.

He kissed all the way up your body until he reached your lips.

“Did so good for me, so proud of you” he said while pushing hair behind your ear. “not done tho”

“no?”

“not at all. that alright?”

You answered him by climbing over him, straddling his lap, taking off his shirt and grinding against him like it was the last thing you’d do

“that’s my girl”

Chris could say the pledge of allegiance and you’d probably cum.

“mmm take these off” you said untying his sweatpants

They’re off in an instant. You hovered over him, trying to immediately put it in before he stopped you.

“we don’t have to rush baby, besides, don’t wanna hurt you”

“what do you mean?”

he looked down at himself.

“oh shit” you let out a little laugh

“yeah i guess you’re kinda big”

He looked up at you and tilted his head. “kinda? that’s an understatement” he said with pride.

You rolled your eyes and laid down next to him on your side. “whatever…just fuck me already”

That’s all it took to have Chris on top of you, slowly pushing inside. Your gummy walls clenched around every inch. Like something straight out of a movie, or a fanfiction: your best friend, fucking you, choosing you. Could it get better?

“You see that, baby? Can see it through your stomach. Fuck”

You whimpered at the sight. Moaned when he actually pressed down on it, forcing you to feel even more due to the lack of room for his length to go. By now Chris was entirely fucking you into the mattress, not missing a beat. Moans slipped out with no filter or care of who would hear them.

“Yeah? You like that? Like taking all of me?”

You nodded repeatedly, at a loss for words. It felt like you were on another planet and you desperately needed a touch of his intimacy. Without thinking you grabbed his face and shoved your mouth onto his. He kissed you with so much passion, you thought you’d been dreaming. He moved his mouth to your neck, then to your boobs. He sucked on them like they were his lifeline and swirled his tongue around your nipple. He licked, from your left boob, up the side of your neck and back to your mouth. All this while still pumping into you at a steady pace.

“Chris, please don’t stop. Please i’m so close” You begged him. Look at you. Begging your best friend to fuck you like a slut

“Me too. M’close too.”

“You’re so good. Taking me so good. So proud of you, you know that?”

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, if that was even possible. His body was now completely against yours, just a few more strokes and you were cumming around his dick, practically soaking him. He was only a few moments behind you before filling you up full of warmth. His movements stilled as he pressed his forehead against yours. The room filled with silence for a couple of minutes before chris pulled his body up from yours, almost like he was forced to. He kissed you gently on your forehead.

“I’m gonna grab some water, i’ll be right back”

He left you to yourself. Deciding to clean up you picked up your bra and put it on. You debated putting on your underwear after seeing how soaked it was, eventually deciding to just wear Chris’s underwear. You laid down and waited for him to come back.

Chris opened the door and threw a water bottle next to you and looked you up and down.

“My underwear?”

“I’m sorry, they’re just more comfortable, i’ll take them off” you said as you began to pull them off

“No. no, keep them on. Looks good on you”

He walked over to the bed and laid behind you, pulling you to his chest as he played with your hair and pressed soft kisses to the back of your shoulder and neck.

“Goodnight beautiful, see you tomorrow”

“Goodnight Chris”

A/n: I honestly forgot to make a taglist, but i’m thinking about continuing this trope so lemme know if you wanna be tagged.

[errorryx]

it's really funny how pyro's episode starts with him being fully anti-human, calling them cattle and speaking derisively about them nonstop, and then over the course of the episode he starts to get attention from them. it's condescending it's adoring it's flirtatious, and most of all it's something they just aren't getting from scott. so they spend all session seeking out more of these interactions, and they get more attention, and by the end of it they realize they've spent the past several days fraternizing with the enemy without harming any of them. and the only reason he has to regret any of it is if scott finds out. scott, who will barely even look his way. scott, who pyro spends more time talking about than talking to.

what i'm saying is, it's possible scott will find out next episode that neglecting your loyal fledgling does have consequences. all scott had to do was kick pyro around like a dog every now and then, and none of this would've happened.

[tgirl-tamag0tchi]

When you make art, be a freak.

That doesn’t have to be in a perverted way, that’s not everyone’s thing.

And only like one of my two ttrpgs is a pervert kink thing. The other is just trauma coded to the extreme and forced characters to exist in a metaphysical bad coping mechanism.

But be a freak, make weird shit that you love, it’ll be a heck of a lot better than anything you made to be acceptable to others.

We’re all freaks, and anyone who isn’t. Is lying to themselves.

So, make freak shit.

[infecttedgrrl]

“i miss the cold.” tate langdon .

warnings | nfsw , not proofread , temperature kink , dom (?) tate , fingering , p in the v

the tiniest breeze slipped through the crack of your window, ever so slightly lifting up the pace from the book you were reading. the soft noises of the wind outside, the falling leaves, and the sounds of the smiths echoed in your room. the ending of september, yet it still wasn’t cold enough. california fall didn’t stay until borderline december.

you’d think living in a house filed with ghost would create some kind of awe feeling, maybe coldness. maybe all of those were just lies about ghosts.

tate was cold. the first time you met him, you were fresh out the shower, mirrors fogged, hair wet and wrapped in a towel. extremely vulnerable. you couldn’t shake these feeling that you were being watched. when you turned to the door, it was locked. the same way you left it before the shower. you kept doing yourself off, hoping you could wipe off the irritable feeling when you put on your clothes.

leaving the restroom, you saw someone sitting on your bed. a relatively tall blonde, with a wide smile and pale skin, looking through your laptop. “you listen to nirvana?” he asked softly, using his two fingers to scroll down using the mouse pad. you screamed in horror, in thought that some man broke into your home, regardless if he was attractive or not. he got up, covering your mouth with his hand and holding the back of your head with the other.

his hand. it was cold. almost like ice. feeling his borderline freezing hand against your soft lips and the crack of your neck sent shivers down your spine.

your mother came rushing into the room after your screams to be greeted with you standing in your room, alone. as your mother disappeared back to her room after lecturing you about scaring her, the blonde appeared once more and rather than screaming again,b you decided to engage in conversation. which led you here.

back to your bed, back alone, hot air and nothing but your thoughts. your thoughts of your old house and snowy days. grabbing a popsicle out the freezer. fresh ice cold water. tate’s hands.

you didn’t want to think about it, you felt guilty. but even with that guilt, your fingers began to trace down your body as you thought of it. just thinking of the thickness of his skin against your mouth, the cold breeze that hit your lips. his eyes. his eyes pierced into your soul with only the few minutes you first spent with him. you thought about his voice. the way he repeated your name when you first introduced yourself. the way his eyes would slowly trace, starting from your eyes, then your lips, then your breast when you would speak.

you found your warm fingers playing with the top lace of your panties as you traced your hand further, closing your eyes to better help envision as your finger trickled inside of you. as you moved around your gummy walls, pumping your fingers in n out. pleasure surged your body, you covered your mouth, throwing your head to the side of your pillow as your hips bucked up to each shot of pleasure coming from your fingers. the noises of your gushy walls were quiet, you tried to stay as silent as you could, besides the whimpers that came from your mouth, biting down your bottom lip.

“what are you doing..?” the voice was soft, almost secretive. it had a hint of sensuality to it.

you jumped up, yanking your blanket over your lower half and moved your hand away from your folds, evidence of your wetness from your fingers rubbed against your sheets. “tate?” you asked within a whisper scream. “what are you doing here?! have you been watching me?”

he smirked at you. his eyes traced your body the same way it did when you spoke to him before. he nibbled on his bottom lip as he got closer to you. “can i sit down?” he asked, already lowering himself onto your bed.

before you could agree or disagree, his hand met yours, the one that was recently inside you. his eyes widened ever so slightly as he looked at you. he didn’t say anything, his eyes just lowered, that same smirk appearing as he got closer. he sat infront of you, his body slowly leaning closer as his mouth was tucked into the nape of your neck. “if i knew you got this wet, i would’ve touched you awhile ago.”

my god. your body was aflame, but you felt so cold. his hands. his breath. his lips had ever so slightly grazed your neck, and even those were cold. maybe you were desperate, needy or just pathetic. but you needed him. “do you..” your voice echoed in your head, yet so silent. “do you want to touch me?” you asked. almost wanting to beg for him to.

he traced soft kisses against your neck, leading up to your ear. “i’d love to.” his chuckle surrounding your ears as one of his hands moved up your thigh. he moved so slowly, almost as if he was teasing you. he slid his fingers back into you warmth, his pointer n his middle. you threw your head back, his fingers were thick and cold, sending shivers up your spine. you leaned against your headboard and bucked your hips off, pouting your bottom lip as you asked for him.

his fingers started pumping in n out of you, faster than you could’ve. the silent noises of your wetness before, now echoed your room. you moved your hand to cover your mouth as he went faster. “you look even prettier when you’re squirming.” the blonde chuckled, coming closer and slowly rubbing his other hand on your stomach as it moved up.

his fingers played with your nipple as his other hand pumped you. “can you open your eyes?” he asked, turning his head with that shit-eating grin. you bit down on your had that was covering your mouth as you looked up at him, your eyes getting watery by the over stimulation. it still wasn’t enough. you looked down, being greeted by the bludge in his joggers and the small wet spot on it. his eyes followed yours, soon making eye contact again. your eyes were begging, pleading for it as if his fingers weren’t already pleasing your folds. “tate..” you gasped.

“ask for it.” he curled his fingers, watching as your eyes opened and your mouth shut by your teeth.

“please.. please fuck me.”

and with those words, his pants were being slipped off. you followed, rushing for your panties and the covers. both of you moved like animals in need. his mouth rushed to yours as his pants and boxers hit his ankles. his ice cold lips constrasted from your warm plump lips. they slammed into eachother, desperately in need. salvia. whimpering. and hands just everywhere.

he picked up your legs up from underneath your thighs, moving your legs to each side of him. he pulled away, looking at your body in awe as his fingers traced over you. “god. you’re so beautiful.” his fingers went to your face, cupping your cheeks. “look at you.. fuck. i can’t wait to fill you up. c’mere.” he commanded as he yanked your legs closer, your foreheads now touching as he slowly inserted himself.

he gradually shoved all of himself in you. you gasped, preparing yourself for the moan that was sitting in your throat before you felt his hand clasp against your mouth in effort to make you shut up. “you gotta be quiet, just take it. can you do that for me?”

he was practically making fun of you as he stretched out your insides. he moves his head, looking at you as you nodded. “good girl.” he cooed, before he began to move in n out. he moved his hand from your mouth to gain his balance as he thrusted in you. your moans filled his ears, even while trying to be quiet. with each thrust your body squirmed underneath him. he placed his hand on your hip and the other interlocked with your fingers. his lips became intertwined with yours again. his kisses were soft as his thrusts were mean and almost hurtful. he fucked you like he needed to.

in and out, your walls stretched and shrinked. the coldness of his body soothed your heat as he used your holes. you pulled away from the kiss. he continued his harsh thrusts as you lips were still touching. you called out his name ever so silently, it breathy and pathetic. a tear streaming down from your face as you bit your lip with a soft smile. “you like this huh?” he mocked. “you like being fucked, baby?” he tried to contain himself, biting down on his lips after his words to conceal his pathetic moans. he loved this. just as much as your pussy did. you nodded, yanking his face back into yours with both of your hands as your lips slammed against eachother.

the thrusts became more irritable and the knot in your stomach began to tighten. your hands moved to his neck, scrapping your nails into the skin, leaving red marks. the hot sensation between yall filled the room. “can i cum..?” he tried to mutter as he thrusted. a complete contrast to his dominant persona. “please?” he asked again before you could get a second to comprehend. “please? you feel so fucking good.” he kept begging.

your eyes met his once more. his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth open as drool slipped from his tongue, breathing like a dog. you nodded, biting your lip at the sight. “cum for me.” you whispered in his ear, moans within your words.

he pulled out, his hand choking his tip as he jerked himself aggressively on your stomach before white goo spilled out onto your tummy. he let out a pathetic moan as he finished, his body folding ontop of you. he wasn’t sweating. still just cold and soothing. your hands scratched his back as his breathing slowed. “did you finish?”

“no..” you responded in a few seconds, creating silence.

“can i make you?” he raised his head, looking up at you with his big beedy eyes. almost pleading.

you played with his hair, looking down at him. “please.”

[dollydyke111]

When when freaky caitvi fan art

[devi-the-devil-pinterest0g]

I love my guy