#dc comics#dc#batman#bruce wayne#dick grayson#tim drake#dc fanart#batfamily#batfam
seen from Israel
seen from Finland
seen from Israel
seen from Namibia
seen from Israel
seen from Italy
seen from Egypt
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Yemen
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
Richard Harmon Masterlist 🔪
Main Masterlist
MINORS DON'T INTERACT ON NSFW THINGS
Richard Harmon masterlist
Erik Campbell (FD: Bloodlines)
• (Final Destination masterlist)
Alex Taylor (If I had wings 2013)
• fluff
• Feel (SMUT)
• cure to a bad day
• Ficmas day five
Tryst (Fakes 2022)
• Father figure Tryst (request)
• 30 minutes or less (SMUT) request
Alex Wright (Grave encounters 2)
• Movie night (SMUT)
• Pervert (SMUT)
• The Delicious and Depraved Dance of life and Death (SMUT)
• whorror-o-ween day one (SMUT)
•Ficmas day two
• Hell of a summer day eleven
John Murphy (The 100)
• Hell of a summer day five
Seth Durand (a mother's instinct)
• take what I give you (SMUT) request
• Peeping Tom Seth (SMUT) request
Vern (Lowlifes)
• Broken down (request)
Danny Reyes (Judas kiss)
• choose
• Ficmas day three
• The mirror (request)
Late night visits
18+
Tryst x Reader (i had too i love him)
"Princess, you up?"
Your phone buzzed just as you were mid-shampoo-serenade, like you were on tour. You cursed under your breath, stepped out,wet, naked, mildly annoyed,and grabbed your phone, water dripping onto the floor.
Of course it was Tryst. Who else texts you at 2 a.m.
"In the shower. Why, you wanna join me?" you typed back, towel clinging to your body.
"You know me too well. Be there in 10."
You smirked. Oh, we know where this is going.
"Make it 5. I’m impatient."
You snapped a towel-wrapped selfie that screamed accidentally hot, but very on purpose.
"Don’t do that. I almost tripped and broke my spine. Jesus. Hot tho."
You tossed your phone on the bed, towel trailing slightly, damp hair dripping as you padded to the door. You’d missed him. Even if he was your drug dealer-slash-neighbor, you maybe-just maybe-liked him more than was legally advisable.
Ever since you moved into this cursed apartment building a year ago, fate had been throwing your lives together like horny Sims. You met Tryst in the shared garden, where he was chain-smoking and crying like a rejected contestant on The Bachelor.
You almost turned around-comforting crying men wasn’t your specialty. But something about his messy blond hair made you snort out a laugh.
"Great. I'm sobbing like a little bitch and now my hot neighbor shows up outta nowhere. Fucking phenomenal." He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie .
"You good, dude?" you asked, sliding onto the bench beside him, sparking up your cigarette .
"Just found out the baby I thought was mine… wasn’t. I tried so damn hard to be a good dad. Bought little shoes. Held tiny socks like they were sacred. All for nothing. Turns out, it was one big fat lie. So, no-I’m fucking not good. But thanks for asking."
He took a drag that screamed “I’ve seen some shit,” and you nodded solemnly.
"Damn. That’s rough. I once thought a guy gave me crabs. Turned out it was chlamydia. Not the same, but being lied to sucks." You stared into the middle distance, haunted by flashbacks of The Itchening™️.
Tryst stared at you. Then he laughed. Like, full-body, teary-eyed, unhinged-laugh-laughed.
You giggled, flicked your cig, and said:
"I’m Peach, by the way."
"Tryst," he replied, still wheezing. "You’re absolutely unhinged."
"And hot," you added with a smug little smirk.
"Why’d your fake baby mama lie, anyway?"
He leaned back, exhaling like he was releasing two years of pain .
"Guess she wanted my money. Kept me on visitation lockdown,three times a month, ten minutes at a time. I thought I was a shit dad. Turns out, I wasn’t a dad at all. Just a dumbass with good intentions and a shitty taste in women."
"Well… consider it a free trial of Hell-level parenthood," you said with a shrug. "I don’t know you, but I’ve got a feeling you’ll be a great dad someday."
His shoulders dropped a little. Your words, apparently, massaged some hidden muscle called hope.
"Thanks, Peach."
"Besides," you said with a shrug, "who says you need a baby to be a dad? The world’s full of 20-something girls with daddy issues. Be the man who brings the milk back home, Tryst."
"Jesus Christ," he laughed. "You're weirdly comforting."
"And you're weirdly hot for someone who's been ugly-crying for 30 minutes straight."
Since then, you and Tryst had practically been glued together,watching horror movies on your couch teens, cooking while high in his kitchen (read: burning things creatively), and spending countless nights on the roof pretending you weren’t two seconds away from jumping each other’s bones.
You shared pasta at your favorite place so often the waitress started calling you “the young married couple,” and somehow got addicted to the same playlist of tragic '80s songs he insisted on crying to. It was weirdly romantic.
You only found out he was a full-blown drug dealer when you casually asked if he “knew someone local” who could hook you up with your anxiety meds, and he just walked to the cupboard, flung it open and said:
“Serve yourself, princess.”
You just wanted your prescription cheaper. He offered you the entire pharmaceutical black market.
Your daydreaming snapped like a rubber band at the sound of a loud knock. You opened the door and there he was: Tryst, bloodied, bruised, and still somehow hot.
Your brain short-circuited. Instant flight-or-fight mode. Or in your case: fight-whoever-did-this-and-then-fix-him mode.
“Jesus, T, what the hell happened?”
You dragged him inside like a dramatic ER scene, already speed-walking to the bathroom for your emergency sewing kit.
Maybe med school wasn’t a complete waste of money after all.
When you got back, he was casually raiding your fridge .
“Antiseptic! Ha-there you are.” He chugged your half-full bottle of vodka like it was Gatorade.
“Easy, tiger. Save some for the wounds.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the couch.
“Some assholes tried to rob an old lady outside 7-Eleven,” he muttered, wincing. “You know I had to jump in.”
You sighed in relief. At least it wasn’t cartel drama.
“You absolute idiot,” you muttered, running your fingers through his hair and inspecting his face .
“Can’t believe people still use knives these days. I was low-key hoping for a bullet. Way cooler to sew.”
“You’re literally pinching through my skin and you’re making jokes?” he groaned, clutching the couch cushion.
“Field training, baby.” You grinned. “Done. Any dizziness? Nausea? Did they hit you anywhere else?”
“Back of my neck,” he said. “But I’m fine. Don’t worry… thanks, love.”
And just like that, your soul briefly exited your body.
Love.
He said love.
“You’re welcome dumbass.” You kissed his temple. His ears went red immediately. Weak spot: located.
“Now turn around, let me see.”
“It’s fine, really-”
Too late. Hoodie: off. Neck: exposed. Vulnerability: triggered.
You gently touched the bruise. “Does it hurt here? What about here?”
Your fingers grazed the tender skin and before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.
“Kiss it better?” he asked, eyes fluttered shut, head tilted forward like he wanted more.
“Doctor’s orders,” you whispered, peppering kisses along his jaw, your mouth getting dangerously close to his lips.
“You scared the shit out of me,” you breathed, and gave him a soft, quick kiss.
His eyes locked onto yours, something dark and unspoken behind them.
But the second Tryst pulled you into his lap and your towel slipped, logic packed its bags and left the building..
He didn’t answer.
Just looked at you like he was starving. Like you were something to survive on.
His hand gripped your thigh, fingers digging in slightly, not possessive but desperate.
"You’re still bleeding, dumbass," you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady as your towel betrayed you completely and hit the floor.
"Yeah, well," he whispered, lips grazing your cheek, "I think I’m about to pass out, so we might as well make it worth it."
That was it. Switch flipped.
You kissed him hard, fast,like you needed him to breathe, to forget the blood and bruises and late-night trauma.
He hissed a little when your hand brushed his side, but didn’t stop. If anything, it lit something up in him,something wild, reckless, hot.
Your fingers tangled in his hoodie, yanking it the rest of the way off, leaving him shirtless and bruised. You ran your hands over his chest like you were memorizing it,every scar, every mark, every shaky breath.
"Careful," he groaned, teeth grazing your jaw. "You’re gonna break me."
"Good," you growled, kissing down his neck, where you’d patched him up minutes ago. "That’s what you get for playing superhero at 7-Eleven."
His hands found your hips, slid down, gripped hard enough to leave bruises of his own. You rolled your hips once and that was all it took,he swore under his breath like a man who just saw heaven, hell, and everything in between.
"Fuck, Peach," he gasped, voice low and cracked. "You’re gonna kill me."
"Then die pretty," you whispered.
He laughed,then choked on it when you ground down again. His head hit the back of the couch. Eyes closed. Breathing uneven. Lips parted like he wanted to beg but didn’t know for what.
You leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
"Next time you get stabbed, I’m charging a fee," you said. "No more free patch-ups with bonus makeouts."
"That was not a makeout," he said, breathless, eyes now wide open and locked on yours. "That was a fuckin’ CPR revival with tongue."
You laughed,sharp and breathless,then grabbed his jaw and kissed him again, slow this time. Deep. The kind of kiss that says I’ve been wanting this since the moment you cried in the garden and called me hot through snot bubbles.
And he kissed you back like he knew it. Like he’d been holding it in for a year.
Clothes were being yanked, tossed,his jeans halfway off, your towel long dead on the floor like a fallen soldier. He pulled you against him, skin on skin, and it was all heat and ache and something stupidly close to need.
"Peach-"
"I know."
There was no more talking after that. Just mouths and hands and tangled limbs and the sound of the couch protesting its life choices.
His fingers slipped between your legs, and your back arched instantly. He didn’t go slow, didn’t tease,just knew. Like his hands had memorized you .
You grabbed his hair, pulled hard, and that made him hiss. His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide.
"You like it rough, Sweets?"
"I like it filthy," you whispered. "I want your hands shaking when you try to zip up your jeans after this."
That broke him.
He lifted you with bruised strength and laid you back on the couch.His lips trailed down your chest, kisses turning wet and open-mouthed, until he made you cry out.
And when he looked at you, mouth slick, grin cocky?
"You taste like sin."
"You look like one," you panted.
Then he was inside you, fast, deep, and you both gasped,like a punch to the soul.
No soft rhythm. No holding back. Just raw, punishing thrusts that said you’re mine with every snap of his hips. The couch creaked in protest. So did you.
He kissed you like he needed to stay alive. You clawed down his back like you didn’t care if he bled more.
"Don’t hide your voice baby" he growled against your throat.
You whimpered.
"Louder."
You moaned his name.
And when you came undone beneath him, shaking, nails in his skin, eyes rolling back,you knew you weren’t just fucked.
You were doomed.
He followed right after you, groaning your name like a curse and a prayer, collapsing onto you with the full weight of every repressed emotion neither of you ever said out loud.
You both lay there. Sweaty. Wrecked. Breathing like you’d run a marathon through hell.
"That was... supposed to be stitches and antiseptic," you said, voice hoarse, lips swollen.
"My bad," he murmured, eyes shut, face against your chest. "Guess I needed something stronger."
You smiled, fingers in his hair.
"You're bleeding on my couch."
"You're dripping on it."
Fair point.
Later, when the adrenaline faded and he was half-asleep on your chest, bruised and bandaged and quietly snoring, you kissed his hair.
You didn’t say it, but it burned in your throat like a secret:
I love you, you chaotic, broken, beautiful bastard.
But for now, you just whispered:
"I love you dumbass. "
richard harmon masterlist
༻ all richard character blurbs can be found here! ༻ spooktober masterlist can be found here!
༻ erik campbell (final destination: bloodlines, 2025)
drink the honey: in visiting your friends' bar, you happen to meet his older brother, aka the guy who pierced your ears forever ago. cue a lesson in grief and exactly what can be pierced and where, as well as a night you won't soon be forgetting. wc: 9.7k (smut)
༻ tryst (fakes, 2022)
fuck em all but us (series masterlist/ongoing): when weird meets weird, it’s only reasonable that unbreakable bonds get formed, so unbreakable that they follow each other through the hellstorm that is selling drugs, mass producing fake ids, and actually communicating their feelings for one another after almost ten years of friendship, all while trying to avoid getting arrested.
༻ max borman (van helsing, 2019)
the wicked get no rest: you thought the rest of your life would be spent in loveland prison, and you can't decide if it's relief or a death sentence when the cruel warden takes a liking to you and whisks you away to be his unwilling wife. wc: 15k (smut)
manchild: your husband wakes you up with his obnoxious carrying-on. you let him (and his new friend) know how you feel about that. wc: 1.8k (fluff)
༻ alex wright (grave encounters 2, 2012)
dead ends: you've been a fan of grave encounters 2 since you first saw it, and when the opportunity to meet the visionary (and now well-known) director of that movie falls in your lap, you find out that alex might be your dream nightmare man. wc: 17.4k (smut)
save me your prayers: nearly a year into your relationship with acclaimed director alex wright, he suffers a nightmare that breeds a frightening and important question. wc: 2.8k (angst)
Could I get Tryst smut with this line:
"When I tell you to sit on my face. Don't just put 10% of your bodyweight down. FUCKING SIT ON IT. SIT, LIKE A CHAIR."
Oh hell yeah, face sitting is so delicious geez. I'm totally not loosing my shit over it and I am fine ദ്ദി/ᐠ｡‸｡ᐟ\ ~❤︎
Word Count: ~280
Warnings: Smut(18+)
Summary: FACE SITTING, THAT'S THE POST.
You're hovering over him - thighs shaking, one hand braced on the headboard like you're scared to really sink down.
And Tryst? Tryst is not having it.
He looks up at you, eyes dark, jaw tight, hands gripping your hips and thighs hard enough to bruise.
“When I tell you to sit on my face,” he growls, voice thick with hunger, “Don’t just put ten percent of your bodyweight down. Fucking sit on it. Sit, like a chair.”
You whimper, feeling embarassed - but he doesn’t wait.
He doesn’t ask again.
He yanks you down fully, mouth already open, tongue out like he’s been starved, groaning loud as you finally give in and sit on his face.
His hands force you to stay down, to take it, no more holding back.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, voice muffled against your soaked heat. “Thought I was gonna have to beg” he obscenely slurps on your pussy, like youre the only thing keeping him alive.
Your thighs are trembling. You try to lift off - too much, too intense -but he just growls and pulls you right back down.
“'M not fucking done” he growls into your folds while looking up straight into your eyes.
With the way his tongue’s working, dragging slow circles, teasing then diving in with filthy groans, it’s not long before you’re coming undone - writhing, gasping, nails digging into the headboard. Your legs are trembling even more than before as you try to catch your breath through broken whimpers.
But Tryst? Just holds you there, smirking against your skin like he’s won. He kisses your thighs tenderly.
“Now was that so hard, baby?”
Phew, me likey some confident man that knows what he wants.
Just a reminder that I ALWAYS write the reader as a petite AFAB person, cause i saw people asking for male!reader. Sorry, I'm not comfortable with it yet. The reader I write is also small and petite since I like the thought of ,,me'' representation. Since i mostly see chubby!reader I want to represent the smaller fellas with my writing ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ
Hi can I request a Tryst x reader x Erik threesome fic, preferably with an alt reader. Maybe Tryst got a few small tattoos from Erik and then Erik bought weed from Tryst, and that’s how they know each other. I haven’t seen one of these yet so I’m excited.
A/N: I hope you love what i did with itttt
MDNI 18+
warnings: smut, threesome(mfm), face fucking, oral (m & f receiving) spit-roasting, double penetration (vaginal + anal), usage of lube, erik’s prince albert piercing, choking/gagging, rough sex, cum play, overstimulation, praise and degradation mix, dom vibes from both men, nipple piercings, tongue piercing, drug use (weed), dirty talk, hair pulling, p in v, p in a, unprotected sex, double cream pie
𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃 & 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃
It started with a joint and a joke.
Tryst had come over to Erik’s place to drop off a new strain he swore would “make your tattoos wiggle” and Erik, half stoned and always curious, had offered to ink a little something on him in return. Just a few minimal designs, hidden spots, nothing too flashy. But it gave them time to talk. Time to bond. Time to toss around smirks and subtle looks while the buzz kicked in.
You? You were Erik’s friend first. Met him at the shop, he had done your tattoos and piercings, flirted for years without crossing lines… until a month ago. When he’d bent you over the counter and fucked you stupid, that prince albert gliding against your walls, a hand on your dyed hair and your moans echoing off sterile tile.
Tryst had seen you too, at Erik’s shop, lounging in a ripped tank with your piercings peeking out and a mouth that knew it made men stupid. He flirted. You flirted back. But nothing ever came of it.
Not until tonight.
They were already tipsy when you arrived, called over for no reason except “hang out” and that always meant something when Erik was in a certain mood. He was sprawled on the couch in sweats, no shirt, tattoos gleaming like sin itself. Tryst was beside him, eyes dragging over your figure in a way that made your nipples harden under your crop top.
And Erik? He noticed. Of course he did.
“Show him” he murmured, voice low and lazy, like it wasn’t a command but a craving “Show him what I pierced.”
Your heart fluttered. But you obeyed. Because Erik’s voice did that to you.
The crop top went up. Two silver bars through your nipples caught the light. Tryst let out a low whistle “Fuck”
But Erik wasn’t done.
“She’s got a tongue ring too” he said, looking at Tryst like he was offering a gift “Wanna feel it?”
And suddenly, you were on your knees between them, Tryst’s jeans unzipped while Erik guided your head like a proud, possessive tease. Your pierced tongue swirled around Tryst’s tip, your lips glossy and eager while Erik ran a hand down your spine.
“You like being watched, baby?” he rasped, fingers curling in your hair “Like being used?”
You moaned around Tryst’s cock and nodded, throat fluttering as he hit the back. Tryst cursed, hips stuttering, one hand gripping your dyed hair tight.
But then Erik pulled you up. Spun you around. Bent you over the arm of the couch.
“Open up” he said, already sinking to his knees behind you.
Your panties were peeled down. Erik’s mouth was on your pussy in seconds, tongue devouring you like he hadn’t eaten in days. His scruff rubbed your thighs, his hands pinned you open, and you screamed as he sucked your clit and pushed two fingers deep.
Tryst moved in front of you again, hard and leaking “She that good?” he asked, breath ragged.
Erik looked up, lips wet with your slick “Taste her and find out”
You didn’t get time to recover. Tryst shoved back into your mouth, your body sandwiched between them while Erik ate you out from behind, sloppy and intense, tongue fucking you until your legs shook. The moans vibrating around Tryst’s cock had him groaning and gripping your jaw.
“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum like this”
But Erik stood. His cock was out, hard and pierced and glistening as he spit in his hand and lined up behind you.
“You ready to take both of us, sweetheart?” he murmured, tip teasing your soaked entrance “Wanna be filled like the little cockdrunk slut you are?”
You nodded desperately, eyes glazed “Please…”
And just like that, you were spit roasted. Erik slammed into your cunt, PA piercing dragging over every nerve-ending as Tryst fucked your throat raw. You were used. Owned. Their perfect toy.
They didn’t let up. Erik’s hand gripped your ass while his other thumb pressed against your puckered hole, teasing until you were gasping, whimpering, needy for more.
“Think she’s ready for it?” Tryst asked, watching the way your body trembled.
“Oh, she’s ready” Erik growled, pulling out for just a second, enough time to coat his fingers in lube and slide a finger into your ass. Stretching. Preparing. You cried out, body on fire.
And then? Erik lined up again, this time his cock was lined up to your asshole.
Tryst moved to take your cunt.
Double. Penetration.
The stretch was brutal, and you screamed into the cushions as they both pushed in. Erik’s cock in your ass, thick and overwhelming, while Tryst fucked your soaked pussy raw.
“You’re so fucking full, baby,” Erik groaned, panting as he fucked into you “Taking both our cocks like a good little whore”
“You feel this?” Tryst added, thrusting hard enough to make your tits bounce “This is what you were made for”
And you? You were gone. Mind blank. Pussy drooling. Ass clenching. You came so hard your vision whited out, body shaking between them like a toy being passed around.
But they weren’t done.
Not until Erik growled your name, buried deep, and filled your ass with hot cum, his hands gripping your hips like a man possessed. Not until Tryst pulled your hair, moaned your name, and emptied inside your pussy so deep it leaked down your thighs.
You collapsed between them, gasping, whimpering, wrecked.
And as Erik leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder, he whispered
“We’re not done with you yet, sweetheart”
Tryst just smirked, already lighting another joint “Next time i get your ass”
-------------------------------------------------------
Taglist: @gennemi @dogey290 @slushi-chan @punkgirlyy @eriksfinalldestination @bachinskination @max-borman @sweetums0kitty @dumbfxck00 @emmadellaposta-blog @rainbowraii @maybsinvincible @lovelessdren @goingintocardiacarrest
Click here for request info - taglist info
Quick Changes
Me vs immediately writing a part 2 cause I love Tryst so damn bad. Part 1
Pairing: Tryst x fem!reader
Contents: age gaps, reader is over 18 tho dont be weird(im thinking like 20/21), Co-parenting of Zoe and Becca lmao. SMUTISH, minors go away. Tryst just really wanting to see reader fall apart.
Warnings: lazy smut, cuz I didnt wanna write it✨️
Wc; 1.7k
Masterlist
LATE NIGHT SHIFT
Pairing: Tryst x reader
Tags: porn with plot, gentle sex, piv sex, slight aftercare, slight angst, mild fluff, post canon I GUESS (cause we will never know what happened next), injuries
