#dc characters

Still obessed with the batblob lol

Dick, punching the shit outta two face: oh shit B, I never told you I like boys. And girls

Two face: wtf

Batman: Harvey are you.....homophobic?

Two face: WHAT!? No dude, but why did that pop into Robin's head while he was beating the shit outta me???

Dick: shrugs

Batman: Whatever, Robin I support you unconditionally

------

Jason, having just revealed that he is back from the dead, and is , in fact, red hood

Jason: Also I'm gay

Dick: wow. Shocker.

Jason: shut up you fag

Batman: Hood, don't call Nightwing that slur.

Jason: who tf do you think U are?? My dad??

Batman: I'm just glad ur back and I support you.

Jason: hell no old man- (his back from the dead rant/speech continues)

-------

Tim, seconds after crashing the bat mobile

Tim: I'm bi.

Batman: I support you, but what does this have to do with you crashing the bat mobile?

Tim: if you punish me your homophobic.

Dick: dam he got you there B

------

Damian, turning to Bruce while they're patrolling on rooftops

Damian: Father, I like boys and I'm dating Jon Kent

Batman: Alright I suppo- JON KENT!?!?

Damian: yes.

Batman: I-ive let you have sleepovers with your BOYFRIEND????? OH UR SO GROUNDED

-----

Cass, hanging upside down as batgirl

Cass: I like girls

Batman: I support you

--------

Steph, yelling from the other side of an alley

Steph: B! IM BI

Batman: Cool.

Steph: Really? That's it?

—————————————————————————

when people age, they normally become less attractive than they were. but jason? oh, your husband aged like fine wine

“attagirl” he grunted, meeting his hips with yours, thanks to his slightly calloused grip on your hips. “suckin’ me in like she doesn’t wanna let go.” his large cock was practically drilling in your tight pussy, the thrusts so lewd it could be considered sinful to hear 

truth be told, you didn’t want to let go— hell, you even orchestrated the entire situation. it’s been a long long time since jason fucked you mean, and all you had to do was place everything together for him to take the bait

some people called it crazy, you called it priorities. and that meant having it from the back 

“j-jay- mmph!” your moans and whines were muffled due to your face being buried in the pillows, feeling your saliva spread the pillowcase and the sheets wrinkle under you and jason’s bodies. “big… so big”

“you asked for this, sweetheart.” you could practically hear the dazed smirk from his lips. “you can take it, yeah? you always—have” a moan left both from him and yours when he brushes a spot in your walls that made you clench over him tighter than you already were

he leaned forward to whisper in your ear, his large chest now pressed against your back. “don’t give up on me now, gorgeous” he kissed the back of your ear before burying his face in the crook of your neck, a muffled groan of your name leaving his lips. “jesus, this never gets old”

yup, fineeeeee wine 

—————————————————————————

masterlist!

(a/n: when i realized that i never wrote for dilf jason, i had to get to work. this took me like 5-10 mins to write lol so not proofread)

main taglist: @sweetpeasosweet @lcvgty-4929 @fratbrochrisgf @wrldbloom @arabellas-barbarella-swimsuit12 @champagnesbiggestproblem @edawgz @hottubnda @onlyfeng @lucky-clover13 @tragicfiend @nyx-of-night @missmontiopath @bloomfaery @booksrcool @jaydennicole @gglouise23 @sicklyhana @klauvy @pocket-fish0 @romancedawn333 @sashadonat @uxavity @batslilwhore @oh-sheetcake @boo-123456 @ydivine @the-star-rover @slutfordpr @advline @arfemiz @freakkay09 @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @hernersworld @starrydustedwinter @inejskywalker @seeker2028 @ksiazkowaxx-blog @kh4dij7 @vanillakirstein @lillie1320 @t1mbits @branchesofmagic @devilslittlehelper @starr-jazz @nightwingblvd @yukimaniac @freddiweasly @devorator666 @dadump @ftkats @st4rl1ghtgrays0n @st4rstuddedreblogs @em12021 @heleneae @darkxwolfsstuff @imintoomanyfandoms14 @littlelightbearer (tags are open)

"y-you're gonna kill me, sweetie... freakin' kill me..." clark groaned above you, his hips ramming into you like never before as your legs bounced on his shoulders.

clark kent was a possessive man and he knew it. it was in his kryptonian genes, he swears! he can't control the moan that slips out when he successfully marks you with his scent, or the hand that sneaks into the crook of your back in public settings. he tries to, but he can't.

and you know it. you know it so well that you wanted to mess around with it.

and it was only natural for clark to fuck your brains out when he saw the "C" anklet you had on when you came home today.

it got to him, truly. it got to him because he marked you, because you're his and you're showing it off. because now the entire world knows that you, his beloved, belong to him.

he kisses your anklet, his eyes narrowed and uncharacteristically dark. "you're too cute... way too cute f'me, hmm..." and he pecs and pecs, his soft lips contrasting with the force of his thrusts, fucking into you like it's the only way for him to breath. and it might aswell be.

"c-clark, i– ah—! ohh... shit, fuck.." you couldn't even form proper sentences, your lips wobbling at the sensation of him knocking at your cervix. he so desperately wanted to claim you, fully and inside out, and the cute jewelry you had on your ankle was definitely helping.

his heavy balls tightened everytime it reflected the light, shining like the most precious of diamonds. "mine.. all mine..." he mumbled before he nibbled at the "C", his eyebrows bending in pleasure as he neared his end. his pace quickened while one of his hands migrated to your clit, rubbing tight circles to get you off.

you mewled, back arching when you felt the heat of his digits on your bud. the sight of him, blushing and drooling, utterly drunk on his possession—drunk on you—had you quickly approaching your climax, but it's when the first rope of his cum slipped its way into your womb that you finally let go.

you both cried out in your orgasms, his cock twitching with every pulse of your cunt, hips sporadically fucking his seed into you.

"mine, mine... mineminemine—" he chanted, as if repeating it would make it any more true than it already was.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne.

Synopsis: They are having a heated argument.

DICK GRAYSON

When his parents died, he grieved for a while, but eventually, he just... kept going. No regrets, no looking back.

He always managed to move on from bad things.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself while stuffing the candy you’d bought together onto the highest shelves — shoved all the way to the back where you wouldn’t notice them, even if you tried to reach.

That way, you’d have no choice but to talk to him.

He’d already lost count of how long you’d been ignoring him. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn’t stand sleeping alone.

Not again.

After the fight, he’d said maybe the two of you should take a breather. Cool off before things got worse.

So when he came back later, apology already rehearsed in his head, breakfast tray balanced carefully in his hands, he walked into the bedroom almost excited.

What Dick hadn’t expected was for you to take his words that seriously.

When he said take a breather, he meant maybe thirty minutes. An hour, tops. Just enough time to calm down before saying something unforgivable.

Not... whatever this was.

Not you refusing to talk to him altogether. Not sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. Not acting like the two of you were suddenly strangers trying to rethink your entire relationship.

The breakfast went untouched.

So did the small pout on his face.

You didn’t even let him sit beside you when he tried to talk.

He ended up sleeping on the couch.

The next day was fucking miserable. His mood was awful, and everyone in the manor could feel it hanging in the air.

Grayson didn’t act like this. Even with his half-assed “I’m fine,” it was obvious he was anything but.

And when he finally got back to the apartment that night, exhausted and emotionally wrung out, he went straight for the bed, practically collapsing on top of you like he needed the contact to survive.

You pushed at him weakly, nowhere near as firmly as you had the past few days.

He let out this quiet, bitter little laugh but still refused to let go.

“Baby, stop,” he mumbled softly.

Even when you tried to shove him off again, he just held you tighter, burying his face against your neck like he was starving for you.

“Please,” he whispered, completely drained.

JASON TODD

Jason could be such a fucking asshole sometimes — selfish, cold, always running his mouth before thinking twice. It was easier for him to let people hate him than let them get close enough to actually understand him.

Not that he acted that way around kids or women. Around them, he kept himself restrained. Distant. But the second he felt cornered — exposed in any way — those sharp looks and cruel words came out like second nature.

A defense mechanism. The only one he’d ever really had.

You knew that.

You knew about his mother leaving him behind like he was nothing. Knew how, for one brief moment, Bruce Wayne had made him feel wanted — safe — only for Jason to end up feeling abandoned all over again.

Trust didn’t come easy to him. Neither did vulnerability. Loving you probably scared the hell out of him.

So instead of fighting back, you swallowed the hurt along with your pride. You waved your hand dismissively, avoiding his eyes as you muttered a quiet, “Forget it,” before turning around and walking away.

And somehow, that felt worse.

Jason swallowed thickly as he watched you leave.

You didn’t yell at him. Didn’t demand an apology. Didn’t ask him to take back a single thing he’d said.

You just… left.

Like you were tired.

After everything he’d thrown at you, all you wanted was for him to forget it.

But he couldn’t.

Because after that, something changed.

You still talked to him. Still answered when he spoke. But there was distance in you now — something careful, almost detached — and Jason noticed every second of it.

It made his chest ache.

And, if he was being honest, it scared him enough to make him paranoid.

TIM DRAKE

This time, the fight started over something stupid.

You’d turned off Tim’s alarm so he could finally rest on his day off. In your head, it was a small act of care — something gentle.

Tim didn’t see it that way.

He had deadlines, reports, a million things waiting for him, and when he woke up hours later, disoriented and exhausted, the soft good morning kisses you pressed against his face quickly turned into frustration.

“No, because this isn’t about whether I should rest or not,” he snapped, shoving himself out of bed. “It’s about the fact that you don’t get to interfere with my work. You don’t get to decide when I stop.”

You frowned, trying not to react to the sharpness in his voice. “Tim, you hadn’t slept in two days.”

“Yeah? And just because you don’t have the same responsibilities I do doesn’t mean you get to make choices for me.”

The words hit harder than he intended.

Your expression changed immediately. Hurt. Shocked.

“Tim.”

But he was already too angry, too exhausted, too worked up to stop himself.

“Mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine.”

And after that, neither of you were exactly kind to each other.

The argument ended with Tim slamming the front door hard enough to shake the walls.

The second he got into the car, regret settled heavy in his chest.

Because Tim overthought everything.

Every failed relationship. Every mistake. Every moment where he’d been too distant, too busy, too emotionally unavailable. The thought looped endlessly in his head until he felt sick with it.

You’re ruining this too. You’re going to lose them too.

By the time he sat down in front of his computer, he couldn’t focus on a single thing. His leg bounced anxiously under the desk while his mind tortured him with scenario after scenario of you getting tired of him. Leaving him. Finding someone softer. Easier to love.

Someone better.

The anger faded quickly, leaving behind only exhaustion and this horrible, crushing sadness.

So when he finally came home hours later, all that was left of his pride was exhaustion.

Quietly, almost nervously, Tim slipped into bed beside you.

He turned toward you carefully, watching your face in the dim light for a second with this small, hopeful look in his eyes. Like maybe if he stayed close enough, you’d roll over and pull him into your arms. Maybe you could both pretend the fight never happened until morning.

But you didn’t move.

You just turned your back to him.

And suddenly the room felt unbearably cold.

Tim bit down hard on his lip the second he felt tears gathering in his eyes, embarrassed by how fast they came. Still, he couldn’t stop them. They slid silently down his cheeks while he stared at your back, trying not to make a sound.

When you still didn’t turn around, the quiet sniffles eventually broke into shaky, uneven crying.

Because that was the moment it really hit him.

You weren’t going to comfort him this time.

Please.

Please kiss his swollen eyes and tell him you’re still here.

DAMIAN WAYNE

To everyone’s surprise, Damian Wayne was actually a good boyfriend.

It sounded absurd to anyone who only knew him from a distance. With the way he carried himself — sharp tongue, permanent scowl, an attitude that pushed people away before they could even try getting close — nobody expected him to be soft with someone he loved.

But he was.

Painfully so.

Damian was romantic in a way that caught you off guard. Quietly sentimental. The kind who noticed insignificant details you'd mentioned months before.

There was something unbearably delicate hidden beneath all that hostility.

And little by little, you had managed to reach it.

You peeled back every layer he tried so desperately to hide behind until you finally touched the vulnerable parts of him nobody else got to see.

At first, it felt like a victory.

Like warmth blooming inside your chest.

Being trusted by Damian Wayne felt sacred. Intimate. You thought you understood him now — the things he feared, the things he buried, the things he struggled to say out loud.

You were wrong.

Because somehow, Damian always found a way to shut you back out again.

One wrong moment, one careless outburst, and suddenly every wall you thought you’d broken down was standing taller than before.

You pressed your lips together tightly, forcing yourself not to say something impulsive.

The silence in his bedroom felt horrible.

Cold.

Suffocating.

“What’s wrong, Damian?”

He didn’t answer.

“Damian,” you tried again, irritation slipping into your voice this time.

The entire day had been fine. More than fine, actually. He’d left his classes early just to spend time with you. You’d gone out to eat together, watched a movie back at the manor, stayed curled up against each other for hours.

And then suddenly he changed.

Short answers. Dismissive looks. Ignoring you whenever you spoke.

The worst part was that he’d done it in front of your friends.

Having your boyfriend act cold and irritated toward you in front of your classmates was humiliating.

“I already told you. Nothing.”

“Then why are you talking to me like this?” you asked, frustration finally bubbling over. “If something upset you, how am I supposed to fix it if you won’t talk to me? We’re together, Damian. We’re supposed to work things out.”

He laughed quietly under his breath, but there was nothing amused about it.

“God, you’re irritating.”

You stared at him silently.

And there it was again.

That look.

Distant. Closed off. Like he’d shoved you outside the walls all over again.

“Do you genuinely believe something is wrong with me?” he asked mockingly. “I have far more important matters to deal with.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“Fine.”

The second the word left your mouth, Damian hesitated.

Barely.

But you noticed it.

“What?” you asked flatly.

You grabbed your backpack from the floor and walked toward the door of his room.

Damian watched you the entire time without speaking.

Because what was he supposed to say?

That he hated how your friends interrupted the date the second things started feeling intimate? That it bothered him watching you laugh with them while he sat there feeling invisible? That he’d wanted your attention to himself for once?

It was supposed to be his time with you.

His moment.

The bedroom door shut softly behind you.

And suddenly the room felt unbearably empty.

Damian sat down at the edge of the bed slowly, his chest tightening with every passing second until it became difficult to breathe. His eyes burned.

You hadn’t even tried to stop him from pushing you away this time.

You just left.

Eventually, he collapsed face-first onto the mattress, burying himself beneath the blankets like hiding would somehow make the ache in his chest disappear.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there.

Minutes. Maybe hours.

At some point, he grabbed his phone.

Your chat was still open.

Damian stared at your contact silently while his thumb hovered over the call button. His stomach twisted painfully with nerves.

Call them. Don’t call them. Call them.

Before he could think too hard about it, he pressed the button.

The ringing nearly made him sick.

Once. Twice.

By the third ring, you answered.

“Hello?”

Damian froze.

Your voice was soft. Careful.

And suddenly, all at once, the anger drained out of him, leaving behind nothing but this awful ache in his chest.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Because right then, curled up alone in his bed with tears stinging his eyes, Damian could only think one thing:

Who was he without you?

BRUCE WAYNE

Why are you arguing with this man? Leave the old man alone; he has enough problems already.

• I admit it, I just wanted to write about Tim being a whiny crybaby. oc tim (?

Also, as you know, I don't speak English and it's translated thanks to technology :) I've had this in drafts for months ()