#detective comics

[mantisdepot]

Forever and ever

[oifaaa]

I only just realised I didnt post this

[itriedimhighandstillreadytodie]

[qifreythebitch]

for some reason middle aged comic fans coming on the internet to defend their decision as to why they thought a twelve year old should have died or lived is so funny 😭😭😭

[solisstars]

bruce wayne x pregnant!reader

"sweetheart, are you sure you don't want to wear a different coat?" bruce asked. he had been trailing behind you as you tore both closets apart in pursuit of warmth.

you had decided on his navy coat. the one with italian-imported cashmere, hand stitched hemming, and too many visits to the tailor for alterations. you'd sworn up and down it was "so extra" when he first commissioned it.

"no, i do not, honey." you replied, a tad bitterly.

stubbornness. that was great.

bruce tried to keep the edge out of his voice, "what about that jacket you bought in–"

"none of mine fit me." you snapped, slipping the coat on. "maybe you should have put more thought into that before getting me pregnant, bruce."

"that's..." bruce let out a long sigh as he rubbed his temple. he gave a moment's consideration to his words before he spoke again, "y/n. i love when you wear my clothes, you know this. it's just..maybe we should look for a different coat? that color doesn't really go with your outfit anyways. fault of the coat of course."

"i don't care if the coat matches my outfit or not! i'm about to have a baby in like three weeks. so long as something fits and is warm, fashion is the least of my worries."

bruce's jaw worked for a moment before he let out a small disbelieving laugh, "baby, you cared yesterday.."

"yes, well, that was yesterday." you muttered as you shoved your hands into each respective pocket of the coat.

bruce visibly winced, which you raised your eyebrows at.

"if you're hiding your burner phone in here, you should have found a better–" the words died on your tongue as your fingers closed around something small in one of the pockets. you glanced at bruce.

he stared back with a small grimace on his face, his lips pursed into a thin line.

you pulled the little object out before staring at it.

a square...box.

oh.

oh.

a ring box. in your favorite color.

you let out a gasp as you hurriedly looked back at bruce. he stared at the box for a moment more, an "oh well" expression blossoming across his features.

bruce met your eyes finally. "i was going to get a different box–"

you made haste shoving the box back into the jacket pocket before he could completely begin his tangent. "maybe we should look for another coat," you said, slipping it off and handing it off to him.

bruce smiled as he took the coat back from you, holding back a laugh, "you think?"

"yeah. this one doesn't go with my outfit."

note: bruce wayne who can't keep his soon-to-be-wife out of the loop for long, so he immediately starts spilling every thought he's had and every step he's taken during the proposing process to her the moment she finds out 🥹

[mayhemi]

⌗ HARDER !

── (18+) in which big strong redhood makes you choke him during sex! ꨄ︎ ; unprotected p in v, breathplay, cowgirl position, praise, pet names (baby)

JASON TODD who insists you choke him during sex.

it happened accidentally— your hand resting against his throat while riding him, pressing down a little too hard against the hot, flushed skin, and not noticing until he suddenly spoke up.

"you fuckin' choking me?" he makes a noise between a scoff and a groan, voice low and gravely, breaking you out of your pleasure induced trance. your hand flies away like you've been burned, your hips faltering in their desperate bouncing movement on his cock. "ohgod–" your eyes widen, "jay- m'so sorry baby" you rake your eyes over his body for any sign of discomfort, did you hurt him? is he okay? did he--

"i didn't say stop."

it catches you off-guard, that gruff voice telling you to do something to him rather than the other way around. his large, calloused palms meet the fat of your hips, directing your movements so that his cock starts plunging in and out of your sopping cunt once again. he's amused, watching your brows furrow softly in confusion and pleasure, a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

"cmon, baby" he gives your ass a slap, enough to have your velvet heat fluttering around him. "you're not dumb, are you?" he speaks so casually, taking entertainment in the way you can't decide what to do. you shake your head hesistantly, earning a low, soft chuckle from him. "yeah, you're a smart girl..." he trails off, taking your hands in his and bringing them to rest against his neck. "just press down, s'all you gotta do" he reassures you, practically cooing at you to strangle him.

and what can you do when he's looking at you like that-- eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-swollen and bitten, his face tinted a pretty pink, expression one of pure hunger, except for wrap your fingers around his throat and squeeze.

the smirk on his face falters, his face twisting in pleasure when you start bouncing on his dick again, lewd plap plap plap! sounds filling the room, your hands around his neck an added stimulation. you tighten your fingers where they rest around his throat, feeling the muscle and tendons underneath his skin. the hitch of his breath as that pressure increases.

"there ya' go" he wheezes out a string of praises, what's left of his breath fanning over your hot skin. his cock is practically impaling you, your orgasm building unusually quick low in in your tummy at the sight of him. the veins are popping on his forehead, skin a deep, beet red from the blood flooding his head.

his eyes are half-lidded, like he's about to pass out. his hips bucking up into your heat speak for him though, he's right where he wants to be.

you could laugh at this if he wasn't so deep that you could feel him in your throat, your big, burly boyfriend being choked by someone nearly half his size. you're barely scratching the surface of "hurting him".

his mind is clouded with arousal, he's so dizzy that all he can focus on is you-- how beautiful you look cutting off his air, and how good you feel wrapped around his shaft, a creamy white base of slick forming at the base of his cock from just how long the two of you have been fucking. how did he get so lucky with a girl like you?

he chokes out a raspy groan when your thumb presses down harder on his airway, the exact thing that sends him over the edge. you cum together, because god, it's hot knowing jason todd is a masochist, that you abusing him is enough for him to cum quicker than he ever has.

"oh fuck--! baby--" his name comes out in a cry, tearing from your throat as your pussy clenches around him, leading you to forget that you're still controlling your boyfriends air intake.

as for jason, he simply cannot make any noise, because of the two hands not allowing him to, except for a low, wheezing groan, while his load inside of you-- hot and sticky pulsing into your womb. he never signals for you to let up though, he wouldn't dare to tap out.

when you finally pull away, you watch him sputter at the sudden abundance of air, clearing his throat and letting that cocky smile take its place back on his face.

there's remnants of your hands— dark purple fingerprints blooming beautifully on the sides of his neck. you wish he could see, because you know he would get hard all over again from the prospect of his girl marking him up.

the bruises almost look like hickeys, something far more vanilla than what he just had you do to him.

he doesn't pull out, simply coaxes you down to rest against his broad chest, pressing soft kisses to your hairline like he's the one who should apologize.

"fuck-- we gotta start doin' that more" he's still catching his breath, chest heaving up and down. you can't exactly tell what he means by "more", if he'll make you choke him, or if he'll choke you.

either way, you're not complaining.

© mayhemi 2026. do not claim my work as your own, and do not feed my content into ai systems.

[angelmurmur]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ damian wayne x reader

damian wayne who always finds a reason to touch you.

damian despises pda. he’s too proud and too disciplined to let anyone but you witness him being even slightly soft. however, when the two of you are alone and in the comfort of each other’s presence, every rule he has about showcasing affection fades away.

if he’s handing you something, even a mere water bottle, he’ll extend his arm a fraction more than necessary just to ensure that your fingers brush his during the exchange. the touch is featherlight—so light that it could be excused as a simple accident, but you both know the truth.

in the same way, you could trip over a cable or a loose rug and he’ll place a hand on your waist to steady you, muttering a low, “watch your step, habibti.” even though you don’t need it, his hand will stay for a beat longer, as if reassuring himself that you’re still there and still safe.

if you were to point it out?

“there was simply an eyelash on your face,” after he cradles your cheek with his hand, lightly brushing your skin with his thumb like you’re something that belongs in a highly guarded museum.

“it was blocking your eyesight. it’s a hazard,” when he ever so softly tucks the thinnest, least hazardous strand of hair behind your ear.

of course, he’ll never admit it. whenever you try to tease him about it, he’ll tell you that you’re reading too much into it, but the tips of his ears always tint the faintest red.

it’s not in an obsessive way, like he just has to touch you to show control or stake a claim. instead, it’s as though you have some sort of magnetic pull on him, one he could never resist if he wanted to. a pull that makes him long for the warmth of you, and he can only fulfill that longing with light brushes of skin in private.

yet, somehow, the subtle touches and quick grazes mean more to both of you than any public gesture ever could.

[classygumi]

jason todd never sits correctly the first time.

no matter where it is—restaurants, manor, home, benches—he cannot get it right the first time. his back, slightly hunched from months of being chained to that forsaken wheelchair, made him stiff and uncomfortable often times.

and he knows what it does to you.

the subtle lift of his hips, the way his thighs flex as he shifts around to get comfortable. he sees the way you try not to stare, the flush in your skin and the way your pupils dilate almost instantly.

especially in his suit.

the cargo pants that hugged him in all the right places, the stretch of the fabric over this lap and his thighs that spread immediately. he’d hang his arms over his legs, hips shifting downward. he’d press his back flush against the back of whatever he was sitting on, enticing eyes just swirling with amusement as the less-than-discreet glances you were giving him.

jason, at some point, had began to weaponize it in his favor.

if you were upset with him, he’d sit across from you. you’d cross your arms and watch him lift his hips, back sliding against the cushion as his legs spread wide. he’d tilt his head, a quiet invitation—a choice, not a demand.

he’d grin so arrogantly when you’d cave, climbing onto his lap and kissing that stupid smirk off his face. his hands would find your hips, adjusting you to sit directly on him.

“i hate you,” you’d mutter, feeling the way his hips shifted and his thighs flexed beneath you.

“yeah, sweetheart? tell me how much.”