gun batman Tim goes back in time to do another evil plot and somehow ends up with thst timeliness Tim Drake tied up and sobbing while Gun batman fucks him with a gun (lol) to prep Tim to take his cock
Selfcest is underrated and I truly think Timmy would have a kink based around being sexually assaulted that he exploits to get in bed with his younger/past self.
Though it's made very awkward when he goes back to his time and is still evil, but now with a child apprentice who looks just like him (he impregnated himself)
Even better if it's not just Gun BM but also the evil version of Young justice and maybe they have all the younger versions of themselves and it's a big ole orgy...
i mean tim wouldn't be able to impregnate /himself/ but since you mentioned evil yj tooooooo 👀
i think evil gun batman tim should fuck timmy with a gun like that and then let kon have his way with him while he watches 🥰🥰 and plays with timmy too 🥰
Vivid Image of gunbatman tim kissing timmy while kon fucks into him from behind, using timmy like hes a big fleshlight. gbm tim tells kon to tell timmy how pretty he is, how tight he is, how fast hes gonna knock him up- and kon says it all, even building off what gbm tim says and going the extra mile- tells timmy that he always thought about bending him over back when he thought tim was being annoying- had many a day dream about fucking the condescending tone right out of him
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Tim Drake/Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Clark Kent, Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson, Ra's al Ghul/Tim Drake, Tim Drake/Roy Harper, Tim Drake/Zachary Zatara, Tim Drake/Tim Drake
Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Clark Kent, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Kon-El, Dick Grayson, Ra's al Ghul, Roy Harper, Zachary Zatara
Summary:
Tim/10 other people, including himself.
(The multiverse is a wonderful thing.)
50 sentences, 5 to each pairing.
-Person with the most perfect Mustache you've ever seen-
*Strokes it* Trick or Treat my fine lady
*squinting* that’s a very fine mustache you have there, dear, but I SWEAR I’ve seen your face before
hmmm… well. while there are still several ideas hidden in my documents for some reason I feel compelled to give you my OTHER idea I had for my dear friend @deepwithintheabyss
jumping into this one without a lot of worldbuilding to try and curb the length dfghjk also this is a little rough/messy… i’d love to flesh it out a little more perhaps. call this a first draft version haha
It’s not until after Zatara has left that Tim gets to process how odd all of this is.
Alvin and he stand across from each other in Tim’s living room. It’s almost like looking in a mirror—both of them dressed in the same loose sweats, the same ratty Gotham Knights sweatshirt.
Alvin tilts his head. “So… are we going to fuck?”
Tim chokes. “What?” Of all the questions he could have broken the silence with—
“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” Alvin’s lips twitch. “I know better.”
If Tim is always this smug-looking when he’s right about something, he can understand why Steph says he has a ‘punchable’ face. “You don’t have to be so blunt about it,” he grouses.
His objection is mostly on principle. In a world of alternate universes and time travel (proven multiple times over now, Bruce), it’s hard not to consider, to think about, what might happen if Tim was faced with another version of himself. Hell—Tim has met another him. Though, granted, that meeting didn’t go particularly well.
But. There was always the possibility of meeting another him, someone who wasn’t a fascist asshole. Someone, well—
Someone more like Alvin.
A magical doppelganger, created by an artifact related to Tim’s latest case. A perfect copy of him, down to his last memory at the time of creation. It answered a lot of questions Tim had—but more immediately… it opened up entire realms of possibilities.
Alvin steps closer, and then closer still, until they're almost touching. “Do you really want to keep arguing?” His voice is low. Husky. Tim has heard himself sound like that before, but always—always from inside his own head.
No. No he doesn’t.
But Alvin knows that already.
There is no hiding from him, Tim realizes. Alvin knows him better than anyone ever has—or ever will.
The thought is equal parts terrifying and thrilling.
Rather than answer, Tim steps even closer, crossing the distance between them. He tangles his fingers in the hairs at the back of Alvin’s neck, gripping his nape. Their mouths crash together, both of them making the same soft sound. They almost harmonize. Tim feels his belly tighten—his nipples harden, rubbing against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt. He shivers, his skin tingling.
Alvin’s hands slip under his shirt. Tim gasps. Alvin’s fingers are cool against his skin; his grip steady, firm.
The slide of their lips is slow, unhurried. It’s good. Not the best kiss Tim has ever had—their lips are chapped in just the right way to catch against each other. But… even despite that, it stokes the steady warmth growing in his belly, making him sigh against Alvin’s mouth. He gives into the urge to lick into Alvin’s mouth and Alvin lets him, slackening his mouth so Tim can lick into him and taste.
Alvin tastes like nothing at all.
It would be disappointing if it the reason why wasn’t so thrilling. Of course Alvin’s mouth doesn’t taste like anything—it’s Tim’s mouth.
His grip tightens in Alvin’s hair. Alvin moans. He sucks on Tim’s tongue, pulling an echo of the sound from his own chest. He steps forward, slotting his leg between Alvin’s. His thigh presses against his groin. He can feel the shape of Alvin’s cock, hot and half-hard, through their sweats. It makes his mouth water. He swallows—Alvin’s tongue chases his back into his mouth as his hips roll, grinding against Tim’s thigh and groaning. His nails bite into the skin of Tim’s waist, and Tim gasps.
“A-ah—” He has to break the kiss to pant.
Alvin takes the opportunity to bury his face in Tim’s neck, biting at the delicate skin there. Tim is sure that he’s leaving bruises. It’s something he loves on a good day, but the idea that the bruises would match the shape of his own mouth—
“Fuck,” he says, his twitching, cock rutting against nothing, nothing at all.
In all of his elaborate fantasies, Tim had never imagined rutting against his doppelganger like he’s still a teenager. But now that it’s happening—
Why not?
Why not get off just like this?
Like Alvin is thinking the same thing—and fuck, he probably is, because they’re the same—he slots his own leg between Tim’s. They’re tangled together, pressed so close they’re almost one person.
Alvin bites—Tim shouts, his hips stuttering forward, and moans breathlessly when this time, he meets the hard muscle of Alvin’s thigh, the friction sending a wave of feeling skittering over his nerves. He pulls at Alvin’s hair, good and hard, the way he knows makes his nipples feel tight, his scalp tingle. His other hand drops down to Alvin’s ass, gripping the swell of it, pulling him forward to rub against Tim’s thigh.
Alvin gasps, moans. He scratches at Tim’s back, his waist, and abruptly, Tim needs to be naked. He lets go of Alvin to grab the hem of his sweatshirt and pull it off, over his head. He tosses it aside carelessly. Nothing crashes, so wherever it landed is probably fine. Alvin makes a soft, eager noise, then he follows suit.
They’re identical, of course. Lean and wiry and covered with a dark dusting of hair, thickest at his belly. Scars litter their skin—some of which only they can see, too faded for anyone else to find without serious exploration. There’s a mole next to one of his nipples. Tim’s only really ever seen it in the mirror before; it’s too far down for him to pay much attention to when he’s lying in bed, touching himself.
Right now—
Right now, it’s like his vision has narrowed down to it, and he shoves—gently—at Alvin, until his knees hit the back of the couch. Alvin lets himself fall, lets Tim crash on top of him, gripping at his shoulders while Tim trails a rough, wet path from his neck to his chest. His knees hit the floor. Alvin’s legs lock around his middle, ankles crossing at his back.
He knows just how to touch himself… with his hands. With his mouth—
With his mouth it’s clumsier, messier. He doesn’t know quite how roughly he can bite, how hard he can suck. But he figures it out, letting the gasps and moans Alvin makes guide him. Alvin’s fingers find his hair. He tugs, that perfect way that Tim likes, and he moans. His hips rut forward, against the couch.
He feels dizzy with want.
It reminds him of his task, just a few moments ago. He pulls off of Alvin’s nipple and shucks his pants. The position makes it awkward, clumsy. He would feel embarrassed if he didn’t know that Alvin was just as messed up as he is.
He reaches for Alvin’s pants next. Alvin’s belly tenses, showing off the muscles in his abdomen as he lifts his hips, letting Tim slide them over the swell of his ass and then down his legs. Tim doesn’t bother with their socks, climbing back up to plaster himself against Alvin instead. They move, the two of them, until they’re horizontal; Alvin lying under him, his head propped up slightly on one of Tim’s throw pillows. The other one is kicked to the floor. He can feel Alvin’s cock against his belly, hard and hot and leaking precum.
Alvin looks up at him, his face flushed, his eyes dark, hazy. This is what Tim looks like when he’s having sex. His cock pulses. He needs— He needs to see what he looks like when he comes.
He holds his hand up to Alvin’s face. He doesn’t have to say what he wants—Alvin knows, licking over Tim’s palm, holding his gaze as he does. Tim’s mouth is dry.
As soon as his hand is wet, he shoves it between their bodies, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks. They moan in perfect unison; the exact same breathless, desperate pitch. Tim starts slow, smearing spit and precum over their cocks until the glide is slick and smooth. Then he speeds up.
If he was masturbating alone, he would alternate between slow and fast; keep himself hovering over the edge until it was almost too much to take. Then, and only then, he would let himself cum.
Later, he’d be more than happy to test both of their limits. To act out every filthy fantasy they’ve ever had, but never had anyone else to to try it with.
Right now, though—
Right now, he’s getting an outsider’s perspective of his own orgasm and he wants nothing more than to see it through. So he does, hitting that perfect speed, that perfect tightness, twisting his wrist—pulling out all of the stops until he can almost taste his peak. Alvin writhes under him. He claws at Tim’s back, leaving streaks of red over the smooth skin there. Tim will look at them later; compare the spread of his fingers to them and flush at the idea that anyone else would look at him and think he’d found some random hook-up to take home.
Only Tim would know the truth.
Well.
Tim and Alvin.
“C’mon,” he whispers. “C’mon, baby—wanna—I wanna see you cum.” He shifts slightly, bracing more of his weight on his knees. He gets his other hand involved, then; tugging and twisting at his nipples, starting with the neglected one from earlier, the one without the mole.
Alvin grips Tim’s shoulders so tightly Tim is sure he’s drawn blood, and then—
He arches, mouth opening, panting their abdomens in white. Tim barely refrains from following him over the edge—staying as present as he can as he drinks in every detail. It’s not the same as watching himself on video. Even his highest definition camera can’t capture the rush of blood under Alvin’s skin, the glisten of sweat on his skin, the way his eyes move under the lids and his lashes flutter against his cheeks.
He gentles his hand, stroking Alvin until he collapses against the couch, chest heaving as he pants. He looks up at Tim with hazy eyes—his expression lazy, fucked-out. If Tim cared to psychoanalyze himself, he’s sure he could think of several interesting notes about the way he leans down to capture Alvin’s lips in a kiss.
Tim isn’t interested in digging that deeply.
Not this time.
Alvin only lets the slow, lazy kiss continue for a few minutes before he threads a hand in Tim’s hair and tugs him off. His lips curve upward, and then his legs tangle with Tim. He’s suspended in the air for one breathless moment before his back hits the couch, knocking the remaining air out of his lungs.
“Your turn now.” Alvin’s voice curls around the words in a low, dark promise.
Tim shudders, arching into his touch.
He can probably get away with taking a few days off. If anyone asks— He can just tell them it’s for science.
AU where Tim from an alternative universe somehow ends up in Gotham, let's call him AltTim so we don't get confused. AltTim has longer hair and a slightly different costume to Tim but they're basically the same person. Sure there are differences in their personalities, but they're not very noticeable and the way they carry themselves is the same too.
Tim is the first to find out, and in true Tim fashion, doesn't tell the others. He needs to observe this other Tim, inspect, take notes. AltTim understands the process and let's Tim do whatever he needs to do.
X-rays, bio scans, blood draws, physical inspection.
Safe to say, the inspection goes a little too far and they get sidetracked.
AltTim sits shirtless on a gurney, Tim running his fingers over the scars carved into his skin. Some of them similar to his own, others different. There's a story behind each one. Of their similarities, of their differences.
They look the same, they sound the same, they think almost the same. The scars show the slightly different lives they've lead.
Tim takes his own shirt off to compare scars. AltTim tells him stories about some of the more interesting scars. They laugh at the same jokes, they share the same sense of humour.
"yeah, no one else got that joke back home. I was given concerned stares ha, but you get it".
Okay, but seeing this post again, makes me crave an actual Tim/Robin plot. Example setup: mostly-civilian!Tim, never-died!Jason AU where Tim is still worried about Batman's violence when Robin disappears (Jason seriously injured by the Joker) and essentially occasionally fills in as a part-time Robin but lives a much more normal life whenever Jason has the job, which is most of the time.
Anyway, Pie (or someone) walks in on half-naked Tim with the Robin suit in the background and the rumor takes off about him being involved with Robin, and Tim is mortified that he managed to let the costume be seen, but then quickly starts thinking about the concept of sleeping with himself. The bigger the rumors get, the more fuel for the fire is available online - he's used to Robin RPF existing, but Tim Drake RPF is a whole new ballgame, as is reading fics that are essentially selfcest of himself. He feels like he's losing his mind the more he reads these, but the appeal is undeniable.
It all lasts right up until Jason is back from his long mission and Tim is relieved of duty. Hanging up the Robin suit doesn't completely kill the fantasy, but it does put a damper on things as he goes back to focusing on his public life. Jason (and Bruce, who was also out of town) doesn't actually hear the "Drake Heir Bagged Robin??" news immediately, and when he first hears, he's rightfully pissy about Tim's negligence. When he gets over it, Jason bullies Tim good-naturedly about blowing the whole "secret identity" thing, then without noticing it, crosses over into flirting with Tim about blowing other things too. Possessed of enough self-awareness to eventually catch himself doing it, Jason starts fantasizing about sleeping with Tim, Robin, himself. And flustered by Jason's advances that have abruptly cut off, it finally occurs to Tim that he could actually sleep with himself, Robin, Jason.
This of course only gets worse when Jason is then caught half naked with the Robin suit in view.
@the-overanalyzer i like TimBin over Robathy bc it makes me think of bin chickens, garbage bins, etc.
aka it evokes the seedy area behind a dumpster, on top of a cheap garbage bag that’s split on the side and has something foul leaking out of it, which is the most likely place one would find Tim getting railed by Robin, holding onto the garbage bag that’s pressing into his naked skin for dear life and begging for more as his face is pushed into the freshly urine-stained brick wall, with a couple homeless folks watching from where they’re curled up under their blankets ten feet away, jacking it furiously to get one off before the show ends
