𝒯𝒾𝓂ℯ 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒶 𝓈𝓅ℯ𝓁𝓁 ℴ @danielaani - Tumblr Blog

Allowing himself to lose

Summary: How Jason takes care of you when you've had a little too much fun!

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 0.7k

Content Warning: fluff, slice of life, drunk/tipsy!reader, reader has hair, domestic jason, no use of y/n, not beta read

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY JASON PETER TODD, it's my husband's birthday😝 i cooked this up because this was very much what i needed last night, as always i hope you enjoy :)

danielaani

I NEED JASON TODD

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood fluff #jason todd imagine

vixenalcott

something more. part one: mrs magic.

summary: the first time you and jason met. (you two are in hs)

notes: hii! i’m still improving soooo..enjoy! (yes, that is a pride and prejudice reference at the end)

something more masterlist.

danielaani

I am in LOVE with your writing style!!

snailandbee

hello!! i love ur writing sm... i was wondering if i could request damian wayne x spidey!reader 👀

Hey, baby, won’t you look my way?

Aged up! Damian Wayne x Spidey! Reader

I got u bae and I made the reader pretty gender neutral but kind of leaning on the feminine side

Yo this got a bit angsty but don’t worry it’s mostly fluff

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ You and Damian met when he was in his civilian persona. He was caught in the middle of a mugging he was about to deal with before you swooped in, webbed the perpetrators to a wall, and then proceeded to pick him up and swing him away from the crime scene.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ It was a very interesting first impression for him. Meeting the infamous web slinging vigilante that has recently shown up in Gotham made him determined to find out your secret identity. So of course he tried to find you in the bat computer just to find nothing.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ So like any normal person he started basically stalking you as Robin well to be fair it’s normal in his family. He thought you were just a quippy and almost full of your self hero but he soon realized you weren’t like that at all. He saw you save cats, children, and anyone who needed help. Even saw you help a kid track down their lost dog.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ You of course knew he was following or that at least someone was so you made it a point to never go home or take of your mask until your senses tell you they are gone.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ That all comes crashing down one day when you are badly injured by one of your villains and you find out the person following you was Robin. He swoops in to save you and you give him the directions to your apartment. You tell him you know he was following you and he asks why you didn’t try to stop him and all you say is “I didn’t sense danger from you”.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ After that you both become close friends and Damian realizes just how lonely you actually are and how you put all of yourself into your hero work leaving little for yourself out of the mask.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ The grand reveal of both of your identities is actually not that big. Just a quiet night where you tell him your troubles and he offers to take off him mask with yours. You recognize him as the person you saved that one day and he recognizes you as the spidey of his dreams.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ You both date soon after that night and you both help each other with realizing you both aren’t monsters but human.

danielaani

I love!!!

#x reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #damian al ghul x reader #damian wayne x gn!reader #spidey!reader #spider person #fanfic

fluentmoviequoter

robin's in a web!

Pairing: Tim Drake x fem!spidey!reader

Summary: Tim is aware that a vigilante known as Spider is beloved by New York, and that his girlfriend cancels a lot of dates. When he finds Spider unconscious in a Gotham alley, he begins questioning what he knows both about the vigilante and his girlfriend.

Warnings/Word Count: r's hero name is Spider, brief angst, injuries, banter, fluff, comfort, Spider-Man 2099 appearance & references. 3.7k+ words, requested

A/N: I have very little practice writing for Tim, so apologies if he's OOC! I love him, though, and I plan to write more for him in the future!!

Masterlist | DC Masterlist | Request Info | Taglist Sign-Up

danielaani

GAHHH I FOUND ONE🤩🤩

#tim drake x reader #hanna writes✯#tim drake x you #tim drake fic #tim drake x fem!reader #spidey!reader #tim drake #tim drake x y/n

fawnindawn

web me home.

summary: peter’s new arachnid senses often leave him disoriented—hibernating and waking up in places he doesn’t recognise. it’s a small problem, one he's willing to deal with on his own, till he wakes in your apartment with his arms wrapped around you.

pairing: peter parker x reader

content: no bnd movie spoilers (feel free to read if you haven't seen bnd), FLUFF, clingy! peter parker, comfort, light banter, arachnid! peter, peter goes through it, yearning

Peter hates most of the new developments that arrived with the enhanced levels of his arachnid half—and migraines are definitely top of the list. Particularly the ones that start early in the morning, muffling his senses and rendering him a zombie slob for the entire start of the day. He stirs in his sleep, a soft, pounding ache burrowed in the back of his skull. It's an irritating sensation, one he's already grown familiar with, worsening the overheating, the sensitivity that comes with his overloaded senses, the pull of nerves behind his eyeballs.

His nose burrows deeper into a comforting scent, arms tightening around something soft. Letting out a dragged sigh, low against his throat, the pain fades into something barely noticeable. A sort of relaxed relief that hasn't hit him in years, with his entire body growing slack and heavy, the kind that only comes after a restful sleep. One he hasn't achieved since—his gaze peers open, blinking heavily as his eyes adjust to his surroundings.

The first thing he catches sight of is a familiar bundled sight of hair, and the curve of a shoulder. He must be dreaming. The sunlight stings the sensitivity of his eyes, and he blinks harsher in an effort to recollect himself. His brows furrow as he loosens a hand, parting from his tight grip to run his fingers gently over the loosened hair.

He wasn't dreaming. Somehow, he was laying in your bed, hugging you like an oversized koala.

danielaani

SO CUTE

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter x reader #peter parker fluff #spiderman #peter parker x you #mcu spiderman #spiderman brand new day #bnd x reader #spiderman x reader

pomegranatelifethis

Nobody Noticed

They never meant to forget you.

That's what you told yourself, in the beginning. When Bruce came home with reports about Gotham's crime rates spread across the dining table and his eyes passed over you like you were part of the furniture. When Dick ruffled your hair and said "Hey, squirt" on his way to somewhere more important. When Tim looked up from his laptop and said "Yeah, totally, I'll help you with that later" — and later never came.

You told yourself: they're busy. They're saving lives. You're not more important than Gotham.

You believed it for a long time.

---

You were six when Bruce found you.

Your mother was already gone by then — taken in a way that left marks on you that had nothing to do with bruises. You didn't understand all of it, not then. You just knew that the world was dark and cold and that sometimes men could do things that made you feel like you'd never be clean again, even when they hadn't touched you. You'd only watched. Hidden inside the closet, eye pressed to the crack in the door, too small and too terrified to make a sound.

That was your first fear: being trapped somewhere small and dark while something terrible happened and nobody came.

Bruce Wayne looked at you across a sterile hospital room and something moved behind his eyes — recognition, maybe. The shape of a child who had seen too much. He signed the papers three weeks later.

You had a home. You had a father. You had brothers.

For a while, you thought that meant you were safe.

---

Dick was twenty when you arrived, already Nightwing, already brilliant. He smiled at you like sunlight and called you little sister and the first time he did, your chest cracked open with something warm and desperate and enormous. You followed him everywhere. You learned his footsteps. You memorized the way he laughed.

He was kind to you. He just wasn't there. Not really. Not in the way that counted.

Dick existed in flashes — a weekend visit, a quick call, a laugh across the comms. He was the brother who said "I'm so proud of you" without asking what he was proud of. He saw the shape of you, the outline, and he loved that outline genuinely. He just never looked close enough to see what was inside it.

You stopped telling him things when you were nine. He always listened with one eye on his phone.

Tim was different. Tim noticed things — that was his whole thing, observation, deduction, detail. He noticed when Bruce's sleep patterns shifted. He noticed when Damian's training scores dropped two percent. He built files on everything.

He never built one on you.

Not because he didn't care. Because you were never a variable in any equation he was trying to solve. You were just... there. Present. Assumed. Like background noise that didn't require analysis.

You asked him once to help you with your combat assessment. You were twelve, newly suited up, still figuring out your footing. He said "Absolutely, let's do Tuesday." Tuesday came. He forgot. You reminded him. He said "Sorry, this week's bad, next week for sure." Next week came and went. You stopped asking after the fourth time.

What hurt wasn't the forgetting. It was that he never noticed he'd forgotten.

---

Jason.

Jason is a wound that never healed right.

Before he died, he was the one who saw you. Really saw you. He'd find you in the library at two in the morning when you couldn't sleep and he'd sit beside you without asking why, and somehow that was enough. He called you kid but it didn't feel dismissive — it felt like a claim. Like you're mine to look after.

He died when you were eight.

You grieved him in a way you didn't grieve your mother, because with your mother you'd been too small to understand permanence. With Jason you were old enough to know that gone meant gone. You put flowers outside his old room for a year. Bruce told you once, gently, to stop. It upset him.

You stopped.

Jason came back when you were thirteen, angry and sharp-edged and burning with something you didn't have a name for yet. You ran to him. You actually ran, across the cave, heart hammering, because he was alive, he was back, he was—

He stepped around you.

Not deliberately. Or maybe deliberately — you never knew. He looked at Bruce and the look between them was so full of history and fury and grief that there was simply no room for you in it. You stood there with your arms half-extended and slowly let them fall.

He never really came back. Not to you. The Jason who sat with you in libraries was buried in the pit somewhere. This Jason looked through you on a good day and said something cutting on a bad one — "Shouldn't you be in bed?" or "You're in the way" or once, terribly, "You're not actually his daughter, you know. You're just the latest project."

You didn't cry in front of him. You'd learned by then not to cry in front of any of them.

---

Damian arrived like a verdict.

He was Bruce's blood. His actual blood, and you understood immediately — with the cold clarity of a child who had learned to read rooms — what that meant for you. Not consciously. Bruce never said it. Nobody said it. But the shift was there, subtle and tectonic, and you felt it the way you felt changes in weather.

Damian didn't like you. He made that clear within the first week. "You were adopted out of pity," he told you, seven years old and vicious with inherited confidence. "I am a Wayne by birth. There is a difference."

You were thirteen. You already knew there was a difference. You just hadn't wanted to hear it said aloud.

You tried, for years, to reach him. You left his favorite tea outside his door. You covered for him with Bruce twice. Once, when he was injured on a mission and Bruce was unreachable, you sat with him in the med bay for four hours and held his hand when he was too delirious with painkillers to tell you to let go.

The next morning he told you to stay out of his room.

You did.

You became a vigilante at fifteen.

Bruce didn't exactly give you permission. You didn't exactly ask. You trained in the cave when nobody was there — which was often, because the cave was only crowded when there was something important happening, and you had learned you were rarely part of what was important. You built your own suit from components in the supply room that nobody had catalogued yet. You chose a name nobody had claimed.

Your first night out, you stopped a mugging and a convenience store robbery and helped a woman whose car had broken down on the highway find a signal to call for help. Small things. Unglamorous things.

You filed a report in the cave's system. Standard format, the way Tim had shown you once, two years ago, in a moment of actual attention. Case numbers. Location coordinates. Incident details.

Nobody responded.

You filed another one the next week. And the next.

After six months, you stopped filing reports. You just went out and came back and put your suit away and went to bed. Nobody asked where you'd been. Nobody noticed the mileage on the bike.

You had a symbol, a territory, a growing list of informants. You had a reputation in three of Gotham's worst districts. You had solved four cases that had gone cold in the GCPD for years.

The Batfamily did not know your case number. They did not know your informants' names. They did not know about the apartment you'd quietly rented in Crime Alley with the money from your trust fund — not to live in, just to have somewhere that was yours, somewhere your things weren't adjacent to theirs, somewhere you could breathe without waiting to be overlooked.

You were sixteen when you understood that you loved them and that loving them was making you disappear.

---

You tried, once, to say it.

Seventeen years old. Family dinner — one of the rare ones where everyone was present, even Jason, even Dick, even Alfred who watched everything with sad knowing eyes and sometimes touched your shoulder in a way that made you want to collapse.

Bruce was talking about a new lead on Scarecrow's operations. Dick was animated, leaning forward, offering tactical suggestions. Tim had his tablet out despite Alfred's pointed look. Jason was eating with the focused aggression he brought to everything. Damian was correcting Tim's analysis with the particular smugness of someone who knew he was right.

You had information. Relevant information — you'd spent three weeks building a profile on Scarecrow's new chemist, traced his supply chain to a warehouse in the Narrows. You had coordinates. You had a window.

You opened your mouth.

"I actually have—"

"The eastern route makes more sense," Dick said, talking over you without realizing it. "If we split the team into—"

You closed your mouth.

You sat there for the rest of dinner. You passed the bread when it was near you. You answered when Alfred asked if you wanted more water. Nobody else spoke to you directly.

After, you went to your room and sat on the floor with your back against the bed and breathed very carefully for a long time. Not crying. You'd mostly stopped crying by then. Just breathing. Waiting for the feeling to pass.

It passed. It always passed.

That was almost worse.

The accumulation of small things:

Tim promising to spar with you seventeen times over two years and canceling sixteen of them. The seventeenth time he simply didn't show up and when you asked later he said "Oh, was that today? Sorry, I had a thing."

Dick sending you a birthday message three days late with seventeen exclamation points, clearly composed in thirty seconds.

Bruce looking at your patrol report — one of the rare times he actually opened the file — and saying "Good work" with the tone of someone who had not actually read it.

Damian telling a visiting hero that there were "four" Batfamily members when you were standing six feet away.

Jason, once, when you were eighteen and tried to check if he was okay after a bad mission: "I don't need you to babysit me. Go back to playing house with Bruce."

The way none of them ever asked about your fear.

You'd mentioned it once, years ago, to Dick — that small spaces made you cold, that being trapped made your vision go white, that you'd had nightmares since you were six about a closet door and sounds you couldn't stop hearing. He'd said "Oh, that's rough, I'm sorry" and then his phone had rung and that was the end of it.

None of them knew. Not really. Not the shape of it, the weight of it, the way it lived in your chest like a stone.

---

You were nineteen when the Riddler's new syndicate took you.

It wasn't careless on your part. You'd been careful — you were always careful, you'd had to be, operating without a net, without backup, without anyone monitoring your comms. You'd tracked the syndicate for four months. You knew their patterns. You knew their safehouses.

What you didn't know was that they knew yours.

They'd been watching you watch them. Waiting. Patient in the way that only people with something to prove could be patient.

They took you on a Tuesday. Gray sky, cold rain. You were two blocks from your apartment in Crime Alley and then you weren't anywhere you recognized.

---

The room was small.

That was the first thing. That was the thing that split you open before anything else had even happened — the dimensions of it, the closeness of the walls, the single bare bulb, the door with no handle on the inside. The smell of damp concrete and something metallic.

You pressed your back against the wall and breathed.

They'll find me, you thought. They'll notice I'm gone. Bruce will pull up my tracker—

Your tracker was in your suit. Your suit was in your apartment. You'd been taken in civilian clothes.

They'll notice I'm missing from the cave. Tim monitors the system—

Tim had not responded to a single report you'd filed in six months. The system showed your last check-in as four days ago.

Dick will—

Dick didn't know your patrol schedule. Nobody did.

You sat in the small dark room and understood, with a clarity that was almost peaceful, that no one was coming.

Not because they didn't love you. Maybe they did, in the abstract, in the way you love furniture that's always been in a room. But love without attention was just sentiment. Sentiment didn't open doors.

---

They came eventually. Riddler's people, with questions you didn't answer and methods that made the room feel smaller. You held on to what you could. Your name. Your breathing. The memory of a library at two in the morning and a boy who sat beside you without asking why.

That Jason was gone. But the memory wasn't.

You held onto it.

On the third day you stopped counting hours. On the fifth day you stopped being surprised by the pain. Somewhere in there — you couldn't have said exactly when — you stopped waiting.

Not because you gave up, exactly. More because waiting required believing, and you had run out of the particular kind of belief that made waiting possible. You had spent thirteen years waiting to be seen. This was just the last version of the same thing.

You thought about your mother, in the end. Not the way it happened — you didn't let yourself go there. Just her face, which you barely remembered, which had mostly dissolved into impressions: something warm, something that smelled like cedar, something that had loved you before the world got its hands on you.

You thought: at least I know what that felt like.

The bulb flickered. The room was very small. The door did not open.

---

They found your apartment six weeks later.

Tim, actually — following a thread on a case that had nothing to do with you, a lead that happened to pass through Crime Alley and a building registry that happened to have your name on it. He stood in the doorway of the small apartment and looked at your things — the books stacked by the window, the mug on the counter, the suit folded on the table because you'd always been neat, always been careful, always cleaned up after yourself — and something shifted in his face.

He called Bruce.

Bruce came. Then Dick. Then Jason. Damian stayed in the car for a long time before he came upstairs.

They stood in your apartment and looked at your life, the one you'd built without them, the one that had existed in the negative space of their attention. There were case files on the wall. Years of them. Cases solved, territories mapped, informants catalogued. There were notes in your handwriting — careful, precise — cross-referencing their operations with yours. All the times you'd been working parallel to them, unseen.

There was a folder on the table labeled, in your handwriting: Reports — Unfiled.

Dick opened it.

It was everything you'd never said. Not a journal, not a letter — you hadn't written it for them, you'd written it for yourself, the way you wrote everything, because writing was the only place you'd ever been fully heard. Patrol notes. Case summaries. And threaded through them, small and unadorned, the record of being invisible: Tim canceled again. Dick called, didn't ask how I was. Bruce said good work without looking up. Damian said four.

And at the very end, dated two weeks before you disappeared: I think I'm going to stop waiting. Not for them — for anyone. I think I've been waiting my whole life and I'm tired and I think that's okay. I think it's okay to be tired.

I love them. I just don't think they'll notice I'm gone.

Dick sat down on your floor.

Jason stood very still in the doorway of your bedroom for a long time.

They found you three days later. What was left of you.

The Riddler's syndicate had moved on, left no living witnesses, covered their tracks with professional efficiency. The GCPD report was clinical. Bruce read it in the cave at three in the morning with Alfred's hand on his shoulder and did not speak for a very long time.

You had been afraid of small spaces. They had put you in one. They had known — somehow, because you'd never told your family but you'd mentioned it once to an informant who'd been compromised — what you were most afraid of.

You had died in the exact shape of your greatest fear.

Waiting for someone to open the door.

They held a service. Small, private. Alfred cried in the way Alfred cried — quietly, with dignity, with the devastation of someone who had seen this family make the same mistakes over and over and had never been able to stop them.

Nobody said we should have known. That was perhaps the most honest thing.

Dick didn't speak at the service. He'd tried to write something and hadn't been able to finish it. He kept thinking about the phone calls where he hadn't asked how you were. He kept thinking about how he'd loved the shape of you without ever learning the contents.

Tim thought about seventeen canceled sparring sessions. He thought about the reports sitting unread in the system. He thought about how he'd built files on everything — everything except you.

Jason thought about what he'd said. You're not actually his daughter, you know. You're just the latest project. He thought about it with the particular torture of someone who cannot take words back. He thought about a library and two in the morning and a small girl who had run toward him with her arms out and he had walked around her like she wasn't there.

He thought about that for a long time.

Damian stood at the graveside and looked at your name on the stone and thought about a mug of tea left outside his door. He had not thanked you. He had not acknowledged it. He had told you to stay out of his room.

He had been seven. He did not think that excused him.

---

Bruce went back to the cave that night. He opened your file — your real file, the one Tim had built after, pulling together everything, trying too late to see you whole. He read every report. Every case. Every small careful note.

He read the line: I love them. I just don't think they'll notice I'm gone.

He sat in the cave for a long time.

Then he closed the file.

He went upstairs. He stood in the hallway outside your room — your old room, the one you'd kept because you'd never officially moved out, the one with your books and your drawings and your second-best mug because your favorite was in the apartment in Crime Alley. He stood there and he put his hand flat against the door.

He did not open it.

He stood there for a very long time, in the dark, in the quiet.

And then he went to bed.

Because Bruce Wayne had always been better at grieving in retrospect than preventing it. Because the people he failed were always, in the end, the ones already inside the house.

Because you had been right.

They hadn't noticed until you were already gone.

danielaani

someone give me more batfam x neglected reader

#batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #batfam x neglected reader #batfam x neglected!batsis!reader #batfamily x neglected reader #batfamily x y/n #batfamily x batsis!reader #the neglected reader #neglected reader #angst

jaeyss

icarus to the sun // r. grayson

index

xxx. you think you are possessing me but ive got my teeth in you

summary: it was supposed to be a meet cute. it was supposed to be easy. it was supposed to be Kori. it was supposed to, supposedtosupposedtosupposedto- you're beautiful. everyone always tells Dick not to stare directly at the sun. it's too bad he can't stop himself.

[inspired by One Tree Hill]

taglist (closed): @peachmartini @nico707 @kath-is-tired @soulsforsales @flyingcat96 @uxavity @hurtcomfortwhore @marcspectorondeeznuts @asapkeepmerockyyy @coffeebun17 @liabiamiakiawia @mewn1verse @6000-fandoms @littlemisstrashcan @makimakimi @xv-ellie-vx @afterhoursangell @mrs-cactus69 @ficcharsimpsblog @abeoavita @nightwingsleftescrimastick @coastalcowgirlie @neevy @karmaxq @gojoswaterbottle @notanotheroldman @catiwinky @arbolitodenamu @navvvvvi @brucewayneisavirgin @luv-rizzimura @amazingworldofcashew @cecilia-stuff @timdrakesfoot @sonnyssleepingangel @lizzie1grant @bearchermer @kylorensbaby

You stare at the giant menu in front of you, wrinkling your nose as you mull over the endless options.

Dick glances over at you before turning, his hand gently brushing your hair back. “What’s wrong?”

#dick grayson fanfic #dick grayson fic #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson x reader #dick

pinkcanaryy

Nightwing x reader

Summary: you accidently called Nightwing a "good boy". In your defense, you're used to working with dogs..not people!

“C’mon,” you sigh, crouched halfway under the Batmobile while Dick attempts to hand you a wrench that is very obviously the wrong size. “Not that one. The— yeah, there you go. Good boy.”

Silence.

You slide out from beneath the car slowly, confused as to why Dick stopped talking.

Nightwing is frozen.

One knee bent where he’d been crouching, blue eyes blown wide behind the domino mask, wrench still dangling from his fingers like his brain has temporarily disconnected from his motor functions.

Bruce asks, “What exploded?” knowing that the only time his kids were quiet was if someone fucked up.

Dick clears his throat.

Then immediately chokes on absolutely nothing.

“You okay there?” you ask carefully.

“Fantastic,” he says instantly, voice cracking straight through the middle of the word.

Oh no.

Jason, seated nearby cleaning one of his guns, looks up with the slow delight of a man witnessing the beginning of a natural disaster.

“…Did she just call you a good boy?”

Dick points at him violently. “Don’t.”

“OH my God,” Jason breathes, eyes shining. “OH, this is bad.”

“It was a joke,” you say quickly.

Dick nods too fast. “Totally. Obviously. Completely normal joke. Happens all the time.”

“Right,” you agree.

“Totally unaffected.”

“Clearly.”

Dick stands up so abruptly he slams his head directly into the underside of the Batmobile. CLANG.

There’s a beat.

“…Fantastic recovery,” Jason starts.

Dick, still folded in half from the impact, gives a weak thumbs up.

The problem should’ve ended there, and it would've given any normal circumstance. But you work with vigilantes, so your normal is pretty different from most people's.

Nightwing proceeds to lose every remaining shred of composure over the next three weeks.

Not in obvious ways, but Dick Grayson’s problem is that he’s trying very hard to act normal. Which makes him one thousand times worse.

Because suddenly he’s everywhere.

You mention being hungry once? Dick appears holding your favorite takeout sheepishly. You casually say your phone’s about to die? Charger lands in your lap before you finish the sentence. You offhandedly mention liking a sweater in a store window? Three days later it mysteriously appears folded on your bed in Titans Tower with no note except a sticky tab reading:

'saw this :) '

Which would already be suspicious enough. Except every single act of service is followed by this unbearable look on his face. It's that wide-eyed look of hope.

Like he’s waiting for something.

You don’t understand it until the fourth week.

It’s movie night at the Tower. Everyone’s there.

Garfield is upside down on the couch, and Kory is attempting to explain why alien horror films are scientifically inaccurate and this is not how her people act. Tim is asleep sitting upright somehow. Jason’s eating cereal directly from the box with a serving spoon.

Dick walks in carrying snacks for everyone.

“You remembered the chocolate-covered pretzels?” you ask.

Dick brightens instantly. “Yeah.”

You grin. “Aw. Good boy.”

Dick stops moving entirely.

The bowl of popcorn slips from his hands.

Jason drops dead onto the floor laughing before the popcorn even hits the ground.

“Oh my GOD,” he wheezes. “HE LIKES IT.”

“I do not—”

“You practically wagged your tail!”

“I DID NOT WAG ANYTHING.”

Kory tilts her head thoughtfully. “Actually, your posture did become notably more eager.”

Dick looks like he wants the earth to open beneath him.

Garfield is crying laughing into a throw pillow.

Tim wakes up just long enough to mumble, “Knew it,” before immediately falling back asleep.

And you stare at Dick, who is now aggressively avoiding eye contact while turning the color of a fire hydrant. He is suddenly very interested in cleaning up popcorn one kernel at a time, as he mutters, “It’s not my fault,” under his breath like a man on trial.

Oh.

Oh, this is hilarious.

“You know,” you say slowly, “this explains a lot.”

Dick points a popcorn kernel at you accusingly. “You explain a lot.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It made sense in my head.”

Jason is still dying on the carpet. “He’s so pathetic. This is the best day of my life.”

“Jason,” Dick snaps.

“No, no, keep going,” Jason says delightedly. “Maybe he’ll do a trick. Wanna fetch, good boy?”

Dick throws popcorn at his head.

Jason throws it back.

Garfield joins in.

Within thirty seconds, a full-scale food fight erupts across Titans Tower.

Kory starts launching popcorn, and Tim wakes up again solely to throw an M&M directly at Jason’s forehead before passing out for a second time. Someone knocks over an entire soda.

In the middle of the chaos, Dick grabs your wrist and pulls you backward out of the war zone.

“Come on,” he says, laughing despite himself.

You stumble after him into the hallway, both of you breathless.

The noise from the living room muffles behind the closing door, and suddenly it’s quieter.

Dick’s still holding your wrist ridiculously tight.

You look up at him, amused. “You know they’re never letting you live this down.”

“I know,” he groans.

“You’re kind of making it worse.”

“I know.”

“You literally dropped the popcorn.”

“In my defense,” he says solemnly, “you treated me like a dog!”

You laugh. Dick looks at you for a second too long. Then a fond expression sneaks onto his face before he can stop it. And there it is again, that look of hope.

Like he’s waiting.

You raise an eyebrow.

Dick immediately looks away. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.”

You absolutely do.

Which is why you grin and lean slightly closer.

“Good boy.”

Dick Grayson actually, physically malfunctions.

His head drops against the wall with a quiet thud.

“Oh, you are NEVER surviving this,” you inform him cheerfully.

From the other room, Jason’s voice echoes

“DID HE SHORT-CIRCUIT AGAIN? CYBORG! ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE THE HUMANOID?”

A/n: men yearn to be lap dogs and I know it

danielaani

watch him bark for reader

#nightwing x reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #richard grayson #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing fanfiction

jaeyss

come as a lover, come as an executioner // j. todd

summary: you are a ghost as i am a ghost, but i am banging cabinets and tv static and all you’ve ever been is silent // in which Bruce's spoiled daughter is loved beyond measure and jason is unsure where he fits in a world that she isn't allowed to know exists. But he's has never been good at walking away from things that could break him.

genre: romance, angst, hurt, comfort, slow-burn, psychological thriller, female reader insert, civilian reader

content warning(s): canon-compliant, psychological torture, alcohol usage, suicidal idealation - non graphic (literally for only 2 chapters and v v v briefly but still thought was worth mentioning), kidnapping, captivity, medical horror imagery (needles, restraints, injections), non-consensual drugging, torture, drug-induced hallucinations, manipulation and gaslighting, forced compliance/self-mutilation (nothing graphic), blood, mild bodily harm, claustrophobia, emotional distress, profanity, violence - chapter warnings will be available when applicable. reader discretion is advised.

#jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd fanfiction #dc universe fanfiction #red hood fanfiction

chapter56

Alfred teaches Jason his family recipe~

danielaani

BABY JAYYYYY

#dcfanart #jason todd #batfamily #jason todd fanart #batfamily fanart #red hood #jaybin #batman #dc

jaeyss

icarus to the sun // r. grayson

it was supposed to be a meet cute. it was supposed to be easy. it was supposed to be Kori. it was supposed to, supposedtosupposedtosupposedto- you're beautiful. everyone always tells Dick not to stare directly at the sun. it's too bad he can't stop himself. [inspired by One Tree Hill]

genre: romance, angst, hurt, comfort, slow-burn, female reader insert, AU: college/university/modern, love triangle

content warning(s): alcohol use, romantic/sexual tension, emotional distress, jealousy, mild injury, casual swearing

danielaani

reblog for the 2nd time bc so underrated!!!!

#richard grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson/reader #dick grayson/you #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson fic

purplespiritimagines

the pigeon protocol - batfamily

request silly anon 🍭 bruce, tim, dick, and jason with a reader who's a "hero" of kinds??? their hero name being pigeon, which sounds ridiculous-until they explain their job! they're a like, fourteen year old kid who knows damn well messages online are nooot protected, so they came up with the plan to become a personal pigeon carrier! they go from team to team and relay everything by mouth from written letters that they get rid of! funny scenario additionally: they catch reader getting irritated from constantly burning and shredding papers to just eating the last piece they have.

content platonic batfam x gn!teen!reader, hero!reader, pigeon inspired powers

masterlist

danielaani

I SWEAR your fics never miss

#dc x reader #dc x you #batfamily x reader #batfamily #batfam x reader #batfam #dc x reader imagines #gn!reader

NEED a spidey reader x tim drake fic rn

#tim drake fanfiction #tim drake imagine #tim drake fanfic #tim drake fic #tim drake fluff #tim drake x reader #tim drake x fem!reader #tim drake x you

purplespiritimagines

a completely harmless amount of power - damian wayne

request anon could you please maybe do damian wayne x reader where they're low key all powerful but constantly insists they're not evil and the hero teams can trust her like queen whateveriwannabe from the lego movie (request so key inspired by her song not evil totally go give it a listen if you wanna get in the headspace) even they totally sound like they're lying about being completely innocent and trustworthy they're not and literally just tone deaf 🥲

content aged up!damian wayne x gender neutral!reader, cosmic entity reader kinga, mutual pining, oblivious reader, sorta crack, slightly ooc damian sorry, mild violence, psychic attacks, temporary memory loss, existential/cosmic horror imagery, threats of reality destruction played for humour, brief fear of death, near-sacrifice, injury/recovery, mentions of kidnapping/forced marriage as jokes

wordcount 7.9k

masterlist | damian masterlist

The first thing you said upon entering the Justice League Watchtower was, “Before anyone becomes alarmed, I would like to make it explicitly clear that I am not evil.”

Every person seated around the conference table became alarmed.

Batman’s expression did not noticeably change, but the muscles beneath his cowl tightened by a fraction. Superman’s shoulders drew back. Wonder Woman’s hand shifted closer to the golden lasso hanging at her hip. The Flash stopped tapping his fingers against the table.

Damian, standing at his father’s right shoulder, merely stared at you.

danielaani

WHAT THE HELL THAT WAS SO GOOD

#dc x reader #dc x you #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x yn #damian wayne fic #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #damian al ghul fic #damian al ghul x you #gn!reader

jellyfishsthings

Hey girl I love your workkk like LOVE IT and can I ask another Nicole/ Jecka like reader but like more… cannon accurate? Like don’t get me wrong I LOVE the independent reader but if you play the game you know that reader would rather sell crack then get a job on a dinner lol and they would more then gladly accept Damian’s money, hell, shamelessly ask for more, or go and try to blackmail Bruce with what they think faux information (him being Batman) only to be right at the end and then being like… oh shit. We can make a bank out of this. Like those girls would be jorking (badly mind you) for a villain if the pays good enough lol like those girls are UNHINGED. And while I do adore that fic you did it’s a bit OoC. Please please do not take this badly. I’m being genuine when I say i love your fics.

Okay I am CACKLING because you are so right and I love you for this correction. Nicole/Jeka coded reader is a completely different beast and I was writing her too soft.

Net Positive

navigation , dc navigation

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

You meet Damian Wayne because he throws a birdarang at someone two feet from your head, and you drop your groceries.

Specifically, you drop the eggs.

Six dollars and forty cents, gone. Splattered on the Crime Alley pavement like a tiny yellow tragedy.

The guy he was aiming at — some low-level something, you don't ask questions in this neighborhood, it's a survival trait — runs. Damian lands from wherever he came from with the particular energy of a very small person who has been trained to kill since before he could read, looks at the egg situation, and then looks at you.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne fluff #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne one shot #damian wayne fanfiction #damian al ghul x you #damian al ghul fluff #damian al ghul x reader #robin x reader #robin fluff #damian al ghul imagine

jaeyss

icarus to the sun // r. grayson

index

xxviii. i never know what to do with my hands at parties

[inspired by One Tree Hill]

taglist (open until said otherwise): @peachmartini @nico707 @kath-is-tired @soulsforsales @flyingcat96 @uxavity @hurtcomfortwhore @marcspectorondeeznuts @asapkeepmerockyyy @coffeebun17 @liabiamiakiawia @mewn1verse @6000-fandoms @littlemisstrashcan @makimakimi @xv-ellie-vx @afterhoursangell @mrs-cactus69 @ficcharsimpsblog @abeoavita @nightwingsleftescrimastick @coastalcowgirlie @neevy @karmaxq @gojoswaterbottle @notanotheroldman @catiwinky @arbolitodenamu @navvvvvi @brucewayneisavirgin @luv-rizzimura @amazingworldofcashew @cecilia-stuff @timdrakesfoot @sonnyssleepingangel

Wally lets out the loudest ‘hell yeah’ you have ever heard the second he sees you with Dick in the library, long after Dick had finished his meeting with Audra and James.

Dick groans, closing his eyes as his best friend bounds over to the table, but nothing hides the smile on his face. You laugh, hiding your own smile behind your palm before raising your finger to poke Dick’s pale pink cheeks.

danielaani

legit OBSESSED with this

#dick grayson fic #dick grayson #dick grayson fanfic #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x female!reader #richard grayson x you #richard grayson x reader #dick grayson/you #dick grayson/reader #richard grayson fanfic

fawnindawn

vow to be yours.

summary: you're convinced your betrothed, damian wayne, despises or at most—tolerates you for the sake of his duty. it takes only one moron to try and steal your hand to prove that damian takes the promise of being your future husband as a role he will never let anyone else fulfill.

pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader

content: arranged marriage, protective and jealous damian!

"There you are, Beloved."

A trying suitor's expression falters at the sight of Damian, tall and imposing, wrapping his arm around your waist as if it had always belonged there.

"I was worried I had lost you." Damian murmurs aloud, though his gaze never leaves the suitor, sharpened into a knowing taunt.

It doesn't take long, it never does. Like a scurrying rat, he was gone in the blink of an eye.

"There's no need to call me that." Your plastered smile doesn't falter when your hand graces Damian's arm, leaning into his ear. To the other guests, it merely seems as if you were a fiancée whispering sweet nothings to your lover. "Your patronizing tone is more than enough to send them running away."

Damian's lips finally form its familiar, scathing smirk. "Would you rather I say it outright that you are to be my wife? I assume you'll find that more displeasing."

He is right. It infuriated you that he knew where to push your buttons.

"To-be." You remind him. "I wouldn't get so comfortable with addressing me as your wife so soon."

"Ah." He drawls. "Shame. I was ecstatic at the thought of rifling the crowd."

Rifling was an understatement. Despite his cold demeanour, Damian was a fan of dramatics. After all, the first time you had met your betrothed, he nearly ended your life.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne fluff #damian wayne fanfic #damian wayne fanfiction #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne fic #damian al ghul

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