BATFAM

Can you guess my favourite character?

[rainnyydaysworld]

Yk what I’m speaking my truth. Some of yall be making Damian Wayne way too dark. He is half white, a quarter Chinese, and a quarter ARAB. But yall seem to forget about the other two and just focus on the Arab part.

Even if he was half or full Arab, ARABS ARE NOT ALWAYS THAT DARK! This is coming from a middle eastern person! We can go from being pale as a ghost to being dark! But you cannot get that dark when you’re only a quarter Arab AND LIT HALF WHITE AND A QUARTER CHINESE!!!!

[rainnyydaysworld]

Bruce: Hey, about that love letter you sent me-

Clark: *blushes* What are your thoughts?

Bruce: The fourth sentence-

Clark: Yeah, that’s where I got really emotional and I-

Bruce: It’s “you’re” not “your”.

__

Bruce: Clark and I are no longer dating.

Clark: Bruce, that’s a horrible way of telling people we’re married.

—

Clark: Do you love me?

Bruce: We’re literally married.

Clark: Yeah, but as friends or—

[rainnyydaysworld]

You know you can write platonic batfam as well, right?

Well yes but I’m not good at writing 😔😔 and also I want to read other peoples fanfic, how would it be enjoyable for me to read my own 😭

[rainnyydaysworld]

I just came back from the dead to complain about there’s less and less platonic fanfics between reader and batfam.

Like I follow new creators because they’re posting batsib content and there’s so much family angst and comfort than BOOM. All romantic stuff all of sudden.

This is obvi not hate, I just really want more family reader stuff🥺

If anybody knows a writer who does family fanfics between reader and batfam send them my way.

[ashoss]

hey batfamily fans !! before you click that POST NOW button, think about BART !!

is this character you're tagging being used to BRING UP a batboy?

is it not ABOUT the lesser known character you're tagging?

do you have doubt if this is REALLY canon????

are you TALKING SHIT on this character?

if you answered YES to any of these questions - dont tag that character!

[izbnart]

Batman animation 👍🌟

[totallynotashieldagent]

dick grayson who can't stand being called "pretty boy"

dick grayson who was thrusted into gotham high society that is full of creeps and pedos at the age of 8 and was labelled a "pretty boy"

dick grayson who had his cheeks pinched by old ladies and told he'd be a real heartbreaker once he was old enough and how pretty he already was

dick grayson who had old men clapping his back and rubbing his shoulders and grinning at him how he had such a pretty face

dick grayson who couldn't be protected by bruce wayne because he grew up in this same horrid place and thought this was normal

dick grayson who had the gotham gazette counting down to his 18th birthday and the entire city was drooling for him to be legal

dick grayson whose picture was on every tabloid for weeks around his birthday month with labels of pretty boy of gotham turns 18

dick grayson who wants to called intelligent, athletic, brilliant, smart, but never "pretty"

dick grayson who would feel bile rise up his throat whenever someone comments on his beauty before his brain or strength

dick grayson who loves his titans because they praise him for being a good leader, a brilliant strategist and an amazing mentor

dick grayson who made sure that none of his siblings had to deal with what he did

dick grayson who made sure no one touched his siblings the way he was

dick grayson who can't stand being called pretty boy

Drabble Master List.

[njghtiee]

toddler sibiling ft. damian wayne

a/n: thanks for the request sweetie!!

dick version jason version

! Damian would scowl when Bruce first tells him about his toddler sibling.

“A replacement already? At this size?”

But when he sees the kid clinging to Alfred’s trousers, staring up at him with wide innocent eyes, he feels something stir. Not that he’d admit it. Ever.

! He never calls them by their name at first. It’s always “little one” or “small nuisance.” But it sticks, and it becomes oddly affectionate. By the time he does call them by name, it carries way more weight.

! Damian tries to hand the toddler a practice sword.

Bruce: “Absolutely not.”

Damian: “It’s foam.”

Bruce: “…Fine.”

Toddler waves it wildly, smacks Damian in the shin. Damian just glares. “Unrefined. We’ll work on it.”

! Damian brings the toddler to see Batcow. “This is Batcow. She is nobler than most people you’ll ever meet.”

The toddler immediately tries to climb on Batcow’s back. Damian panics: “No! She is not a steed for— fine. Just this once.” He hovers nervously while Batcow stands perfectly still with the toddler giggling on her back.

! Toddler falls asleep on the couch, toy still clutched in hand. Damian notices, huffs, then drapes his cloak over them.

If anyone walks in and comments, he growls, “Say a word and you’ll regret it.”

! Damian pretends to hate when the toddler grabs food from his plate. “This is mine. Not yours.” But he always pushes something over anyway, muttering, “Fine. Take it. But only because you’re weak and need the nourishment.”

! The toddler is scribbling nonsense with crayons. Damian sits beside them, pretending to be disinterested.

Two minutes later, he’s fully invested, sketching elaborate dragons while the toddler shrieks happily.

When Alfred walks by, Damian slams a hand over the paper. “These are… tactical maps. Not… doodles.”

! Toddler is pulling random books off the shelves. Damian storms in. “Careful! That tome is older than you by centuries.”

Toddler just hugs the book to their chest. Damian sighs, takes it gently back, and replaces it. Then he fetches a children’s storybook instead, sitting stiffly beside them while he reads in his clipped, formal voice.

! Toddler wants to play hide and seek. Damian rolls his eyes.

“Your hiding skills are abysmal.”

But then he spends an hour teaching them how to breathe quietly, how to fit under furniture, how to stay perfectly still. Bruce walks in later to find the toddler crouched like a mini-assassin under a table. Damian just says, “Training.”

! Toddler repeats something Jason says like “Dami is bossy.”

Damian freezes. “Who taught you this slander?”

But when the toddler giggles and pokes his chest, Damian actually… smiles. Just a little.

! No one knows this, but when it’s his turn to watch the toddler, Damian tells them old League of Assassins stories (carefully edited for violence).

His voice softens in the dark, and the toddler drifts off mid-sentence. Damian always pauses, staring at them with a strange, warm ache.

! The first time the toddler says “Dami” instead of Damian, he freezes.

“That is not my name,” he insists.

But later, when no one’s around, he kneels down and quietly says, “Yes, little one. Dami is...okay”

! Toddler refuses to eat broccoli. Damian refuses to yield.

“You will not leave this table until you finish.”

Toddler crosses their arms. “No.”

Ten minutes later, they’re both glaring at each other like generals in a standoff. Jason walks in and bursts out laughing.

! When the toddler manages something small, like building a block tower or climbing onto the couch by themselves, Damian crosses his arms and nods solemnly.

“Impressive. You learn quickly. You will surpass the others in no time.”

The toddler beams, not realizing Damian means it.

! Damian draws the toddler sleeping sometimes. Not portraits, but sketches that capture their tiny hands, messy hair, or the way they clutch their stuffed animal. He never shows anyone.

It’s his way of protecting the innocence he knows he lost too soon.

! The toddler toddles into the training room, dragging a blanket. Damian pauses mid-sword swing.

“You’ll trip in here, little one.”

The toddler plops down on the mat and claps. “Again, Dami!”

Damian exhales, then executes the move flawlessly, finishing with a bow. The applause makes him hide a smile.

! Alfred pours tea. The toddler gets a little plastic cup. Damian lifts his own, clinks it against theirs.

“Proper etiquette is crucial” he says, dead serious.

The toddler blows bubbles in their cup.

Damian sighs. “…We’ll try again tomorrow.”

! Toddler: “No sleep.”

Damian: “Sleep is essential for combat readiness.”

Toddler: “No.”

Ten minutes later: the toddler is snoring in Damian’s lap while he sits cross-legged, book in hand. He hasn’t moved a muscle, afraid to wake them.

! The toddler takes one of his sketchbooks and scribbles on a page. Damian snatches it back.

“You’ve ruined the shading!”

Toddler beams, proud of their “art.”

Damian pinches the bridge of his nose… and later tucks the page away in his desk instead of throwing it out.

! Toddler presses their hands against the glass, watching raindrops race. Damian silently picks a droplet and traces it with his finger until it wins.

The toddler gasps. “Yours won!”

Damian smirks faintly. “Of course it did.”

! Toddler waddles into the bathroom where Damian is brushing his teeth.

Without a word, Damian lifts them up onto the counter and hands them a tiny toothbrush.

They brush side by side, both scowling at their reflections like it’s serious business.

! Toddler proudly hands Damian a crayon drawing: a stick figure with a cape and a smaller one holding hands.

Damian stares. “…This is supposed to be us?”

Toddler nods furiously.

Damian clears his throat, softer: “Acceptable likeness.” He pins it above his desk.

[rainnyydaysworld]

Reader: Come, Tim. Dick doesn't want to talk to us right now. They’re just too polite to say it.

—

Reader: You tricked me!

Damian: I deceived you. ‘Trick’ makes it sound like we have a friendly relationship.

—

Dick: Are you good?

Reader: In what sense?

Dick: Generally.

Reader: Oh, definitely not.

—

Reader: I am a ninja.

Tim: No, you’re not.

Reader: Did you see me do that?

Tim: Do what?

Reader: Exactly.

—

Damian: I am darkness. I am an power. I am your worst nightmare. I could kill a man in more ways than you can imagine. I am the night. I am fury, I am a weapon, I am-

Dick: A doll.

Reader: A cinnamon roll.

Bruce: A sweetheart.

Damian:

Damian: ...stop it.

[rainnyydaysworld]

Damian: It’s just… no matter what I do, no one wants to be friends with me.

Reader: Yeah I literally can’t relate to that problem at all, but you know who NO ONE likes? HEY JASON~

Jason: First of all, how dare you—

[rainnyydaysworld]

Reader: How’s practice going?

Damian: Terrible. I want to stab everybody there.

Reader: Okay, just don’t get any blood on your clothes.

Damian: …you shouldn’t be condoning this.

Reader: Don’t tell me how to live my life.

[teklarn]

Do you think you could do slice of life snippets with Bruce and toddler reader who has him wrapped around their hand

i hope this is ok! i'm sorry again for such a late reply! enjoy my love!

little wayne - b. wayne

dcu masterlist , main masterlist , teklarn’s cliche’s and tropes

summary: little day-to-day snippets/scenarios of toddler!reader x brucie <3

bruce wayne x gn!toddler!reader

warnings: none!

UNEDITED!

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

SHOPPING

"can we get this one?" you ask, giving bruce your biggest, toothiest smile ever. without waiting for his response, you hand him a colorful picture book and scurry off to the next thing that catches your eye: a toybox full of little trinkets for you to sort through.

bruce is barely able to carry all your chosen items in both arms. behind him, dick and jason - who insisted they come along because they were bored - have their own arms full of toys you want.

dick and jason watch your clumsy legs carry you from shelf to shelf, item to item.

"you never bought us all this crap," jason sneers. it's not that he harbors any real resentment towards you or the way bruce spoils you, but it's funny to see how bruce tries to justify spoiling you.

"yeah," dick pipes. "where's my..." he cranes his neck and reads the name on a box you handed him, "where's my ten-inch rainbow-colored train?"

"or my ten thousand picture books i don't even read?" jason taunts.

bruce ignores both of them. maybe it's different with you because he has a chance to raise you. dick and jason were already walking and thinking for themselves. not that that was a bad thing.

tim was always too smart for bruce to try and connect with him on a father-child level. and damian always tried to act older than he was.

he was wrapped around your tiny fingers, but at least the rest of the family enjoyed seeing him put his energy to something - someone - better.

MOVIE NIGHT

fridays were movie nights. and each night, he lets you pick. msot nights, at least. everyone else eventually gets a turn. sometimes, bruce will reserve a special night just for you if someone chooses a different movie - something you aren't too fond of.

you're a good kid, you're never bratty without a reason. but bruce does tend to give you everything you want.

but he swears if he has to hear 'let it go' one more time...if he has to see hans betray anna for the millionth time, he's going to rip his hair out. what was with kids and that dumb frozen movie?

it's only when you come running up to him, remote in hand, hopping from foot to foot singing a number from the movie that he realizes he would listen to indina menzel belt out another ballad anytime. just so long as he gets to see you smile.

STORY TIME

"one more chapter!" you exclaim.

your intelligence is sky-rocketing faster than he's ever seen anyone's before. you've developed a love for chapter books even at your young age.

sure, you love your picture books, but as soon as you saw jason reading a thick novel on the couch, you've since wanted to indulge in said 'big kid' books.

bruce blinks away his sleep an fans through the length of the next chapter. suddenly, seven pages looks terribly daunting. sleep pulls at him like it's never done before. is he really getting old?

you pout, tugging at his arm. you're too young to read the book yourself, otherwise he's sure you would've.

so he sighs and flips the page, biding his time until he can buy you all the novels you'll inevitably chew right through.

IN THE BATCAVE

"bruce. bruce!" tim's voice echoes through the cave.

bruce turns around, sleepy-eyed.

tim's currently chasing you around. you think it's a game, but you have a damn batarang in your hand as you run away.

bruce's eyes blow wide as he runs after you, gently prying the sharp object from your hand.

"hey," he whispers. "no, not this one, okay?"

tim sighs. "bruce, you gotta stop letting 'em in here. they could get seriously hurt."

but bruce likes having you around. he likes listening to you babble because it brightens his day.

"just...just sit over here, okay?" he ignores tim and leads you over to the giant computer. you're amazed by all the technology and are so easily entertained. he plops you down on his lap.

tim throws his head back and groans.

TANTRUMS

as much as everyone believes bruce is raising a spoiled brat, he's quite good at disciplining you, as he was with every other child.

when you're fussy or you're screaming, he sits down in front of you and tries to walk you through regulating your emotions.

it's been a blessing that you don't often have tantrums, but when you do, he's always there.

bruce is aware of the mistakes he made with everyone else, and he'll be damned if he allows himself to be absent when it comes to you.

everyone else sees the effort, and they're just happy that you'll grow up with a father who's present.

"deep breaths," he coaches you, rubbing little circles on your impossibly tiny hands.

you inhale shakily before blowing out.

"now, can you tell me why you were mad?" he asks. "i can understand you better when you're calm."

"i'm j-just frustrated. and tired."

"did you want me to read you a story so you can take a nap?"

"i don't want to nap."

"it's okay to nap if you're tired. you're not missing out on anything. sometimes we need to rest."

-

overall, bruce is trying his very best. sometimes it comes off as spoiling (which it is) and other times, he's a good, well-rounded father.

a part of him is sad knowing the others never got this version of him. but again, knowing he has a chance to redeem himself and knowing everyone can see him do it washes away his guilt.

he doesn't want you to grow up. he wants you to stay small forever so it'll all be easy, so you'll never get bored of him. but he knows that's not realistic. so he prepares for when you grow up. for when you'll form thoughts of your own.

and he promises that, through every challenge you face, he'll do his best to be there.

[teklarn]

Do you think you could do more hcs or scenes of Bruce and toddler reader?? Just something about batdad makes me so happy and having a toddler would def change him

i'm so sorry this one took so long! uni started and i have a couple of requests i'm working on! but thank you still for requesting <3 i'm sorry this is short, but i hope you enjoy! to everyone else still waiting on their requests, i promise they're all coming!

family man - b. wayne

dcu masterlist , main masterlist , teklarn’s cliche’s and tropes

bruce wayne x gn!toddler!reader

summary: headcanons of our lovely bruce wayne and toddler reader!

warnings: none!

UNEDITED!

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

bruce wayne is a tired father of how many children again? too many to count. but when it comes to his newest baby, he couldn't be bothered to get a lick of sleep.

at first, he's hestiant to love you. the first time he holds you in his arms, he's not even sure he knows what love is anymore. how has his entire world become such a tiny little thing?

he's achingly gentle. so gentle to the point it looks painful. he cradles you, and you're so small in his arms. bruce doesn't want to break you. everything around him seems to shatter; his relationships with the rest of the family, his own career both as a business man and a vigilante.

but you're the first thing he's been truly mortified to break.

when you're a baby, he trusts alfred to try and cater towards you during the long nights. he can still be batman and a present father, right? the only difference is that everyone who has joined his little family was already capable of caring for themselves at some level. you're a baby. you have nothing but him.

as you grow, bruce tries his best to be lenient. it takes everything in him not to restrain your every move, your stubby legs climbing up and down the stairs. he doesn't want to choke your freedom out, but he's never been more terrified of someone hurting themselves.

as time goes on and you learn how to speak, bruce notices how you'll ask alfred, "where's dad?" or "is dad home yet?" and he's just about read to jump off a cliff.

you're at that age where you're beginning to notice his absence more and more. you waddle around the manor looking for him constantly. at night, when you have nightmares, whose bed do you crawl into? no one's.

and, as bruce comes to realize this, he concludes that he has to choose one: the city or you. at first, the decision seems difficult. the rest of the family swears they have the city under control and that bruce is allowed to take a second to raise his family propery (because, secretly, the rest of the family wants bruce to be present for you in the ways he couldn't be present for them).

bruce is insanely reluctant to let it go. but somehow, he does. he chooses you. one night, at the very least. just to read a bedtime story to you or watch a movie. and after that one night? he never wants to trade you for the city ever again.

he learns to be present in a way he never has been before. bruce learns to set a routine the same way alfred did for him. he feels insanely underqualified to care for you. there's a million other things he's better at: fighting, solving crime, investing, making money.

everyone else then reminds him that there's one thing he's better at than anything else, and that's creating a family. broken and bruised as everyone might be, they found solace in the manor and bruce accepted them and gave them a chance when everyone else had turned them away. while this does little to ease his anxiety, he knows that, deep down they're right. and if he can care for ex-criminals and orphans and ex-assassin's and such, he could probably do a damn good job at raising a kid, couldn't he?

as the routine carries on, bruce's happiness increases. probably because he's getting proper meals in and is getting a full eight hours of sleep for the first time in years. slowly, his anxiety is melting away. caring for someone so small and vulnerable is good for him. you soften him up, and he's not so scared to be vulnerable anymore.

a few days later, you crawl into his king sized bed and snuggle into the crook of his arm, muttering something about a nightmare. he's not a deep sleeper, so he heard you come in. but the feeling of you on his arm is so alien to him. though he feels stronger because of it. stronger than he ever felt as batman.

because if this little bundle of innocent joy trusted him with their life, how bad of a person could he be?

[njghtiee]

gotham's nicest girl

plot! dick grayson can't help but simp for gotham's academy nicest girl, this time is completely different though. he's not cocky and he doesn't tease because he simply can't, you make him shy and awkward and he's not used to this

a/n: i absolutely loved this request and i think this was my first time writing an actual kind reader to dick but i completely get it now, how couldn't he not fall for someone like her??? i'm definitely gonna continue and make a part two with the other things you requested because this is gonna be so good

Gotham Academy had a reputation for being prestigious, strict, and intimidating to most students who walked its halls.

Not for Dick Grayson. He’d grown up flying through the air on trapeze ropes in front of hundreds of people, a math test or a teacher’s glare wasn’t going to rattle him. He was a natural at school: charming when he wanted to be, a bit of a class clown, smart enough to coast by without trying too hard. Everyone knew him.

But there was one person who turned all of that upside down.

You.

You weren’t the type to dominate conversations or chase attention.

You were… nice.

In a city like Gotham, where cynicism practically clung to the air like fog, it made you stand out even more. You remembered names. You helped people pick up books when they dropped them. You thanked the cafeteria staff and smiled at the security guards. People noticed. Even the students who rolled their eyes and whispered about how “perfect” you were couldn’t hold onto their jealousy for long, because you were too genuinely kind for it to stick.

And Dick? Dick noticed more than anyone.

He tried not to make it obvious, but his friends had eyes. Barbara Gordon, for one, was merciless about it.

It started simple. He’d catch himself watching you in class: the way you leaned over your notebook, hair falling forward as you scribbled down notes with neat precision. Or in the library, when you were perched by the window, sunlight glinting off the side of your face while you explained something to a student who clearly hadn’t understood the assignment. You weren’t showing off. You just… cared.

That was the part that got him.

People at Gotham Academy were sharp. Ambitious. A little ruthless. But you were different, and it disarmed him in a way he didn’t know how to handle.

At lunch, Dick usually had a whole table of people, athletes, theater kids, even some upperclassmen, who liked hanging around him. Today, though, Barbara slid onto the bench beside him, tray in hand, and followed his line of sight across the cafeteria. You were sitting at a smaller table with a few friends, laughing at something one of them had said, leaning in with that soft attentiveness you gave everyone.

Barbara smirked. “You’re staring again”

Dick almost dropped his fork. “I am not.”

“You are. I could time it. You’ve looked over there every thirty seconds since we sat down.”

“Maybe I’m just… looking around.”

“Mmhm. At the ceiling? Or at Gotham Academy’s Nicest Girl?”

“Barb.”

“Don’t ‘Barb’ me. You like her.”

He ducked his head, running a hand through his dark hair in a nervous gesture that wasn’t his usual smooth self.

Normally, Dick Grayson leaned into being charming. He was good at banter, quick with a joke. But when it came to you? The words caught in his throat before they even got out.

It didn’t help that you seemed completely oblivious.

Not in a careless way, in fact, when he’d spoken to you once or twice, you’d been friendly, polite, even warm. But you hadn’t treated him like he was anything special. And for someone like Dick Grayson, who was used to people leaning in when he talked, laughing too loudly at his jokes, or angling to get his attention… it was almost refreshing. And terrifying.

Later that day, in History, he ended up sitting two rows behind you. Normally, he’d be cracking whispered jokes with the kid next to him or sliding Barbara snarky doodles across the aisle. Instead, his eyes wandered to the way you tapped your pencil absently against your notebook when you were thinking, or the way you tilted your head as if trying to puzzle out the lecture.

When the teacher called on you, you answered clearly, not smug or show-offy, just… confident in a quiet way. And Dick had to press his lips together to stop from smiling like an idiot.

Of course, Barbara caught him on his way out of class.

“You’re hopeless.”

“Am not.”

“You are. And you’re awkward.”

He blinked at her. “Awkward? I’m not awkward.”

“You didn’t say a single word to her. You just stared like a lost puppy.”

Dick shoved his hands into his pockets. “Maybe I didn’t have anything to say.”

Barbara raised her brows. “Since when does Dick Grayson have nothing to say?”

The truth was, he didn’t know how to act around you.

With everyone else, he could lean into being charming, a little cocky, playful.

With you, though, that felt wrong. You weren’t a game. He didn’t want to impress you with jokes or stunts. He wanted you to see him, the real him. And for a boy who wore masks more than he wore his own face, that was harder than anything else.

So instead, he kept orbiting around you quietly. He’d hold the door open a little longer if you were behind him. He’d grab the extra worksheet on the desk if you missed it. Subtle things, things he hoped you didn’t notice too much, because if you did, he’d probably turn bright red.

And still, every time you smiled, at anyone, not just him, he felt that weird little flip in his stomach.

Barbara was right: he was hopeless. And maybe just a little bit in over his head.

The next day at Gotham Academy, Dick Grayson sat with his usual easy posture at one of the library tables, a pen spinning between his fingers as he skimmed over the day’s notes. It wasn’t that he needed to review, he’d already nailed the material in class, but it gave his hands something to do, and it made him look occupied enough that people didn’t try to rope him into group projects.

Across from him, Barbara Gordon had her laptop open, typing away with sharp efficiency. She didn’t even glance up when she said, “You’re pretending to study.”

He smirked faintly. “I could actually be studying.”

“Mmhm. But you’re not. You’re spinning that pen like you’re waiting for something.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but the words got caught in his throat when he saw you step into the library. For once, you didn’t look serene or unshakably put-together.

You were scanning the room like you were on a mission, clutching a binder close to your chest. A couple of your friends were with you, but they peeled off after a minute, leaving you lingering by the stacks, chewing your lip thoughtfully.

Dick’s chest tightened.

You’d missed yesterday, he’d noticed immediately, of course. He’d wondered if you were sick, if you were okay. And now, here you were, clearly looking for something.

Or someone.

Barbara didn’t miss the way his pen stilled in his fingers. She leaned her chin on her hand, eyes sharp with amusement. “Well, would you look at that.”

He shot her a look. “Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything” she said innocently, but her grin betrayed her.

And then you started walking in his direction.

Dick’s whole body seemed to forget how to work properly.

Shoulders too stiff, heart picking up in his chest. He hadn’t expected— okay, maybe he’d dreamed about you talking to him, but not like this, not in the middle of the library with Barbara sitting right there like a shark circling blood in the water.

You stopped right at his table, smiling that polite, almost apologetic smile you gave when you were asking someone for help.

“Hi,” you said softly. “Richard, right?”

Barbara nearly choked on a laugh.

Dick, on the other hand, went red at the ears. “Uh— it’s, um, yeah. Richard. But… call me Dick. Everyone does.”

You tilted your head, a little hesitant. “Oh, I thought that was only meant for friends.”

That simple, respectful comment knocked the wind out of him.

You didn’t mean it as anything sharp, but to him, it was like holding up a mirror. Right — you weren’t his friend. You barely knew him. He was just the kid in your classes who answered too many questions correctly and always had a circle of people laughing around him.

And he wanted so badly for you to call him Dick anyway.

He swallowed, forcing a lopsided smile, trying to play it off. “Guess that means you can be an exception. If you want.”

Your lips quirked in the faintest smile, eyes warm despite the distance you kept in your words. “Okay. Dick, then.”

Something about the way you said it, careful, almost deliberate, made his stomach flip.

You shifted your binder in your arms. “I was out yesterday, and I've asked all my friends for notes before coming to you but they said you take the best ones in class so I was wondering… if maybe you’d let me copy them?”

For a second, he just stared. Not because it was a huge request, but because this was it. This was the first time you’d come to him for anything, and he could barely remember how to string words together.

“Y-yeah, of course” he said quickly, digging into his bag. “I mean, yeah. Sure. No problem. I’ve got them right— uh, right here.”

His usual smooth rhythm was gone.

He was fumbling, flipping through his notebooks with a little too much urgency until he found the right one. He slid it across the table toward you, trying not to notice Barbara’s smug expression from her seat.

You opened the notebook, eyes scanning the pages. “Wow… you really do have neat notes.”

“Thanks” he muttered, suddenly wishing the table wasn’t so small, that you couldn’t sit this close and tilt your head over his handwriting, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of whatever shampoo you used.

You looked up, expression soft. “I really appreciate it, Dick. I’ll give this back as soon as I’m done.”

“Take your time” he blurted, then winced at how overeager it sounded. “I mean, uh, no rush. Test’s not till next week.”

You smiled, tucking the notebook carefully into your binder as if it were something valuable. “Thanks again. Really.”

And just like that, you were up and gone, gliding back across the library with that easy, quiet grace you carried everywhere.

The silence you left behind was deafening.

Barbara let it stretch for all of three seconds before she exploded into laughter.

“Oh my god” She shoved her chair back and pointed at him, eyes wide with delight. “You— you were so awkward. I have never seen you like that.”

Dick groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Please stop.”

“You froze. You practically short-circuited. ‘Take your time’” she mimicked, pitching her voice high. “‘No rush!’”

He groaned louder. “Barb—”

“You like her.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do. And it’s adorable. Honestly, Dick, I’ve seen you talk down supervillains without flinching, but one nice girl at school and you’re toast.”

He slumped against the table, burying his face in his folded arms. “Kill me now.”

Barbara just smirked, leaning back with satisfaction. “No way. I’m going to enjoy every second of this.”

The gym at Gotham Academy always smelled faintly of polished wood and chalk dust. The climbing ropes swayed lightly from the rafters, and the polished horizontal bars gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Normally, gym was a drag for most students: sit-ups, laps, the occasional dodgeball massacre, but when the teacher let Dick Grayson near the equipment? Suddenly the whole class paid attention.

He was airborne.

Launching from the springboard, he gripped the bar, legs tucked and then kicking out, swinging into a fluid rotation that looked more like art than exercise. He flipped, twisted, landed, and without breaking stride vaulted onto the next apparatus. His classmates gathered in loose clusters, half-cheering, half-gawking.

“Show-off” someone muttered, but there was no real heat in it. Dick made everything look easy, and watching him was like sneaking a glimpse into a circus act.

On the sidelines, a couple of kids started clapping when he stuck a landing, and he gave a quick grin, his usual easy, confident one. Up here, he wasn’t awkward. Up here, he was in his element.

And then the door creaked open.

You stepped inside, binder in hand, looking a little out of place among the gym uniforms and scattered basketballs.

You spotted him quickly, hard not to, since he was mid-swing on the high bar. Your expression softened when you saw him, and you clutched the binder closer as you headed toward the bleachers.

Dick’s heart stuttered mid-rotation.

He wasn’t expecting you.

He wasn’t prepared.

And for one fatal second, his focus slipped from the bar in his hands to the sight of you watching him with that calm, curious expression.

His grip loosened.

Instead of the clean dismount he’d lined up, he wobbled. His feet hit the mat wrong, his balance shot, and he ended up half stumbling, half tumbling into a very ungraceful roll. The class broke into surprised laughter, a few calling out in shock.

“Grayson, you okay?”

“Dude, you never fall!”

Dick groaned, pushing himself up, rubbing the back of his head where it had knocked lightly against the mat.

Of course. Of course the one time you walked in, he managed to look like a total idiot.

And then you were there, slipping through the cluster of curious classmates with that same composed kindness you carried everywhere. You crouched a little in front of him, eyes wide with concern.

“Are you alright?” you asked gently.

Dick blinked up at you, caught off guard by how close you suddenly were, how earnestly you looked at him. “Y-yeah. Totally fine. Just… showing the mat some love.”

A few kids chuckled at his attempt at humor, but you didn’t laugh at him. You smiled, small but warm, like you actually believed him.

“I thought you were amazing” you said.

He froze. His heart did a double somersault that was smoother than the one he’d just botched. “…You were watching?”

“Of course” you said, as if it were obvious.

“I came to give you back your notes, but I didn’t want to interrupt while you were practicing. You’re… really good.”

Nobody ever complimented him like that. Sure, people said he was talented, called him a prodigy, a show-off, a natural. But the way you said it: sincere, without jealousy or exaggeration, hit him differently.

He scratched the back of his neck, feeling his ears heat. “Thanks. I, uh… kinda grew up doing this stuff.”

Your brows lifted with curiosity. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shifted on the mat, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he must look sitting there with his hair mussed from the fall. “Family business.”

You didn’t press, just nodded as if that explained enough. Then you held out his notebook, the corners neatly aligned as if you’d been careful not to bend it.

“I copied everything I needed. I didn’t want to take up your study time.”

He blinked at the notebook, then at you. “You could’ve kept it longer. Seriously, I didn’t mind.”

“I know. But it wasn’t mine” you said simply, pressing it into his hands.

He accepted it carefully, like it was more than paper and ink because it had passed through your hands.

His fingers brushed yours for a second, and he hoped you didn’t notice how quickly he tucked the notebook against his chest after.

“Thanks” he said softly.

You smiled again, rising to your feet. “Thank you, Dick. For the notes.”

He scrambled upright, a little too fast, nearly tripping on the mat edge in the process. “Anytime. Really. If you ever need… you know, help, or notes, or… anything.”

Your eyes lit faintly at the offer, like you believed him, like you thought he meant it (which he did, more than anything).

“That’s kind of you. I’ll see you in class.”

And with that, you turned and walked out as quietly as you’d come, leaving a trail of whispers behind from the classmates who had just watched Gotham Academy’s golden boy completely lose his cool.

One of the guys clapped him on the shoulder. “Man, you never fall. What was that?”

Dick rubbed his neck, trying to play it off with a grin. “Guess even I have off days.”

But as he watched the door swing shut behind you, his grin faltered into something softer. Because the truth wasn’t that he’d had an off day. The truth was, for the first time, flying hadn’t been the thing that made his stomach flip.

It was you.

[njghtiee]

Aww I love the toddler hcs! Can you do like slice of life scenes with toddler reader ( a boy if you could or gn) and dick or Jason or both if ur okay with it

life with toddler sib feat. jason and dick

a/n: aaa thank you sweetie and thanks for the request!!

jason

! Jason sits on the couch, book in hand. You climb up beside him, silently copying every move — flipping invisible pages, sighing dramatically, even squinting at the “book.”

Jason finally notices. “What’re you doin’, kid?”

“Readin’… like you" you mumble.

Jason stares for a beat, then shakes his head. “You don’t even know your alphabet yet, runt.” But he slides the book over and starts reading aloud anyway — because if you want to copy him, he’s damn well going to give you something better than fake page-turning.

! Jason comes home late, tossing his leather jacket onto a chair. When he returns from the kitchen, he finds you waddling around in it, drowning in the sleeves.

“Nice look” he deadpans, arms crossed.

You beam up at him. “I’m Jason!”

Jason snorts, tugging the jacket off before you trip. “Kid, trust me. You don’t wanna be me.” But he still drapes it over your shoulders like a cape, adding softly, “Stick to bein’ you. You’re already way better.”

! You insist on helping Jason cook. Which means flour everywhere, eggshells in the bowl, and Jason muttering under his breath.

“You’re a menace, y’know that?” he says, brushing flour off your nose.

“Men…nace” you repeat proudly.

Jason groans, realizing he just taught you your new favorite word. Later, when Alfred asks who made the mess, you point straight at Jason: “Menace!” Jason just shrugs. “Can’t argue with the facts, Alf.”

! Jason tries to crash on the couch after patrol, boots still on. He wakes up to find you sprawled across his chest, using him as a mattress.

He grumbles, “You’re heavy, squirt” but doesn’t move a muscle. Instead, he adjusts so you don't slip, one hand resting protectively on your back while he drifts off again.

Anyone walking in would get denied if they dared point out how peaceful he looks.

! Jason takes you for a walk in Gotham —, not the glittering towers, but the regular streets. He teaches you things casually: “Don’t take candy from strangers. Keep your eyes on the exits. If someone creeps you out, you yell real loud.”

You just nod seriously, clutching his hand. Jason squeezes back, softer. “Don’t worry, kid. Nobody’s ever gonna touch you while I’m around.”

It’s both a promise and a vow , one he intends to keep, no matter what.

! When it’s his turn for bedtime duty, Jason doesn’t read fairy tales. He grabs an old book and rephrases everything with his own sarcastic commentary.

“Once upon a time, there was a princess who didn’t need saving, because knights are overrated. The end.”

You clap. “Again!”

Jason smirks. “See? Already got better taste than the rest of this family.”

! The inevitable happens: you hear Jason curse. A day later, you repeat it. Loudly.

Jason freezes. “…Shit.”

“There it is again! Shit!” you chirp.

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright, new rule. That’s a Jason word. You don’t say it, ever. Capiche?”

You frown. "Capiche.”

Jason mutters, “Great. Now you sound like a mobster.”

! Jason sneaks you into the Batmobile one afternoon. He lifts you into the passenger seat and whispers conspiratorially, “Don’t tell B. He thinks I don’t let anyone in here.”

You pretend to steer, Jason narrating dramatic chase scenes until you shriek with laughter. Later, Bruce finds out anyway, and Jason just shrugs. “What? Kid’s gotta learn the classics.”

! One day you take a tumble and scrape your knee. It’s minor, but Jason’s on them in seconds. “Who pushed you?” he demands.

“No one. I falled.”

Jason huffs, patching it up with way more care than necessary. “Well, if gravity gives you trouble again, you tell me. I’ll kick its ass.”

You giggle through tears, instantly soothed.

dick

! The Manor is quiet when Dick sneaks into your room, already awake from patrol. Instead of waking you gently, he dangles upside down from the ceiling beam, grinning like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You sit up, hair sticking everywhere. “Dicky!”

“Ta-da!” Dick swings down, scooping you off the bed. “Every morning should start with a trapeze act, don’t you think?” He flips you once into the air, catching you easily, and the squeal of laughter echoes all the way down the hall.

Bruce pokes his head in, sighs. “At least don’t drop them”

“I never drop anyone, B,” Dick says and hugs you a little tighter.

! Alfred turns his back for one second, and suddenly Dick has plopped you on the counter beside the pancake mix.

“You’re my sous chef today,” Dick announces, handing him the whisk. “Golden rule of pancakes? Always more chocolate chips than batter.”

Most of the mix ends up on the counter, some in your hair, but by the end, you're both eating lopsided chocolate-chip blobs with wide grins. Alfred pinches the bridge of his nose, but there’s no real heat in it.

Dick nudges you “Best pancakes you’ve ever had, right?”

“Mmmhm!”

“See? Culinary genius runs in the family.”

! Instead of tucking you into bed the normal way, Dick perches on the headboard like it’s a trapeze bar, book in hand.

“Ready for the finale, short stack?” he asks, flipping to the last page of a circus picture book.

You nod hard enough to wobble. Dick launches into a dramatic retelling of The Flying Graysons, complete with arm sweeps and whispered sound effects. He never mentions the fall — not yet, not while you're this small — but he makes sure the story ends with laughter and applause, with the family soaring.

When you finally drift off, Dick stays a little longer, just watching. “You get the good version” he whispers.

! It’s the first big Gotham snow. Dick bursts into the nursery, already wearing a scarf, and declares, “Mission briefing! Operation Snow Fortress is a go.”

Ten minutes later, he’s helping you into mittens three sizes too big, and twenty minutes after that, you've built the world’s lopsided snow fort. Dick pretends to be the invading army, diving dramatically into the snow while you throw half-formed snowballs.

Jason appears on the porch, coffee in hand. “You’re training them for war?”

Dick grins from the snowbank. “Every good Robin needs field prep.”

Jason just mutters, “You’re insane" but your laughter drowns it out.

! One evening, Dick carries you up to the Manor rooftop. The city glows in the distance, Gotham’s chaos muffled by snow and fog.

“That’s our city" Dick says softly, crouching so you can lean on the ledge. “It’s loud, and it’s scary, but it’s home. And as long as I’m here? Nobody’s gonna hurt you in it.”

You don't fully understand, but you slip your tiny hand into his. Dick’s heart clenches. He squeezes back, gaze fixed on Gotham like he’s daring it to even try.

! The Batcave is not a playground… unless Dick is in charge.

He sets you on the floor and whispers, “Okay, mission time. If you can catch me, you win.”

Then he takes off running between the Batmobile and the computers, deliberately tripping over cables just to let you nearly tag him. Alfred finds you mid-game and mutters, “Master Richard, this is not a gymnasium.”

“Correction, Al” Dick says, lifting you onto his shoulders, “this is the world’s coolest playground.”

! You refuse to sleep, kicking the blanket away.

“C’mon, kiddo” Dick groans, flopping dramatically on the rug. “Even superheroes need naps.”

When that doesn’t work, he pulls out his old trapeze trick: balancing upside down on one hand until you burst into giggles. After a few more flips, he finally scoops you up, humming a soft tune from his parents’ circus act.

Your head drops against his chest.

“See?” Dick whispers, kissing your hair. “Even you can’t resist the Flying Graysons.”

! Dick is the reigning hide-and-seek champion. Which means when you demand a game, he takes it very seriously.

He hides behind curtains, under tables, even perches on doorframes like a bat. You waddle around shouting, “Dicky! Where are you?!”

When you finally spot him dangling upside down, you shriek with victory. Dick drops down, hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, you win. But only because you’re the world’s best detective.”

! Dick slips back into the Manor after a long patrol, sweat still clinging to his suit. He’s exhausted, but the second he hears tiny footsteps padding down the hall, he straightens up.

You run into him, arms wide. “Dicky!”

Dick kneels, scooping you into his arms. For a moment, the ache in his body fades. “What are you doing up this early, huh?” he murmurs. “Didn’t Alfred tell you heroes sleep in?”

You nestle against him. Dick kisses the top of your head, thinking, "This right here is the only reason I keep coming back in one piece"

[hmslusitania]

He thinks he’s so fucking funny

[sunlitlemonade]

YOU PPL NEEEEEED TO BE PUTTING YOUR LONG POSTS UNDER THE CUT. I DO NOT WANT TO SCROLL FOR TWO DAYS BEFORE I REACH THE NEXT FUCKING POST. WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU