#bb reqs

[fancy-possum]

𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲..

cw: smut! MDNI! protected sex, eating out, slight boob play.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

Dick had been away on a Titans mission for five days. Five long days of radio silence, cryptic texts, and you missing him more than you wanted to admit. When he finally texted “back in town, coming over?” you’d replied with a single heart emoji and left it at that.

Now he was here, standing in your living room in a tight black t-shirt and sweatpants, looking unfairly good after a week of fighting crime. His hair was still slightly damp from a shower, and he smelled like the citrus soap he always used.

You were sprawled on the couch in tiny sleep shorts and one of his old shirts, phone in hand, casually scrolling Instagram reels like he wasn’t even there.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “That’s how you greet me after five days? Really?”

You didn’t look up. Just smirked and kept scrolling. “Hi, Dick. How was the mission?”

He walked over, dropping onto the couch beside you. Close. Too close. His thigh pressed against yours, warm and solid. “It was fine. Long. Missed you.” His hand landed on your bare knee, thumb stroking slow circles. “A lot.”

You hummed noncommittally, still staring at your phone. A video of a cat playing piano started playing. You laughed softly at it.

Dick’s hand tightened slightly on your knee. “Baby.”

“Hm?”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Put the phone down.”

You tilted your head away just enough to keep scrolling. “I’m watching something.”

He groaned, low and frustrated. “You’re killing me. I’ve been gone a week and you’re.. you’re ragebaiting me with cat videos?”

You bit your lip to hide your smile. “It’s a really good cat video.”

Dick’s patience snapped in the best way.

He plucked the phone from your hand and tossed it onto the coffee table. Before you could protest, he had you pinned beneath him on the couch, knees bracketing your hips, hands braced on either side of your head.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, voice rough. His eyes were dark, pupils blown. “Teasing me after I’ve been dying to touch you for days?”

You grinned up at him, innocent. “Maybe.”

He leaned down, mouth hovering just above yours. “Brat.”

Then he kissed you — hard, hungry, weeks of pent-up want pouring out. His tongue slid against yours, tasting like mint and the faint salt of whatever he’d eaten on the way over. You moaned into his mouth, hands sliding up his back under his shirt, nails lightly scratching.

Dick groaned, grinding down against you so you could feel how hard he already was through his sweatpants. “Fuck, I missed this. Missed you.”

You rocked up against him, gasping at the friction. “Then stop talking and show me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He stripped you efficiently but reverently — your shirt first, then your shorts and panties, leaving you bare beneath him. His hands roamed your body like he was memorizing it all over again, thumbs brushing your nipples until they peaked, then sliding down to grip your hips.

“So pretty,” he murmured, kissing down your neck. “All mine.”

He moved lower, settling between your thighs. The first slow lick drew a broken moan from you. Dick groaned against your core, the vibration making your hips jerk.

“Taste so fucking good,” he rasped, tongue working you with devastating skill — long, slow strokes, then quick flicks on your clit, two fingers sliding inside you and curling just right. He ate you out like he’d been starving for you, hands holding your thighs open, eyes flicking up to watch your face the whole time.

You came hard, crying out his name, thighs shaking around his head. Dick worked you through it, gentling his tongue until you were trembling and oversensitive, then kissed his way back up your body.

He rolled on a condom with quick hands, then settled between your thighs again. “Still okay?” he asked, nudging at your entrance.

You wrapped your legs around his waist. “Need you. Now.”

Dick groaned and pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated. He stilled, forehead against yours, breathing ragged.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he whispered. “So tight. So warm. Missed this so much.”

He started moving — deep, steady thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot. One hand braced beside your head, the other gripped your hip, holding you in place as he fucked you with that perfect rhythm he always seemed to know.

“Look at me,” he murmured. “Want to see you’re face when you cum around me.”

You did, eyes locked on his as the pleasure built again. His pace stayed deep and rhythmic, grinding against you on every thrust, one hand slipping between you to circle your clit with gentle pressure.

You came with a moan of his name, walls clenching around him. Dick followed right after, burying himself deep with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, holding himself up so he didn’t crush you, pressing soft, lazy kisses to your face.

When he finally pulled out and disposed of the condom, he came right back, pulling you into his arms on the couch. You curled against his chest, head over his heart, legs tangled with his.

“You okay?” he asked softly, stroking your back.

“Perfect,” you whispered, nuzzling closer. “Missed you.”

He kissed the top of your head, arms tightening around you. “Missed you more. Next time I’m gone, I’m taking you with me. Can’t do long missions without my favorite distraction.”

You laughed softly. “Deal.”

Dick held you like that until you both drifted off, safe and warm in each other’s arms.

a/n : first part is based on a request from a friend but I won’t be sharing it for their sake… anyway check out my masterlist !

tags : @imgoinglococrazy

[fancy-possum]

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

masterlist || 1k event || based on this request!

Jason used to think self-care was “taking a shower after patrol and maybe eating something that wasn’t cold pizza.” Now he has a whole shelf in the bathroom dedicated to the skincare routine you introduced him to. He grumbles about it, but you catch him using the fancy moisturizer you bought him when he thinks you’re not looking.

He lets you paint his nails black when you’re having a lazy Sunday. At first it was “just this once,” but now he picks the color himself sometimes — usually deep red or dark green to match his Hood aesthetic. He wears them under his gloves on patrol like a secret.

Shopping with you used to be torture for him. Now he actually enjoys it. He’ll let you drag him into stores and try on clothes you pick out, even if he pretends to hate it. The first time he bought a soft oversized sweater because “it smelled like you” when you hugged him in it, you knew he was hooked.

He started using your hair products. His hair is softer now, the white streak less brittle. When you run your fingers through it at night, he melts and pretends he’s not purring.

Jason used to wear the same three hoodies on rotation. Now his closet has actual outfits — nice jeans, button-downs you picked out, even a leather jacket that isn’t battle-worn. He wears them when he takes you on dates and looks ridiculously good doing it.

He lets you give him face masks. The first time you put a bright green one on him, he complained the whole time. Now he asks for the “blue one that smells like berries” when he’s had a rough patrol. He falls asleep with his head in your lap while it dries.

Bath bombs. He discovered them through you and is now lowkey obsessed. He’ll come home after a long night, run the water, and drop one in without saying anything. If you join him, he gets all soft and quiet, just holding you in the warm water.

He buys candles now. Not the cheap ones — the expensive ones that smell like books and rain and the cologne you like. He lights them when you’re over and pretends it’s “for the vibe” when really it’s because he wants the apartment to feel like home for you.

Jason used to cut his own hair with kitchen scissors. Now he lets you trim it in the bathroom, sitting on a stool while you carefully shape the white streak. He watches you in the mirror the whole time with the softest look on his face.

He wears your scrunchies. At first it was just to keep his hair out of his face while cooking. Now he has a drawer full of them in different colors you picked out. He’ll wear one on his wrist like a bracelet when he’s out in civilian clothes.

Self-care nights are sacred now. You introduced him to sheet masks, bath salts, and fluffy socks. He complains the whole time but always participates. The first time he asked for a “spa night” after a bad patrol, you almost cried from how proud you were.

He lets you dress him up for dates. You pick out button-downs and nice jeans and he wears them without argument. He even asks for your opinion now: “Does this look okay? I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Jason used to think cologne was “for rich assholes.” Now he has a signature scent you helped him choose — warm, woody, with a hint of spice. He wears it because he knows you like burying your face in his neck and breathing him in.

He takes baths with you. Not just showers. Full baths with bubbles and candles and him sitting behind you, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. He’s quiet during those moments, just holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

On bad mental health days, he lets you pamper him. Face masks, head scratches, you reading to him while he lies with his head in your lap. He used to push you away when he felt like this. Now he leans into it because you make him feel safe enough to be soft.

He buys you matching pajamas. Soft, oversized ones in your favorite color. He pretends it’s “just practical” but the way he smiles when you wear them says otherwise.

Jason started journaling. Not the dramatic kind — just little notes about his day, things that made him happy, things he’s grateful for. Most of the pages end with your name. He keeps it hidden but leaves it open sometimes so you’ll see how much he loves you.

He lets you take care of him. When he comes home hurt, he doesn’t hide it anymore. He lets you patch him up, make him tea, hold him until the nightmares fade. He whispers “thank you” against your skin every time, like he still can’t believe he gets to have this.

The biggest change? He tells you he loves you now. Not just in grand gestures or quiet moments. He says it in the kitchen while you’re cooking, in the shower when you’re washing his hair, in the middle of the night when he thinks you’re asleep. He’s still learning how to be soft, but he’s trying — for you.

a/n: hope this fit the request well.. it was so fun to write omg

[fancy-possum]

𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 || 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

based on this request || follow for more || masterlist

summary : Civilian reader who knows his secret, established relationship, Damian being an ass to everyone except you, and the Batfam being hilariously confused by how perfect you are together. CW: light family teasing, grumpy/sunshine dynamic, established relationship, pure fluff. No smut.

The manor was unusually loud for a Saturday afternoon.

Voices echoed from the living room — Dick laughing at something Tim said, Steph and Cass plotting something that sounded suspiciously like a prank on Damian, Bruce’s low rumble trying (and failing) to mediate. You stood in the grand foyer, nervously smoothing down your sundress, a bright yellow thing with little white flowers that you’d picked because it made you feel brave.

Damian’s hand found yours, warm and steady. He was in his usual dark sweater and slacks, looking every bit the youngest Wayne heir. But his thumb stroked gentle circles on the back of your hand, the only sign he was just as nervous as you were.

“They will love you,” he said quietly, voice firm. “If they don’t, I will make their lives miserable.”

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “That’s not very nice, Dami.”

He huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “They deserve it if they are rude to you.”

Before you could reply, Dick appeared in the doorway, bright grin lighting up his face.

“There she is! The mysterious girlfriend we’ve all been dying to meet.” He swept forward, pulling you into a warm hug before Damian could protest. “I’m Dick. The favourite brother. Ignore anything Damian says about me.”

You giggled, hugging him back. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard… stories.”

Damian muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “traitor.”

Tim wandered over next, coffee in hand, studying you with curious blue eyes. “You’re the civilian who knows about the whole… thing. Interesting. How do you put up with him?”

You smiled brightly. “He’s not so bad once you get past the murder attempts and the swords.”

Steph and Cass appeared behind Tim, both grinning.

“I like her already,” Steph declared. “Anyone who can make Damian look like a lovesick puppy is automatically my favorite.”

Cass just smiled softly and gave you a little wave.

Bruce was last, standing in the doorway like a shadow. His gaze was assessing but not unkind. “You know what he is. What we all are.”

You nodded, still holding Damian’s hand. “I do. And I’m still here.”

Damian’s fingers tightened around yours — the only outward sign of his approval.

Alfred appeared with a tray of tea and cookies, saving everyone from the awkward silence. “Miss [Your Name], it is a pleasure. Master Damian has spoken very highly of you.”

Damian’s ears went pink. “Alfred.”

The older man just smiled serenely.

The afternoon unfolded in a surprisingly warm chaos. You fit in effortlessly - laughing at Dick’s terrible jokes, listening patiently to Tim’s latest conspiracy theory, letting Steph drag you into a impromptu dance battle in the living room. Cass watched you with soft, approving eyes. Even Bruce’s usual stoicism cracked into something almost fond when you complimented the manor’s library.

Damian stayed close the whole time, a silent shadow. To everyone else he was sharp-tongued and aloof — snapping at Dick for teasing him, glaring at Tim when he asked too many questions, rolling his eyes at Steph’s antics.

But with you?

He was soft.

He brought you a fresh cup of tea without being asked. Adjusted the blanket when it slipped off your shoulders. Pressed a quiet kiss to your temple when he thought no one was looking. When Steph tried to pull you into another game, Damian simply said, “She is tired. Leave her be,” in that commanding tone that brooked no argument.

You caught the Batfam exchanging glances — confused, amused, delighted.

“How?” Dick finally asked during a lull, gesturing between you two. “How did this happen? You’re literal sunshine and he’s… Damian.”

You laughed, leaning into Damian’s side. He automatically wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“He’s not as grumpy as he seems,” you said lightly. “He just saves the soft parts for the people who matter.”

Damian’s ears went pink again, but he didn’t deny it. Instead he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, completely ignoring the stunned silence from his family.

Later, when the others had drifted off to various parts of the manor, Damian pulled you into the library - his favorite room - and closed the door behind you.

He backed you gently against one of the bookshelves, hands on your waist, forehead resting against yours.

“They adore you,” he murmured. “As expected.”

You smiled, hands sliding up to rest on his chest. “You were nice to them today. For you.”

He huffed. “I was tolerable. For you.”

You laughed softly, tilting your head up to kiss him. It was slow and sweet, full of the quiet joy of being together. His hands stayed respectful but warm, thumbs stroking your sides through your dress.

When you pulled back, you rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“I love you,” you whispered. “Grumpy parts and all.”

He held you tighter, chin resting on your head. “I love you too. More than I thought possible. You make the shadows feel less heavy.”

The library was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the distant laughter of his family somewhere in the manor.

For the first time in a long time, Damian Wayne felt like he belonged exactly where he was.

With you.

His sunshine.

His everything.

a/n : wrote this a while back when I first got the request but it’s been sitting in my drafts 😞

[fancy-possum]

𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐝 || 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐞

masterlist || based on this request || 1k event

The rooftops of Gotham had always been a battlefield, but lately they felt like something else entirely — a stage where two shadows danced around each other in a game neither wanted to end. You had been Selina Kyle’s protégé for years, trained in the art of the steal, the graceful leap, the quiet confidence that came with knowing you could slip through any lock and leave no trace behind. Where Selina was all sleek elegance and playful seduction, you were quieter, sharper, a shadow with a purpose. You stole not just for the thrill, but for the people who needed it more than the wealthy elite who hoarded their treasures in glass cases. Selina approved. She called you her favorite little cat, the one who reminded her of herself before the world had taught her to smile while she clawed back what was taken.

Jason Todd, the Red Hood, had been a problem from the moment he appeared on the scene.

He was everything you weren’t supposed to want: brutal, unrelenting, a storm wrapped in red and black leather who left broken bones and fear in his wake. He protected the streets in his own violent way, but he didn’t play by the same rules as the Batfamily. He didn’t pull punches. He didn’t hesitate. And he especially didn’t tolerate thieves who thought they could operate in his territory, even if their intentions were noble.

The first time your paths crossed, you were lifting a diamond necklace from a corrupt businessman’s penthouse — the kind of man who funded weapons that ended up on the streets Jason tried to clean. You’d been silent, efficient, already halfway out the window when the Red Hood dropped in like a thunderclap.

“Nice try, kitten,” he’d growled, voice distorted through the helmet. “But this city’s got enough stray cats causing trouble.”

You’d fought then — a blur of acrobatics and precision against his raw power. You were faster, slipping through his grasp like smoke. He was stronger, relentless, refusing to let you disappear into the night. In the end, you’d escaped with the necklace, but not before he’d left a bruise on your ribs and a strange, electric tension in the air between you.

From that night on, it became a chase.

You’d plan a heist. He’d show up. You’d tease him with a smirk and a clever escape. He’d growl threats and pursue you across rooftops, the city lights blurring beneath you both. Sometimes you won. Sometimes he did. But neither of you ever really tried to end it.

It was almost like a game.

A dangerous, addictive game.

The night everything changed started like any other.

You were on the roof of an old art gallery in the Diamond District, the wind whipping through your sleek black suit as you disabled the security system with a few careful flicks of your tools. The target was a stolen artifact — a ancient cat statue that belonged in a museum, not the private collection of a mob boss. Selina had tipped you off. You were almost done when the familiar weight of his presence settled behind you.

“Stealing again, kitten?” Jason’s voice was low, rough, like gravel under boots. “Thought we talked about this.”

You didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, you finished securing the statue in your bag, a small smile playing on your lips. “We did. You talked. I listened. Then I decided I didn’t care.”

You spun then, leaping gracefully to the next rooftop. He followed without hesitation, the chase beginning like it always did — exhilarating, heart-pounding, a dance of shadows and sparks. You were faster on your feet, slipping through narrow alleys and across fire escapes. He was relentless, cutting you off with calculated jumps, forcing you to improvise.

But tonight, something felt different.

The rain started halfway through the chase, slicking the rooftops and making every leap a little more dangerous. You landed hard on a wet ledge, slipping slightly, and Jason was there in an instant — catching your arm before you could fall, pulling you against his chest with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

For a moment, you were pressed together, rain pouring down around you, his helmet inches from your face. You could feel the heat of him through the armor, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his grip on your arm was firm but not bruising.

“You’re going to get yourself killed one day,” he growled, voice distorted but still unmistakably his. “And I’m not going to be there to catch you every time.”

You looked up at the blank black domino mask, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the chase. “Then maybe you should stop chasing me.”

He didn’t let go. His hand slid from your arm to your waist, holding you there on the ledge as the rain soaked through both your suits. The city lights blurred below, the world narrowing to just the two of you — enemies, rivals, something neither of you had named yet.

“I can’t,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’ve tried. You’re under my skin, kitten. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

The tension snapped.

You kissed him first — impulsive, desperate, the rain mixing with the taste of him as your hands fisted in the front of his jacket. He froze for half a second, then kissed you back like he’d been starving for it, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other pressed into your lower back, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was messy, urgent, full of all the frustration and want that had been building for months.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against your own, white eyes through the mask unreadable.

“I shouldn’t want this,” he said, voice rough. “You’re everything I’m supposed to stop. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop chasing you. Can’t stop wanting you.”

You smiled, small and breathless, fingers tracing the edge of his helmet. “Then don’t stop.”

He kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he was savoring every second. The rain kept falling, but neither of you cared. In that moment, on a rain-slicked rooftop in the middle of Gotham, the line between enemy and something more finally blurred beyond recognition.

And for the first time in years, Jason Todd felt like he wasn’t alone in the dark.

The days after that rooftop kiss were a strange, beautiful chaos.

You still stole. He still chased. But the chases ended differently now - with stolen kisses in alleyways, with his hands on your waist as he pressed you against brick walls, with whispered confessions between breaths.

He started showing up at your apartment after patrols, helmet off, armour scuffed, looking at you like you were the only real thing in his world. You’d patch him up, fingers gentle on his scars, and he’d pull you into his lap, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough.

One night, after a particularly long chase that ended with both of you laughing on a rooftop, he held you close, arms wrapped around your waist as the city lights twinkled below.

“I don’t know what this is,” he admitted quietly. “But I don’t want it to stop. You make the night feel less heavy. Make me feel like I’m more than just the Red Hood.”

You leaned back against his chest, smiling. “You are. You’re Jason. My Jason. The one who chases me across rooftops and kisses me like the world might end tomorrow. And I don’t want it to stop either.”

He turned you in his arms, kissing you slow and deep, hands sliding under your suit to trace warm paths along your skin. The touch was possessive but gentle, full of all the want he didn’t know how to put into words.

When he pulled back, forehead against yours, he whispered, “Stay with me tonight. Not for the chase. Just… stay.”

You nodded, kissing him once more. “I’m not going anywhere.”

In the quiet dark of his apartment, with Jason’s arms around you and his heartbeat steady under your ear, the rivalry that had defined you both finally felt like the beginning of something better.

Something that felt a lot like home.

a/n: I think I peaked at this.. I’m feeling kinda down about my writing atm arghh I miss people’s sweet reblogs

[fancy-possum]

KITCHEN CHAOS, SWEET VICTORIES ◞D.W

Your boyfriend, Damian Wayne, is the best taste tester. Even if he refuses to admit that.

DC masterlist ◞ Based on this request.

a/n: Trixie vs writing anything other than dc..

The apartment smelled like vanilla, cinnamon, and something that might have been slightly burnt sugar. You stood at the kitchen counter in one of Damian’s old Wayne Enterprises shirts, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting your cheek like war paint. Bowls, measuring cups, and various ingredients were scattered across every available surface. This was your happy place — experimenting with new recipes, tweaking old ones, turning the kitchen into a laboratory of flavor.

Damian Wayne — your boyfriend of two years, now a very serious college student who still somehow found time to patrol as Robin — sat at the small breakfast bar, arms crossed, watching you with a mix of amusement and mild suffering.

“You volunteered for this,” you reminded him sweetly, sliding a fresh batch of experimental lemon-blueberry muffins toward him. “Taste tester duties. Remember?”

“I was under the impression it would involve one or two items,” Damian said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Not an entire bakery’s worth of prototypes.”

You grinned, leaning across the counter to kiss his cheek, leaving a faint trace of flour there. “You love me. And you secretly love being the first to try my creations.”

He sighed, but there was no real annoyance in it. At nineteen, Damian had grown into his sharp features and sharper tongue, but with you he was softer — still arrogant, still precise, but willing to sit through your chaotic kitchen experiments because they made you happy.

“Very well,” he said, picking up a muffin with the delicate care of someone handling evidence. He took a small, measured bite, chewing thoughtfully. His green eyes narrowed in concentration.

You bounced on your toes. “Well?”

“It is… okay,” he pronounced. “The lemon is bright. The blueberries give some god moisture. But, the crumb is slightly dense. Maybe.. less flour next time, or another egg.”

You scribbled notes on your recipe card, nodding. “Good catch. Okay, next one.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “There’s more?”

“Many more,” you said cheerfully, pulling a tray of chocolate-chili cookies from the oven. The scent was rich and a little spicy. “I’m trying to perfect a new line for the campus bake sale next week. You’re my official critic.”

He took a cookie when you offered it, breaking it in half to examine the texture before tasting. “The heat builds nicely at the end,” he said after a moment. “Surprising, but.. not unpleasant. The chocolate balances it. These may be your best yet.”

Your heart did a little flip at the rare praise. Damian wasn’t one for empty compliments — if he said something was good, he meant it.

The afternoon stretched on like that. You moved through recipes with focused energy — a rosemary olive oil cake that Damian deemed “elegant but perhaps too savory for dessert,” a batch of matcha white chocolate blondies that made him pause and actually take a second one (“These are… weirdly addictive”), and a disastrous attempt at lavender-honey macarons that ended up in the trash after one bite from both of you.

Damian never complained. He sat there in his comfy clothes, hair slightly messy from running his hands through it, offering thoughtful feedback between bites. Sometimes he’d stand up to help — steadying a mixer when it started to wobble, or reaching ingredients on the high shelf you couldn’t quite grab. Every so often he’d pull you away from the counter for a quick kiss, tasting whatever you’d just been sampling on your lips.

“You’re going to make me gain weight,” he muttered at one point, accepting a spoonful of experimental tiramisu mousse.

You laughed, wiping a bit of cream from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. “You burn it all off anyway with your… nighttime activities. Besides, I like cooking for you.”

His expression softened in that way it only did for you. “And I like that you do.”

As evening fell, the kitchen looked like a war zone but the counter was lined with successful creations. You finally collapsed onto the couch with Damian, legs draped over his lap, both of you pleasantly full and tired.

“You know,” you said, tracing patterns on his arm, “most people would have bailed after the third failed batch.”

Damian’s hand rested on your thigh, thumb stroking lazy circles. “Most people are not fortunate enough to have a partner whose passion produces such… interesting results.” He paused. “The matcha blondies were genuinely excellent. You should make those again.”

You beamed. “Noted.”

He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you for including me in your process. Even if it means becoming your official guinea pig.”

“You’re the best taste tester I’ve ever had,” you murmured, snuggling into his chest. “Critical, honest, and very cute when you’re concentrating.”

Damian huffed, but his arms tightened around you. “I am not cute.”

“You’re adorable,” you countered, kissing his jaw. “Especially with flour on your nose.”

He wiped at his face, scowling when he found the evidence. You laughed, and he retaliated by tickling your sides until you were both breathless and tangled together on the couch.

Later, as you packed up the successful baked goods for the campus bake sale, Damian helped without being asked — labeling containers in his neat handwriting, making sure everything was stored properly. The apartment smelled like sugar and vanilla and home.

You watched him for a moment, heart full. College life with Damian Wayne wasn’t always easy — between his classes, your own, and his continued work as Robin — but moments like this made it perfect.

“Thank you,” you said softly as he closed the last container.

He looked up, green eyes warm. “Always.”

The kitchen might be a mess, but with Damian as your taste tester and partner in crime, every experiment felt like a success.

Even the ones that ended up in the trash.

a/n : this was so cute brah he’s so freaking awesome. I CANT FIND AC ANYWHERE SORRY.

[fancy-possum]

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 || 𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

masterlist || follow for more :3 || based on this request

summary : you’re working from home in an annoying office job. however, you happen to live with the most charming and annoying man you’ve ever met, you’re boyfriend. and all he wants is a bit of attention!

You were in the middle of a very serious meeting.

The camera was on, your professional smile was locked in place, and your boss was droning on about quarterly metrics while three other team members nodded along on screen. You were taking notes, nodding at the right moments, and trying very hard to look like the competent project manager everyone thought you were.

Then Dick Grayson decided he needed attention.

He’d been home all day — no patrol, no Titans meeting, just you and him in your shared apartment. He’d been good for the first two hours, bringing you coffee and stealing kisses between meetings. But now, twenty minutes into this endless status update, he was bored.

You saw him appear in the background of your camera feed, shirtless in gray sweatpants, stretching like a cat. He caught your eye in the small preview window and grinned.

Don’t you dare, you mouthed silently.

He dared.

Dick walked out of shit from the camera, then dropped into a perfect one-handed handstand right beside your chair, muscles flexing as he held the pose effortlessly. His legs were straight up in the air, toes pointed like he was performing for an audience of one. You nearly choked on your coffee.

“—and that brings us to the Q3 deliverables,” your boss continued, oblivious.

You forced a nod, trying to keep your face neutral while Dick slowly lowered himself into a full split on the floor, then rolled into a smooth back handspring. He landed silently, shot you a cheeky wink, and immediately launched into a series of pushups on your kitchen counter.

Your cheeks burned. You muted your microphone for a second and hissed under your breath, “Dick, I swear—”

He blew you a kiss, walked over to the door of the room, and did a one-armed pull-up on the doorframe, shirtless back muscles rippling. The audacity.

You unmuted just in time to answer a question about timelines. Your voice was steady, but your leg was bouncing under the desk. Dick noticed and grinned wider. He dropped down and started doing slow, deliberate push-ups right in your line of sight, counting them out silently while maintaining eye contact with you.

One… two… three…

You were going to kill him.

After the meeting dragged on for another fifteen agonising minutes, you finally closed your laptop with a sigh of relief. The second the camera turned off, you spun in your chair.

“Dick Grayson, I am going to murder you.”

He was mid-handstand again, grinning upside down. “But you looked so cute trying to stay professional. I couldn’t help it.”

You stood up, crossing the room. He flipped down gracefully and caught you around the waist before you could swat him.

“You’re impossible,” you grumbled, but you were smiling despite yourself. His skin was warm from the exercise, and he smelled like citrus soap and that faint scent of sweat that always made your brain a little fuzzy.

“I was lonely,” he said, nuzzling into your neck. “You’ve been in meetings all morning. I missed my favourite coworker.”

“You’re not my coworker,” you laughed, letting him pull you closer. His hands slid under your work blouse, palms warm against your bare back. “You’re my very distracting boyfriend who almost made me blush on camera.”

Dick’s grin turned mischievous. “Almost? Damn. I’ll have to try harder next time.”

You swatted his chest, but he just laughed and lifted you effortlessly, spinning you once before setting you on the kitchen counter. He stepped between your legs, hands resting on your thighs.

“I’m serious,” you said, poking his chest. “I have another meeting in thirty minutes. Behave.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Thirty minutes is plenty of time for me to behave… or misbehave. Your choice.”

You shivered at the low tone in his voice. His hands slid higher on your thighs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just under the hem of your skirt. The touch was teasing, affectionate, full of promise.

“You’re going to be the death of my productivity,” you murmured, but you were already tilting your head to give him better access to your neck.

He kissed the spot just below your ear, soft and lingering. “Worth it.”

For the next twenty minutes, Dick was the perfect distraction — sweet kisses, gentle touches, whispered compliments that made your cheeks warm. He never pushed too far, always checking in with soft eyes and a playful smile. When your next meeting reminder pinged, he groaned dramatically but stepped back, hands raised in surrender.

“Fine, fine. Go be responsible. I’ll be here, waiting patiently.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Patiently?”

He grinned. “Mostly patiently.”

You kissed him one last time — quick and sweet — and returned to your desk. The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings, but every so often you’d catch Dick doing something ridiculous in the background just to make you smile: juggling oranges, balancing on one hand while reading a book, or doing slow, dramatic somersaults across the living room.

By the time you finally closed your laptop for the day, you were exhausted but happy. Dick was waiting on the couch, arms open.

“Come here,” he said softly.

You crawled into his lap, letting him wrap you up in a warm hug. He kissed the top of your head, then your temple, then your lips — slow and sweet, like he’d been saving it all day.

“I love you,” he murmured against your mouth. “Even when you have to work and I have to be patient.”

You smiled, nuzzling into his neck. “I love you too. My very distracting, very acrobatic boyfriend.”

He chuckled, hands stroking your back. “I’ll take that title.”

The two of you stayed like that for a long time — tangled together on the couch, the city humming far below, the afternoon light turning golden through the windows.

Dick Grayson might be the golden boy of the Titans team, the charming Wayne boy, the hero who saved everyone else.

But with you, he was just Dick — the man who did handstands in the living room to make you laugh, who waited patiently when you had to work, and who loved you with a bright, unwavering joy that never dimmed.

And you?

You were exactly where you wanted to be.

With your favorite distraction.

a/n : I need everyone to understand how insanely obsessed with this fic I am. I’m genuinely so UGHHH. @imgoinglococrazy

[fancy-possum]

𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐱 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

masterlist || based on this request || 1k event :3

The safehouse was quiet except for the soft hum of the city far below and the steady rhythm of Wally’s breathing against your neck.

You were both still in your suits — yours the sleek black and gold armor, his the bright red and yellow Flash suit, both scuffed and torn from the night’s chaos. A rogue meta-human had caused havoc in the Narrows, and you’d jumped in to help without thinking. Wally had been right behind you, as always — the fastest man alive, but never too fast to leave you behind.

Now, the adrenaline was crashing.

Wally had you pinned gently against the wall, not with force but with need. His hands slid under the edge of your armor, palms warm against your bare skin as he kissed you slow and deep, like he was still reassuring himself you were okay.

“You scared me tonight,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky. “Jumping in front of that energy blast like that. I know you’re tough, but… fuck, I hate seeing you hurt.”

You smiled into the kiss, fingers threading through his messy red hair. “I’m fine. Just a few bruises. And you were right there to catch me. Like always.”

He groaned softly, pressing closer, hips rolling against yours in a slow, suggestive grind. The friction made your breath hitch. His hands roamed higher under your armor, tracing the curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through the thin undersuit.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, nipping at your bottom lip. “All mine. Even when you’re reckless.”

You shivered, arching into him. The safehouse felt smaller, warmer, the world outside fading as Wally kissed down your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot just below your ear. His hands stayed respectful but possessive, sliding over your hips, pulling you flush against him so you could feel how much he wanted you.

“Wally…” you breathed, tilting your head to give him better access.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks down your spine. “Just a little more. Need to feel you. Need to know you’re really okay.”

You were about to pull him closer when the comms crackled.

“Batgirl? You copy? I’m in the area — saw the explosion. You good? I’m close to the safe house.”

Dick’s voice. Your older brother. Of course he’d check in.

You froze. Wally pulled back, eyes wide with panic and amusement.

“Shit,” he whispered. “Hide me.”

You shoved him toward the small closet in the corner, heart racing. “In there. Don’t make a sound.”

He grinned, ducking inside just as a knock sounded on the safehouse door.

You smoothed your hair, adjusted your armor, and opened it.

Dick stood there in his Nightwing suit, looking concerned. “Hey. You okay? Looked like a rough one.”

You forced a smile, leaning against the doorframe to block his view. “I’m fine. Just a few bruises. Wally helped me out. He’s… already gone.”

Dick raised an eyebrow, glancing past you into the room. “You sure? I can stay if you need backup.”

“I’m good,” you said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. “Really. Go home. Rest. I’ll debrief with Bruce tomorrow.”

He studied you for a second, then smirked. “Alright. But if you need anything, call. And tell Wally I said thanks for having your back.”

You nodded, cheeks warm. “Will do.”

The second the door closed, Wally tumbled out of the closet, laughing softly as he pulled you back into his arms.

“That was close,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Your brother almost caught us. Again.”

You laughed, melting into him. “You’re terrible at hiding.”

“Only because I can’t keep my hands off you.” His hands slid back under your armour, warm and teasing, tracing the curve of your waist. “Now… where were we?”

You kissed him again — slow, deep, full of relief and want. His hands roamed, gentle but hungry, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The night’s adrenaline mixed with the comfort of being safe in his arms, turning into something warmer. Softer.

Wally pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark but tender. “I love you,” he whispered. “Even when you scare the hell out of me on patrol. Even when your brothers almost catch us. Especially then.”

You smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I love you too. My fast, reckless, perfect boyfriend.”

He grinned, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the small cot in the corner. He laid you down gently, hovering over you, hands stroking your sides as he kissed you again — slower this time, savoring.

The safehouse felt like the only place in the world that mattered.

And in Wally West’s arms, with his heartbeat racing against yours and his lips soft on your skin, the chaos of Gotham felt a little farther away.

a/n : first fic in a while soz, I’m working on a lot of requests :3

[fancy-possum]

Kryptonite and Gunpowder ◞ Jason Todd

you’re not like the rest of your Super-Family. Gotham calls your name, and now? So does an annoying anti-hero you’ve managed to find yourself close to. Jason Todd.

based on this request! ◞ follow for more!

DC masterlist ◞ Jason Todd masterlist

You weren’t supposed to be in Gotham.

The Kent family had a long-standing, mostly unspoken agreement about that. Metropolis was clean lines and bright hope. Gotham was shadows and teeth. Your younger brothers—Jon with his earnest heart and Conner with his complicated edges—mostly stayed on the side of the map that made sense for Kryptonians who still believed in the symbol on their chests.

You preferred the side that didn’t.

You weren’t an anti-hero. You still pulled people out of burning buildings and stopped muggings and put the worst of the worst in the ground when the system failed too hard to fix. You just didn’t smile for cameras afterward. You didn’t give speeches. You wore black more than blue and red, and handled justice the way you handled everything else: on your own terms, with a sharp tongue and sharper fists.

Lois once said you reminded her of herself, if she’d grown up able to bench-press a truck and less inclined to file stories about it. Clark just sighed a lot and made sure you knew the farm was always open when Gotham got too heavy.

Gotham always got too heavy.

That was how you ended up in a dive bar in the Bowery at two in the morning, nursing a drink that barely did anything to your metabolism and listening to the low murmur of people who knew better than to look too closely at strangers.

He walked in like he owned the place.

Red Hood, leather jacket scuffed, that white streak in his hair catching the cheap neon. Jason Todd. You’d heard the stories from Clark and Conner. Dead Robin. Angry gunman. The one who didn’t mind making the kind of messes the others cleaned up after.

He noticed you the same moment you noticed him. Something in the air shifted.

He ordered a drink, leaned against the bar two stools down, and looked you over with open appraisal. “You’re not from around here.”

“Observant,” you said dryly. “Does the attitude and the guns come with a detective license, or is that just a hobby?”

His mouth twitched. “Cute. You got a name, or should I just call you Trouble?”

“Only if you’re feeling optimistic.”

He laughed under his breath, low and rough, and moved closer. The banter sharpened fast—two people used to being the most dangerous thing in the room testing the edges of each other. You didn’t give him your name. He didn’t give you anything real either. By the time the bartender started casting pointed looks at the clock, you’d argued about everything from the best way to clear a trafficking ring to whether hope was a useful strategy or a liability.

You left first.

He followed you out into the rain like it was inevitable.

“You’re strong,” he said, watching the way you didn’t bother pretending the weather affected you. “Stronger than you look. And you move like someone who’s used to landing on their feet from a lot higher than a fire escape.”

You tilted your head. “And you’re nosy for a guy who wears a helmet to hide his face.”

“Occupational hazard.” He stepped closer. The rain plastered his hair to his forehead. “Stay out of my territory, sweetheart. Gotham doesn’t need another idealist with powers and a savior complex.”

“Good thing I’m not an idealist,” you shot back. “And it’s not your territory just because you bleed in it.”

That was the start.

You kept crossing paths.

A weapons deal in the Diamond District. A hostage situation in the Narrows. A corrupt official who needed a different kind of pressure than the Bats preferred. Every time, the two of you ended up on the same rooftop or the same street, arguing about methods while the actual problem waited.

Jason thought you were reckless. You thought he was a hypocrite with a death wish and too many guns.

“You can’t just drop a guy off a building and call it justice,” you snapped one night, hauling a trafficker up by the collar after Jason had dangled him a little too convincingly.

“Worked, didn’t it?” he shot back. “Your way takes three weeks of paperwork and a prayer. Mine takes five minutes and a warning they actually remember.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Already did that once. Didn’t take.”

The tension between you was a live wire. You hated how much you noticed the way he moved. He hated how much he noticed the way you smiled when you were about to do something deeply inadvisable.

Then the case came that neither of you could handle alone.

A new player in Gotham was experimenting with something that messed with powered people—dampeners, control devices, the kind of tech that made your skin crawl and made Jason’s trigger finger itch. The Bats were stretched thin. The Titans were elsewhere. It was just the two of you, a shared enemy, and a city that didn’t care if you liked each other.

You worked together because you had to.

It was messy.

You saved his life twice in one night and he still called you a “flying girl scout with daddy issues.” He took a bullet meant for a civilian and you still told him his contingency plans were “paranoid bullshit designed by a man who never learned how to ask for help.”

You bled on the same rooftops. Shared the same terrible coffee from the same all-night diner. Argued until your voices went hoarse and then fell into charged silence that felt worse than the yelling.

Somewhere in the middle of it, the anger started changing shape.

You noticed the way his hands shook after a close call. He noticed the way you went quiet when the mission brushed too close to the kind of loss you didn’t talk about. You started leaving medical supplies in places you knew he’d find them. He started texting you warnings about neighborhoods that had gone hot overnight.

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” you told him after he’d dragged you out of a collapsing safehouse, both of you coughing and soot-streaked.

“Wouldn’t dream of assuming,” he answered, and then pressed you against the brick wall of an alley and kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for weeks.

It was angry and desperate and tasted like smoke. You kissed him back harder.

After that, everything got more complicated.

You still argued. You still threw sharp words like knives. But now the arguments ended with teeth on skin and hands fisted in clothing and the kind of sex that felt like another form of combat. It was toxic in the way that burned hot and bright—two people who didn’t know how to be soft without first being sharp. You pushed each other’s buttons on purpose. He baited you. You baited him back. And underneath all of it was something neither of you were ready to name.

“You’re going to get tired of this,” you said one night, sitting on the edge of his safehouse cot while you cleaned a cut on his arm with more care than ever showed.

Jason glanced up, green eyes unreadable. “Of what? The most infuriating woman I’ve ever met showing up in my city and making everything harder?”

“Yeah. That.”

You finished with the bandage, then tugged you forward by the wrist until you were close enough that his forehead could rest against yours.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But not today.”

You stayed in Gotham longer than you meant to.

Clark called. Lois called. Jon sent worried reels. Conner just sent a single message that said Don’t do anything dumber than usual and then left you alone. You ignored most of them. Gotham had its claws in you, and so did the man who met you at every rooftop with a sarcastic greeting and a look that said he’d been waiting.

The case ended the way things in Gotham usually did—messy, loud, and with more damage than anyone wanted. You and Jason stood over the wreckage together, both of you exhausted, both of you still standing.

“You could leave,” he said. Not quite a question.

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

You looked at him—the white streak, the scars, the mouth that had said a hundred cruel things and a few true ones—and felt the familiar pull of something reckless and inevitable.

“You’re the worst idea I’ve ever had,” you told him.

Jason’s smile was slow and sharp and almost soft. “Takes one to know one.”

You kissed him there in the ruins, tasting blood and victory and the promise of every argument still to come. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t simple. It was the two of you—Kryptonian rebellion and Lazarus pit rage—choosing the friction because the alternative was walking away.

And neither of you had ever been good at walking away.

Later, when the sun started to rise over a city that still didn’t deserve either of you, Jason nudged your shoulder with his.

“Stay,” he said. Not a demand. Not quite a plea.

You looked out at Gotham, then back at him.

“For now,” you answered.

It was as close to a promise as either of you knew how to make.

And for the two of you, it was enough.

a/n: j love and hate this fic pls give me some love chat x