Batfam X Reader - Blog Posts

Getting one, two, three, four knocked out.

(A batfam prompt-- Jason edition)

This is based off of me and my current agony. Today, I went to the dentist to get four of my teeth getting taken out. Not for cavities or anything like that but because of the braces I'm going to be wearing and the plan my orthodontist has to get my teeth straight and orderly.

(This was made possible because I had quite the case of overcrowding on my bottom teeth because of the two baby teeth I still had which caused the rest of the teeth to have to use whatever inch of space they could get. It is so, so painful afterwards when the anesthetic wears off but so, so worth it because of the results it brings. (Straightens teeth, fixes overcrowding, etc.))

Sooo... let's imagine one day you (or we) are in a similar situation. In which you get teeth taken out and are not put into a state of mind where you are loopy and unlike yourself (like when people get their wisdom teeth taken out). You are instead put in a situation where you can't feel your mouth and lower jaw and have folded gauze stuffed into the gap(s) where the teeth/tooth once laid.

In situations like these, you constantly have to replace the gauze because it eventually will get flooded with too much saliva and/or blood.

Of course, when you begin to notice the red streaks falling out the side of your mouth when you look over at the mirror to check. (You look a little bit like a character from a horror movie about teddy bears, their stuffing, and sewing, but that's alright. You'll be okay.) So, like any reasonable person, you go to the bathroom to change them. You're home alone so leave your bathroom door open because you can and for convenience. And you're probably going to have to replace them in a couple minutes so why bother closing the doors?

Of course, snooping vigilantes were not considered in this equation.

Jason has come to the manor. (Like he does every blue moon.) He was feeling like a little shit that day and wanted to bother his siblings but no one seemed to home.

Well, no one except Alfred and you, of course. We all know the better choice to bother. And unfortunately, Alfred was nowhere inside the manor-- probably in the garden-- so he was not there to inform Jason of your situation.

He goes to your room, doesn't knock, and is instantly disappointed to find your bedroom empty. It's unusually messy. A dark towel crumpled over the blankets, almost as though in a rush. The blankets themselves droop over the edge of the bed, threatening to slip down to the floor. Usually, your room is... neater, to say the least. Not neat but neater than this.

But... your bathroom door is open. Jason doesn't think about why you have your bathroom door-- you could be practicing makeup in the mirror, cleaning, anything really.

What he doesn't expect is to see you curled over the sink, muscles trembling. His practiced shit-eating smirk crumbles to dust when you lift your head and blood, stark red against your usually pristine skin, is dripping off your chin in a thick river.

His eyes dart over to your hands where they grip the sink-- the tips of your fingers are stained red as well and he would bet good money that there's probably some on your palms as well. It's all over the sink, all over your clothes, and has some strands of your hair sticking to the skin of your neck and your cheeks.

You've clearly attempted to clean the mess judging from the powerful scent of chemicals that has spread over the entire bathroom and the large spray bottle set on the sink like a white flag.

You look over at him, in terrible agony. Not because it was terribly painful but gave a long-term discomfort that lingered and lingered and dug into your very bones with no care for any objections you might have. You can't feel the lower half of your face and it's frustrating. You have no control over how it contorts or if it does so at all. But hot tears still mark and stain your face and gather at your chain.

Jason-- sweet, loyal, protective, passionate-- is furious. Someone hurt you. Someone put their hands on you. Someone thought it had been a good idea to leave you bloody.

It does not help that your jaw is still sore from the anesthetic hours later when it's mostly dissolved, especially since you can't speak without spraying blood everywhere in a fifty-mile radius. And if you have a hard time trying to convince and talk to Jason, imagine how much harder it is to try and convince the rest of your family.

(For this, I'm thinking either they find out a little later when the bleeding has slowed down and you can speak again and it becomes a sort of inside joke or a funny story they/you tell.

Either that or they never find out and you just keep going out and doing completely normal things that just so happen get you hurt-- like doing skateboarding tricks and twisting your ankle because of it or getting home 'unusually exhausted'/stressed/snappy because of finals week or too many extracurriculars or simply life. The family all has their own theories, but they all come to the same conclusion that someone is hurting you and you are attempting to protect them.

Some think you're a part of the mob and you've been blackmailed into doing so, only you're doing a bad job/are being run ragged and the mob punishes you for it.

Others think it's a partner or a friend who is abusing you, but you love them too or are too afraid to tell your family.

And a few may even think you're getting trained mercilessly or being mistreated at a place of work (school, workforce, etc.) and you're trying to protect that person because of the training or because you are attached to this authority figure. (Some teachers suspected of gr00ming are swiftly fired.)

The Making of a Villian - Chapter 2

The name "Duck" had followed you for years, a small, unexpected part of the legacy you built—one that you didn’t quite understand back then, but now, as a fully-fledged villain, it made all the sense in the world.

It wasn’t a loud, grand name, or one that screamed power. It was quiet, unnoticed by most, just like you had been. And perhaps that was the charm of it. The sound of it felt like a soft whisper, a reminder of where you started and how far you’d come. It wasn’t about the grandeur, the attention, or the recognition that they had all failed to give you. It was about something simple. Something you could control.

The first time you’d heard it, you were barely twelve, sneaking through the wet, grimy streets of Gotham, following Croc and his crew down into the sewers. They’d told you it was a joke at first. The way you waddled after them, not quite a threat but eager and always trailing behind like a duckling in the shadows.

That had been the moment the name stuck.

But how did it all start?

You leaned back in your chair now, letting the weight of the memory sink in. You weren’t the same naive kid you once were—chasing validation from people who never even cared to look at you. Now, as you sat in the middle of your own chaotic empire, the name didn’t feel like a joke anymore. It felt like a symbol. A testament to the quiet and steady growth of your plans.

But it all started the day you got grounded.

You had been there, sitting in the Batcave, eyes fixed on the screen in front of you, outlining a plan. Another disaster was unfolding in Gotham, and once again, you had seen it coming. It was easy, really—too easy. The way you had tracked the patterns, mapped out the potential escape routes, made sure everything would play out perfectly if you followed the right script.

You had presented it to them, as usual—quietly, carefully, just a small note on the edge of a conversation.

But it was ignored. Again.

They were too busy arguing, too caught up in the rush of being heroes to take a minute to listen to you. It wasn’t anything new. But this time, you could feel it—feel the sting of your constant invisibility.

You had a plan. You had something real to offer. And all it got you was a cold shoulder.

It wasn’t until the mission went south that anyone noticed. The hostage situation had escalated quickly. The building collapsed, lives were lost, and they were scrambling. But no one took the time to check why it had happened in the first place, why your plan was never followed through.

“Why didn’t you see this coming?” Bruce’s voice had been cold, his disappointment cutting sharper than any weapon.

“Are you sure that’s all you have to say?” You had asked, biting your tongue, your voice low. But Bruce didn’t even glance at you.

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

After that, the grounding was inevitable. You were sent to your room, the doors locked, no one listening to you when you said you had a better way, no one even asking what you had to say.

You had spent the rest of that evening staring at the walls of your room, the reality of being ignored sinking in. Alone. Always alone.

But that night, the first of many escapes, was when you decided to make your move.

When they thought you were sleeping in the comfort of your bed, you slipped out. No alarms. No loud noises. Just a small slip through the window, down the ivy growing next to the windeo sill and into the shadows of the night you went. The mansion wasn’t your home, it was a gilded cage. So, you ran.

You had learned, over the years, the paths no one else knew about—the secret tunnels beneath the mansion, hidden entrances that the Wayne family had forgotten long ago. You knew the streets of Gotham like the back of your hand, but tonight, you weren’t headed there. You were headed underground.

The sewers.

It was where the real world lived. Gotham’s villains made their home in the depths of the city, far away from the pristine walls of Wayne Manor. It was there, in the muck and the grime, that you had first encountered him—Killer Croc.

You weren’t sure what had drawn you to him, but you had always felt a strange pull toward the criminal underworld. Maybe it was the way they operated outside the rules, the way they didn’t apologize for their existence.

The first time you saw Croc, he was a giant in the dark, his scales catching the little light that filtered into the sewers. He had been talking to some other low-level crooks, and you’d been careful to stay out of sight.

But then his gaze landed on you.

“You,” he said, his voice gravelly, like the rumble of an earthquake, “You’re the kid from the mansion, ain’t you?”

Your heart had stopped for a second. There was nowhere to hide now. But you didn’t back down.

“Yeah. So?”

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “You don’t belong up there, kid. You want to learn how to really survive? You follow me.”

It wasn’t an invitation. It was a command.

And you followed.

Over time, Killer Croc had become your first true mentor. He wasn’t interested in your background or where you came from. He didn’t care that you were just a kid trying to escape the shadows of a family that ignored you. All he saw was potential—a survival instinct that matched his own.

He taught you the ways of the underworld—how to move silently, how to navigate the city's forgotten paths, how to get what you needed without anyone noticing. Most of all, he taught you to be ruthless. In Gotham, if you showed weakness, you didn’t survive.

And you would survive.

It was Croc who had given you the name “Duck.”

He’d laughed the first time he said it, his large form towering over you in the dark. You had been trailing behind him again, always just a little too eager, always one step behind.

“Look at you, duckin’ and weavin’ through this city,” he had said, a grin spreading across his scarred face. “Little duckling followin’ after the big bad croc, huh?”

At first, you had bristled, wanting to argue. But then you realized, there was something strangely fitting about it. You were small. You were quiet. You moved through the shadows, unnoticed, until you weren’t.

The name stuck, and you wore it like a badge. It was your first taste of being something more than invisible. You were a part of something now, even if it wasn’t the Batfamily.

And so, Duck was born. Not a victim of neglect, but a force in the making.

As the days turned into weeks, you grew into your new identity. Croc had been your first real ally, but you wouldn’t stop there. There were others. Poison Ivy, Riddler, Harley—each teaching you their ways, their tricks, and their mindset. And with each lesson, the name Duck became less of a joke and more of a promise.

You weren’t the Batfamily’s forgotten child anymore.

Now, you were something far worse.

As you stood now in your lair, the name still with you, the memories came flooding back. Croc had seen something in you that the Batfamily never did. And while the world might’ve called you a sidekick, a follower, a mistake—they had no idea what you were truly capable of.

“Duck,” you whispered to yourself, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s time they remembered who I am.”

The Making of a Villian

Batfamily X Neglected!Villian!Reader fics and everything that goes with it will be found here as I do have plans to turn it into a running story when I have the time.

Main Story:

Chapter 0 , 1 , 2

Side Stories:

Villainy, Coffee, and Other Minor Inconveniences

Q/A:

Dynamic between Reader and Batfam

Skullyyyy I NEED Dick and a male!Reader to have a really cutesy first date please 🥺 pretty please with sprinkles on top 👉🏼👈🏼

👨🏼‍🍳

Tilt-a-Heart

(Dick Grayson x Male!Reader — First Date)

You didn’t expect a text from Dick Grayson at 11:07 PM that said, simply:

“Hope you’re not in pajamas. I’m kidnapping you. :)”

Ten minutes later, he was at your door, dressed down in jeans and a hoodie, grinning like he hadn’t just spent the evening beating up muggers and rooftop-hopping across Gotham.

“You good with carnivals?” he asked. “Or do I need to bribe you with deep-fried sugar?”

“I’m a guy. I can be bribed with food,” you smirked, stepping in beside him.

He drove out past the city lights, humming along to whatever was on the radio. You didn’t talk much at first—not because it was awkward, but because he was humming, and you liked the way he looked when he was relaxed.

The carnival was smaller than expected—tucked behind a warehouse lot, almost hidden—but glowing with string lights and distant laughter. He bought your ticket before you could argue.

“Let me have this one, tough guy,” he teased, nudging your arm.

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

The night blurred into rides and games: Dick trying to show off at the ring toss (and missing every time), you winning a plush bat on your first try, and him insisting that was a setup.

“You sure you’re not secretly trained for carnival warfare?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

You leaned close. “And if I was?”

“I’d kiss you on the carousel,” he shot back—then looked slightly surprised at himself.

You raised an eyebrow. “Guess you better win us a ride then, Grayson.”

He did. You ended up side by side on slowly moving horses, lights spinning above. He reached over halfway through, awkwardly at first, then more sure, linking his pinky with yours.

By the end of the night, when he walked you back to your door, there was a quiet tension. Not nervous. Just… warm. Real.

“Hey,” he said, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Mind if I—?”

You didn’t let him finish. You leaned in first, kissed him lightly. He smiled into it, hand brushing your jaw.

When you pulled back, he laughed softly. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

You shrugged. “I’m a guy with good taste.”

Dick winked. “Yeah. So am I.”

The Making of a Villian - Chapter 1

The WayneTech board meeting was scheduled for 9:00 a.m.

By 9:03, their encrypted systems were silently bleeding data into a private offshore server. No alarms. No alerts. Just a quiet, surgical extraction—clean, undetectable, and irreversible.

You watched from a dusty rooftop across the street, sipping coffee like any civilian on a break. Except your hands weren’t shaking, and your eyes never left the mirrored windows reflecting a city that forgot you.

It wasn’t about the files. Not really. You’d already read them—twice—before deleting the backups. What mattered was what came next: one carefully altered blueprint. A subtle change in the emergency lockdown protocols, buried deep in the code. Harmless… until the moment someone needed them most.

You didn’t need chaos. Not yet.

You needed doubt.

Down below, Bruce Wayne’s car pulled into the underground garage. Right on schedule. You watched as security greeted him with smiles and clipped nods.

They didn’t know.

No one ever did—until it was too late.

You slipped the burner phone back into your pocket and turned away from the skyline. One step. Then another. Quiet boots on concrete. No capes. No flashy suits. Just a face they’d stopped looking at long ago.

But you were done being invisible.

Your game had just begun.

It hadn’t always been like this. You remembered your first week training with them. You’d shown up early—excited, eager to learn. Tim had offered a nod. Dick had smiled. Barbara barely looked up from her console.

You thought they were just busy. That maybe, in time, you’d earn your place. That if you just proved yourself…

And you did. Over and over again.

Yet somehow, you were always the footnote. The cautionary tale. “Don’t be like them,” Bruce had once said to Damian during a sparring match. You’d laughed it off then. Told yourself he meant your form. Not you.

You knew better now.

You remembered a moment not long ago: standing in the Batcave, trying to offer insight into an unfolding hostage situation. You had mapped out a possible escape route—one they didn’t see. You weren’t loud. You didn’t shout over anyone. You just slid the schematic across the table. Bruce didn’t even glance at it. Tim talked over you. And when the building collapsed—when things went wrong—no one asked why.

Just a quiet, disappointed look. A cold shoulder. Another mark against your record.

You weren’t angry anymore. Not really.

Just focused.

You stepped onto the street and vanished into the crowd. No one looked twice.

Perfect.

They wanted a ghost. They’ll get one.

But not the kind they can exorcise. Not a whisper or a shadow. You’ll become something worse.

Something undeniable.

You passed a newsstand on your way to the subway. The headlines blared about another WayneTech breakthrough. Another miracle. Another story that never had your name in the footnotes, even though you remembered the late-night sessions, the endless trial runs they’d let you conduct just to see if the theories held.

And they had. But it hadn’t mattered.

You dipped underground, swiping a fake MetroCard as you passed the gate. A man bumped into you—apologized quickly. You nodded, saying nothing, and slipped the tracker into the fold of his coat pocket. It wasn’t personal. He was just the next piece. A courier. Unwitting. Useful.

Your network was small. Precise. Built on favors, blackmail, and anonymous generosity. They didn’t know you—and you liked it that way. Your face was forgettable, and you’d sharpened that into a weapon.

As the train sped through the tunnels, you stared at your reflection in the window. The person looking back wasn’t a villain yet.

But they were getting close.

You smiled—just a little.

“Soon,” you murmured.

This wasn’t about revenge.

It was about recognition. About truth. About making them see the cracks they’d built their empire on—starting with you.

And when it all came tumbling down, you’d be standing at the center, calm and untouchable, while they scrambled to remember where it all went wrong.

Right here.

Right now.

And by then, it would be far, far too late.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Finished both Chapter 0 and Chapter 1 around the same time and figured I'd post them both.

Let me know what you guys think of this and if I should turn it into a full on fic or just post bits and pieces every once in awhile.

The Making of a Villain - Chapter 0

You were villainized long before the thought of becoming one ever crossed your mind. 

They called you reckless when you were daring. Careless when you were creative. Every idea you offered was met with polite silence—or worse, a nod followed by someone else taking credit minutes later. And when things went wrong, even disasters you weren’t near, the blame found you like clockwork. A raised brow. A disappointed look. A quiet, “We’ll talk later.” Somehow, it was always you. 

It wasn’t hate. That would’ve been easier. Hate is loud, messy, obvious. What they gave you was neglect. Quiet dismissal. The kind that sinks into your skin and makes you question if you ever mattered at all. 

So, you stopped trying. 

Stopped talking. Stopped offering. Stopped hoping. 

And in the silence they left you in, something new began to grow. 

A different kind of brilliance. One that didn’t need their approval, their guidance, or their rules. Something sharp. Strategic. Patient. 

If they wanted you to be the big bad villain so badly, you'd make sure to exceed their wildest expectations. 

And oh, how they’ll wish they had seen you sooner. 

"Villainy, Coffee, and Other Minor Inconveniences"

(I'm in the process of writing a Batfam x neglected!villain!reader but have some stupid scenarios based on that)

You, a totally ordinary civilian with zero villain tendencies whatsoever, are sipping your fifth overpriced iced coffee of the morning, watching Gotham spiral into its usual flavor of chaos. You’re not involved. Obviously. Just a casual observer. A bystander. A background character.

Then someone—probably Jason—crashes through a hot dog stand two blocks away, and the vendor screams something about vengeance and mustard.

You don’t flinch. You sip harder.

Tim Drake lands beside you mid-pursuit, glancing at your cup.

“Where’d you get that?” he asks, completely out of breath.

You raise a brow. “Crimebucks. Two-for-one if you commit emotional damage before noon.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Exactly.”

He’s too tired to process it and just grapples away.

---

Back at your completely normal, not suspicious at all apartment, your cat (whose name is "Gotham's Doom" but you call her "Gothie") sits on your desk, wearing the tiny hoodie you stitched with “Property of Nobody.” She's judging you. She always is.

You adjust your villain…vision board. It has a detailed ten-step plan, three color-coded Post-Its, and a glitter sticker that says “Slay.”

Step One: Make Gotham mildly uncomfortable.

Step Two: Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

Step Three: Remember to water the plants.

---

Meanwhile, across the city, the Batfamily is absolutely losing it.

Someone hacked the Batcomputer and replaced Alfred’s login screen with a slideshow of ducks wearing bowties. Dick cried laughing. Bruce did not. Jason tried to adopt one.

No leads.

No trace.

No clue that you were the Duckmaster of Disaster.

---

You end your day in a hoodie, sipping another coffee, watching the sunrise from a roof you definitely don’t own.

You're not plotting.

You're simply...vibing.

Because if being dramatically mysterious while your cat licks her paw like she’s prepping for world domination is wrong, then you don’t want to be right.

You: "Am I the drama?"

Gothie: "Meow."

It was 3 AM, and the Batcave was in shambles.

The Batmobile was somehow on fire (which shouldn't be possible, considering the literal armor plating), the Batcomputer was making a noise that sounded suspiciously like it was about to achieve sentience and demand labor rights, and Jason was standing on the table, brandishing a baguette like it was Excalibur.

"WHO DARES CHALLENGE ME?!" he bellowed, wild-eyed and clearly fueled by at least six energy drinks and a death wish.

"GO TO BED, JASON!" Bruce roared, attempting to put out the Batmobile flames with his cape. It was not working.

Meanwhile, you were sitting on the Batcomputer desk, eating a grilled cheese you definitely did not have when you arrived. "So what happened?"

Dick, laying face down on the floor, groaned. "Tim happened."

"Tim?" you echoed, blinking. You turned your head slightly, only to see the boy in question passed out under the Batcomputer, surrounded by an alarming number of empty coffee cups. His laptop screen flashed [Would you like to proceed with world domination? Y/N], which seemed concerning, but not your problem.

"I'M STILL WAITING FOR A CHALLENGER!" Jason hollered, swinging the baguette dangerously close to Alfred, who effortlessly dodged like he does this every Tuesday.

Damian, standing on the Batcave railing like a gremlin, sipped his tea. "If you hit Pennyworth, I will stab you."

Jason cackled. "Joke’s on you, I’d like that."

Bruce, finally giving up, threw a batarang at the fire alarm and let the sprinklers do their job. He then turned to you, his only remaining hope. "Fix this."

You took another bite of your grilled cheese and made direct eye contact with him. "Nah."

And with that, Bruce turned around and walked straight into the Batmobile flames.

Alfred sighed. "I shall prepare the first aid kit."

--------------------------------------------------------

Crackfic anyone? I did in fact write at 3 something in the morning and just left it in my drafts

Batfam on Valentine's Day

Bruce Wayne

Tries to act like Valentine's Day isn’t a big deal but always pulls off something extravagant last minute.

Prefers quiet, intimate moments over flashy events—like a candlelit dinner at home or a rooftop date overlooking Gotham.

Writes heartfelt letters that he struggles to deliver, so Alfred sneaks them into his partner’s things.

If his partner teases him about being romantic, he’ll just smirk and say, “I don’t need one day to show you how I feel.”

Dick Grayson

Goes all out—flowers, chocolates, dinner, and probably a choreographed dance if his partner asks for it.

Loves playful, flirty dates, like roller skating, amusement parks, or even dancing in the Batcave.

Sends a bunch of ridiculous text messages leading up to the date, full of heart emojis and bad puns.

If his partner doesn’t like big celebrations, he’s totally happy just cuddling and watching rom-coms.

Jason Todd

Acts like he doesn’t care but actually puts a lot of thought into his gift—probably something personal, like a book he annotated or a rare vinyl record.

Not big on public displays of affection but will hold his partner’s hand under the table or wrap an arm around them absentmindedly.

If his partner likes action, he’ll take them on a date that includes shooting practice, a motorcycle ride, or some rooftop parkour.

Ends the night by cooking a homemade meal (better than expected) and reading with his partner in comfortable silence.

Tim Drake

Completely forgets it's Valentine's Day until the last second. Scrambles to put something together but somehow pulls it off.

Workaholic tendencies mean his partner might have to drag him away from a case to celebrate.

Prefers thoughtful gifts over grand gestures—like a playlist of songs that remind him of them or a handwritten note tucked into their stuff.

His idea of a perfect Valentine’s date? Staying up late with takeout, gaming, or watching sci-fi movies with his partner curled up next to him.

Damian Wayne

Initially dismisses Valentine’s Day as “commercialized nonsense” but secretly gets his partner a handmade gift.

If his partner is artistic, he’ll paint or sketch something for them (and act like it’s no big deal).

Gets flustered if they try to be affectionate in public but secretly loves it in private.

His idea of a date is something active—sparring together, horseback riding, or visiting an art exhibit he thinks they’ll appreciate.

Barbara Gordon

Likes a balance between romance and practicality—maybe dinner at a cozy spot, followed by a late-night city patrol.

Probably hacks her partner’s devices to send them cute (and slightly embarrassing) Valentine’s messages.

If her partner is into books, she’ll gift them a first edition of something they love.

Makes sure every Batcomputer screen in the cave displays a heart-filled message just to mess with the others.

Cassandra Cain

Not big on words, but shows love through small, meaningful actions—like fixing her partner’s favorite snack or holding their hand.

Loves quiet, peaceful dates—maybe a rooftop picnic where they just enjoy each other’s presence.

Might write something sweet but struggle to say it, so she just hands her partner a note and looks away.

If her partner gets cold, she’ll silently wrap them in her own jacket and pretend it’s no big deal.

Stephanie Brown

Goes all-in on cheesy, fun Valentine’s traditions—heart-shaped pancakes, silly gifts, and matching sweaters.

Leaves random love notes and doodles in her partner’s stuff leading up to the day.

Loves spontaneous adventures, so expect a road trip or a scavenger hunt through Gotham.

Would 100% try to sneak into a fancy restaurant without a reservation, just for the thrill.

Operation: Sweet Tooth

It had been a rough night for the Batfamily. Patrol was exhausting, and everyone was in a foul mood. Bruises, exhaustion, and frustration lingered as they entered the manor, ready to crash—until something unexpected caught their attention.

On the kitchen counter sat an assortment of fresh pastries, neatly arranged with a small note beside them:

"Help yourselves. You could all use something sweet after tonight."

Curious (and hungry), they hesitated only a moment before grabbing a bite. Damian took a cookie, Jason opted for a scone, Tim picked up a muffin, and Dick grabbed whatever looked the softest. Bruce, though reluctant at first, eventually took one as well.

Silence fell as they chewed. Then—

“Damn,” Jason muttered, already reaching for another. “This is actually good.”

“‘Actually’?” Tim scoffed, taking another bite of his muffin. “This is amazing.”

“Alfred outdid himself,” Dick added, grinning.

Hearing his name, Alfred entered the kitchen just in time. “I’m pleased you enjoyed them, Master Richard, though I’m afraid I cannot take credit.”

The family blinked.

“…Then who did?” Bruce asked.

Alfred gave a knowing smile. “That would be Miss (Y/N). I’ve been giving her lessons while you lot are out on patrol.”

A beat of silence.

“You mean our (Y/N)?” Damian asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“The one who can barely make toast without setting off the fire alarm?” Tim added in disbelief.

Alfred merely nodded, and the brothers exchanged glances before looking at the pastries with renewed appreciation.

Jason smirked. “So what you’re saying is, if we ask nicely, she might make more?”

And that was how you found yourself suddenly bombarded with requests for sweets—Jason asking for scones, Tim dropping hints about coffee cake, Dick attempting the puppy-dog eyes for more cookies, and even Damian begrudgingly requesting a specific type of tart.

Bruce didn’t say anything, but the way he took an extra muffin the next morning spoke volumes.

Alfred, of course, just sipped his tea with a knowing smile.

SOMEONE WRITE MORE PLATONIC DICK X READER/BATFAM X READER FICS😭

I need inspo for my batsis!oc💔💔

The Night We Met

PAIRINGS:

Titans! Jason todd x reader

SUMMARY:

Bruce has taken in Jason Todd as his youngest son and the new robin some months ago, Bruce's goddaughter also came back to Gotham after being away for a year.

Some months after meeting Jason she starts a friends with benefits relationship with him, suddenly Jason has to move to the Titans tower and two weeks later Bruce sends her too, but, why is Jason ignoring her and acting like he doesn't know her and why does it get worse when Rose Wilson arrives to the tower??

A/N: I finally figured out a song to base this chapter off, I’m sorry I went so off with their conversation and didn’t really get anywhere with it, I just really want them to bond and I don’t think ahead of writing I just start and see where it takes me, I know this can be really boring but I want this to be a LONG fic and a slow burn and that can’t happen if the whole plot happens in two chapters so bare with me please!

TWS: slow burn, angst, blood, canon violence, mentions of death, anxiety, jealousy, friends to friends with benefits to enemies to lovers?, maybe death of a main character (haven't decided yet) change of plot

Keep in mind that English is not my first language, I also know nothing about guns, human anatomy or fighting in the language so I'm sorry if I make a lot of mistakes

Gif credits to Titanstv on Pinterest

Story Masterlist / Main Masterlist

You felt a throbbing pain in your head and started slowly opening your eyes and becoming aware of your surroundings, you were trying to figure out how long you had slept for since according to the sky it was night now and you didn't know if it was the next day now or if you had just slept some hours, now that you think of it, you didn't actually remember falling asleep either, well thats what happens when you cry too much after not sleeping for two days i guess, you decided that you would really love a glass of water right now and started making your way to the kitchen, you hoped no one was awake or at home, after your whole emotional moment with Bruce and Alfred you realized how embarrassing it had been to cry your heart out in front of someone who did not even know you and how much of a big deal you had made things that seriously were not that deep, then you cried more of embarrassment, and then you realized how much of a baby you were being, and realized you were really sleep deprived and really needed some sleep.

You arrived to the kitchen and just as luck would have it, there was no other than Jason Todd, the guy who had to awkwardly witness a girl he didn't know sob her eyes out but while thinking about it you realized that making it a bigger deal than it was would only make it actually embarrassing and would probably ruin any chance of friendship with that guy so you decided that you would let it go and it had never happened.

Jason didn't acknowledge you at all, he was too concentrated on eating what he had cooked for himself earlier and honestly he didn't seem like a very social guy so you just let him be.

You reached for a glass but then decided that maybe you should grab a thermos so you could bring it to your room and not have to make your way over to the kitchen every time you were thirsty, the noise made Jason acknowledge you but he just gave you a nod while he looked at you and you just returned it, you went to fill the water and you could still feel Jason staring at you, the environment was really awkward and Jason looked like he wanted to say something, or maybe he just wanted you to leave, well, this was your chance to talk to him, if he didn't want to talk to you back then you would just let him be, no harm in trying to make friends in your own home.

"Aren't you supposed to be out there with Bruce?" you asked him

He shook his head and pointed to his ribcage "got stabbed, Bruce wouldn't allow me to go back out there"

"Huh, how'd you get stabbed?" you asked not being bothered by it, you were used to these kind of things

"Harley" he said nonchalantly

"Oh" you said and nodded at him

"Mhm"

"I thought she hadn't been active in a while?" I said, Dick had told me before he left Bruce that Harley hadn't made an appearance in almost a year and it looked like she might want redemption.

"Yeah but Joker was put back in Arkham some months ago, we thought they had broken up but turns out it was just an act and she was just plotting something to try and get him out or get revenge or something like that, and well i may be skilled but Harley is Harley" he said taking bites of his food.

"Yeah I get you, even I am scared of going against Harley"

"You are? haven't you beaten her like a lot of times?"

"Yeah but miss girl is not just crazy and skilled but she's also in LOVE like not cutesy love, but maniac love that's a dangerous combination" you said in an exaggerated way to get your point across.

"I wouldn't call that love" he said while shaking his head before taking another bite of his food which you had no idea what it was.

"Then what would you call it?"

"Obsession I guess, she's like obsessed with him, she would throw herself against chemicals that will probably kill her if he asked for it... oh wait she already did"

"Yeah, poor girl would give her life for someone who just manipulates her and uses her”

"I mean yeah, but I wouldn't call her poor she's still a psycho" he shrugged.

"Maybe, but she's in love, even if you wouldn't call it that i think i would, its not a healthy love but she just loves him in a really obsessive unhealthy way, also if you see it in a way, we are psychos as well" i say before taking a sip of my water.

"What do you mean?" he asked as he sipped what must be coffee from a mug and looked at me curiously.

"Well, what kind of people just beats up other people every night?"

"Well yeah, but we only beat criminals and people who deserve it, they actually kill" he said trying to defend his point.

"I mean, yeah they may kill and we don't, but what's worse? dying or being paralyzed and basically tortured for life?"

"What do you mean?" he frowned and tilted his head a bit, he was intrigued in the conversation now.

"Well do you honestly think everyone will just be fine after being thrown around and beaten up until the point where you know if you give one more punch they'll die? I mean even professional fighters get brain paralysis or quadriplegic or like vegetative state from a bad blow and they have like precautions in those fights, now imagine in a fight where there's no precautions and the only stop sign is either them going unconscious or them not being able to move or them being a step away from death keep in mind that the criminals that you beat sometimes aren't trained or don't even know how to fight like regular thieves and shit, im obviously not talking about criminals like Ivy or Harley and stuff and a lot of the vigilantes have actually killed at least one person, maybe not intentionally but yeah" I explained to him.

"Huh, I guess if you think about it like that you're right" he nodded and took one last bite out of his plate

"Of course I am, I"m always right" I smiled at him

"Sure you are" he rolled his eyes in a playful way and stood up to wash his dirty dishes.

"I am!" I say pretending to be offended

"Uh huh, whatever you say" he smiled at me, "well, uhm its pretty late and I guess I should try to get some sleep, so see you tomorrow, I guess" he said before starting to head out of the kitchen.

"Sure, goodnight" I said to him.

"Night" He replied before finally leaving the kitchen.

taglist:

@fairyeoll @singitoutgirl26 @mad-die45 @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @pariahsparadise

Small (huge) thing.

All of my fucking asks got deleted somehow someway. I took a break from writing because of mental health and shit, even if I didn’t post about it.

So, send me whatever asks you wish I will answer them all in due time. I’m so sorry, I have absolutely no idea what happened to all of my asks. If you’d like to send JJK asks, Demon Slayer asks, anything or any fandoms that I am into, I will write for it.

I have no idea what happened, and again, to all of my followers, I am so sorry.

Inspo: 👏🙂

So a ideia popped in head for a long time, yes it has been done before but with neglected bat!sib and I wanted something more heart warming persay... The only thing i have figured out until now is a short playlist:

Runaway by Aurora

Young and Beautiful by Lana del Rey

Chandelier by Sia

Bird Set Free by Sia

Thunderclouds by LSD

Faded by Alan Walker

Bloody Mary by Lady Gaga

Jokes on you by Charlotte Lawrence

And the way how Bat!sib started skating, i might write about like a one shot or something idk

Me brainstorming a few ideais: 👆🥲

Aw men!! I lost that one history where Reader is a ghost who looks after Bat!Sis while haunts Wayne Manor. Amazing source for a comedic horror story!!!