Just This Once

Wrapped in Red

Alpha!Jason x Omega!Reader

The apartment was quiet when Jason came in, boots scuffing softly against the floor. His body ached from the night’s patrol — busted ribs, a graze along his shoulder, and more bruises than he cared to count. But none of that mattered when his nose caught your scent, sweet and familiar, pulling him down from the simmering rage still burning under his skin.

You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies that was way too big on you, the sleeves bunched over your hands. Your breathing was soft, steady, and his Alpha instincts eased at the sound. The sight of you — peaceful, vulnerable, safe — sent a wave of warmth through his chest.

His fingers twitched. He should go shower, clean himself up before crawling into bed. But instead, he found himself moving toward you, drawn in by the pull of You. His Omega.

Jason’s eyes drifted over the room, and something in him itched, restless. The nest wasn’t good enough. You weren’t surrounded by enough of him. The hoodie helped, but the couch was too open, too exposed.

Without really thinking, Jason started moving. He gathered the extra blankets from the bed, his leather jacket from the hook by the door, even the clean laundry he hadn’t put away yet. He didn’t care if it was messy — he wanted you wrapped in him. He needed you to feel safe, to smell him, to know you weren’t alone.

By the time he finished, the couch was buried in a mountain of Jason. Soft cotton, thick comforters, and his leather jacket draped over the top, all of it smelling like him — gunpowder, leather, and that faint, warm spice that was unmistakably Jason.

Satisfied, he carefully scooped you up, mindful not to wake you. You stirred just enough to nuzzle into his neck, your sleepy scent sweetening as you recognized him even half-conscious.

“Jay…” you mumbled, voice muffled against his skin.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough and low. “I’m here.”

He tucked you into the nest, pulling the blankets over you. You made a soft, content sound, fingers curling loosely into his hoodie. Jason exhaled slowly, his body finally starting to relax.

He didn’t mean to join you — he was dirty, battered, and running on fumes. But the second he sat down at the edge of the couch, your hand found his, tugging weakly.

“Stay,” you whispered, half asleep.

Jason sighed, the fight leaving him. “Yeah… alright.”

He slid in beside you, carefully easing you against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, protectively. You burrowed closer, his scent enveloping you completely, and Jason felt his heart stumble in his chest.

He wasn’t good at this — the soft stuff. He never thought he deserved it. But with you pressed against him, safe in a nest made of him, he didn’t feel so broken. For once, the world could burn, and he wouldn’t care. Not as long as you were here, wrapped up in him.

“Mine,” Jason murmured against your hair, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t know if you heard him — maybe it didn’t matter.

Because it was true, whether you were awake to hear it or not.

I LOVE THIS CONTINUATION! Thank you for adding the girls!

Dadman: Rise of Cringe

Summary: Bruce is benched from Batman duty. Instead of resting, he becomes... too much of a father.

It started with a pulled muscle.

Bruce—Batman, scourge of the Gotham underworld, peak human conditioning, walking myth—had slightly tweaked his back during a rooftop chase and had the audacity to wince in front of Alfred.

Within twenty-four hours, he was grounded by the Justice League, medicated by Leslie Thompkins, and scolded into submission by every member of the Batfamily.

“You need rest,” Dick said, concerned.

“You need to stop whining,” Damian added.

“You need to sit down before you drop dead,” Jason grunted.

Bruce, in his infinite wisdom, nodded.

And then decided to go full dad mode.

The Batcave was reorganized by “chore rotation.”

“Family Dinner Thursdays” became mandatory. If you missed it, he’d send a sad-face emoji. In the group chat. With a Bitmoji of himself wearing a “#1 Dad” hoodie.

Jason was the first to crack.

“Why is he like this?” he whispered at the dinner table, poking his lasagna like it offended him.

“He made me go on a walk this morning,” Tim whispered back. “A brisk walk. Around the Manor. For 'mental clarity.'”

Bruce entered the room in khakis and a tucked-in polo shirt. “Who’s ready for family game night?”

Dick groaned audibly. Damian tried to crawl under the table.

Later that week:

Bruce showed up at Damian’s fencing match in a shirt that read My Son Can Beat Up Your Son.

He cheered. Loudly.

“GO, DAMI! USE THE FOOTWORK WE PRACTICED!”

“You practiced with him?” Dick asked, mortified.

“In the backyard,” Bruce said, beaming. “We bonded.”

Damian scowled. “He made me drink coconut water and called it ‘dad fuel.’”

It only got worse.

Bruce cornered Tim in the kitchen at 8AM with a breakfast burrito and a question sheet titled “How’s College, Champ?” It had bullet points.

He helped Jason change a tire then handed him a handshake coupon for “One Free Hug, No Questions Asked.”

He dragged Dick to a farmer’s market, bought a dozen jams, and told vendors about “my acrobat son.”

Nightwing’s PR was never the same.

The final straw came when Bruce made the family record a TikTok to a trending dance.

He wore socks with sandals.

They all begged Zatanna to curse him.

Two Weeks Later:

Bruce was cleared for field duty. Suit polished. Cape pressed.

But at family dinner that night, he brought out a tray of grilled kabobs.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a smirk. “I’m back. But Dadman’s here to stay.”

Tim dropped his fork.

Jason muttered a prayer.

Damian screamed into a napkin.

Dick, exhausted, lifted his lemonade. “To Dadman.”

Bruce raised his own glass proudly. “To family.”

Alfred, in the background, smiled softly and took a photo for the fridge.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ No one asked for this so why did I write this? Because free will is a thing apparently. Don't ask me what this is or why because I have no idea. I just needed it out of my brain.

Burnt Bridges

(Dabi x Villain!Reader)

The first time Dabi left, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. There were no explosive confrontations or sudden betrayals. It was just an absence that spread like a poison, slowly creeping through the air. You should have seen it coming, really. The signs were there, even if you didn’t want to acknowledge them. But you didn’t expect him to just leave.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t give you any warning. He just... vanished.

You had been partners in crime, partners in everything. Destruction. Chaos. He was fire, and you were the wind that fueled it. But now, in the wake of his absence, you felt like an ember, flickering in the cold.

You’d come back from a mission, bruised and bloodied as usual, but the familiar warmth of his presence wasn’t there to greet you. His side of the room was empty, the bed unmade. No smirk, no flame, no Dabi.

You should have been used to it, but you weren’t. The hole he left was jagged, painful, and the silence rang louder than any explosion you had ever caused. The night he left, you tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t need him. You had always been able to go it alone before.

But this wasn’t the same.

You spent days — no, weeks — trying to drown out the void he’d left. You threw yourself into missions, into villain work, into destruction. But each kill, each robbery, each confrontation felt hollow. Something was missing. Someone was missing.

And it wasn’t just anyone. It was him.

You hated the way you couldn’t get him out of your mind, the way you felt like a part of you had been ripped away. And the anger? It burned inside you like an open wound. He had left you without so much as a word. No explanation, no apology. He just left. It wasn’t like Dabi to be this cold, this distant. But maybe he’d always been that way, and you’d just never realized it.

-------------------------------Time Skip------------------------------------

You didn’t expect to see him again. Not after everything. Not after he left without a trace, without a single word.

But there he was, standing at the center of the chaos, his flames dancing like an inferno, scorching everything in his path. He didn’t even look at you at first. Not until the smoke cleared, and you saw him standing there — taller, colder, more controlled than you remembered.

He was a walking blaze, but the heat was different now. It wasn’t the wild, unpredictable fire that used to send shivers of excitement down your spine. It was something calculated. Detached.

And that’s when it hit you. He hadn’t just left. He had changed. His flames weren’t the same, but neither were you.

The battle raged on, but you didn’t care about the heroes. You didn’t care about the villains. Your eyes were fixed on him, and the anger inside you bubbled over.

“You just left,” you spat as you approached him, the words sharp and filled with venom. “Without a word, without a fucking reason. You just left.”

Dabi’s expression was unreadable. His eyes, once filled with fire and intensity, were now cold, like nothing could touch him. It was like he was a different person altogether.

“I don’t owe you anything,” he muttered, his voice like gravel.

“No,” you shot back, your fists clenching. “You don’t owe me anything, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make you owe me an explanation.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond, didn’t care if he wanted to fight or talk. You were done holding back. You were done pretending. His absence had carved deep scars inside you, and now you were going to burn everything down until he understood the weight of his silence.

-------------------------------Time Skip------------------------------------

The city was ablaze, but nothing compared to the fire inside you. You fought like an animal, driven by rage. Every punch you threw, every villain you took down, was a piece of the anger you couldn’t contain.

But the heat of the flames was different now. Even Dabi’s fiery presence was no longer enough to soothe the wound he’d left behind.

After the battle, you stood alone in the remnants of the wreckage. The sound of distant sirens was like a mocking reminder of everything you had lost. Everything he had taken. You didn’t know why you stayed here. Why you didn’t walk away.

Maybe it was the lingering hope that he’d finally talk to you. But after everything, you weren’t sure what you expected.

“Why the hell did you leave?” you demanded, your voice shaking with barely-contained fury.

Dabi didn’t respond right away. His eyes were cold, focused on the destruction around you. But then, finally, his gaze flicked to you. His lips curled into a thin, bitter smile.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” he said, his voice distant, almost disinterested.

The words hit you like a slap. You didn’t expect him to apologize. You didn’t expect him to beg for forgiveness. But this? This was worse. The indifference in his tone, the way he dismissed you as if you didn’t matter, as if you were just another part of his past he could burn away… It was more than you could handle.

“You think I didn’t care?” Your chest tightened, the anger threatening to swallow you whole. “You think I don’t care that you left me without even telling me? Without any warning, without any explanation?” Your voice rose, the fury in your words making the air around you crackle. “You’re a fucking coward, Dabi. A coward who ran when things got hard. You always leave when it gets too real. And I’m sick of it.”

He stepped forward, his gaze unwavering, the flames flickering at his side, but there was no emotion behind them. “I didn’t ask you to stay. You’re here because you chose to be.”

“And now I regret it,” you hissed, taking a step back, the fire in your eyes not matching the coldness in his. “You’re not the same, Dabi. You’re just a ghost. And I’m done chasing after you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. There was no sound, no movement, just the two of you — separated by everything that had come between you.

Then, without another word, you turned away, leaving him standing in the flames.

can u do more alpha jason stuff pls? maybe he nests fem!omega reader? pls n thank u

The fact I'm about to write another fic on a subject I know very little about. My search history is going to be concerning.

Love the idea, it'll probably be posted later tonight since I have nothing else going on.

Hi! So I'm the 🌃 anon witherby's blog and I read your fic because of it. I just wanted to say I loved it! I don't read a lot of DC fics with Danny Phantom in them since I've never watched the show (though I'm starting to consider it).

Your ideas are incredible as is your writing style. I hope you keep writing!

1. Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed my story and for letting me know who you are lol

2. I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU WATCH IT!!! IT'S A GOOD SHOW!!

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

Hear me out:

How would y'all feel if I wrote a fic for Valentine's Day?

Not an actual fic (maybe) but more like, headcanons of the batfam

Hmmm...

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.

👉👈

Penguin x reader.?

One for the Birds

Oswald Cobblepot (Penguin) X Reader

The Iceberg Lounge was louder than usual. Smoke curled into the chandeliers like ghostly fingers, the kind of place where secrets got dressed in diamonds and danced between martini glasses. You didn’t belong here—and that was exactly the point.

You walked in sharp, calm, and dressed just well enough to be ignored. Not rich enough to be noticed. Not low enough to be questioned. You were just looking for someone to talk to. Someone with power. Someone with reach.

Oswald Cobblepot.

He stood near the back, half in the shadows, watching his empire breathe. People passed him by without a glance, not out of disrespect—but out of fear. He was the kind of man who didn’t need to be loud to control a room. He just was.

You stepped close, careful not to spill desperation on the floor.

“You don’t look like you belong here,” he said without turning. Voice like broken glass dipped in molasses.

You didn’t flinch. “Neither do half the people on your payroll.”

That got his attention.

Oswald turned, eyes narrowing behind his monocle, studying you like a puzzle someone forgot to finish. “Got a name, sweetheart?”

You told him. No stutter, no hesitation. Just enough truth to sound like a lie. His smile was small, but real.

“Brave,” he said. “Or stupid. The line’s thin in this city.”

“I’m counting on that.”

Oswald tilted his head, intrigued now. He motioned to a booth tucked away from the rest of the chaos. “Sit. Talk. If you're trying to sell something, it better be good.”

You slid in without breaking eye contact. “I’m not selling anything.”

“Then you’re asking for something.”

You leaned forward. “A favor. A deal. A crack in the wall no one else will give me.”

His fingers tapped against his umbrella. A beat. Then another.

“Everyone comes to me when they’ve run out of choices.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You? You walked in like you planned to be here.”

“I did.”

Oswald laughed, low and rough. Then he waved a hand, dismissing the waiter hovering nearby.

“Alright,” he said. “You’ve got five minutes. Impress me.”

You did.

By the time you stood to leave, the air between you had changed. His eyes followed you, calculating. Interested.

“Next time you walk in,” he said, “use the back entrance. I don’t like surprises.”

You paused. “What if I do?”

He grinned, sharp and cold. “Then you’ll be fun.”

Duck? Oh man...sounds like you're setting us up for some.........fowl play......

*I dodge the tomatoes being thrown at me*

👨🏼‍🍳

Whatever do you meeeaaannn

Nothing gonna happen, promise 😇