mc

Summary - Dick and you have been dating for a couple months so he decides to start telling his family, with your permission, while you are off world. Only no one believes him. Thus begins a month of Dick trying and failing to convince a family of detectives that he has a girlfriend.

Event Masterlist

"Do you have to go?" Dick whines and flops back onto your bed dramatically next to you.

"Sadly I can't blow off an incoming space war for you." You laugh and push at his shoulder. "I will hopefully be back in about a month."

He sighs, letting his head lean back against the pillow so he can stare up at your ceiling, "I wish you didn't have to be so absent lately."

The humor on your face melts away into something softer as you fix some of his curls that have fallen into his face. He looks over at you with a longing that has sat in his chest for years.

"I asked for more time off so hopefully I will start working closer to home. After that I will be around more and I can finally meet your family properly."

summary: post-mission, you land yourself in the hospital with a concussion. in your daze, you plead for someone to tell damian so he won't tear the hospital down to find you, for him not to worry. only problem? you and damian are supposed to hate each other.

pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader

The faint beeping, the low hushed voices—it's an annoying, distant commotion disrupting your sleep, enough to rouse you from the heavy, dark haze enveloping your senses. Your heavy lids peel open, blinking slowly as your vision adjusts to the sight of the hospital ceiling.

The striking scent of disinfectant hits you, and your nose instinctively wrinkles. A low rasp escapes your throat, just enough to stop the whispers.

"—She's awake!"

It’s a familiar voice, you think. Dick. It wasn’t the voice you wanted to hear, no matter how reassuring—not when the one you're familiar with holds a much more begrudging tone.

"I need..." Who? There's an urgent pressure building up in the back of your mind, an important request hanging right off your tongue. "To tell him."

"Hey-hey, you're okay. Just a little disoriented." Dick’s face comes into view, his messy locks covering the fuzzy halo of light above you. “You have a minor concussion, but no fatal injuries.”

"No. You need to tell him." Your face contorts, straining with visible effort to rack your brain for a name, trying to fight past the thick fog. "I am okay. It's him you have to worry about."

The corner of Dick's mouth tugs down briefly, confusion lighting his features. "Who?"

There's that damn question you're trying to answer. The fluorescent lights are much too oppressive—overly bright and sharp. You needed a shadow, someone who would know what to do when your teeth grinds together in discomfort.

"...Damian." You mutter. Ah, there it is. You don't notice the abrupt confused glances exchanged around the room, of how Damian's name was the last thing they expected to hear.

Your lids fall shut not a second after your job was done, body screaming to rest. At least you won't have to deal with Damian tearing down the hospital to find you.

wc : 3.3k || pls follow :3 || newest dick fiction || masterlist

summary : you and dick have been close friends for years now, and thats all it would ever be, but after he snaps and upsets you, things change. CW : kinda angst, hurt, swearing, party setting, shy/kinda insecure reader, suggestive tension, Dick being a dumb stressed party boy. yapper ass Dick bro. A/N : Reqs always open :3

You’ve known Dick Grayson since freshman orientation, back when he was just that bright eyed acrobatic kid with the killer smile and zero clue how to do laundry without turning everything pink. He’d spotted you in the corner of the welcome mixer, headphones on, nursing a half warm soda, trying not to look like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole, and just… decided you were his person.

“New best friend acquired,” he’d announced with that bright laugh of his, slinging an arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. You’d blushed so hard you thought you’d pass out. He never let you forget it.

Now you were juniors, Dick was THE Dick Grayson. Golden boy of Delta Sigma Phi, star gymnasts of the Blüdhaven Universitz team, the guy who could flip across the quad and look hot while doing it. Frat parties every weekend, girls hanging off him like he was the main character in every rom-com ever made. And you? You were still the quiet one who tagged along occasionally, tucked in the corner with a book or your phone, pretending the noise didn’t make your skin crawl.

But he always found you. Always dragged you onto the dance floor for one song, spinning you until you were laughing despite yourself. Always texted you at 3am after patrols (that you didn’t fully know about but heavily suspected) with dumb memes or “you up? need your voice rn.”

He was your best friend. Nothing more.

At least… that’s what you told yourself when you watched him flirt shamelessly at every party.

The bass thumped so hard it vibrated in your chest as you squeezed through the crowded Delta house living room. Red solo cups everywhere, the air thick with cheap beer and too much cologne. You’d only come because Dick had begged “C’mon, it’s midterms week, you need to loosen up, baby” and because he’d promised to drive you home whenever you wanted - which you could already tell he’d forgotten.

You found your usual spot near the kitchen doorway, back against the wall, wearing one of his old hoodies that smelled like his detergent and that stupidly expensive cologne he loved. It was oversized on you, sleeves swallowing your hands. Comfort armor.

Dick was in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, laughing loud with that bright, blinding grin. Some sorority girl in a tiny top was pressed up against him, hands on his chest, whispering something in his ear. He didn’t push her away. He never did. He just tilted his head back and laughed harder, blue eyes sparkling under the shitty party lights.

Your stomach twisted. You looked down at your phone, pretending to scroll.

He’s just being Dick, you told yourself. Friendly. Charismatic. That’s why everyone loves him.

But the voice in your head was quieter tonight. Meaner. Why would he ever look at you like that when he could have anyone? You’re the safe, boring best friend. The one he keeps around because you listen when he’s spiraling about his family shit or the bruises he won’t explain.

You swallowed hard and slipped further into the kitchen for water. Anything to stop staring.

Hours blurred. You’d nursed two cups of water and half a warm beer someone handed you. The party was peaking — people shouting, someone doing a keg stand in the backyard. Dick had disappeared for a bit, probably showing off on the roof or something reckless like always.

You were checking the time (1:47am, definitely time to tap out) when he finally stumbled into the kitchen, hair messy, cheeks flushed from dancing and whatever shots he’d done. His white tank clung to his chest, muscles shifting under the fabric. God, he looked good. Annoyingly good.

“There you are,” he said, voice a little too loud, grin lopsided as he spotted you. “Been looking everywhere for my favourite girl.”

Your heart did that stupid flip it always did. You gave him a small smile. “Ready to head out? I’m kinda done.”

He groaned, leaning against the counter next to you, close enough that his arm brushed yours. “Already? C’mon, one more hour. Wally’s finally here — you gotta meet him properly. He’s been asking about you.”

You shifted, sleeves pulled over your hands. “I don’t know… it’s loud. And I have that paper due tomorrow.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but it was fond. At least… you thought it was. “You always have a paper due. Live a little, yeah? You’re always hiding in the corner like someone’s gonna bite you.”

The words landed heavier than he probably meant. Your cheeks burned. You laughed it off, quiet and awkward. “Not everyone can be the life of the party like you, Dick.”

He snorted, grabbing a fresh beer from the fridge and popping it open. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I wasn’t. This shit gets exhausting.” His tone shifted, just a fraction — that undercurrent of stress he usually hid behind the golden-boy mask. Patrols had been brutal lately, you could tell. He came to your dorm some nights with new bruises and that faraway look.

Before you could ask if he was okay, the sorority girl from earlier wandered in, giggling, grabbing his arm. “Dickie! Come dance again — they’re playing our song!”

He laughed, letting her pull him a step. “Gimme a sec, babe.”

Babe.

Something in your chest cracked. You looked away fast, muttering, “I’ll just… call an Uber. You stay. Have fun.”

Dick’s head snapped back toward you. “What? No, I said I’d take you home.”

“It’s fine,” you said, voice smaller than you wanted. You were already pulling out your phone. “Really. Don’t worry about it.”

The girl tugged his arm again, impatient. Dick’s jaw ticked — that tiny flash of irritation he got when things weren’t going his way. He was tired. Stressed. The double life of Nightwing and frat king was clearly catching up.

“Jesus, can you not make this difficult right now?” he snapped, louder than necessary. The words cut through the kitchen noise. A couple people glanced over. “You always do this. Act like you’re too good for the fun shit, then guilt-trip me when I actually try to enjoy myself. I’m not your fucking babysitter, okay?”

The room didn’t exactly go silent, but to you it felt like it.

Your eyes stung instantly. You blinked hard, staring at the sticky floor. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry in front of everyone.

“I… wasn’t,” you whispered, voice cracking despite yourself. “Sorry. I’ll go.”

You turned and pushed through the crowd before he could say anything else, hoodie sleeves yanked down, shoulders curled in. The bass swallowed everything as you made it outside, cool night air hitting your wet cheeks.

You didn’t take an Uber. You walked the twenty minutes back to your dorm in the hoodie that still smelled like him, tears blurring the streetlights. Your phone buzzed a few times. Dick’s name popping up, but you silenced it.

By the time you got to your room, you were a mess. Curled up on your bed in the dark, knees to your chest, replaying his words on loop.

“You always do this…”

“I’m not your fucking babysitter…”

He was right, maybe. You were the boring one. The shy tag-along who couldn’t keep up with his world. Why did you even let yourself hope he saw you differently?

Your eyes burned until they finally closed sometime after 3am.

────────────────────────

The knock on your dorm door came at 4:12am.

You jolted awake, heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted to escape. The sound was soft at first, hesitant, then a little more insistent. A familiar voice filtered through the wood, rough and low, nothing like the loud frat-boy laugh from earlier.

“Baby? It’s me. Open up… please.”

Dick.

You stayed frozen under the covers for a long second, breath shaky, knees still pulled to your chest from where you’d cried yourself to sleep. Part of you wanted to ignore him, to pull the blanket over your head and pretend the night had never happened. The other part, the stupid, hopeless part that had been in love with him since freshman year, was already swinging your legs over the side of the bed, padding across the cold floor in your pajamas and his oversized hoodie.

You cracked the door open just enough to see him.

He looked wrecked. Hair damp from the night air or maybe a quick shower, eyes red-rimmed like he’d been rubbing them raw, that bright golden-boy energy completely drained. He was in a black hoodie and sweats now, shoulders slumped forward, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you too soon. No trace of the party king who’d snapped at you in the kitchen. Just Dick. The real one who showed up at your door at stupid hours when the weight of everything got too heavy.

When his gaze landed on your face, puffy eyes, tear tracks still drying on your cheeks, the way you wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, his expression crumpled instantly.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice cracking right down the middle. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped back silently so he could come in, closing the door behind him with a quiet click that felt louder than it should have in the dark room. The only light came from your string lights strung above the bed, casting soft warm glows across the posters and the pile of textbooks you’d abandoned earlier.

Dick didn’t waste time with small talk or excuses. He crossed the small space in two strides and pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you so tight it almost hurt in the best way. His face buried straight into your hair, breathing you in like he was scared you’d disappear if he let go even for a second. You could feel his heart racing against your cheek, fast and uneven, matching the way yours was still stuttering.

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered, the words tumbling out raw and desperate. “Not a single fucking word. I was pissed at everything — the team lost a competition earlier, patrol was a nightmare, and then that girl wouldn’t leave me alone and I just… I took it all out on you. My sweet, patient girl who’s always there for me no matter how much I fuck up. God, I’m such an idiot.”

You stayed stiff at first, hands limp at your sides, the hurt from the party still sitting heavy in your stomach like lead. His hoodie smelled like him, like home, but the memory of his sharp tone made your throat tight.

“You called me difficult,” you mumbled into his chest, voice tiny and cracking despite how hard you tried to keep it steady. “Like I’m some burden you have to drag around. Like I’m too much for just wanting to go home.”

He pulled back just enough to cup your face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the fresh tears that slipped out. Those bright blue eyes — usually sparkling with mischief and charm at every party — were soft and devastated now, glassy in the low light. Only for you. Always only for you, even if he was too scared to say it most days.

“You’re not,” he said fiercely, forehead pressing gently against yours so you had no choice but to look at him. “You never have been. You’re the only person who sees the real me.”

“Not Nightwing swinging around Blüdhaven, not the frat president who has to smile and pretend everything’s perfect, not the guy who has to be ‘on’ for everyone all the time. Just… Dick. The one who’s scared shitless half the time and still tries to be everything for his family, for the team, for you.” It’s annoying how good he was with his words.

His voice dropped lower, gentler, the gravelly edge from exhaustion making it even softer. “I flirt with girls because it’s easy. Surface level. It doesn’t mean anything. But you? You scare the hell out of me because you matter. If I lose you because I’m a dumbass who can’t handle his own shit when he’s tired and stressed… I don’t know what I’d do. I’d be fucking lost.”

The insecurity still lingered in your chest, whispering that you were the boring one, the shy tag-along who couldn’t keep up with his loud, bright world. But his words wrapped around it like a warm blanket, slowly choking out the mean voice. His hands were trembling slightly against your cheeks, thumbs still stroking slow circles like he was trying to memorize every inch of your face.

“I’m sorry I snapped,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper now. “You weren’t guilt-tripping me. You were just… being you. The girl who wears my hoodies and listens when I ramble about stupid patrol stories I can’t tell anyone else. The one who makes everything feel less chaotic even when you’re hiding in the corner at parties. I love that about you. I’m so fucking gone for you, baby. Have been for longer than I want to admit.”

He leaned in slow, giving you every chance to pull away, eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When you didn’t move, his lips brushed yours. Soft at first, tentative, like he was afraid he didn’t deserve this. Then deeper, pouring every apology and every hidden feeling into it. One hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently through your hair, while the stayed on your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

When he finally pulled back, he was smiling that small, real smile. The one reserved for late night dorm talks and rooftop confessions after patrol, not the big flashy grin he gave the sorority girls.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice husky. He kicked off his shoes and guided you back toward the bed without letting go, tugging the covers over both of you as you climbed in. You curled into his side automatically, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat finally start to slow down as his arms locked around you possessively.

“I’m staying right here,” he said, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple. “No more parties tonight. No more dumb shit. Just you and me. We’ll get breakfast in the morning at that shitty diner you like with the extra crispy bacon and those ridiculous pancakes. And I’ll make it up to you. Every single day if you let me.”

You let out a shaky little laugh, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his shirt over his chest. The hurt wasn’t gone completely, insecurities like yours didn’t vanish overnight — but it was quieter now, softer, drowned out by the steady rise and fall of his breathing and the way his hand rubbed slow circles on your back.

“You’re such a sap when you feel guilty,” you whispered, voice still a little thick from crying.

“Only for you,” he whispered back, holding you even tighter, chin resting on top of your head. “Always only for you.”

The room grew quiet after that, just the distant hum of campus life outside and the occasional car passing by. Dick didn’t fall asleep right away. You could tell by the way his fingers kept playing with the sleeve of his own hoodie on your body, like he needed the constant reminder that you were still there, still letting him hold you. Every so often he’d press another soft kiss to your hair or murmur another quiet “I’m sorry” like he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out.

You drifted off eventually with his warmth surrounding you, the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint trace of night air clinging to his hoodie. For the first time that night, the knot in your stomach loosened completely.

────────────────────────

The sun was creeping through your blinds when you woke up, tangled in him. Dick was still asleep, face relaxed for once. No stress lines, no golden-boy mask, one arm slung possessively over your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away in the night. His breathing was deep and even, chest rising steadily under your cheek.

Your chest felt warm. Lighter. The memory of his harsh words from the party still sat there, but it didn’t sting as sharply anymore. Not when he’d shown up looking like his world had ended, not when he’d held you like you were the most important thing in it.

He stirred when you shifted slightly, blinking awake with that sleepy, lopsided grin that made your stomach flip every single time. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the way he looked at you was soft and focused, like nothing else existed.

“Morning, best friend,” he teased, voice raspy and low, the words carrying that familiar playful edge. Then, quieter, more serious as his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear: “Morning, my girl.”

You blushed hard, hiding your face in the crook of his neck to escape the intensity of his gaze. He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you warmly, and pulled you even closer, legs tangling with yours under the covers.

“Don’t hide from me now,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “Not after I spent half the night groveling. Though… I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it means waking up like this.”

You peeked up at him, fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “You really meant all that? About being gone for me?”

Dick’s expression turned earnest, the frat-boy charm melting away into something deeper, more vulnerable. He rolled you gently so you were half on top of him, hands settling on your hips as he looked up at you with those bright blue eyes that always saw too much.

“Every word,” he said softly. “I’ve been an idiot for a while, trying to keep the two worlds separate — the parties, the patrols, the expectations. But you’re the only thing that makes both feel worth it. You don’t ask me to be perfect. You just… let me be me. Even when I’m a mess.”

He leaned up to kiss you again, slow and sweet this time, like he had all morning to prove it. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“No more snapping at you when I’m stressed. No more letting random girls hang all over me if it hurts you. I’m yours — if you’ll have me. Fratboy, Nightwing, all the complicated shit included.”

Your heart swelled, the last lingering insecurity quieting under the weight of his words and the gentle way his thumbs stroked your sides.

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling shyly as you brushed your nose against his. “I’ll have you. All of it.”

He grinned then, that full, blinding smile that lit up the whole room, and flipped you both so he was hovering over you, careful not to crush you as he peppered your face with light kisses.

“Good. Because I’m not letting go anytime soon, baby. Now… about that breakfast. You still want those pancakes?”

You laughed, the sound light and real for the first time since the party, nodding as you pulled him down for another kiss.

Outside, campus was waking up, but in your little dorm room with the string lights still glowing faintly, the world felt smaller. Safer. Just you and Dick. The golden boy who fucked up, who carried too many secrets, who partied too hard and loved too quietly — but who always came back to you.

And now you weren’t just the shy best friend in the corner anymore. You were his girl.

The one he was only ever soft for.

A/N : I fear I proofread this so much to the point I hate it bye blergh. 🍅🍅🍅

using c.ai does not make you better or any different than other ai users. using c.ai is just as bad as using any other sort of ai. you cannot be anti generative ai and still use c.ai.

as a writer who has had their work stolen and put through c.ai multiple times, it’s very weird to be using a platform that basically encourages theft to ‘heavily inspire’ your writing

this blog is free from all uses of AI—and I cannot believe this needs to be clarified—but that includes c.ai. i have never and will never use ai to come up with, inspire or god forbid, actually write for me.

there are no ethical uses of generative ai. ai and ai users are not welcome on my page.

Inspired by the fact I haven’t done anything but play Tomodachi recently… masterlist

You walked into the living room carrying two mugs of tea and immediately knew something was wrong.

Dick was slouched on the couch like someone had stolen his last cookie. The Switch was still on, paused on the bright, colorful Tomodachi Life screen. His Mii - the one with the perfectly styled black hair and the little mask accessory he’d insisted on - was standing sadly in the middle of the island plaza while your Mii (the one with the cheerleader outfit and the hair you’d spent way too long customizing) was happily chatting with a random islander.

Dick’s lower lip was actually jutting out in a pout.

You set the mugs down on the coffee table and raised an eyebrow. “Okay. What happened?”

He let out the most dramatic sigh you’d ever heard from a grown man who regularly fought crime in spandex.

“She said no.”

You blinked. “Who said no?”

“My wife,” he muttered, pointing accusingly at the screen. “I finally got the proposal event to trigger after a week of feeding her favorite foods, buying her every gift, and making sure our compatibility was maxed out. I even followed what some losers said on Reddit. And she said no.”

You had to bite your lip hard to keep from laughing.

“Dick… it’s a Mii.”

“She’s not just a Mii,” he protested, sitting up straighter, eyes wide with betrayal. “That’s you. I made her look exactly like you - same smile, same little swing when she stands. I even gave her your favourite colour sweater. And she looked me dead in the eyes and said ‘I’m not ready’ with that sad little animation.”

He flopped back dramatically, throwing an arm over his face like a Victorian maiden who’d been scorned.

“I’m in my own game and I still got rejected. This is emotional warfare.”

You finally lost the battle and laughed, climbing onto the couch and crawling into his lap. He immediately wrapped both arms around you like a koala, burying his face in your neck with a pitiful whine.

“Baby,” you cooed, trying and failing to sound sympathetic, “it’s a video game. The Miis have weird algorithms. Sometimes they just say no for no reason.”

“But I worked so hard,” he mumbled against your skin, voice muffled. “I made sure we had all the same hobbies. I gave her a beach ball accessory because you like the ocean. I even made sure our apartment had the fancy red couch you always pick in real life. And she still said no.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp the way he liked. He melted instantly, a soft little hum vibrating against your collarbone.

“You’re pouting,” you teased.

“I’m not pouting,” he pouted harder. “I’m mourning the future I thought we had in Tomodachi Life. We were supposed to get married, have a little Mii baby with your eyes and my hair, maybe even a dog. Now I have to start the whole relationship over again. Do you know how long the dating phase takes when they keep saying ‘let’s just be friends’?”

You bit your lip again, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “Dick Grayson, you fight actual supervillains on a weekly basis. You’ve been shot, stabbed, thrown off buildings - and you’re this upset because a cartoon version of me wouldn’t marry your cartoon self?”

He pulled back just enough to give you the most betrayed look you’d ever seen on his face. Those big blue eyes were actually glistening.

“Yes. Exactly. Because even pixel-you doesn’t want me. What does that say about real-you?”

You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “It says that pixel-me has terrible taste and clearly needs better programming. Real-me thinks you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her.”

His expression softened, but the pout was still lingering at the edges. “Prove it.”

You leaned in and kissed him - slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that made his shoulders relax and his arms tighten around your waist. When you pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded and warm.

“Better?” you asked.

“A little,” he mumbled, chasing your lips for another quick peck. “But I’m still emotionally scarred. I might need cuddles. And maybe you feeding me ice cream while I restart the whole relationship arc.”

You laughed, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re such a dramatic baby.”

“I’m your dramatic baby,” he corrected, grinning now. “Who spent a week trying to get you to marry him in a video game because the real version is still the best thing in his life.”

Your heart did a ridiculous little flip. You kissed him again, softer this time, then rested your head on his shoulder.

“Tell you what,” you said, voice warm with affection. “Tomorrow we’ll restart the game together. I’ll help you max out the compatibility. And when you propose again, I promise pixel-me will say yes this time.”

Dick’s arms squeezed you tighter, a happy little hum escaping him. “Deal. But only if you wear the cheerleader outfit in real life while we play.”

You lightly smacked his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “but I’m your impossible.”

Outside, the city hummed on. Inside, Dick Grayson - acrobat, hero, leader - pouted like a kicked puppy over a video game rejection while you curled in his lap and fed him ice cream straight from the tub.

And somehow, it was the most perfect night you’d had in weeks.

Genre: Fluff + crack

Requested?: No

Warnings: Mention of blood and injuries, a few cuss words

Mainly use of “you” with a few drops of “y/n” here and there

This entire idea came about because of this post. When I saw it, it just seemed like something Luke would say if he was down bad for a healer Apollo girlie

Super short and unedited compared to what I usually write but I wanted to post it anyways. Longer Luke Castellan works will come eventually!

Luke Castellan knew that you were a daughter of Apollo, but he could’ve sworn you were sired by Aphrodite with the way he had froze the first time he looked at you when he was giving you the new camper tour. You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Perhaps Aphrodite herself dulled in your comparison.

Luke Castellan who is convinced you are Apollo’s favorite child because whenever he looks at you, he sees your entire being enveloped in golden sunshine Chris says he’s just insane and down bad

Annabeth and Grover think he should do more than stare at you from afar totally not because they're tired of hearing him sulk over you and how you two aren't together when he knows you guys would be perfect together

Luke Castellan was down bad for you. He admits it and everyone knew it. The only problem was that you didn't know it.

Luke would often land himself in the infirmary for dumb things just to see you. He wouldn't let anyone else help him once he got to the Big House either. It had to be you.

The second you got to camp, you didn’t even have to step foot into the Hermes cabin; getting claimed right away by your father who acknowledged your healing skills. You got yourself and 3 other campers to Half Blood Hill with minor scratches as you took care of any acquired injuries along the way. This led to Apollo personally letting Chiron know you had to get stationed at the infirmary in the Big House.

So here you are, a head healer of the Big House, running around taking care of injured and sick campers like you were some kind of child prodigy that had the highest mortal medical degree.

Normally Luke strolled in with a scratch or a bruise. You were used to it. Even the greatest swordsman Camp Half Blood has seen in over 300 years is bound to get a few injuries here and there right? Wrong

Today however, he didn't come in with a minor injury. He came in with his arm over his friend Chris, using him to help walk and keep upright. The Apollo kids that were in that day as healers all looked at each other then over to Y/n who had her back turned to them. “Please set Luke down on one of the beds and I will get right to him!” she shouted without looking back.

“Oh, so you’re crazy crazy when you get in here. She didn’t even have to turn around to know it’s you and me,” Chris whispered to Luke as he put him down on one of the infirmary beds and sat down on a chair next to him.

“My girl just knows when it’s me,” said Luke as he was dropped onto one of the infirmary beds.

“She’s not even your girl,” said Chris matter of factly.

Y/n finished up bandaging the camper she was with, wrapping up the younger girl's knee that she scraped while training. "Let's try not to do anything too crazy today while that heals. Come back tomorrow morning and we'll see how it looks tomorrow. You should be good to go back now okay?" the younger camper nodded her head, giving Y/n a hug before leaving the Big House. Y/n moved to the opposite side of the infirmary, sitting on the edge of the bed Chris had thrown Luke onto.

Y/n raised her hand, touching the back of her hand to Luke's forehead and pulling it right back, the smile on her face quickly turning into a frown. "You're hot."

Luke's eyes lit up before he answered her. "Are you flirting with me?!"

"No," said Y/n with a shake of her head. "I think you have a very bad fever." she said as she got up to get some medicine for Luke.

"You're so embarrassing," said Chris as he hid his face in his hands, "'Are you flirting with me?' ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW LUKE?!"

"I need her so bad," said Luke as he dramatically threw himself against the infirmary bed.

"What you need is some damn flu medicine. I'll come check on you later. Don't scare that poor girl while you're in here. She's just trying to do her job and you're in here being crazy and bothering her."

"Nahhh she's excited to see me," said Luke with a cheeky grin before breaking out into a crazy coughing fit.

"You keep telling yourself that," said Chris with a disgusted look on his face. "And get that shit figured out. If it's contagious you better stay here! If that shit spreads in 11 we're never gonna know peace ever again!" Chris shouted over his shoulder as he left Luke to go take a scorching hot shower to scrub away all the germs.

a/n: happy birthday @jojo-sugoi! i apologize that i am a little late, but i hope you had the most amazing day and that your birthday was filled with so much love, big smiles, and many many many gifts!!! 

i was short on time so since your and yukimiya’s birthdays are just a day apart, i decided to also write a post for both you and him, i hope you like it! 🥹🤍

ac goes to kaoecupp???

synopsis: going on a date with the photogenic yukimiya as his camera-shy gf, but by the end of it, you come to find out that he’s been taking photos of you all along, just to help you learn what it means to be loved exactly as you are. 

the first time he pulls out his phone, you already know what’s coming. 

not because he says anything (because he doesn’t, actually), but because of the way his posture shifts. it’s subtle. practiced. like muscle memory. his shoulders straighten just a little, his chin tilts, his expression softens into something effortless, but intentional. 

he doesn’t even look at the screen for long. just a quick glance, thumb adjusting something, and then– 

click. 

you blink at him from across the café table, halfway through stirring your drink. “already?” 

yukimiya just smiles, easy and bright, like this is the most natural thing in the world. “memories,” he says simply. 

of course he would say that. 

of course he would look like that while saying it. 

Summary: You decide to do a tik tok trend with your boyfriend. Unfortunately, you didn't realize how seriously he took your instructions.

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Content Warning: fluff, cursing, established relationship, secret relationship, yearning, tik tok trend, batfam finding out

A/N: This is for this request by @dclover567 you are so sweet and this was so fun to write! This will be my last fic till after exams! I hope you enjoy my lovelies

Damian didn’t usually visit his brothers of his own free will. Most of the time, he only stopped by the apartment to grab a quick snack or pick up some accessory that might be useful to him.

But, surprisingly, on that day—on that perfect day—he had decided to be an inconvenience to Todd, simply because he had nothing better to do.

You were in the kitchen, finishing plating the dessert that would accompany one of your movie nights with Jason.

Used to your boyfriend’s entrances and exits through the window and balcony, you didn’t startle when you heard one of them being opened, continuing to hum absentmindedly.

It was only when you turned to wash your hands that you remembered a small detail—Jason was in the shower.

The humming slowly died in your throat.

You dried your hands calmly—much calmer than you actually felt—and turned your head toward the living room, just enough to peek through the doorway.

And there he was, sitting on the couch like he owned the place, legs crossed as he ate popcorn. He chewed slowly, eyes focused on the turned-off television, as if he were waiting for something to start.

He stopped the moment he noticed you.

You stopped the moment you noticed him.

For a long second, neither of you moved.

His green eyes narrowed slightly, calculating, suspicious. “…You are not Todd.”

You blinked once.

“No…” you answered slowly. “And you are definitely not Jay either.”

Master list || pls follow :3 | ac: @/ciricearts

You met Jason Todd in the most unremarkable way possible.

It was a rainy Tuesday night in Gotham. You were working the late shift at the campus library, trying to stretch your last twenty dollars until payday while drowning in tuition bills, rent, and the crushing weight of being a full time student with no safety net. Your laptop had died mid essay. The charger cord had finally given up.

You were on the verge of tears at the checkout desk when a tall, broad shouldered guy in a worn leather jacket and a red hoodie underneath it, dropped a brand new charger in front of you.

“Here,” he said gruffly, green eyes flicking away like he was embarrassed. “Looked like you needed it.”

You blinked up at him. He was handsome in a rough, dangerous kind of way - white streak in his hair, scars on his knuckles, the kind of presence that made people move aside on the sidewalk.

“I can’t accept this,” you said, even as your fingers itched to grab it.

He shrugged. “Already bought it. Keep it or I’ll toss it.”

That was the start.

He kept showing up. Quietly. Leaving coffee on your usual table with a sticky note that just said “dont pass out on ur notes again.” Paying for your textbooks when the register glitched and your card was declined. One day your landlord called to say rent had been covered for the next six months. Anonymous.

You cornered him in the library parking lot one night, rain pouring down, heart racing.

“Why are you doing this?” You demanded. “We barely know each other.”

Jason leaned against his motorcycle, arms crossed, looking everywhere but at you. “Because i can. And because you work too damn hard to be scraping by like this.”

You stared at him. “So youre just.. paying for everything. Rent. Tuition. Groceries. Like you’re some kind of-“

“Don’t.” He cut in sharply. “Don’t say it.”

But you were already thinking it. ‘Sugar Daddy’.

The term felt cheap and wrong for what he was doing, but the power imbalance was there. He had money. You didnt. And he kept giving.

You started letting him. Because it was easier. Because he never asked for anything in return. Because when he looked at you, it wasn’t with expectation - it was with something softer. Something that made your stomach flutter.

Months passed.

He paid your rent without asking. Covered your tuition balance when you mentioned it in passing. Bought you a new laptop when yours finally decided to die. Took you to quiet dinners at places you could never afford. Walked you home every night like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You fell for him somewhere between the third paid bill and the first time he let you fall asleep on his chest during a movie night at his apartment.

One evening you were curled up on his couch in his oversized hoodie, laptop on your knees, finishing an essay. Jason was in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled amazing. You glanced at the latest bank notification - another ‘anonymous’ deposit that had covered your upcoming books and fees.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed softly.

“What’s funny?” He asked, wiping his hands on a towel as he came over.

You looked up at him, grinning. “You. My very generous sugar daddy.”

The words were teasing. Playful. You expected him to smirk, maybe make a dirty joke.

Instead, Jason froze.

His face went carefully blank, then darkened. He set the towel down harder than necessary.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, voice low and tight.

You blinked, smile fading. “Jay, i was joking—“

“Im not your sugar daddy.” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a short line in front of the couch. “Im not paying for your shit because I- I want something from you. Im not some rich asshole buying company. I just… i wanted you to like me. That’s all. I saw how hard you were working, how stressed you were, and i had the money. So i used it because i liked you. Because i wanted you to see me as someone who could take care of you. Not a transaction.”

Your heart twisted.

He stopped pacing, shoulders tense, looking anywhere but at you.

“I know it looks bad,” he muttered. “Rich guy throwing money at the broke student. But it wasn’t like that for me. It was never about buying you. I just… wanted to make your life easier. Wanted to see you smile without worrying about bills. Wanted you to have one less thing to carry.”

The vulnerability in his voice cracked something in your chest.

You set the laptop aside and stood, crossing to him. You took his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you.

“Jason,” you said softly. “I know. I’ve always known it wasn’t like that. You’ve never asked for anything. You’ve never made me feel like i owe you. You just.. take care of me. And i let you because i trust you. And i like you too. A lot.”

His shoulders sagged. He leaned into your touch, green eyes searching yours.

“Im not good at this,” he admitted quietly. “The whole.. feelings thing. I saw you struggling and i had the means, so i fixed it. But hearing you call me some.. ‘sugar daddy’.. it feels cheap. Like thats all i am to you.”

“You’re not.” You whispered, rising onto your toes to kiss him. It was soft at first, reassuring. Then deeper, warmer, full of all the unspoken things between you. His hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer, thumbs stroking your sides through your shirt.

When you pulled back, you rest your forehead against his.

“You’re Jason,” you said. “The guy who remembers I like my coffee with two sugars. The guy who shows up with groceries when I’m buried in exams. The guy who makes me feel safe and wanted without ever asking for anything in return. I don’t care about the money. I care about you.”

He let out a shaky breath, arms wrapping fully around you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “So keep spoiling me if you want. But know that I’m here because I like you. Not because of the money.”

Jason held you tighter, burying his face in your neck. “Good. Because I’m not stopping. I like taking care of you. Makes me feel… useful. Like I’m doing something right.”

You threaded your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “You are. You’re doing everything right.”

He kissed you again - slower this time, savoring. His hands slid under the hem of your shirt, palms warm against your bare skin, stroking up your back in slow, soothing motions. The touch was comforting, grounding, with just a hint of heat in the way his fingers pressed into your waist.

“You’re wearing my hoodie again,” he murmured against your lips, smiling. “Looks better on you.”

“It smells like you,” you replied, nuzzling closer. “Makes studying easier.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Then keep it. Keep all of it. The money, the gifts, the apartment I’m going to get you closer to campus if you want. As long as you keep looking at me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m more than the money.”

You kissed him again, soft and lingering. “You are. You’re my Jason. That’s more than enough.”

He held you like that for a long time - arms around you, chin on your head, the city humming far below. The tension from earlier had melted away, replaced by quiet contentment.

Later, when you were curled up on the couch together watching a movie, Jason’s hand resting possessively on your hip under the blanket, he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I love you,” he said quietly, like the words were still new and precious. “Not because I pay for things. Just… because you’re you.”

You smiled, turning to kiss him properly. “I love you too. Sugar daddy or not.”

He groaned, but there was a laugh in it. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Nope.” You grinned, nipping at his lower lip. “But I’ll only say it when we’re alone. And only because it makes you all huffy and cute.”

He rolled his eyes, but pulled you closer, kissing you again — deeper this time, slower, full of promise.

“Brat,” he muttered fondly against your mouth.

“Your brat.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Mine.”

The money was nice. The gifts were nicer.

But the way Jason Todd looked at you — like you were the only thing in his world that wasn’t broken — was the best part of all.

OMG thank you for this anon i love it so much :3 jason being clingy/overbearing is my guilty pleasure !! hope u enjoy <3

big scary guard dog

cw; sfw, established relationship, gn/fem!reader (ma is used once), no description of reader, clingy!jason, jason is a big ol' lap dog, nonchalant!reader, jason pouts, pet names (baby, ma, sweetheart)

requests: open!

a/n: this was so cute think about. poor jay.

jason is a bit clingy. this he knows and admits to. however, jason also thinks that anyone who wouldn't be clingy to someone like you would have to be insane.

you're beautiful, funny and smart. jason's whole world revolves around you.

you, however, are not clingy. you are perfectly content to sit in the same room with him, on opposite sides. you dont need to be on top of him at all times, that's just how you are.

summary: falling asleep on facetime with him when he’s away on a mission <3 soft, but a tiny bit angsty because jason is emotionally constipated (affectionate) and reader misses him a lot.

Your phone lights up at 2:47 AM with a FaceTime call. Jason.

You were already awake. You've been awake for hours, lying in the dark with the fan on, doing that thing where your mind won’t settle, but sleep won’t come either. Just existing in the gap between. You haven’t heard from him in days, and your thumb hits accept before the first ring is done.

It takes a second for the call to connect, for the black screen to resolve into a dark room—a safehouse, maybe, or a motel. The only light is the glow of a joint between his fingers, flickering softly against his face. 

His eyes are low and glassy from the smoke. They’re pretty in a way he'd hate you for noticing, lashes casting long shadows down his cheeks.

"Hi,” he says. His voice is rough, scratching raw against your ear through the shitty phone speaker.

“Hey.” You pull the blanket up over your shoulders and tuck yourself against the headboard. You’re mirror images of each other now, propped up in separate beds in separate cities. “You okay?”

It's a stupid question. You know it the second it leaves your mouth. He looks exhausted. It shows in his shoulders, in how stiff he is. Every muscle is locked in place because letting go means maybe not being able to pull himself back together.

Whatever this job is, it’s clearly eating him alive.

His jaw shifts. For a second, it looks like he might say something sharp. Instead, he takes a hit, holds it, then lets it go slow.

"Yeah," he says through the exhale, smoke curling up past his face. “No. I don't know."

He pauses, and all you can hear is his breathing. It’s deliberate, measured. A pattern you’ve come to recognize: him trying to manually override his own nervous system. He does it after nightmares, after patrol, after those long silences that mean he went somewhere in his head that he can’t easily get back from.

“Can’t sleep,” he adds eventually, like a concession. 

You don’t push or ask why. He won’t give you that. Not yet anyway.

The line goes quiet, and usually you can sit with it. But after the last few days, it’s harder, and a quiet me neither slips out before you can swallow it back.

That’s when he really looks at you. His gaze catches on the old shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, then drifts over the rest of you: messy hair, bitten lips, the dullness of your skin.

A frown pulls his brows together, the edge in his voice softening. “What’s going on?”

You hesitate. You didn’t want to tell him this stuff; you tried to tuck it away for a reason. Because how do you tell him you’re having a hard time without him when he’s out there risking his life every day? It feels like adding weight to someone already carrying too much. It feels ridiculous.

But those hazy, steady eyes stay on you, patient, waiting, and they pull the truth right out.

"It's just a lot right now," you finish after a while, sounding more vulnerable than you meant to.

"Yeah." He taps ash off the joint somewhere offscreen. "I know exactly what you mean."

And the knot in your chest finally starts to loosen. You can’t believe you almost didn’t tell him. Of course he didn’t dismiss you or downplay your feelings. He never has. For all his stubbornness, all the pulling away and going quiet, he’s never once made you feel small for needing him, even when you’d convinced yourself he would.

The next drag he takes is slower. Not so desperate.

"That helping?" you ask.

He glances at the joint, then back at you. "Not really."

He holds your gaze for a long moment. You can almost see him deciding whether to say it. When he does, it’s quiet, almost boyish: “Keep talking.”

The weight of that settles beneath your ribs, steady. Jason Todd, who would rather bleed out in an alley than admit he needs someone, is asking you to keep talking because maybe your voice is doing what the smoke can’t.

So you do.

You tell him about the book you've been trying to finish, how you keep rereading the same page because your brain won't hold the sentences. You tell him about the rain earlier, how it smelled. You tell him about the stupid thing that made you laugh three days ago that you saved to tell him and then forgot until right now.

He doesn't interrupt. The joint burns down between his fingers, forgotten, and his blinks start getting longer. He sinks lower against the pillows without seeming to realize it, the camera tilting with him until he's on his side with one hand resting on the mattress. Close to the phone, close to you.

You keep going. You tell him you miss him. You tell him the bed's too big without him.

His eyes flutter closed, and his breathing slows, deepens, losing that tight, controlled edge. He doesn’t open them again.

You smile, small and soft. He’s finally asleep. Truly asleep—the kind that doesn’t come easy, the kind that never seems to stay.

You don't hang up, just turn the brightness down, set the phone on the pillow beside you, and close your eyes to the sound of him breathing. It’s not the same as having him here. Not his weight on the mattress, not his arm heavy across your waist, not his heartbeat under your ear.

But it’s him, alive and still yours, even from miles away.

You fall asleep twenty minutes later, and the call runs until morning.