But I'm gonna be honest. We need a story where neglected reader is adopted by Talia and Ra’s al Ghul. Like, how funny would it be if, after Damian comes to the mansion, Talia shows up for a mother and son date, but her little gremlin totally stands her up.

She isn’t mad, just disappointed that her son is buying into Bruce’s dramatics. She respects that he can’t kill criminals, but he completely loses his mind because her family does. She should have known he was like all Americans... preaching respect until it doesn’t fit his standards.

She’s about to leave when she sees Bruce’s daughter—the civilian one, the one her beloved left outside his inner circle.

Her reserve is for two people, and two people will go.

"Child, come. We are going to have dinner."

"What?"

"And then we are going to the opera to see Madame Butterfly."

"I’m sold."

Reader had asked for tickets, but Bruce forgot.

Talia was ready to be tolerant, but she ends up setting another date and calling her beloved’s daughter almost every week.

She loves Damian, but she finds herself enjoying being a mom’s girl very much. Damian’s sister has a sensitivity her son lacks.

Some of Talia’s old clothes end up in her dresser. When summer comes, Talia invites her to Nepal; her beloved thinks she’s going to a summer camp, but Talia starts training their daughter. She can bear that she’s a civilian, but not that she’s defenseless.

Still, they take time to do a mini tour all around Asia, tasting local cuisine and shopping for clothes that actually fit her daughter.

Ra’s is curious but not really interested at first.

"So you are the detective’s runt."

"Unwanted, you mean."

"And that doesn’t bother you?" he asks, intrigued.

"I’ve decided my best vengeance is being unbothered by it."

He smiles briefly.

"What would the detective say if he knew you lingered with my daughter?"

"Sir, if you want a video reaction when he finds out, just pay me."

He sends her $10,000 when she ends up sending him high-resolution footage.

To everyone’s confusion—except Talia—Ra’s al Ghul acts like a normal grandpa when he’s around reader.

When Damian finds out, he accuses her of trying to steal his position as heir (he knows he’s already lost it, but he’s jealous). She looks at him like he’s dumb.

"Why would I be the heir when I’m the favorite grandchild?" she asks. "The heir thing is just some game gramps plays for fun. Why would he need one when he’s basically immortal with no plans of dying?"

That pretty much silences Damian for a long time.

No one understands their relationship. She’s welcome to join the League of Assassins, but it’s okay if she doesn’t, they still want her around.

And you know how messed up it is that Ra’s knows more about Bruce’s daughter than the detective himself? Ra’s al Ghul enjoys very much throwing it in his face.

I love this

BATFAM × NEGLECTED FEM VIGILANTE READER

possible series???

part 2 part 3 part 4

___

As far as you were concerned, you weren't a Wayne. Not by name, association or any other factor other than genetics. Bruce Wayne was your father biologically but that is all there is to it.

You got taken in at age 8, finding out about everyone's secret night lives only a few weeks into your stay there. Did you care? Not particularly. It didn't matter to you, not until you over heard everyone in the dining room late at night

"I think we should tell her" Dick said

"That decision isn't yours to make" Bruce answered,

Damian scoffed harshly " it's not like she can figure it out on her own, she's defenseless, has no training, and has never seen the real world."

You know more than he ever realized.

Tim hummed "For once im going to agree with Damian, -Reader- is practically blind"

Tears blurred your eyes and their voices slowly muffled as you quietly snuck back to your room.

---THREE YEARS LATER---

Over the past few years you have been building a small reputation. You were highly ranked in several martial arts and had picked up more than a few languages, you excelled in school. Not that anyone ever seemed to notice. Until one day, someone did. Four men and a woman in suits stepped out of an SUV outside the library after you dropped off several books on mandarin that you had finished. You ignored them, why wouldn't you?

The woman stepped into your path, your eyes diverted from the Spotify playlist you were currently searching through. You attempted to side step around her but found one of the larger men blocking your path. You clear your throat, eyes flicking up at the woman who was wearing a suit that probably costed more than your entire closet.

"Y/n, l/n?" She crosses her arms.

"Do I know you?" You ask wearily

"No, but we certainly know you" she nods at a man to her right and he reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a business card. You raise an eyebrow.

"You seriously think im going to take the name and address of some random la-" your sentence cuts out as you take a look at the card, it's made of a thick paper, the fancy and expensive kind. At the front etched in an elegant script it read

"Samantha Cruise, Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), huh I sure as hell didn't expect that."

You looked up to see the group of five already walking back to the car.

___

Long story short, you now worked under a secret law enforcement agency unit that works across the USA aswell as internationally. At first, you worked in a pair.

You met Luke on your first day on the job. Dark hair, light eyes, and a small smirk playing on his face. He was gorgeous. And yet he fell first. You were strictly forbidden from having any romantic relationship with him but you never let it affect your work lives. A few months in a new member joined, Taylor. Auburn hair, green eyes. And you couldn't ask for better friends. Taylor had a boyfriend so your relationship with Luke never bothered her.

___

[While you were gone on a mission in Russia]

-Damian's POV-

Titus and Ace were scratching on a guest room door, begging to get in. Why the two dogs wanted to get into an empty room was beyond him. Maybe a ball had rolled while they were playing and the door shut? He opened the door, it creacked slightly. The dogs rushed in.To his surprise he found a bedroom that was very clearly in use. Leds and fairy lights were strung up on the ceiling, group photos of people he didn't recognize and weirdest of all, shelved and after further investigation, boxes full of what even Damian had to admit, were extremely impressive awards. Noone that he knew of resided in this part of the manor. That left only one possible conclusion.

___

"Father, we have a squatter in the west wing" Damian calmly said.

Tim snorted out some water out of his nose, coughing before saying "Sorry? You can't just drop that out of nowhere!"

Dick raised an eyebrow, and Steph choked slightly. Even Cass was confused.

Bruce's eyebrows furrowed "Care to elaborate?"

Damian explained the situation, the trophies, pictures, books with no dust, and the slightly messed up bed.

Before the situation could escalate further, Alfred interrupted,

"That would be Miss -Reader-'s room." His tone was slightly clipped, as if dissapointed.

Bruce stared for a bit as if recalling the name before leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, yes of course, -Reader-...."

By the end of dinner the small bedroom was filled with the entire family, inspecting every inch of it.

"Alfred, where is she?" Steph asked in a quiet tone

"Out."

Cass picked up a medal that read "first place, kickboxing state championship", she places it down before picking up a dusty picture of you smiling with genuine joy and posing with several of your friends in a coffee shop, laid in front of you were heaps of papers, it looked to be a study session for something.

"How long has she been "out" for?"

Alfred shifted his weight. "Three days Miss Cassandra"

Bruce snapped his head back at Alfred "She has been gone for three days and didn't tell any of us?"

You cleared your throat, all heads turned to the doorway.

You stood there leaning on it, bored expression on your face, "Can you blame me?"

A satisfied smirk crosses your face as their eyes widen slightly, taking you in. You looked incredibly different then when you did when you were 8, you now stood taller than almost everyone in the room. At 5'10 you were the same height as Dick and Alfred, not to mention the muscle and scars you had gained after spending time on the job, as well as everything you did to get there of course.

Alfred stepped forward trapping you in a hug, he accidentally grabbed one of the many knives you currently had strapped on your person.

You took a sharp breath and Alfred stepped backwards.

You smile before glancing at the door and gesturing for everyone to leave.

"I missed you Alfred, but im exhausted and I really want to go to bed. Love you."

"I love you too" Alfred quietly replied before herding the now incredibly confused family out of the small room.

You slammed the door and collapsed on your bed.

That went great.

___

── We had some good times didn’t we? ♡‧₊ ⸝⸝

.✦  What of yours do they find after your death? ˎˊ˗

♡.ᐟ Characters: Kento, Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, Toji, Sukuna

☽☾ Fem. Reader intended ☽☾ angst ☽☾ hurt/no comfort ☽☾ major character death ☽☾ talks of self harm, depression, death, suicide ☽☾ a little graphic in imagery ☽☾

𝒦ento

Kento found your journals, your diaries, your unfinished drafts and book manuscripts you had wanted to finish writing and publish.

You had a special place in your room for them, a shrine dedicated — bedazzled and crowned, cherished like he had cherished you. 

Now that he held them in his arms, they felt so light. 

The pages had lost their shine, the words felt subdued, the covers looked bland. Cold to touch and lifeless. Like you had been in his arms—

HIT WITH THE HYBRID STICK?! »»» NSFW!

⋮ 🏎️ᝰ.ᐟ ┆ cat!hybrid tamsy, dog!hybrid enjin, otter!hybrid follo, wolf!hybrid zodyl (seperate) x f!afab!reader

ᯓ★ ༝ MDNI! monsterfucking, established relationship, masturbation (m), thigh fucking, breeding, dry humping, manipulation, somnophillia, throatfucking, restrainting, lwk manipulative tamsy, breeding, dry humping, sweat licking (so sorry, very brief!), marathon sex, cum eating, nipple sucking, dubcon, biting, rough sex, unprotected sex, knotting

⚡︎ ›› A new trash life spreads through the grounds - beings that are almost … animalistic. At first, everything seems normal. Until the gachiakuta men return from their expeditions changed!

🏁ּ ┆TYSM for 400 followers ILY ALL!! Please don't mind the layout i'm trying something new..

help me — spider troubles!

♡ featuring. enjin, zanka, tamsy, gris, jabber, follo

Enjin

He’s pacing, coiled tight, still annoyed by something you said earlier, giving you that sharp, silent treatment he thinks is subtle.

You tug lightly at his sleeve. “…Kiss ?” Just one tiny word.

He freezes. His head tilts toward you like you just punched the air out of his lungs. “…Seriously ?” he mutters, voice low, raw, but he’s already stepping closer. “You’re gonna ask me that. Right now.” You nod, small, shy.

His composure snaps — he grips your jaw gently, thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls you in with a frustrated exhale. “You’re impossible,” he whispers against your lips, moments before kissing you slow, deep, like he’s finally melting.

And just like that, the argument disappears. He can’t stay mad at you — not when you ask for him like that.

Zanka

He’s focused, meticulously cleaning his lovely assistaff for the fourth time, pretending he’s not ignoring you.

You whisper, barely audible over the faint shing of metal: “…Can I have a kiss ?”

Zanka drops the cloth like it burned him. His ears turn bright pink — his whole posture softens, instantly yielding. “I— yes. Of course. Come here.”

He steps toward you so carefully, as if he’s scared to do it wrong. He cups your face with gentle, warm hands, eyes flicking between your lips and your gaze, a visible struggle. His kiss is feather-light, almost shy, but you feel his breath tremble against your skin.

“…Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice a soft apology. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He kisses you again, just a bit firmer this time. He’s yours the moment you ask.

Tamsy

He’s sprawled across your bed, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily draped over the blankets. Sunlight filters through the curtains, painting soft, sleepy patterns across the sheets.

You crawl in beside him, nudging his side gently. “Tamsy…?”

“You need something, my love ?” He shifts immediately, pulling you against him, his arms wrapping snugly and possessively around your waist. You lean closer, breath warm against his ear, whispering, “Kiss ?”

He freezes for a heartbeat, that familiar, utterly mischievous grin spreading slow across his face. “A kiss, hm? ”

His fingers brush your jaw lightly, tilting your face up to his. “Darling… you didn’t even need to ask.” The kiss is slow, soft, and teasing, a promise of more. When he pulls back, that smirk lingers, warm and playful, daring you to stay in his arms forever.

Gris

He’s just sitting there, legs slightly apart, hands resting open on his thighs, radiating a deep, unshakeable calm.

You step in front of him, a little hesitant, arms clasped behind your back, and whisper: “…Kiss me ?”

For a fraction of a second, his eyes widen — a flash of surprise — then a profound, soft smile spreads across his face. “Of course,” he says simply, his voice low but steady.

He reaches for you, guiding you gently between his legs, settling you comfortably on his lap. His hands rest on your hips, firm yet gentle, keeping you close. He leans in slowly, and when his lips meet yours, the kiss is deep, grounding, and absolute.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he murmurs, a hint of amusement and awe in his voice: “You always know exactly how to get me, don’t you ?”

Jabber

He’s adjusting his rings, posture loose but restlessly energetic, that leftover fight-high buzzing under his skin.

You step close and murmur, “…Kiss ?” and his hands still instantly. His grin spreads slow, sharp, amused — like you just offered him something far more thrilling than simple affection.

He steps into your space, closing the gap, his thumb dragging sensually across your lower lip, deliberately smudging it as he studies your reaction. “Asking me like that… you really don’t know what you’re doing to me, dollface,” he murmurs, voice low and excited.

His kiss comes sudden and intense, holding back just enough not to overwhelm, just enough to make your pulse jump. When he pulls back, he brushes your lips with his thumb again, his smile tilting in predatory pleasure. “Do it again ma,” he says softly. “I like it.”

Follo

He’s in the middle of something, totally lost in his thoughts and humming under his breath as you poke his shoulder.

“Follo… kiss ?”

He blinks. Once. Twice. Then he beams, a sudden burst of sunlight. “A kiss ? For me ?”

He drops everything instantly — whatever he was holding clatters softly — and hugs you so tightly you lift off the ground for a second, a squeak escaping your lips. Then he gives you the softest, happiest kiss, his hands cupping your cheeks with pure, unadulterated affection. “I’ll never say no,” he says with a flushed, genuine smile. “You can interrupt me anytime.”

© dollysveil ♡

masterlist

Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Wally West, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent and John Constantine

Warnings: Reader is implied to be able to get pregnant, however I'm all for them being dumb enough to think they've managed even if it's not possible so you decide lol <3 Beside that, no real warnings, mostly fluffy and humorous.

Morph's thoughts: Hii everyone, this is my first dc comics fic AND first text!au fic ever :) I'm still trying to find everyone's "texting voices" and doing a bit of a trial and error with the formating of the screen shots, so if you have any feedback it's more than welcome!!

Comments and reblogs are welcome and encouraged <3 Do not copy, repost, plagiarize, translate or feed any of my work into ai / © gothamorphosis 2026 all rights reserved

You bang on your rivals’s (?) safehouse door, it wasn’t exactly common for you to be at Tim’s doorstep but hey that’s where the world led you today, take it or leave it.

“Hey, shithead, open the door!” You call out to him but you get nothing in return. Not even a snarky comment. Not even the sound of his footsteps. Weird.

You knock again, softer now.

“..Tim? Are you in there?” You do know he’s in there because that’s where his tracker’s marked on your map. Yes you track him.. occasionally.

You curse under your breath before picking his lock. Of course he’d make your life even harder.

“Timothy Jackson D-“ Your words are cut short by the sight you witness, he’s passed out on his chair, his side bleeding, a small streak of blood on the floor. Well shit.

“Hi-“ He slurs and you have to hold back a sigh of relief, he’s alive. Alive and so incredibly handso- no- no. Alive and very beaten up. Focus. Raven hair sticking to his forehead, sweat dripping down his neck and blood smeared on his face. Tim was devastatingly beautiful, even in his worst state. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Hi.” You crouch to him, spinning his chair so he faces you, hands braced on either side of him.

“What happened to you?”

“Why do you care?”

You scoff, assessing him further, a hand hesitantly cupping his face, turning it from side to side, inspecting him like he’s some cargo. He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t really have the will or strength to, and it breaks your heart so very quietly.

“Just last week you had a knife to my throat, now you’re what— going to patch me up like we’re buddies?” He’s putting up a front, you know he is. But he’s still not wrong. But you’re also not really on opposite sides.

“That’s different.” You respond defensively but he’s quick to follow up.

“Is it, really?”

“Yeah it is.” You frown, he’s really gone through it this time.

You waste no time grabbing his first aid kit- because of course you know where it is.

“It’s different.. because?” He drawls as you help him out of the chair and onto the floor against his couch, then peel off his blood soaked shirt.

“Because only I get to do this to you.” You respond, and it sounds dumb even to you. He giggles, you push his legs apart, and sit between them to have better access to his wound.

“You never stab me though.”

“Do you want me to?”

“..mm no.” He responds, watching as you clean his wound carefully.

It takes a couple minutes until he’s fully patched up, a few minutes of him muffling his groans, of your hands gliding g across his body, and oh your hands linger a moment more than necessary.

“Who did it, Tim?” Your hand is at the back of his neck. It’s so strange to love and hate someone so much at the same time.

“I don’t fight and tell now, do I?” He murmurs, flashing you a dumb smile and you roll your eyes in cue.

“Tim.” You repeat, a hint of warning in your tone, your other hand grabbing his collar.

“Who did this to you?” You speak into his face, eyes narrowed, pulling him closer.

The tips of his ears go red. You’d find it cute, you’d even tease him if you weren’t hell bent on breaking someone’s bones for what they did to him.

“Stop looking at me like that— I’m not fragile. You know I can handle myself.” He stammers. He’s putting up a front again. You sigh.

“I’m not treating you like this because you’re fragile I’m taking care of you because I..” because I care. That’s what you want to say but it dies on your tongue. You let go of his collar but he grabs your hand, pauses, the action surprises him. For a split second you could swear he glanced at your lips. Whatever.

“Some stupid goons, they’re taken care off. Don’t go hunting- I don’t want you behind bars tonight.” You breathe out a sigh of relief. No imminent threat or someone going after him at least.

“Atta boy, that’s more like it.”

He scoffs, then squeezes your hand and puts it on his cheek.

This is dangerous territory.

Very dangerous.

You knew how to kick ass, how to fight, how to keep someone on their toes, not how to do.. this.

“Thank you for coming.” He kisses your palm. You blink once. Twice. Your face heats up.

He tries to get up, winces and settles again.

“Careful-” You murmur, removing his hand from his side before helping him up, supporting his weight. You head towards the door.

“Where are you taking me?” He frowns.

“My place. I don’t trust you to take care of this. You were bleeding out, Tim.” He sighs but doesn’t protest.

—————————————————————————

Life was indeed strange, Tim Drake, the biggest pain in your ass, was beside you on your bed. Watching a stupid documentary with you.

“But it doesn’t make sense- those are inaccurate stats.”

“Of course you’d point that out. Can’t enjoy a show, can you?”

“Hey— What’s that supposed to mean? I’m a breath of fresh air.” The last comment has you snorting.

Tim wasn’t awful company (when you two weren’t at each other’s throats). You don’t see eye to eye on everything, your relationship isn’t very.. smooth. But when was anything in Gotham easy?

His head drops on your shoulder, you tense up then relax again, glancing at him once.

“I’m sorry about last week. I did get in your way- and it was stupid I miscalculated. I at least owe you an apolo-“

You shush him with a finger on his mouth.

“I get it, you don’t have to grovel. Besides I did punch you.”

“I deserved it.”

“Okay, are you sure those goons didn’t hit your head? You’re surprisingly cooperative. Normally we’d be arguing by now.”

“I’m being chivalrous.”

“You sure look chivalrous in my pink pajamas.”

“Color has no gender.” He says, grinning. Stupid smile. Stupid blue eyes. Whatever. You look away.

“Nice tracker, by the way.” He murmurs, burrowing into your arms. You quickly learned that Tim Drake is very cuddly. Okay.

“You knew?”

“I’m the world’s greatest detective.”

“Ha, isn’t that your dad?” He groans, and nuzzles into your neck. Tim is like a very dramatic cat. Especially when he’s hurt.

It’s a couple more hours of cuddling until he gets sleepy, that man is sprawled atop you now at this point. And the worst part is you don’t hate it— he’s not pissing you off. Timothy Jackson Drake is in your space and you love it, you must be sick. Your fingers are still massaging his scalp, your free hand on his back, rubbing it slowly. Why do you want him to be comfy anyways..?

He lifts his head from your chest, looks at you with the most earnest precious expression and asks,

“Can I kiss you?”

Okay maybe that’s why.

“.. what?”

“Okay— I should start thinking before I speak, I mean- well..”

“Awful delivery, but yes.” You cut him off, and oh he jumps at the chance, his eyes lighting up, pupils dilating before he closes those eyes and finally leans in.

He tastes like.. red bull and chips? And god he’s so gentle, one hand cupping your cheek, the other finding yours under the covers, interlocking your fingers. When he pulls away his face is flushed, his eyes locked on yours, gaze so intense. He takes a small breath and then speaks.

“I think I’m in love with you.” And he kisses you again.

—————————————————————————

don't leave Jason's girl near a knife

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader, platonic!damian wayne x fem!reader, platonic!tim drake x fem!reader, platonic!dick grayson x fem!reader

summary: Teaching Jason's girlfriend self-defense didn’t turn out as they expected.

word count: 890

warning(s): English is not my first language, not proofread, no use of y/n. Only dick, damian and tim on this fic, sorry! fake gun and knife

author's note: my ig's feed keeps popping this account, and i knew i had to do something with this hahah

˗ˏˋ ♡ fic inspired by this video and this one tooˊ˗

Boredom had arrived at Wayne Manor.

Everyone was gathered for a family lunch. It was customary for the whole family to get together at the Manor once a month to spend some family time—away from their vigilante lives.

It had been a couple of months since Jason had introduced his girlfriend to the family. Or rather, formally introduced her; after his siblings had invaded his apartment looking for answers about his disappearances.

The group was in the living room. Each one held a drink in their hands or had one by their side.

It had been a while since boredom had swept over the group, and now they were talking about the first thing that came to anyone’s mind.

“We could teach you some moves,” Dick said to the girl.

The conversation had drifted toward the lack of coordination among Gotham’s criminals.

Jason’s girlfriend turned to look at one of her brothers-in-law, frowning in confusion.

Jason laughed under his breath, the bottle of beer just inches from his mouth.

“Yeah... good luck with that.”

Bruce: So, how did you two get married?

*Jason and you look at each other*

Y/n: Will you marry me?

Jason: No.

Y/n: Omg I'm so happy! *Hugs Jason*

Y/n: *Pauses, then turns to him* Wait…did you just say no?

Jason: Yes.

Y/n: *Hugs him again* For a second I thought you said no. Omg I'm so happy!

Nightwing x reader

Summary: you accidently called Nightwing a "good boy". In your defense, you're used to working with dogs..not people!

“C’mon,” you sigh, crouched halfway under the Batmobile while Dick attempts to hand you a wrench that is very obviously the wrong size. “Not that one. The— yeah, there you go. Good boy.”

Silence.

You slide out from beneath the car slowly, confused as to why Dick stopped talking.

Nightwing is frozen.

One knee bent where he’d been crouching, blue eyes blown wide behind the domino mask, wrench still dangling from his fingers like his brain has temporarily disconnected from his motor functions.

Bruce asks, “What exploded?” knowing that the only time his kids were quiet was if someone fucked up.

Dick clears his throat.

Then immediately chokes on absolutely nothing.

“You okay there?” you ask carefully.

“Fantastic,” he says instantly, voice cracking straight through the middle of the word.

Oh no.

Oh no.

Jason, seated nearby cleaning one of his guns, looks up with the slow delight of a man witnessing the beginning of a natural disaster.

“…Did she just call you a good boy?”

Dick points at him violently. “Don’t.”

“OH my God,” Jason breathes, eyes shining. “OH, this is bad.”

“It was a joke,” you say quickly.

Dick nods too fast. “Totally. Obviously. Completely normal joke. Happens all the time.”

“Right,” you agree.

“Totally unaffected.”

“Clearly.”

Dick stands up so abruptly he slams his head directly into the underside of the Batmobile. CLANG.

There’s a beat.

“…Fantastic recovery,” Jason starts.

Dick, still folded in half from the impact, gives a weak thumbs up.

The problem should’ve ended there, and it would've given any normal circumstance. But you work with vigilantes, so your normal is pretty different from most people's.

Nightwing proceeds to lose every remaining shred of composure over the next three weeks.

Not in obvious ways, but Dick Grayson’s problem is that he’s trying very hard to act normal. Which makes him one thousand times worse.

Because suddenly he’s everywhere.

You mention being hungry once? Dick appears holding your favorite takeout sheepishly. You casually say your phone’s about to die? Charger lands in your lap before you finish the sentence. You offhandedly mention liking a sweater in a store window? Three days later it mysteriously appears folded on your bed in Titans Tower with no note except a sticky tab reading:

'saw this :) '

Which would already be suspicious enough. Except every single act of service is followed by this unbearable look on his face. It's that wide-eyed look of hope.

Like he’s waiting for something.

You don’t understand it until the fourth week.

It’s movie night at the Tower. Everyone’s there.

Garfield is upside down on the couch, and Kory is attempting to explain why alien horror films are scientifically inaccurate and this is not how her people act. Tim is asleep sitting upright somehow. Jason’s eating cereal directly from the box with a serving spoon.

Dick walks in carrying snacks for everyone.

“You remembered the chocolate-covered pretzels?” you ask.

Dick brightens instantly. “Yeah.”

You grin. “Aw. Good boy.”

Dick stops moving entirely.

The bowl of popcorn slips from his hands.

Jason drops dead onto the floor laughing before the popcorn even hits the ground.

“Oh my GOD,” he wheezes. “HE LIKES IT.”

“I do not—”

“You practically wagged your tail!”

“I DID NOT WAG ANYTHING.”

Kory tilts her head thoughtfully. “Actually, your posture did become notably more eager.”

Dick looks like he wants the earth to open beneath him.

Garfield is crying laughing into a throw pillow.

Tim wakes up just long enough to mumble, “Knew it,” before immediately falling back asleep.

And you stare at Dick, who is now aggressively avoiding eye contact while turning the color of a fire hydrant. He is suddenly very interested in cleaning up popcorn one kernel at a time, as he mutters, “It’s not my fault,” under his breath like a man on trial.

Oh.

Oh, this is hilarious.

“You know,” you say slowly, “this explains a lot.”

Dick points a popcorn kernel at you accusingly. “You explain a lot.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It made sense in my head.”

Jason is still dying on the carpet. “He’s so pathetic. This is the best day of my life.”

“Jason,” Dick snaps.

“No, no, keep going,” Jason says delightedly. “Maybe he’ll do a trick. Wanna fetch, good boy?”

Dick throws popcorn at his head.

Jason throws it back.

Garfield joins in.

Within thirty seconds, a full-scale food fight erupts across Titans Tower.

Kory starts launching popcorn, and Tim wakes up again solely to throw an M&M directly at Jason’s forehead before passing out for a second time. Someone knocks over an entire soda.

In the middle of the chaos, Dick grabs your wrist and pulls you backward out of the war zone.

“Come on,” he says, laughing despite himself.

You stumble after him into the hallway, both of you breathless.

The noise from the living room muffles behind the closing door, and suddenly it’s quieter.

Dick’s still holding your wrist ridiculously tight.

You look up at him, amused. “You know they’re never letting you live this down.”

“I know,” he groans.

“You’re kind of making it worse.”

“I know.”

“You literally dropped the popcorn.”

“In my defense,” he says solemnly, “you treated me like a dog!”

You laugh. Dick looks at you for a second too long. Then a fond expression sneaks onto his face before he can stop it. And there it is again, that look of hope.

Like he’s waiting.

You raise an eyebrow.

Dick immediately looks away. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.”

You absolutely do.

Which is why you grin and lean slightly closer.

“Good boy.”

Dick Grayson actually, physically malfunctions.

His head drops against the wall with a quiet thud.

“Oh, you are NEVER surviving this,” you inform him cheerfully.

From the other room, Jason’s voice echoes

“DID HE SHORT-CIRCUIT AGAIN? CYBORG! ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE THE HUMANOID?”

A/n: men yearn to be lap dogs and I know it

A long day in the liminal pool space

he’s drunk and clingy [dc]

pairing: damian wayne (aged up) x reader

synopsis: after a few drinks at the gala, damian wayne is unusually clingy and needy, refusing to stop showering you with affection

a/n: i love this idea sm TUMBLR DIDN’T SAVE MY INITIAL DRAFT LUCKILY I WAS MOTIVATED otherwise i would’ve just deleted this app. please enjoy!!

damian wayne rarely attended his father’s galas. moreover, he rarely ever drank at them.

today, he had done both.

the moment damian had turned eighteen, a plethora of expectations had been thrust upon him in preparation of if he were to ever take upon the mantle of his father, bruce wayne.

thus, he was expected to ‘behave’ at tonight’s gala, forced to host alongside his father; especially ever since he had been ‘allowed’ to be in a relationship, (an affiliation bruce— ironic, isn’t it?— believes to occasionally be a distraction from one’s duties), there were certain roles he had to work extra hard to fulfil.

tonight, he was expected to socialise. his least favourite activity as his main duty.

but alas, damian always strived to prove his worth to his father, even if the means to do so often clashed with his own areas of interest, and so he was behaving.

he made sure his ironed tailored suit did not have a single crinkle. he begrudgingly engaged in fruitless conversations and nodded along to business endeavours he knew nothing about from adults he knew nothing about, with proposals going in one ear and straight out the other, regardless of how important they might’ve been. caring was bruce’s job. he was only to maintain appearance. he even trained his perpetually creased eyebrows into a faux display of amusement— slightly raised instead— for the entire night to disguise his signature scowl.

it had been exhausting: pretending to entertain the socialite life— pretending to respect entitled adults who were all hypocritically pretending to enjoy one another’s company. sure, damian himself was often entitled too, a quality he was working on improving, but at least he never pretended to regard others simply for ‘networking’. these people seemed to know nothing about the real streets of gotham.

damian had been trying to placate his point blank boredom by really attempting, at random times, to care, when truly, he just really despised each fragile counterfeit interaction; every pathetic comment neatly packaged in the ruse of ‘fraternisation’. instead, he continuously found himself returning to any one of his brothers sides to complain about his apathy. god, he needed to get out of here before he lost it, yet he knew that wasn’t possible.

but there was one thing keeping him sane.

you.

but bruce had not been lenient— you had a task too. if you were to be damian’s partner, you had to play your respective part, and in your own opinion.. you were smashing it.

charmingly wide toothy smile, managing the drinks being served, participating in conversations about topics you had spent the prior day studying so you could speak on them. you had been exceptional. on top of your mannerisms, you were glowing, your energy attracting all the right people and creating just the perfect ambiance of hospitality for the night.

damian is enamoured watching you in action. his eyes are sharp and glued to you when he gets a break from lousily intermingling, a drink seamlessly plucked from a butler with a tray. he brings the glass to his lips, the alcohol stinging the back of his throat, burning away the desire that blossoms at the sight of you. the elegance of your dress. the poise of your stature. the shine of your teeth when you grin at guests. the crinkle of your sparkling eyes. the curve of your shoulders. the dip of your waist.

the colour of your lipstick.

what does a guy have to do to get a kiss from you around here?

damian doesn’t even realise he’s downed the entire glass of alcohol until he plants it on the table. he doesn’t realise when he approaches other guests to converse that he’s picked up another glass, his eyes continually glancing over at the mesmerising sight of your radiating charm.

this continues throughout the night. he has possibly drank four champaign glasses, which is four over his limit since he never drinks, and he’s feeling increasingly loopy as the gala comes to an end.

damian tries to convince himself he’s fine.

as the people disperse over time, the last few enjoin into a large group discussion until everyone decides to shuffle out, the manor beginning to look spacious again. when it’s completely emptied out leaving just the batfamily for a post-gala debriefing, damian barely lets you contribute before he walks up to you, hooking his arm with yours— not caring to wish his brothers or father goodnight— dragging you back up to his room.

your eyebrows raise as he walks you upstairs, simpering in confusion.

“damian,” you breathe, following helplessly. “everything alright?” you tilt your head, eyebrows tilting upwards.

damian doesn’t respond. you notice he looks a little buzzed, and your eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

“no way. did you drink?” you question as he approaches his bedroom door, lazily drawing it open.

that’s when he finally turns to you.

damian’s usually sharp emerald eyes are lazy and barely open, his lips pressed into a flat line, bottom lip slightly jutted out. he lets out a deep breath, running a hand over his face and through his neatly made hair, ruffling it up.

“yes,” he rasps out, throat burning. “i drank.”

you snort. “wow,” you grin in amusement. “you never do. what happened?”

damian grumbles, and that’s when he takes a stumbling step forward, his head plummeting onto your shoulder. an enlightened smile crawls onto your lips and your hand moves up to his lower back, carefully holding him for support.

“everything was so excruciatingly boring,” he mumbles against your shoulder, voice muffled against your bare skin. his voice is slightly slurred, something you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t known he was drunk. “had to distract myself.”

damian lets out a long breath against your skin, and then almost suddenly realises that it’s your bare skin, and so immediately puckers his lips, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. goosebumps erupt on your skin.

you’re not used to damian initiating affection or being clingy. he rarely lets his guard down, and in exploitation of his weakened defences due to the alcohol in his system, you experiment.

you soothingly rub up and down his back. “aw,” you coo, holding him closer. “you must be exhausted.”

you bite back a smile at your intentionally patronising voice.

you’re babying him.

sober damian would’ve been disgusted by that.

instead, damian who is never vulnerable, never sappy, never emotional, groans in agreement against your shoulder. he drags his nose up your shoulder to your neck, burying his face in your skin. his hands lazily reach out, one at your abdomen, one sliding around your lower back.

your heart skips a beat.

damian is clinging onto you. damian. the boy who can barely ever instigate intimacy without feeling pathetic. the one who hates feeling weak.

you’re still revelling in your shock, brain thinking of a million ways to cherish this adorable version of damian when you feel the ticklish sensation of his lips moving against your neck.

“you were so perfect tonight,” damian’s voice is low and hoarse from drinking, his words sounding as if they were roughly pushed out of his dry mouth.

and then he lifts his head from your neck, staring at you for a long moment with hazy emerald eyes. he’s almost pouting, just a little, his brown cheeks decorated pink. his hair is slightly disheveled from it being the end of the night, his heart rate slow and comfortable in the embrace of his lover.

“kept looking at you..” he breathes, lips parting, and then his eyes drop down, shamelessly looking over your figure. the way your dress hugs your every curve. your cleavage. you raise an amused eyebrow, your own cheeks turning hotter.

“gorgeous,” he muses, leaning in and rubbing his nose against yours. his eyes flutter shut. meanwhile, your heart is racing, butterflies in your stomach.

damian is never like this.

you can barely keep it together when his lips graze yours.

“everyone,” his voice is a hoarse whisper as he puckers his lips against the edge of your mouth. “was talking about,” he nudges a harder kiss to your cheekbone, “how i don’t deserve you.”

he sounds petulant. sulky.

your whole body is hot.

he sighs against your lips, and then lets out a throaty whine. long and rough. he sounds exhausted and desperate all at the same time.

you can’t contain your goofy grin any longer. the smile on your face is oozing sugar with how sweet and sincere it is.

“that’s not true,” you whisper back softly. damian’s eyelids blink against your skin, his eyelashes tickling your cheekbone as his lips press a wet open-mouthed kiss to the edge of your mouth. your shiny gloss coats his mouth. he doesn’t care.

“it is,” his voice is deep and rough. his hands slide over your abdomen and your back, large and slender, framing your whole body in his palms.

“i don’t deserve you,” he whispers, another leisurely kiss pressed to the side of your nose, kissing wherever his lips can reach and touch, desperate for any form of affection.

“hayati,” he breathes, mouth just brushing your cheek, grazing your skin. “my beloved,” he murmurs, soft chants of nicknames, completely enamoured by you in his arms. “zawjati,” his voice is low, lips tickling your fuzzy skin.

(zawjati means ‘my wife’)

an uncontrollable grin is plastered on your face, cheeks crimson.

and then it gets worse.

“i adore you,” his mouth ghosts over yours with his shy whisper, and that’s when he finally presses a firm kiss to your lips. it’s pathetic and barely a kiss, his lips bumping against yours, just needing to feel you.

you’re not believing this is real. damian who never professes his love, ever. damian who responds ‘hm,’ with flushed cheeks every time you tell him you love him, until you force him to confess how he ‘possesses similar affections for you’.

you are, to say the least, pleasantly surprised by his sudden and random displays of affection. you’re melting until you can’t contain yourself anymore, wanting to practically devour your boyfriend.

you beam a soft smile, cradling his warm cheek. “so tipsy,” you tease, and he huffs against your cheek.

“can i touch you?” he whispers, completely ignoring your comment, hand moving up from your abdomen to over your chest, unabashedly trailing his palm over the curves of your chest.

wow. this man is in his own world, not realising nor paying heed to how he’s torturing you.

your breath hitches.

“i want to have you tonight,” he stumbles slightly so his body weight presses right into you, putty against you.

you blush, bright wide smile glued to your face. you scoff-chuckle. “you’re soo drunk.”

“still need you,” he breathes back, cheek pressing hard into your warm supple skin, as if trying to fuse with you, needing the contact. the proximity. “mine,” he adds, squeezing your chest.

his hand then slides down to your tummy, rubbing up and down over the fabric of your dress, just possessively feeling the softness, as if he is discovering for the first time that you are all his.

your smile softens tenfold. “baby,” your voice is low. “maybe you should get some rest. you said you were tired.”

at that, damian pulls away. his lazy eyes meet yours, and he tugs you closer with his arms around you.

his eyes shift from one of your pupils to the other, completely dazed. his lips are slightly pouted, cheeks now fully flushed. his face is centimetres from yours.

“you..” he breathes, eyes digging into your soul, slightly glossy. “are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

your heart aches at his slurred words. your hand moves up to cradle his jaw in cuteness aggression. “damian,” you squeak, heart racing in your chest. “i’m going to eat you.”

at that, his eyes flutter shut, eyebrows crinkling upwards in amusement. there is the faintest curve of his lips, the ghost of a smile. “like a blowjob?”

you blow a raspberry, squeezing his jaw. “aaand you’ve ruined it,” you joke, but then damian’s eyes open, and he frowns.

“i always do.”

your eyes widen. drunk damian is not only clingy, but overly sensitive too. “no, baby,” you pull his face closer. “i was just kidding. you never ruin anything.” you lean closer until your lips are brushing his.

damian puckers his lips, clearly asking for a kiss. it’s so petulant you smile, attending to his wish, cutting the distance and pressing your mouth to his. the kiss is sloppy and lousy, the taste of alcohol lingering at damian’s throat when your tongue dives into his mouth. his mouth is leisurely against yours, savouring the effort you’re putting in to make out with him. he desperately bites your lower lip when you pull away, trying to keep your lips glued to his.

you grin, cheeks pink, face still close to his.

“resting time,” you hold his face, thumb caressing his jaw. “you can have me tomorrow.”

damian’s eyes are big, pupils dilated. he looks like a puppy, shimmering brown skin, tired eyes. you want to shower him with unlimited affection with how adorable he looks, and he’s drunk, so this would probably be the only time he’d let you. he nods slowly, lips slightly sulky.

you sigh dreamily. “you’re so cute i wish you were like this all the time.”

“i do love you all the time,” damian responds, voice lazy and growing quieter as the level of his exhaustion increases. his eyes are gentler and heavier. his hands casually slide up your arms to the straps of your dress, languidly tugging them down.

at first your eyes sparkle with affection, and then your lips purse at his cheeky behaviour. this boy. “that’s very sweet,” you offer a smile while your own hands reach up to hold his steady at your shoulders, softly tugging the straps of your dress back up.

damian frowns petulantly. your heart aches.

“i will—” gosh, he looks so beaten. “i will take it off. i promise. just get into bed first, okay? you’re tired.” you try to reason with puppy eyed damian.

damian sighs. and then his head falls into your neck again. “can you help me change?” he exhales, breath warm. “my head is spinning.”

your demeanour softens. “of course,” you wrap your arms around him. “come on. my turn to take care of you.”

damian hums as you guide him to stand back in front of his bed. his arms come around your waist, caressing and holding on to you for balance. “i am too lucky,” he grumbles while pressing his lips to your neck in a myriad of pecks. you smile, unbuttoning his shirt for him.

“you’re just soo sappy drunk, aren’t you? don’t give me incentive to tell bruce to host more galas,” you tease, eyes focused on your task.

“that’s cruel,” damian mumbles against your skin, eyes fluttering shut. “he’d give me all his social work and then i’d never be free,” he murmurs, his voice becoming more and more slurred as he feels sleepier.

you chuckle, pulling his shirt off for him. “and if i let you touch me after every one?”

his response is instantaneous.

“deal.”

“yeah. go to bed, buddy.”

NEW BEGINNINGS ✶⋆.˚

SYNOPSIS⭑ reader is the adopted daughter of Diana Prince, also known as Diana of Themyscira, also known as Wonder Woman. But what happens when the ever-loving, man-hating girl finally meets the ever-so-confident Damian Wayne?

CW⭑ fluff, angst, yearning (coming from damian), frenemies to lovers, death, childhood friends, brazilian folklore, POC reader, fem reader, reader is delulu and more to be added!

I DO NOT CONDOME AI TO BE USED ON MY WORK!

The doors of the Watchtower slid open with a low hum.

Conversation didn’t stop immediately.

It always did when Wonder Woman entered a room.

Except this time… it wasn’t just her.

Batman noticed first.

He always did.

His gaze flicked up from the holographic display, sharp and serious.

Not at Diana.

At what she was holding.

“…You’re late,” he said, voice even.

But his eyes didn’t move.

Diana stepped fully into the room, calm as ever, her expression composed but somehow softer than usual.

“I encountered something unexpected,” she replied.

From across the room, Superman smiled lightly, turning toward her.

“That sounds like the start of a story,” he mused. “Everything alright?”

Diana didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she shifted her arms slightly.

And the bundle moved.

Small.

Alive.

The room went quiet.

Completely quiet.

“…Is that” Superman started, then stopped, blinking in surprise.

“A child?” flash murmured.

Batman was already moving, fast on his feet.

Not aggressive.

But deliberate.

Every step measured as he approached her.

“Explain,” he said.

Diana met his gaze without hesitation.

“I found her at the river’s edge,” she said “Alone.”

“Where are her guardians?” batman asked, already calculating every possible solution.

“She has none.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed.

“That is statistically unlikely.”

“She is not bound by your statistics.”

That earned the smallest shift in the room.

Superman stepped closer now, curiosity overtaking hesitation. He leaned slightly, careful, trying to see the child’s face.

“…She’s really small,” he said softly.

As if that mattered.

As if that changed anything.

The baby stirred.

A quiet sound escaped her, more breath than voice.

And for a brief second…

The lights in the Watchtower flickered.

Subtle.

Easy to miss.

Except no one in that room missed anything.

Batman’s gaze snapped upward, then back to the child.

“Diana.”

“There is more,” she mused.

Of course there was.

There always was.

He didn’t interrupt her this time.

He waited.

Diana’s voice lowered.

“The river did not behave naturally,” she said. “It parted. It… offered her to me.”

No one spoke.

Even Superman’s expression shifted for a second, less curiosity now, more attention.

“And?” Batman prompted.

Diana held his gaze.

“And the gods were present.”

That landed.

...

Batman scoffed.

But he didn’t dismiss it entirely.

He simply asked:

“Which ones?”

“I do not know,” Diana admitted. “But their intent was clear.”

A pause.

“She has been given a second life.”

Silence followed that.

Longer this time.

Batman’s expression sharpened.

“A reincarnation,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And you brought it here.”

“I brought her here.”

Another shift.

Subtle.

Diana adjusted her hold slightly, and this time, the child’s face became visible.

Small.

Peaceful.

Too calm for a room full of strangers.

Her eyes opened.

And for a moment...

for a they seemed to focus.

Not randomly.

Not like a normal baby.

It was as if she was looking.

Right at them.

Superman inhaled quietly.

“…She’s aware,” he murmured.

“She is more than she appears,” Diana said.

Batman stepped closer.

Close enough now to truly observe.

He didn’t reach out.

Didn’t touch.

But his presence pressed in, evaluating, calculating.

“Power?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Control?”

“…No.”

That was the problem.

They both knew it.

The baby shifted again.

But this time.

She hummed.

Softly.

Barely there.

But it carried through the room.

Not through sound...

Through something else.

Superman’s posture changed slightly, his shoulders easing without him noticing.

Thee flash who was tsanding near the console stilled, his expression going distant.

Even the air felt… heavier.

Batman’s eyes narrowed sharply.

He took a step back.

“Enough,” he said, low and firm.

The effect snapped.

Instantly.

Like a thread cut.

The baby went quiet again.

Blinking.

Innocent.

As if nothing had happened.

Batman’s gaze hardened.

“What you’ve brought here is not a child,” he said.

Diana didn’t flinch.

“She is both.”

“She is a risk.”

“She is a responsibility.”

“She is unknown.”

“She is alive.”

A beat.

Neither of them moved.

Superman stepped in gently, not going inbetween them, but close enough to soften the edge.

“Diana…” he said carefully, “what are you planning to do?”

Diana didn’t hesitate.

“I am going to raise her.”

That did it.

That broke the stillness.

“You’re what!?” Flash asked from across the room.

Batman’s voice cut through it all.

“No.”

It wasn’t loud.

But it was absolute.

“No,” he repeated. “You will not.”

Diana’s expression didn’t harden.

But it didn’t yield either.

“She has been given a second chance,” she said. “I will not see it wasted.”

“She is unstable.”

“She is unformed.”

“She influenced the room without intent.”

“Then I will teach her intent.”

Batman stepped closer again.

“This is not Themyscira, diana. You cannot isolate variables. You cannot guarantee containment.”

“I do not intend to contain her.”

“Then you intend to fail.”

That should have escalated things.

But Diana only looked at him.

“You raised a child to be a weapon,” she said quietly.

A pause.

Sharp.

Precise.

“And you of all people believe that I cannot guide one, who never was given the choice to be anything else?”

The room went still again.

And because of that.

It landed.

Batman didn’t respond immediately.

Didn’t deflect.

Didn’t argue.

He just looked at the child.

Really looked this time.

At her size.

Her stillness.

The quiet danger beneath it.

Then back at Diana.

“…And what will happen if she chooses wrong?” he asked.

Diana’s grip on the child tightened...just slightly.

“Then I will be there,” she said.

Not defensive.

Hopeful.

Certain.

The baby shifted in her arms, tiny fingers curling against the fabric of her armor.

Holding on.

Batman watched that.

Longer than necessary.

Then finally...

“…You’ll inform the League of any developments,” he said.

It wasn’t approval.

But it wasn’t refusal anymore either.

Diana inclined her head.

“Of course.”

Superman exhaled softly, tension easing just a fraction.

“Well,” he said, a small smile returning, “I guess that makes us… unofficial babysitters?”

No one answered that.

But the atmosphere shifted.

Not relaxed.

Not comfortable.

Just… adjusted.

Diana looked down at the child once more.

Her voice softened.

“I will call her Reader”

The name settled into the room like something already decided.

New.

And as the Watchtower resumed its quiet hum around them…

No one quite said it out loud...

But they all understood.

Something had just changed.

And none of them knew yet…

how much.

masterlist

🏷️: @cookiepersona @crayonsareyumms @mangolirio @emoidtee

Reading list/Fanfic Masterlist Yandere!Batfamily X Reader

NONE OF THESE FANFICS BELONG TO ME, this is more of a personal reading list of fanfics I follow and such, all the links lead you to the creators' direct blogs.

Almost all the fanfics in the 'platonic' section are with Neglected!Reader, I'm addicted to that trope.

More than one link will lead you to the authors' master list instead of a masterlist for the series. This is because they don't have a dedicated list for the series, and it was easier for me to keep them this way. (There are also links to the first chapter, in this case, the author probably left the other chapters there, in addition to imagines, headcanons, and drabbles on their own.) I thought about adding a short description below the links to explain what the fanfic is about… maybe I'll do it later or just leave it as it is.

Synopsis: Bruce never would’ve thought the biggest cause on the increasement of grey hairs on his head would be trying to stop his sons from fucking their sibling.

Pairing: Yandere!Batboys X Gn!AFAB!Reader

Tw: 18+; Pseudocest (Reader is adopted and the batboys can't keep it in their pants, but nothing between the batboys happens, nor is mentioned, nor is implied); Their ages are not mentioned nor implied, I wrote in mind that they were all very close in ages, but if you freaks want to imagine some age gap, go for it, that's none of my business; Mentioned and described noncon/dubcon making out and noncon sex (and the word rape is used at least once); Reader is extremely grossed out and angry; Angst towards the end; Tim is unhinged, stalker, jealous, horny and angry; Pathetic loser creepy sad boy Jason Todd; Delusional Damian; Dismissive, Angry, jealous and horny Dick Grayson; Bruce and Alfred are enablers, but help keep the batboys in check; A smidge of breeding kink? Someone tries to babytrap Reader lol; They're all creepy; Victim blaming; Mentioned family members’s death; Mentioned somnophilia; Mentions of dorms living conditions and athlete foot; Mentions of bruising; Mentions of fighting and yelling; English isn't my first language.

Word count: 2,1k

Requested? No.

Extra notes: If you don't like this shit and decide to bother me instead of just scrolling past this, have in mind that I don't respond to those types of comments or asks, I’ll just block you, I'm serious, fuck around and find out. Also, took some prompts from here and here and divider from here

General masterlist

— Would you please answer your phone? — It's Dick that greets your vision when you open your dorm room door, much to your changrim.

— I was busy. — And there he goes, pushing his way inside and ignoring the way you didn't make space for him to insert himself in your safe heaven in the first place. A clear hint that you don't want him there.

You don't close the door, and even keep your hand on the doorknob while he snoops around your room, either subtly looking for something — someone — or just trying to read your space.

— We were worried. — Your older brother gave you a pointed look with raised eyebrows, knowing that ‘being busy’ doesn't justify ghosting your whole family for a month. His gaze flitted briefly to the wide open door showing the corridors where students were around, and he closed it for you, mildly annoyed when you resisted for a beat, before giving up and letting him close it. He also locked it. — You know you can't just disappear like that. Bruce is mad and making it everyone’s problem. Jason fighting with him over Bruce giving you permission to leave is not helping. Tim’s spiraling again. And I had to hold Damian back from coming here and dragging you back by your hair. — Dick crossed his arms with a deep scowl. — Care to tell me what's all this about?! — You grimaced.