AAAAA

Hello ! Could you write a story about a Bruce become infant ? And the children take care of him please ! Have a good day 🥰

Title: “Batbaby”

Summary: When a mission goes sideways, Bruce Wayne is temporarily de-aged into a toddler. The Batkids are not prepared.

The mission had been simple.

In, secure the artifact, out. But when Zatanna warned them not to touch the glowing runes? Bruce touched the glowing runes.

Now he was sitting in the Batcave. All three feet of him. Arms crossed. Little scowl on his tiny face. Wearing an emergency Wayne Enterprises onesie because none of them had toddler clothes on standby.

Damian stared at him, horrified. “He’s... small.”

Tim was trying not to laugh. “He’s tiny, you mean. That’s Baby Batman.”

“I am not a baby,” Bruce snapped—except it came out in a high-pitched voice and a pout that ruined the effect.

Jason collapsed on the couch, cackling. “This is the best day of my life.”

“I still have my mind,” Bruce insisted, glaring at his now-gigantic children. “This is temporary. I’m still in charge.”

Dick crouched beside him with a smile. “Sure, sure. You’re totally the boss. But until Zatanna finds the reversal spell? You’re three, B.”

“I’m three and a half,” Bruce corrected sharply.

Damian groaned. “He’s regressing by the second.”

Hour One:

Bruce tried to sit at the Batcomputer. Couldn’t reach the keyboard. Sulked for ten minutes straight.

Tim gave him juice in a sippy cup. Bruce threw it at him. Missed. Demanded coffee. Was denied.

Jason tried teaching him to say “Red Hood.” Bruce said “Red Head.” Jason didn't even mind.

Hour Four:

Dick had wrapped Bruce in a little hoodie with bat ears and was carrying him around on his hip like a dad at a farmer’s market.

Bruce was not happy about it.

“This is humiliating,” he grumbled into Dick’s shoulder.

“Aw, you’re doing so good, buddy,” Dick cooed, bouncing him slightly.

“Put me down or I will fire you.”

“You don’t even pay me.”

Hour Six:

Bruce fell asleep on Alfred’s lap during story time. The book was about logistics. No one was surprised.

Damian stood nearby, arms crossed. “I... don’t hate him like this.”

Tim nodded. “It’s kind of peaceful. He’s only barked two orders since nap time.”

Jason took a picture. “He’s gonna murder us when he’s back to normal.”

Dick just smiled, tucking a baby blanket around Bruce. “Worth it.”

The next morning, the spell wore off. Bruce returned to normal. Full height. Full grump.

No one said anything.

Until Jason walked into the Cave wearing a shirt with Baby Bruce’s face on it.

Bruce stared.

Jason grinned. “I made merch.”

Bruce walked away.

“You can’t fire me if I don’t work here!”

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

👨🏼‍🍳

Tilt-a-Heart

(Dick Grayson x Male!Reader — First Date)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were thinking it.”

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

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

You leaned close. “And if I was?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dick winked. “Yeah. So am I.”

👉👈

Penguin x reader.?

One for the Birds

Oswald Cobblepot (Penguin) X Reader

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

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

Oswald Cobblepot.

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

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

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

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

That got his attention.

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

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

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

“I’m counting on that.”

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

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

“Then you’re asking for something.”

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

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

You did.

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

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

You paused. “What if I do?”

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

Batfam on Valentine's Day

Bruce Wayne

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

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

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

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

Dick Grayson

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

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

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

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

Jason Todd

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

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

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

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

Tim Drake

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

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

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

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

Damian Wayne

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

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

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

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

Barbara Gordon

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

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

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

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

Cassandra Cain

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

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

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

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

Stephanie Brown

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

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

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

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

THE BAKERY IS OPEN FOR BUSINESS

HELLO! HELLO! COME ON IN!

Welcome to my little bakery. Most of what I'll 'bake' (write) will relate to whatever hyperfixation I have at the time.

I shall keep my irl name a secret but feel free to call me Insomniac or any nickname you can think off based of that!

I am not a writer but I wanted to get my random thought about stories out of my head and what better place than the internet!? (def won't regret this later)

Feel free to request any pastery (asks) and I'll see what I can make for you!

Lists of what I will and won't write will be made eventually.

Welcome and I hope you all stay awhile!

Masterlists:

The Genre Bakecase (start here)

Current Menu Items

The Making of a Villian

I'm head baker but if you wish be a helper (an emoji-based anon) below are the emojis already taken:

🌃🪼👩🏻‍🍳🐇

Insomniac's Masterlist

This is where you can find every fic I've currently written for different fandoms!

This is still a work in progress but wanted to make it easier for myself and others to find the fics I've written thus far. Please be patient while I get it figured out. Thanks!

Edit: I tried to make it more organized, gave up. That will be a laters problem when I have more fics posted and it gets confusing.

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DCxDP Fics:

Blood and Ectoplasm

Batfam Fics:

Operation: Sweet Tooth

Valentine's Day

3am Crackfic

Batbaby

Dadman: Rise of Cringe Pt.2

Bruce x Hal:

Headcanons

Caffine and Capes

John Constantine:

John x Witch!Reader

Alpha!Jason Todd:

Safe in His Scent

Wrapped in Red

Burning for You

More Than Enough

Dick Grayson (Nightwing):

Tilt-a-Heart

Duke Thomas:

Golden Hour

Superman:

A Quiet Retreat

Logan Howlette (Wolverine):

Not the Celebrating Type

Just This Once

Cabin Quiet, Cabin Warm

Oswald Cobblepot (Penguin):

One for the Birds

Flynn Rider:

A Birthday Fit for a Thief

MHA:

Your Name Was Hope (shigaraki x reader)

Burnt Bridges (dabi x reader)

the Logan x reader was very nice! can u do one where they kiss?

Just This Once

Logan Howlett X GN!Reader

(warning, because it wasn't stated, I did make this angst, so be prepared for that)

You were packing when he found you.

Your bag was half-zipped, clothes shoved inside without care. The mission was over. The damage was done. You weren’t staying at the mansion—not after what happened. Not after what they lost.

Not after what you lost.

Logan stood in the doorway, silent for a long time.

“You don’t have to run,” he finally said.

You didn’t look at him. “I’m not running. I’m leaving.”

“That’s what running is.”

You zipped the bag all the way and threw your jacket over your shoulder. “Not everyone can heal from everything, Logan.”

That made him flinch, just barely. But you saw it.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you’re hurt.”

You turned, finally facing him, and god—you hated how tired he looked. Like he hadn’t slept since the explosion. Like he hadn’t stopped blaming himself since the moment you pulled yourself out of the rubble with blood on your hands and someone else’s name on your lips.

“You weren’t the one who died,” you whispered. “But you act like you were.”

“Because it should’ve been me.”

That stopped you cold.

His eyes locked with yours—haunted, full of all the things he never said.

“I’ve lost people,” he rasped, voice breaking. “More than I can count. But watching you walk out that door? That’s a different kind of hell.”

Your fingers clenched around your jacket.

“Don’t do this now,” you said. “Not when I’m finally strong enough to leave.”

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he said, stepping forward. “I should’ve told you when we had time.”

Your throat tightened. “But you didn’t.”

Silence.

Then, like it was the only thing that made sense, he reached for you—slow, gentle. His hand cradled your face, calloused thumb brushing your cheek. And you didn’t stop him.

You couldn’t stop him.

The kiss was desperate. Not soft. Not romantic. It was years of grief, guilt, longing, and what-ifs poured into one stolen moment neither of you had the right to ask for.

When it broke, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing like you were drowning.

“I loved you,” you whispered.

“I still do,” he said.

And then you stepped back, picked up your bag, and walked out—because love wasn’t always enough, and this time?

It was too late.

You walked out.

You had to.

But the moment the mansion's front doors shut behind you, the cold hit harder than it should’ve. Not just the weather—Logan’s absence clung to you like fog, sinking deep into your lungs.

The kiss still burned on your lips. Not gentle, not sweet—but real. And it lingered.

You didn’t look back. Not when you stepped into the snow. Not when the trees swallowed you whole.

But Logan did.

He stood at the window long after your silhouette vanished behind the white, jaw clenched like he could hold the pain in his teeth.

“I’m not gonna chase you,” he muttered to himself. “You said you needed space. You’ll get it.”

His hands curled into fists.

“But I’m not done.”

He turned away from the window, jaw set.

He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know when, but he would see you again.

Because some people you fight for—quietly, steadily, without a deadline.

And some loves don’t end at goodbye.

They wait.

Also skull what readers do you write for?

hmm, currently I write Gender Neutral, Female, and Male.

When I have more confidence in my skills, I'll venture out but that it's for now.

Thanks for asking, Hermes!

Cabin Quiet, Cabin Warm

Logan Howlett X GN!Reaer (same concept as the first one, different setting. couldn't decide between the two and wrote both)

Your birthday started with silence.

Not the uncomfortable kind—but the warm, heavy quiet that only exists deep in the woods, tucked inside a log cabin miles away from civilization.

You blinked awake to the scent of pine and coffee. The old wool blanket draped over you smelled faintly of cedar, and morning light slanted through the frosted windows, casting soft gold across the room.

It took a moment to remember where you were.

Logan’s cabin.

He’d invited you a week ago, grumbling something vague about “needing space” and “you could tag along if you wanted.” You weren’t sure if it was a real invitation or just his way of being polite—but you said yes anyway.

Now, sitting up slowly on the worn leather couch, you saw a folded piece of paper waiting to be opened on the side table. On the front of the folded paper is your name and writtin inside it in Logan’s handwriting, scrawled and slightly messy:

Mornin'. Firewood’s stacked. Coffee’s hot. Go outside. Wear boots.

You stared at it, then glanced toward the door. Snow had dusted the world white overnight, but you could see faint footprints in the fresh powder.

With a curious tug of your jacket and some thick socks stuffed into boots, you followed the tracks out behind the cabin.

There, near the tree line, Logan stood beside a hand-built picnic table. On it was a rough wooden box with a red ribbon—slightly wrinkled, like he didn’t know how to tie it properly. Two mismatched mugs sat on either side of a tin plate stacked with pancakes.

You stared.

He didn’t look at you at first. Just took a slow sip from his mug, eyes on the trees.

“…Ain’t much,” he muttered. “But I figured you deserved a quiet birthday.”

Your chest tightened.

“This is…” You stepped closer, voice soft, “...more than enough.”

He finally glanced at you, his usual gruff expression softened just a touch. “I don’t do parties. Figured you might not like ‘em either.”

You shook your head. “No. This? This is perfect.”

You sat beside him, and he slid the box toward you. “Made that. Don’t laugh.”

You opened it carefully—and inside was a hand-carved wooden pendant shaped like a pinecone. Simple, smooth, and surprisingly detailed.

“I didn’t know you could carve.”

“I didn’t,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Learned for this.”

The air between you went still. But it wasn’t awkward.

It was full.

You reached across the table, covering his hand with yours. “Thank you, Logan.”

He looked at you like he didn’t quite know what to say. So instead, he just nodded and murmured, “Happy birthday, kid.”

abo au with alpha Jason as our mate?

Safe in His Scent

Alpha Jason Todd x Reader

The scent of gunpowder and leather wrapped around you before you even saw him. Jason was near—closer than usual. Your instincts prickled at the awareness of your mate’s presence, your Omega side naturally attuned to him even when he wasn’t trying to be noticeable.

You didn’t turn immediately. You kept your hands busy, finishing up in the small kitchen of your apartment. Jason always had a habit of watching you before announcing himself, his predatory instincts at odds with his soft spot for you.

“I know you’re there,” you finally said, glancing over your shoulder.

Jason leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his usual scowl softened just enough to be noticeable. “Didn’t want to startle you.”

You rolled your eyes, setting down a plate. “Like I wouldn’t know when you’re around.”

His lips quirked up, the ghost of a smile. “Fair point.”

He took a few slow steps inside, his presence commanding, the heat of his body warming the room without him even touching you. Your Omega instincts wanted to lean into it, to let him close that distance, but you held your ground. You and Jason… things were complicated.

He wasn’t like other Alphas—possessive, territorial, demanding. He was protective, sure, but he gave you space. Too much space, sometimes.

“Rough night?” you asked, noting the slight tension in his shoulders.

Jason sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Yeah. Got into it with some assholes in Crime Alley.”

Your heart clenched. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

He smirked, stepping closer, finally within reach. “Worried about me, Omega?”

You huffed, smacking his arm lightly. “Of course I am, dumbass.”

Jason’s amusement faded slightly, something more serious settling in his expression. His hand lifted, fingers brushing your wrist—gentle, careful. Your pulse jumped at the small touch, your scent sweetening in response. He noticed, of course he did, and his pupils darkened slightly.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he murmured. “I can handle myself.”

“I know that,” you said softly, fingers curling slightly as if to hold onto that touch. “Doesn’t mean I stop caring.”

Jason’s jaw tightened, his grip on your wrist shifting, thumb brushing slow, soothing circles against your skin. “You’re too good for this city,” he muttered. “Too good for me.”

You frowned. “That’s not for you to decide.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped, but he didn’t argue. He never did when it came to you. Instead, he sighed and let his forehead rest lightly against yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin. Your scent mingled, familiar and right, and for the first time that night, Jason seemed to relax.

“You smell good,” he admitted, voice lower, rougher. “Like home.”

Your heart thudded, warmth blooming in your chest. “So do you.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against you. “Yeah?”

You nodded, pressing your nose lightly against his collar. “Yeah.”

For now, that was enough.