Dadman: Rise Of Cringe

Operation: Sweet Tooth

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

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

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

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

Silence fell as they chewed. Then—

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

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

“Alfred outdid himself,” Dick added, grinning.

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

The family blinked.

“…Then who did?” Bruce asked.

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

A beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoo skull how are ya? Also love this whole thing you got going! Also question do you write Duke Thomas?

I can if that is what you want! just pick from the menu of where I have the different pastries (genres) I can bake!

Cherry-On-Top Cheesecake pretty please and I’m going to steal a cookie too :) *Shoves a cookie in my mouth and runs*

"Golden Hour"

Pairing: Duke Thomas x GN!Reader Setting: Gotham, early evening in spring

Duke wasn’t sure what surprised him more — that he had a free evening, or that you actually said yes.

Now you were both walking side by side under the gold-streaked sky of early evening, the sun dipping behind Gotham’s skyline like it was shy. The two of you were sharing a drink from a café neither of you had ever tried, just because it was there and open and the patio had twinkly lights strung overhead.

Duke caught himself glancing at you again — quick, subtle. You looked... happy. At ease. Maybe a little nervous, but not in a bad way. More like is this a date? I kind of hope it is nervous.

“I’m glad we did this,” you said softly, nudging his arm with yours. “You don’t get many chances to actually chill, do you?”

Duke chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, not unless you count rooftop stakeouts and dodging knives ‘chill.’”

You grinned. “Gotham romance at its finest.”

“Exactly,” he said, returning the smile, then hesitated. “But... I wanted this to be different. With you.”

Your steps slowed. His voice had changed — quieter, more thoughtful. You looked up at him, heart skipping once.

“I mean,” he went on, fumbling just a little, “I spend so much time trying to protect this city, or being around people who only see me as a vigilante, or... whatever. But with you, I get to just be Duke.”

You blinked at him — not because you were confused, but because no one had ever said something so honest to you before. And you could tell by the way he was looking anywhere but at you that it cost him something to say it.

“I like Duke,” you said, stopping on the path.

He stopped too, finally meeting your gaze. “Yeah?”

You stepped closer, bumping your shoulder into his gently. “Yeah. And I’m really glad you asked me out. Even if we’re still pretending it’s ‘just hanging out.’”

Duke laughed, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Okay. Fine. It’s definitely a date. Can’t take it back now.”

You smiled and held out your pinky. “Deal.”

Duke linked his hand with yours — warm, steady — and for a second neither of you let go.

Golden light flickered through the trees, catching in his curls and warming the soft smile tugging at his lips.

And just like that, the night didn’t feel like Gotham. It felt like something softer. Something yours.

Blood and Ectoplasm

Crime Alley had always felt haunted. Jason Todd knew that better than anyone.

But this? This was different.

The night pressed heavy against the streets, the usual Gotham smog thickened by something deeper, something unseen. Jason moved through the alleys like a shadow, boots silent on damp pavement. The smell of rain clung to the air, mixing with the ever-present stench of cigarette smoke and old blood.

The reports had been vague, scattered whispers from the usual lowlifes. Muggers jumped by something glowing. Thugs left unconscious, their victims unharmed. Some swore they saw a figure floating, eyes burning neon green.

Normally, Jason would brush it off as another rogue metahuman or maybe one of Bruce’s new recruits playing hero without backup. But the way they described it—

"It wasn’t human."

Jason adjusted his grip on his pistol. Whatever was out here, he was about to find it.

Then, a flash of green light flickered in the distance. A rooftop, just ahead.

Jason exhaled slowly, and moved.

Danny Phantom had been to a lot of places in his time as a ghost. The Ghost Zone, Amity Park, alternate dimensions. But Gotham?

Gotham felt wrong.

The ectoplasmic corruption here was thick, choking the air like poison. It wasn't just the standard residue from restless spirits—it was alive, shifting beneath the city's surface, coiling like a sickness that had long since taken root.

Danny floated above the alleyways, scanning the streets below. His aura burned brighter than usual, reacting to the energy pulsing beneath his feet.

He’d been tracking the source for hours, but now he was sure.

Something in this city was infected with corrupted ectoplasm. And it was close.

Too close.

A gunshot rang out.

Danny turned just in time to see the bullet coming straight for his head.

His instincts kicked in. He phased, the round passing harmlessly through his skull as he twisted midair.

Below him, standing in the streetlight’s glow, was a man in red and black armor.

Helmeted. Armed. And already aiming again.

Danny barely had time to register him before another shot rang out.

Jason didn’t hesitate. He fired again, watching as the figure dodged—no, phased through the bullet like it was nothing.

Definitely not a metahuman.

Jason’s grip on his gun tightened. "You’ve got three seconds to tell me what the hell you are before I make sure you can’t float away, Casper."

The glowing figure, still hovering a few feet above the ground, raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Jeez, ever heard of saying hello first?"

Jason didn't answer. He moved.

A flick of his wrist, and his pistol was holstered, replaced with a throwing knife laced in Lazarus-forged steel.

The knife flew.

Danny dodged—but not fast enough. The blade sliced through his arm, burning in a way that made his entire body seize.

Danny hissed, gripping his arm. His fingers came away stained in ectoplasm.

Jason took a slow step forward, watching him closely. "Huh. So you can bleed."

Danny’s glowing green eyes snapped to him, and for the first time, Jason saw recognition.

"You—" Danny inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. His gaze flickered over Jason, the glow in his irises deepening. "You're—this energy—"

Then his expression hardened.

"Oh," he muttered. "You're the problem."

Jason didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t care.

Because the next second, Danny attacked.

Jason had fought metas before. He’d fought monsters, assassins, even demons. But fighting Danny Phantom was like fighting a ghost made of lightning.

Danny moved too fast, blinking in and out of tangibility, dodging bullets, appearing behind Jason before he could react. Jason barely managed to block an ectoplasmic blast with his armored gauntlet before swinging one of his knives straight for Danny’s throat.

Danny phased—only to curse when Jason switched hands, slashing upward.

The Lazarus-infused blade met ghostly flesh.

Danny choked back a shout as the steel burned through his shoulder.

Jason saw the flicker of pain across Danny’s face.

Then, the air cracked.

Jason felt it before he understood it—something surging, thickening between them. The air burned cold and hot all at once. The moment Jason reached out—the moment he grabbed Danny by the wrist—

The world collapsed.

It was like being submerged in ice.

Jason staggered, his vision ripped away. No longer in the alley. No longer in Gotham.

He stood in a swirling void of green and black, weightless.

Doors floated in the distance, stretching into infinity. Whispers crawled through the mist.

Ahead of him, Danny Phantom hovered—but he wasn’t the same.

A crown of spectral energy burned above his head. His form flickered, no longer just a teenager in a hazmat suit, but something older. More.

Jason exhaled, his breath misting in the unnatural cold.

His rage—the fire that had burned beneath his skin since his resurrection—was gone.

For the first time in years, his mind was quiet.

Danny’s voice came slow, careful. "The Lazarus Pit’s hold on you—it doesn’t work here."

Jason didn’t answer, staring at his hands. They weren’t trembling.

Danny floated closer. "You’re drowning in it, aren’t you?"

Jason’s jaw clenched. "I don’t need a damn intervention."

Danny sighed, tilting his head toward the floating doors around them. "You don’t have a choice. The longer we fight, the worse the Pit’s corruption gets. For both of us."

Jason barely heard him. Because now, he was seeing.

The Ghost Zone pulsed around him, warping, shifting. And within it, like reflections in glass—

His own memories.

Pain. Agony. Hands clawing against a coffin lid.

A child's scream.

The roar of the Pit as it dragged him back.

Jason’s breath hitched. He staggered back, head pounding.

Danny’s expression softened. "Jason—"

Jason’s fist clenched. "Get me the hell out of here."

Danny studied him for a moment longer. Then, with a quiet sigh, he raised his hand.

The world snapped back into place.

Jason landed hard, boots scraping against Gotham pavement. His pulse hammered in his ears. The Pit’s energy returned, but it was weaker now. Fading at the edges.

Danny dusted himself off, his glow dimming slightly. "Well," he muttered. "That was fun. Let’s not do that again."

Jason exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "No promises."

Danny studied him. Then, after a beat, he tilted his head. "You know, I could help."

Jason scoffed. "I don’t need—"

Danny raised an eyebrow.

Jason scowled. Looked away.

Danny smirked. "Alright, Red. See you around."

Then, with a flicker of green light, he vanished.

Jason stood in the alley for a long moment, staring at the empty space where Danny had been.

For the first time in a long time, the whispers of the Pit didn’t feel so loud.

(Kinda had this in my notes for awhile, edited it a bit and made it longer cause plot)

I'll pop in with a prompt

✨ Superman x Reader where Superman falls in love with a Kansas farm girl ✨

- 🧑🏼‍🍳

A Quiet Retreat

Superman X Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: The Weight of the World

The city lights flickered in the distance, a blur of orange and white beneath a starry sky. Superman, bruised and battered from his latest battle, flew above Metropolis with a quiet urgency. His body ached, muscles sore from the relentless fight with the alien warlord. The world was safe, for now. The villain had been stopped, but the weight of the battle lingered in the air. It was always like this—he would win, but the cost never seemed to get any easier.

He needed a break. Desperately.

The world depended on him, but who would protect him when the burden became too heavy? He couldn’t keep running on empty. His responsibilities were endless, and sometimes the pressure suffocated him. The countless lives he’d saved, the never-ending battles, the constant reminder that he was different—he was the world’s protector, but there was no one to protect him.

So, he did what he always did when the strain of being Superman became too much: he retreated to the one place that had always offered him a sense of peace. He needed to remember who he was beyond the cape. He needed to be Clark Kent again, if only for a short time.

Clark didn’t land in Metropolis. Instead, he set a course for the one place that had shaped him—Smallville.

The familiar, rolling fields of Kansas awaited him, and though he had been away for years, they still felt like home. The crisp, open sky greeted him, the air full of the sweet scent of earth and grass. He took a deep breath as he descended toward the quiet town, feeling the tension in his body slowly begin to ease.

It had been a long time since Clark had come back to Smallville for anything other than business. This time, though, there would be no interviews or press conferences—no reporters or crowds clamoring for his attention. He was just Clark Kent, the son of Jonathan and Martha Kent, returning to his roots. He’d parked his car by the old farmhouse, and now he found himself walking through the familiar dirt roads, away from the noise of the world.

That’s when he spotted it—an old farmhouse just at the edge of the hill. The porch light flickered softly, a warm, welcoming glow in the quiet evening. His eyes shifted to the small garden beside the house, where a young woman in worn jeans and a faded flannel shirt knelt in the dirt, her hands moving with practiced ease as she tended to her plants. She hummed a soft tune under her breath, lost in the tranquility of the moment.

Clark paused, a quiet curiosity pulling him closer. He hadn’t seen her around before. She didn’t look like she was from the town, but there was something about her that made him feel like he wasn’t the only one in search of peace.

Without thinking, he walked up to the porch, careful to keep his distance as to not startle her. It wasn’t like him to intrude on someone’s solitude, but something about her presence, the calm that radiated from her, made him want to know more.

The woman didn’t seem to notice him at first, her focus entirely on the rows of vegetables she was pulling from the earth. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat gently that she finally looked up, her eyes meeting his with a spark of surprise, quickly followed by cautious curiosity.

“Oh,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I didn’t see you there. Can I help you with something?”

Clark blinked, caught off guard by her ease, her voice warm yet unbothered by his sudden presence. "I... I was just passing by," he said, offering her an easy smile, trying to keep things casual. "I’m Clark. Just visiting the old town. Needed to get away from the noise for a while.”

The woman straightened, brushing the dirt off her hands with a sigh of satisfaction before extending her hand. "Nice to meet you, Clark. I'm Y/N. Welcome to the farm."

Clark took her hand, surprised by the strength in her grip and the way her gaze seemed to appraise him without judgment. “A farm, huh? That’s a good place to get away from the noise.”

Y/Nchuckled softly, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “You’d be surprised. Some of the loudest things around here are the chickens. But it’s peaceful. Most of the time.”

Clark could sense that there was more to her than just the calm exterior—the sharp wit and the quiet self-assurance. The simplicity of her life was something he hadn’t experienced in years. He felt himself relax, the constant hum of his superhero life momentarily silenced in her presence.

“I could use some peace right now,” Clark admitted, glancing around at the farm, at the serenity she had cultivated in the middle of the vast Kansas plains. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

Y/N gave him a knowing smile. “I get that. Life can be overwhelming, but you’d be surprised what a little time outside can do. I’d offer you some lemonade, but I’m guessing you’re not here for that.”

“Lemonade sounds nice,” Clark said with a chuckle, his tension starting to ease. “But I’d just like to sit for a while. If that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Y/N gestured to the rocking chairs on the porch, the evening sky beginning to paint itself with hues of pink and purple. “There’s always room for someone who needs a break.”

Clark nodded gratefully, following her to the porch and sitting in one of the rocking chairs. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt his shoulders relax, the weight of the world momentarily lifted by the simple act of sitting beside a stranger, away from the chaos of his double life.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now.

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!

AAAAA

Alpha Jason my beloved

It’s so good omgg

-🪼

I'll have you know that trying to figure out how to write Jason as an alpha actually killed me a little.

I refuse to read any omegaverse fics and yet, I just broke that rule for that fic.

Y'ALL SHOULD BE HAPPY cause there is little chance I will write another, unless it's a very good prompt. We'll see....

BUT I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT.

Not the Celebrating Type

Logan Howlett X GN!Reader

You didn’t expect much for your birthday. You never really made a big deal out of it, and most people at the mansion were too busy dealing with mutant crises to remember dates anyway.

Still, part of you had hoped for something—maybe just a “happy birthday” from someone. Anyone.

So when the day crawled by without a word, you quietly slipped out of the mansion before dinner and wandered into the woods behind the estate, the place you always went to think. The trees were beginning to bud, that early spring scent soft in the air. You settled on your usual log, tucked your knees up to your chest, and let your thoughts drift.

The crunch of boots on dead leaves snapped you out of it.

You turned just in time to see Logan pushing through the trees, a paper bag in one hand, a six-pack of root beer in the other.

You blinked. “How’d you find me?”

“Instinct,” he grunted, setting the stuff down and eyeing the spot beside you. “This seat taken?”

You scooted over, still quiet, still unsure.

He sat with a grunt and handed you the bag.

“…What is it?” you asked cautiously.

“Birthday gift.”

Your brows rose. “Wait—you remembered?”

“I don’t forget important things,” he said, cracking open one of the root beers. “Don’t let the grumpy act fool you.”

With slightly shaky fingers, you opened the bag and pulled out the contents: a worn paperback of your favorite book. The exact edition you lost months ago. You stared at it for a beat too long.

“…You tracked this down?”

“Had a contact in town. Took some digging,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

You hugged the book to your chest. “Logan, this… this is perfect.”

He just nodded, eyes fixed on the treetops like he couldn’t handle looking at you too long. “Ain’t big on birthdays myself. But I figured if anyone deserved a quiet one, it was you.”

You smiled at that, eyes stinging a little.

“Thanks,” you said, leaning your shoulder against his.

He stiffened for a second, then relaxed, letting you rest there.

For a long while, neither of you said anything. Just two weird souls sitting in the woods, sipping root beer and watching the sky shift to a soft gold.

Eventually, he murmured, “Next year, maybe I’ll get you two books.”

You laughed, warm and light. “I’m holding you to that.”

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

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

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

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

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.”