.🍓•.°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.🍓•.°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Can you do Jason Todd x Fem Reader?

Imagine Jason inviting her to dinner at Wayne’s manor

WARMTH OF A HOME

jason todd x reader | sfw

CW! fem reader, good parent bruce supremacy, fluff all around, attempt at humor

Summary! Jason makes a promise to take you to Wayne’s manor for dinner to meet his family. He feels he may regret it (spoiler he does until he doesn’t)

thank you for the request! the drama and chaos is on the horizon 🙌

“I wanna meet her Little Winggg!”

“Fuck off-“

“Don’t be like that!”

Jason pushed Dick off of him. He hated that his face was flushed red as Dick boasted how they should meet his girlfriend, you.

“I would too like to meet this woman you’ve acquainted yourself with, Todd.” Damian asked, while looking like a gremlin.

“C’mon Jaylad!” Steph mused with teasing smile with bright teeth.

“Fuck off all of you!” Jason seethed. Looking redder than ever which caused a laugh out of everyone.

“I’d like to meet her if that’s okay?”

Jason stilled and turned to find Bruce with Alfred and hopeful smiles on their faces. “I’d love to meet the girl you’ve so dedicated yourself too. From what you’ve said it sounds like she’s a very sweet girl.”

Curse Bruce and his sweet talking ways.

So now he found himself dressing up quite nicely and you in a beautiful red dress. The same color as his mask.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” He asked slowly with a grimace on his face. You simply blinked and smile. Your hand curving to cup his face to turn towards you.

“Yes. It’s your family and they love you. Despite whatever you’ve done or they’ve done you still love them and they love you. Made you into the man I love now and today.” You mused him. With a kiss of the lips Jason felt like he fell in love with you all over again.

Once again he asked himself how he got someone like you in his arms.

So there you have it. Jason stood with you hand in hand at Wayne Manor and in front of those humongous doors.

“You’re shaking.” You commented with a sly smile. “You’re nervous.”

“So are you-“ Jason mused back with a scowl. A teasing one as he came to look at you. Once again feeling as if he was undeserving of such a beauty like you.

“You’re scared too. I may have been a crime lord and may have died young but I can still see that you’re nervous too.”

“Damn you caught me!”

He chuckled seeing you act so dramatic. Your hand on your head and other on your chest. Eyes closed where he could see the glitter of your makeup.

His eyes gravitated to your lips which were a shade of red. “Always trying to tempt, dont’cha?” He pulled your waist. You giggled in response.

“Anytime I wear red it’s got you acting up. Behave yourself or you’re getting nothing tonight.”

“You little minx-“

The door opened after Jason rung the doorbell to reveal Alfred. “Good evening Master Jason, and you should be his girlfriend.” Alfred spoke carefully with a raised brow. Pride in his eyes when looking over at you and Jason’s arm around your waist.

“Yes I am. It’s great to meet you.” You bowed slightly with a smile. Jason could see that your smile was a bit tightened.

“It’s joy to have you here for dinner. Now come in before any of you catch a cold.” He opened the door further. Jason took your hand and let in you. The manor magnetic and beautiful; and stars in your eyes.

Perhaps Jason wanted to die right there because all of his siblings, whether or not they considered themselves Bruce’s children, were staring.

“What the fu-“

“Master Jason.”

You giggled watching the exchange between him and Alfred. His sibling’s eyes widening watching you laugh. The one to get up officially was Dick.

“Hello, I’m Dick. Our sweet Little Wing’s older brother.” He dramatically assessed to you. You smiled big and introduced yourself to him and everyone else.

“I wouldn’t use sweet…”

“Shut it Tim!”

“Yeah shut up Drake.”

“Hey! You promised you’d behave!” Dick attacked back with his pointer finger at Tim and then Damian.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Richard.” Damian crossed his arms looking away pouting. His ears red surely from embarrassment.

“Yeah what the demon said.” Tim grinned as he stepped up to you. “It’s great to meet the woman who will hopefully make him more tolerable.”

“I’ll shoot you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Tim and Jason!”

You blinked with a blank smile on your face. Joy evident on your face while the three seemed to argue. It wasn’t bad and simply baseless banter.

“So how did Jason score you?” Stephanie came strolling up with Duke, Cass, and Damian at her side.

“He saved me from being mugged.” You replied with the shrug of your shoulders.

“Wow. Of course he did.” Duke laughed. “Always so protective.”

“Yes he is. I’m assuming you’re Duke? Stephanie? Cass, and then Damian? Am I correct?”

“How did you know?” Stephanie asked with wide eyes. The rest of the siblings had shocked looks (w/ exception of the three og robins who were still arguing).

“Jason always talks about guys. Praising and bragging about you guys.” You laughed seeing their faces. “You didn’t know? He’s funny like that.”

“Hey! Are you making fun of me?!” Jason caught on to what was going on. His arms pulled away from you and in the air. His face flushing red which caused a bright laugh from you.

“Oooh! What did he say!”

“Yeah what did he say!?”

“Todd, what did you relay to her?”

A clap silenced you all. Belonging to Alfred who has an amused smile on his face. “Dinner is served. Master Bruce is awaiting.” He bowed and allowed you all to follow.

“I just know B will love you.” Stephanie giggled.

“Now why would you say that?!” Jason shot back. The blonde ignored him and continued to skip down the hallway in her nice purple dress.

“God damn…”

“I like your siblings. They’re funny.” You mused into his ears. His face got redder as he turned to look at you. “You need to lighten up, baby. They tease you because they love you.”

“I hate that you’re always remind me.”

“It’s my job.”

When entering the dining room there was the man, Bruce Wayne. Dressed nicely in a navy blue turtleneck and black slacks. He turned to greet each of his kids as they filed into their seats.

Alfred aside to serve dinner which all looked delicious.

“Old man.” Jason walked up to him with you. Your hands tightening on his hands as Bruce looked at you with a blank face.

You greeted yourself to Bruce with smile.

The man smiled and grabbed your hand, and with a smile; “I’ve heard very good things about you. I’m glad to meet you.”

Ever the charmer.

“B.” Jason glared and Bruce didn’t seem bothered by it. “Yes Jason?” He seemed challenge the younger with just a single glare.

“Nothing.” You giggled and patted his shoulder. His face got even redder when Bruce ruffled his hair.

“You picked a good one, son.”

“Screw-Screw you old man!”

Bruce and you laughed at his reaction. Even behind him he could hear his siblings laughing. Even Alfred seemed amused beyond all hell.

“Let have dinner shall we?” Bruce asked with a wave of his hand.

“Yes we shall!” You pulled Jason along. His face red as his mask especially when he could hear and see Stephanie gossiping into Cassandra’s ear and her quietly giggling.

Absolutely humiliating.

But despite that Jason found himself smiling. You were smiling as you found yourself in a conversation with his siblings about how you guys met.

You knew everything and anything about what was wrong with him, and every dysfunctional familial moment and yet you loved him.

You loved his family.

Jason felt content.

Bruce was proud of him. He made it clear with a toast.

“To Jason and [__]! A bountiful future for them!” Out of his seat Bruce raised his glass. His siblings, and even Alfred joined in with a clinking of glasses.

He felt you on his shoulder, and red lips against his ear once again, “I told you everything would be alright.”

He huffed a laugh, “Of course. You’re always right.”

GOODNESS INCARNATE

yandere avengers x kryptonian! reader | sfw

CW! male reader, can be seen as either platonic or romantic, toxic behavior, overprotective avengers, obsessive behavior, golden retriever! reader, ambiguous ending

Summary! at some point something fell from earth and crashed into earth. A new hero rises up in the city of Metropolis and catches the eye of Earth’s Mightiest Defenders, and it ends up getting a bit too far.

Part 2 (Coming Soon!)

don’t ask about the timeline or anything call it an au where endgame doesn’t happen :D

Somewhere in Kansas a space shuttle fell to earth. It was never found, but the couple said to be incapable of having children had a child, and a dog too.

A child that was above from normal. That being you. An alien from the planet Krypton that had died. You and your dog, Krypto being the only one of your kind.

The last surviving Kryptonians.

Your new parents were a joy to have. You loved them and they raised you very protectively, and in return you cared for them.

With your strength, and Krypto you helped save your city Metropolis for the first time. The massive billionaire Lex Luthor caused massive damage and almost killed a bunch of people if not for you.

Dressed in blue and red you were a symbol of hope. The S across your chest being a family crest. One of the last of your parents own existence.

The people loved you, and you find the world was interested in you. A hero that came out of nowhere.

And certainly you were loved. Nick Fury couldn’t deny the need to get you on the team of train wrecks.

In fact, it could all be seen all the way to a Spider Boy who could only look at the footage in awe. The hero was someone who Peter Parker aimed to be.

Beside him was Wanda, the Scarlet Witch who looked on with awe in her eyes as well. As a woman who’s gone after bad thing after bad thing she couldn’t help but want goodness.

You were goodness. She could feel it, even if it was through a video.

Tony was apprehensive but even so he never seen someone so good. It was like you never faced horror ever. Your kindness and not a hint of showing off, or playing around while fighting.

Determination.

Captain America; Steve Rogers saw himself in you. Goodness that he could never achieve. One that smiled despite it all, while somberness swallowed him into a boastful mouth.

Bucky would have to agree. He was smiling once back then, and you were literal sunshine. A smile on those lips with such natural strength, and treating civilians with such kindness.

Thor found you adorable, and could feel that you were worthy of his hammer. Even through videos of you he felt like you were worthy. Absolutely beautiful he also thought. What man could fly through the air so gracefully like that. Without a care, and just as quick.

Natasha and Clint admired you. Albeit maybe it was a sense of something they never got. A man who hadn’t ever killed in his life, and was smiling. A sense of light they never got, and there you were.

Sunshine for them to bask themselves in.

Bruce felt wary but you were strong. No anger seemed to be in your body. Surely yes you seemed angry at Lex Luthor but that was for obvious reasons. You weren’t always angry like him. Angry only when necessary, unlike him.

Control of yourself is what you had.

A semblance of this world is that it was corrupt. A source of true good like you, and while you weren’t of them you believed in good.

Good in human beings.

The avengers knew better.

So when you’re recruited they aimed to make sure you’d ease into that reality. When offered the chance you jumped at it.

Imagine the surprise when Krypto arrived by your side. The avengers were no less taken aback and flustered.

You smiled big and wide. Nothing to hide and kind to them all.

Unbeknownst to you the immediate thought of you changed. A being that was good and needed to be protected. This group had been through terrible things, and it brought them down.

Made them turn darker.

Wanda knew that better than anyone.

Bucky hated himself for it.

Peter remembered the days when people knew of him, and how in those last moments back then he almost committed true murder.

They hid it well.

Steve would greet you with open arms and a welcoming smile, “Welcome to the team!” He would pat you on the shoulder. He would blink when it felt like metal.

You would laugh brightly, and saying a lot of people said that. Although it wasn’t like you were gonna say you were an alien. Not yet anyway.

They would find out anyway. Thanking Wanda for that, for she read your mind.

Imagine the wonder Peter had when he talked to you. Over the years now that he was Spider-Man he had lost his once happy attitude in being a hero.

You a little older than him was still hopeful, and hadn’t started as a teenager. You were hopeful and Peter couldn’t help but admire you. That smile; the one he lost and you still had it.

You can’t blame him when he stole one of your notebooks. The pages had tons of notes of your perceived faults and self-hatred. Don’t blame him when he shows Steve and Tony.

Don’t mind the confusion when the entire team is praising you more than usual. Any time you lift something instead of the Hulk Bruce smiles. His anger dismissed and he’s praising you despite his shy nature.

Don’t be surprised when you get hurt and spit blood that you get tested by the scientist. Tony even going as far as tweaking your suit to make sure you’re more protected. It was sweet, but useless venture to say you didn’t need it.

Of course you needed it. You were young, and even had fewer experience than Peter. You had no idea what you were talking about. Bruce and Tony were older.

They knew better, and told you that.

Naively, you shrugged it off. Krypto would only tilt his head at the them, and albeit he became much more close to you.

Wanda didn’t seem to like the change.

Once or twice Krypto would stare at her. ‘Try it.’ The dog was protective and a nuisance. He could feel the darkness. The woman was more susceptible to the darkness. The obsession of getting you to herself.

The others so far, Bruce and Tony already got hands on you when you got injured. Although never really seemed to look into your mind. What if you got brain damage?

She could fix it. Her magic would change it from affecting you. Peter had too much time with you. She was more your age, so you should be with her.

In a way you reminded her of Vision. Kind and understanding. Normalcy that she begged for and clung to.

Maybe she could change the dog but you would notice. It would make you sad, and she didn’t want that. Surely she was wanting you to herself, but your happiness also mattered.

She would be careful.

Get Krypto’s trust was her plan.

The two who have killed before were floored with the kindness. With the protectiveness you gave them.

In act of almost being killed you rang over them with your huge size and protecting them in the blast. Your scream of pain was loud in their ears.

Thor heard it loud and clear. The enemy was on the floor in seconds. Too brutal for normal, and you questioned Thor.

The god gave an excuse that you completely fell for. Too sweet and naive for this world. A sheltered kid in the Midwest fields, with protective parents.

Still too unforgiving of this horrible world.

Thor couldn’t tell you that he almost aimed to kill the attacker.

Natasha would share a look with him.

They knew. Murder was out of the question, but when you screamed like that they knew that maybe maiming was the move. Clint would talk to you as the two discussed what to do with the assailant.

Hearing the news Bucky would want to check over your wounds. There were none but it didn't stop him from getting those mental fingers on your bare skin.

You would shiver. Cold against your warm skin. Shining like the sun Bucky would think. Steve would look too.

A body like his own and invincible to harm.

At least they thought.

Kryptonite was horrible. Lex Luthor's laugh haunted them. You on the floor and holding your chest. Blood flowing from your mouth and a bullet in your chest.

Bruce was terrified.

Peter and Wanda beside themselves.

And so when you awake from your slumber don't ask about the disappearance of Lex Luthor. Don't ask why you can't hear his distinct heat beat.

Don't ask your still on bed rest, and Krypto is so much more hostile towards everyone now. Wary of Wanda and her glares to your dog.

Don't ask why Bruce's lingering touch stayed.

Don't ask why your mind seemed played with.

Don't bother with the protective members who've been known to kill before to be so close to you.

Don’t tell Peter to leave your side. Don't ask Steve to stop defending your city, Metropolis.

All the avengers ask of you is to keep that smile on your face no matter how confused you are.

To keep there goodness, and to never be corrupted.

To be good.

One of my biggest gripes about the dc fandom is how simplified and stripped down ‘child soldier’ became as a term.

Like, ya’ll, I don’t think forcing a rich guy to take you in and make him teach you martial arts is equal to having your entire childhood ripped from the root up for military purposes. That’s just me tho idk

MY HEARTTT

What has Liu Kang done to us? (Inspo based on Arcane S2 Vander/Warwick scene)

WHAT

Could I request mermaid dick and princess Kory

YES, yes you can!

And they all lived happily ever after...♡

until Bruce tried to ruin everything

...he just misses his son 🥲

MOON AND STARS

hal jordan x battinson | sfw

Cw! Older Hal, Younger Bruce Wayne, romantic leaning, DC Justice League War references, slight spoilers to The Batman (2022), headcannons, suggestive content

thank you to the person who requested this. the request got lost in the cosmos :( these two are hilarious to me (especially if it's battinson in particular)

It was simple. Catch the alien that was terrorizing Gotham. Capture him and things would be fine.

Of course things could never be simple for Hal Jordan, the Green Lantern.

He meets face-to-face with Batman. He expected some older man who was all dark and brooding, which he was, but this Batman was young.

He was anxious and honestly very emo.

The younger man was irritating and always telling Hal to get out of his city. Hal was appalled because how dare he.

Batman was inexperienced.

But this was the same Batman that restored faith in Hal's self. He and Batman, or rather Bruce Wayne said they were the most normal on this team of other gods.

Hal admired the young man's stance. Despite all his broody emo behavior the bat proved to be a symbol of hope and justice.

Hal continued his teasing and the name Spooky rang heavy on his tongue, and soon it felt much more adoring than demeaning. The Batman; Bruce Wayne was a shy man who kept to himself and was learning to accommodate Hal's eccentricity.

They didn't know when it happened.

Hal found himself enamored with the younger man who was a wet kitten. His hands were suddenly tracing every mortal scar on the young man's skin.

Batman suddenly felt a surge of love he never felt before. All there was was Alfred after the death of his parents, and that pain and need for vengeance.

Then the Riddler, and now this.

Opened to the city and hope, and now this man; Green Lantern, Hal Jordan proved to be someone who wanted him the most annoying person on earth. But even so, Bruce couldn't deny this feeling for the other.

The solemn darkness of Gotham haunted Bruce like a ghost. He was the darkness, for he was vengeance and Green Lantern was the light. He was the green light across the ocean and shined brightly for Bruce to see.

Rocky. It was was. Bruce and Hal proved to be people most unlikely to become an item and they argued. Silence from the bat and irritation on the guardian's end.

Still, they ended up in the bedroom where every scar was counted and every scar was kissed with such care and gentleness. After years of being touch-starved and used to the pain Bruce cried. The last night he did it was alone after Alfred got hurt due to his actions.

Every good thing wasn't desevering of him. He wasn't deserving of it.

The Green Lantern's guilt was astronomical. For he was chosen and that belief wavered. Did he even know what he was doing? Then Hal found himself being approached with comforting words. Hesitant kisses. A pale body of scars and fear against his.

Never again would neither of them feel inferior. They were normal in the most human way.

The Batman was costume, even if Brucie was mask just as Bruce Wayne was too.

Green Lantern was the ring. Without it; Hal Jordan was all that was left.

Darkness and light together. Warping beautifully the two joined in bed. Tanned body above another with the most humorous and comforting words ever. The caressing of skin and those damn butterfly kisses.

So sweet and intoxicatingly addictive. Bruce wouldn't stand it, and he let it happen. Hal wouldn't leave him alone, ever again.

Request!! Can you prettyy please do a Ranpo x masochist reader? It can be to whatever degree you interpret it as: romatic & sexual, or a platonic pass-time to cut up a monotonous day. Go crazy w it. Physical or emotional, I'll eat up anything you put out. Feel free to ignore my dumbass, luv you! 𓆟

Yandere!Ranpo x Masochist!Reader

Another day at the Armed Detective Agency, the sun filtering through the wide office windows, the sound of papers shuffling, the occasional clatter of Fukuzawa’s tea set. Everything was normal.

At least, on the surface.

You were a new recruit—diligent, polite, attentive—the kind of employee everyone liked. You followed orders without complaint, kept your workspace tidy, and never seemed to cause trouble. Nothing about you was particularly suspicious.

But Ranpo noticed things.

The first incident.

It was entirely his fault, of course. He’d been slacking off (as usual), leaning lazily in his chair while balancing a cup of hot tea on his knee. Someone called his name, he turned too fast—

Ah, shit.

The cup tipped, spilling a few hot drops over your fingers before you managed to pull away.

"Ah—!"

Ranpo blinked down at the mess, lazily dragging his gaze back to you. You didn’t flinch. You just… turned your head slightly to the side, as if inconvenienced, as if this wasn’t worth reacting to at all. You wiped your hand on a napkin, casual as ever.

"Ahh, sorry, sorry~! Guess I got too excited" Ranpo said, dragging out his words in a sing-song tone.

"It’s okay" you replied easily, already moving on.

Ranpo squinted at you.

"Huh. That didn’t hurt?"

"Not really." You smiled

Hmmm.

The next time, he did it on purpose.

It was lunch time, the office mostly empty as everyone scattered to grab food. You were focused on your work, fingers gliding over the keyboard, too absorbed to notice Ranpo creeping up behind you.

"Boo!"

You didn’t jump.

You barely reacted at all. Your shoulders stiffened for half a second before you forced yourself to relax. But Ranpo saw it—the tension in your fingers, the way your breath hitched before settling into something controlled.

Not fear. Not normal startlement.

No—you were suppressing something.

Ranpo leaned on your desk, grinning. "Wow, you’re no fun. Didn’t even scream."

You smiled, but your grip on your pen tightened.

"You startled me a little."

"Liar~," Ranpo hummed, tilting his head. "That wasn’t ‘a little startled,’ that was a ‘I’m used to sudden things happening but I have to act normal’ kind of reaction."

Your fingers twitched. He saw that too.

The crowded hallway.

Yosano brushed past you while walking by, nothing more than a casual nudge of shoulders. You jerked ever so slightly, fingers curling, tension visible for half a second before you forced it down again.

Ranpo, watching from across the room, narrowed his eyes.

It wasn’t normal. The way you reacted to sudden movement, casual touches, heat, pain—it wasn’t the reaction of someone simply uncomfortable.

It was someone who wasn’t used to things being this light.

Ranpo popped a candy into his mouth, still watching you closely.

"Ne, ne~" he called lazily, "You sure are sensitive, huh?"

You glanced at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Dunno," he hummed, tapping his chin. "People brush past you, and you act like you’re bracing for something. But it’s subtle. Most people wouldn’t notice."

Ranpo grinned. "You don’t like pain, do you? You like it a little too much."

Your breath caught. Gotcha.

And from that moment on, Ranpo was hooked.

This was going to be so much fun.

It was too easy to pretend.

You kept your head down, listened well, followed orders. Everything about you was perfectly normal—on the surface. No reason for anyone to look too closely. No reason for anyone to suspect that beneath all that obedience was something much, much uglier.

Unfortunately, Ranpo wasn’t just anyone.

He didn’t act right away.

So instead, he watched. Quietly.

Every time you flinched—he noticed. Every time you suppressed a reaction—he noticed. Every time you acted a little too unaffected by something painful—he noticed.

And most importantly? He noticed the way you always made sure other people were around.

Because when people were watching, nothing could happen to you.

It was instinctual, the way you hovered just close enough to the others, safety in numbers, an unspoken barrier. But Ranpo was smarter than you. He was smarter than everyone.

And the moment he realized you were avoiding being alone with him?

That’s when he decided it was time to change the rules.

"You should stay late today."

He said it so casually. A lazy request, stretched out in a bored drawl, as if it were nothing important.

"You don’t mind, right? Just a little longer~? I could use the extra help with this case."

It was nonsense. Ranpo never needed help. And everyone in the ADA knew it.

You hesitated. But what could you say? No? That would be suspicious.

So you smiled, pretended it was fine. "Sure."

And with that, the office emptied out.

One by one, the others left. Atsushi, Yosano, Kunikida—all of them disappearing through the doors, their voices fading into the night. The agency lights dimmed, the usual buzz of conversation died, and soon...

It was just you and him.

Ranpo didn’t immediately pounce on his curiosity.

At first, he actually pretended to work—lounging back in his chair, half-heartedly flipping through files, occasionally tossing you some meaningless task just to keep you still.

Then, when he was sure the moment was right, he spoke.

"So… you don’t feel pain, huh?"

You froze.

It was so, so small. A brief pause in your breathing, a millisecond of tension in your fingers—but Ranpo saw it.

"What are you talking about?"

"Ohhh, don’t play dumb~." He propped his chin on one hand, watching you squirm. "I noticed, you know. You’re real good at hiding it, but I’m better at noticing things."

"I really don’t know what you mean."

Ranpo sighed dramatically, stretching his arms over his head. "Well, if you won’t admit it… should I prove it?"

Before you could react, he suddenly reached forward—

And flicked you hard on the forehead.

It wasn’t much. A childish, meaningless flick—something Atsushi would have yelped at, something Kunikida would have scolded him for. But you?

You didn’t move. Didn’t swat his hand away. Didn’t blink. Didn’t react at all.

"See? That’s what I’m talking about."

He leaned forward, too close now, too knowing. His elbows rested on his knees, posture casual, but his eyes—those sharp, all-seeing eyes—were locked entirely on you.

"That didn’t hurt, did it?"

"Don’t even try to deny~."

The office felt smaller than before. The empty desks, the dim lighting, the utter silence surrounding you both. Your heartbeat, the shift of your breath, the scrape of Ranpo’s chair as he leaned just a little closer—

It was suffocating.

"You’re really good at faking normal," he mused, tapping his chin.

His smile stretched, playful and lazy, but something dangerous lurked beneath it.

"But see, I’m kinda a genius? So stuff like that doesn’t really work on me."

He reached for his candy jar, popping one into his mouth as if this were just another conversation. As if he weren’t pinning you in place with nothing but words.

"So let’s play a game, okay?" he said cheerfully, unwrapping another candy—a deliberate pause, a build-up, forcing you to wait. "You tell me what’s up with you, and I won’t have to figure it out myself."

The candy clicked against his teeth. His smile didn’t fade.

"I mean, I’ll figure it out either way~."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Ranpo hummed. "Liar."

Another flick—this time, to your wrist. A harmless little tap, one that shouldn’t even be worth reacting to. But the expectation behind it? The way Ranpo was watching, waiting, calculating?

It made something twist inside your stomach.

"It’s weird, y'know?" he continued. "Most people have all sorts of little tells when they feel pain. They wince, they pull away, they rub at the sore spot, even just instinctively."

He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

"But you? Nothing."

"Ohhhh~." His tone lifted into something mockingly amused. "Wait. That’s not it, is it?"

Your fingers curled—Ranpo saw.

"You don’t ignore pain, you like it."

"What I don’t get," he mused, tapping a finger against his temple, "is why you try so hard to pretend otherwise."

He moved. A slow shift, resting his chin in his palm, his elbow propped against the armrest—lazy, relaxed, but watching you like a cat with a cornered mouse.

"What’s the point?"

You swallowed.

"I don’t—"

"Nuh-uh." He cut you off, "No more lying~."

Then, Ranpo sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine. If you won’t say it, I’ll just have to test it myself."

And before you could process what he meant—

His fingers suddenly tightened around your wrist.

A simple touch, his thumb pressed lightly against your pulse, fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist.

But the implication was what made something cold coil down your spine.

Because Ranpo didn’t touch people.

Not unless he was stealing snacks or draping himself over Fukuzawa like a spoiled housecat. But this?

This was deliberate.

Ranpo hummed. "Ah, see? I can feel your pulse picking up~."

"That means you’re nervous," he went on, "But not scared. Which means—"

He squeezed.

Ranpo studied you for another long, agonizing moment before suddenly—letting go.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms with a yawn. "Welp~! That’s all I needed to know."

Ranpo smiled.

"You’re really bad at hiding things, y'know? But that’s okay!" His tone was cheerful. "I don’t mind playing with you a little."

Ranpo reached for another candy, lazily unwrapping it with one hand. He didn’t look at you, but you could feel the weight of his attention.

"Just so you know~," he drawled, popping the sweet into his mouth. "I’m not letting this go."

"And the fun part? You can’t stop me."

That much was clear.

Ranpo knew your secret.

----

Wherever you went, cases followed.

Murders, disappearances, odd incidents—the kind of things that required his presence, much to his displeasure.

Ranpo had noticed the pattern early on.

It wasn’t just coincidence. It wasn’t just bad luck.

You were like a grim reaper in disguise.

And for the first time in a while—Ranpo wasn’t bored.

"You attract the fun kind of trouble."

"Tsk, tsk~." Ranpo clicked his tongue, rocking back on his heels. "You really know how to keep me busy, huh?"

Another crime scene. Another case that wasn’t even worth his full brain power.

Blood soaked the alley floor. The body was still warm. And yet, Ranpo barely spared it a glance, instead letting his sharp green eyes drift to you.

You were used to this.

"You know, I almost feel bad," Ranpo continued, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Wherever you go, someone dies. How tragic~."

You sighed. "I don’t cause it."

"Mmm, debatable."

Ranpo grinned, but there was something sharper behind it.

"You're always at the scene. Always nearby. Even when it doesn’t make sense for you to be."

A slow step forward.

"Almost like you enjoy it."

He got bored so easily. That was the problem.

Most cases weren’t worth his time. Most people were predictable.

But you? You were different.

Ranpo licked his lips, thoughtful. "Ne, ne~. Do you think the killers know?"

"Know what?"

"That they should be more scared of you than me."

There it was. That little, tiny slip of hesitation.

Ranpo grinned.

"Don’t worry, I won’t tell."

For the first time in ages, solving cases wasn’t boring.

Because you were there. Because you reacted in all the wrong ways.

Because you weren’t normal, and Ranpo loved breaking things open just to see what spilled out.

"I think I’ll stick close to you~" he hummed, nudging your shoulder as the sirens wailed behind you both.

"After all—" he turned, smiling like a child with a new toy.

"—I wouldn’t wanna miss the show."

It was getting ridiculous at this point.

The Agency had been busier than ever since you joined.

Accidents. Murders. High-profile cases that should’ve been one-in-a-million coincidences—yet somehow, wherever you went, another incident cropped up.

Fukuzawa hadn’t said anything outright, but you knew he’d noticed. Kunikida was constantly scribbling in his notebook, muttering about “statistical anomalies.” Even Dazai had joked about how you were the unluckiest (or maybe luckiest) person they’d ever hired.

And Ranpo?

Ranpo just grinned like he already knew the answer.

"Maybe you’re cursed."

You had shrugged. "Maybe."

Ranpo hummed, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. "If you are, I kinda like it."

And that had been the end of that.

"Tch—! Atsushi, focus!"

You barely ducked in time as the enemy’s blade sliced through the air.

This case was supposed to be hard. A brutal serial killer—one with connections to the Port Mafia, one who had managed to evade capture far longer than expected.

Which was why Atsushi had been sent with you.

"I got him!" Atsushi growled, dodging a strike before slamming his claws into the enemy’s ribs—only for the bastard to twist away at the last second.

A few feet behind you, Ranpo yawned loudly. "Ahhh~. You guys are taking too long."

"Then help—!" Atsushi snapped, but Ranpo waved him off.

"Nah, I already solved it."

"…What?"

Ranpo grinned. "Yup! Figured it out ages ago. He’s got an old knife wound in his left side, see? From a previous fight. That’s why he keeps avoiding right-handed attacks—his muscles are weaker there."

Atsushi stared.

"Then—then why didn’t you say anything sooner?!"

"Because you were having fun~," Ranpo said simply, stretching his arms over his head. "And it’s not like I was ever in danger."

The second Ranpo spoke those words—the moment he revealed that he was the one who had figured everything out—The killer moved.

He must’ve known the Agency would catch him eventually. He must’ve known this was the end.

So if he couldn’t escape…

He would at least take one of you with him.

And he knew exactly who to target.

Ranpo—the brains of the Agency.

The knife swung for him.

And you—because you were you—reacted immediately.

Atsushi shouted. Ranpo’s eyes widened.

But neither of them moved fast enough.

Because you were already there.

You stepped into the blade.

Pain blossomed.

A sharp, beautiful thing.

The knife sank deep, slicing across your side, the force of the attack knocking the breath from your lungs. Blood soaked through your clothes, warm and spreading, but the moment the blade left your skin—

Your lips curled into a smile. That was amazing.

"Oi—!!"

Ranpo’s voice was sharper than you’d ever heard it.

He caught you just as your knees buckled. His usual lazy demeanor had vanished—replaced by something much, much darker.

"What the hell was that?" he hissed.

You swallowed, heart pounding. "Keeping you alive."

"That wasn’t your job."

"Well, it is now."

Ranpo’s expression shifted.

Something visibly snapped behind his green eyes.

Atsushi roared—his tiger form tearing into the culprit, rage and panic fueling his attack. The sound of metal hitting the floor, the sickening crunch of bones breaking—none of it mattered.

"You shouldn’t be able to smile like that."

His fingers dug into your wrist.

"You’re bleeding."

The moment you collapsed into him. The moment he realized you had taken a wound that was meant for him.

The game had shifted.

Ranpo wasn’t bored anymore.

"I don’t like that." His voice was light, but his grip on you was too firm. "I don’t like that at all."

And then—Ranpo smiled.

A slow, terrifyingly amused thing.

"Guess I’ll just have to keep a better eye on you, huh?"

---

The first thing you noticed was the lack of pain.

You should’ve felt sore, at the very least. That knife wound had dug deep, and yet— When you shifted, there was nothing. No sting, no ache—just the softness of a futon and the unmistakable presence of another person.

Ranpo.

Sitting cross-legged beside you, sucking lazily on a lollipop.

He was watching.

"Ohhh~." His voice was mockingly sweet. "Look who’s awake~."

You sat up slowly, glancing around. Yosano’s doing. You had been expecting that.

"Completely healed" he said, stretching. "Ain’t that nice? If it were anyone else, they’d probably still be out cold for another day or two. But since it’s you~"—he wiggled his fingers—"poof! Good as new."

You stared.

Then, cautiously, side-eyed him.

Ranpo giggled.

"What? You don’t trust me?" He pulled his lollipop from his mouth with a dramatic pout. "That hurts, y'know~."

You didn’t respond.

Ranpo hummed, twirling the candy between his fingers before suddenly holding it out to you.

"Here. Wanna taste?"

You glanced between him and the half-melted candy.

Slowly, narrowing your eyes.

Ranpo’s lips twitched.

"Haaah~. So rude." He rolled his eyes, stuffing the lollipop back into his own mouth before reaching into his pocket.

Crinkle.

A fresh one.

He unwrapped it for you, flashing you a mockingly indulgent smile as he held it up—

And just as your fingers brushed against it—

Ranpo leaned in.

And licked it.

Smirking as he pressed it right against your lips.

"Here~" he purred. "Open up."

"C’mon," he teased, voice dripping with amusement. "You’re not gonna waste it, are you?"

You could still see the way his tongue had just been on it.

The heat of his breath, the lazy grin, the unmistakable enjoyment dancing in his green eyes—

This was a game.

And he was waiting to see if you’d play along.

You didn’t play along.

Ranpo pouted dramatically.

"Maaaan" he sighed, tilting his head. "You’re no fun."

The lollipop hovered at your lips. Sticky. Sweet. Still carrying the warmth of his mouth.

You stared.

It was a battle of patience now.

Ranpo watched, waiting for you to crack.

You waited for him to get bored.

"Fine, be that way~."

You almost sighed in relief

Until his teeth sunk into your finger.

Not hard. But enough. Sharp canines pressing down—just the right amount of pressure— Your lips parted, a sharp inhale slipping through before you could stop it.

And in that moment of weakness—

Ranpo took his win.

With an obnoxiously pleased hum, he pushed the lollipop past your lips.

"See?" he cooed, leaning back with a mockingly triumphant smile. "That wasn’t so hard, now was it?"

You glared at him over the candy.

Ranpo just giggled.

He had won.

This time.

❝DOCTOR I CAN’T TELL IF I’M NOT ME.❞

-   ͙۪۪̥˚┊BATFAM X NEGLECTED!HEALER!READER ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 

There is only one thing you ever truly wished for in this life: a purpose.

Something that would justify your existence, that would give meaning to every breath, every wound, every sleepless night.

And you found it. Not in an empty promise or in the affection of others. You found it in your own power.

A selfish desire, yes, but undeniably yours. A purpose born not out of love, but out of need.

From that strange power growing inside you, the one that forced you to look at others’ suffering with cold, almost cynical eyes. As if every wound were a problem only you could solve. As if every scream of pain were a prayer meant solely for you.

You clung to that.

To the idea that your worth existed only in your abilities.

The ability to stop someone from dying in front of you. To rip death from their body with your own hands. To stitch broken flesh with threads that hurt, yes, but worked. That was the only thing that ever made you feel alive. The only thing that ever made you feel alive, needed.

For a while, it was enough.

For a long while, you were selfish.

It didn’t matter if they used you. It didn’t matter if it hurt. If every healing left another scar on you. If every salvation cost you a little more of the little you had left.

As long as you could keep doing it—healing, fixing, protecting— the price didn’t matter.

Because at the end of the day, you could lie down on that mattress of emptiness and tell yourself: “Today, I made it worth it.”

Your existence and your power meant something.

Of course, you didn’t have a mother to share secrets with, nor guardians who offered you love. Only faces that came and went, and the bitter understanding that you were just another burden in a broken system.

Until, by some twisted stroke of fate, you had the “pleasure” of meeting your biological father.

Bruce Wayne.

Billionaire. Philanthropist. Playboy.

Batman.

Even so, none of that really mattered to you. What truly hit you was learning that you had to leave everything behind and go to Gotham.

That cursed city, that concrete jungle drowned in darkness and crime. Where dreams go to die and bodies, if they’re lucky, go to sleep.

Gotham wasn’t a home. It was a prison for someone like you. A place where meta-humans like you were enemies, threats, problems to be contained.

Your power, your only purpose, was stripped away with nothing more than a change of zip code.

And that was the cruelest part of all.

Not being able to use it.

Not being able to save.

Not being able to be useful.

Your existence, reduced to ashes, like the bodies of those you didn’t reach in time.

It must be poetic, right? The healer who cannot heal. The savior without faith.

They hate you. You've felt it. That visceral resentment from those who survived because of you, but still blame you for what you couldn’t stop. Screams, stares, choked pleas— all of them pierced your soul deeper than any weapon ever could.

For someone who once swore to save lives, it’s only natural that those you vowed and wanted to save now express their utter disgust and despair toward the false, horrific salvation you once offered them.

And now? Now you live among strangers.

An immense mansion full of absences. With brothers who seemingly don’t recognize you, and a father who doesn’t see you.

Your arrival in Gotham wasn’t exactly ideal, at least, that’s how you think you remember it.

It’s hard for you to remember that moment. You don’t hold on to unnecessary memories… none of it will make you feel alive again.

Apparently, your new father figure has several children. Some of them are already adults. With lives of their own far from the mansion, you don’t know much about them, they were almost always too busy to say anything to you.

You can’t understand them, can’t they come up with better excuses? You don’t want these people’s attention.

These people can’t help you with your abilities. They can’t make you believe you’re still allowed to use them freely.

No, these people are just strangers who stumbled into your life overnight and want nothing to do with the problem. Not even your new father had the decency or responsibility to try forming a bond with you.

Bruce Wayne was an absent father. Not in the way someone leaves and disappears completely, but in the kind of absence that feels stronger the closer the person is. A hollow physical presence, like a ghost made of flesh and bone. One who could look you in the eyes and still not see you.

He struggled to communicate, to make time for you, to even remember that there was now one more occupied room in that massive mansion of his.

He doesn’t know how to deal with you, and you don’t know how to deal with him either. At first, you wondered if the problem was you. If you had done something wrong. If the way you talked, walked—even breathed, was so bothersome that he’d rather bury himself in work than give you an hour of his time.

But soon, you realized something even crueler: You don’t need a father. You’re not looking for one. You’re not waiting for one.

What you need is a patient. Someone you can heal. Someone who needs you.

Because that’s what you’ve always done. Heal. And Bruce… Bruce simply refuses to be healed.

But he doesn’t understand.

When you approach him, when you seek him out, when you try to speak to him, all he does is throw up a wall made of cold words, as practical and impersonal as that damn business suit of his.

“I’m busy.”

“Not now.”

“We’ll talk later.”

“It’s for work.”

Always the same. Always excuses with the bitter taste of indifference.

Is this what having a father is supposed to feel like? Because if it is, then it doesn’t feel any different from your days in foster care.

At least there, you knew you were alone. Here, they make you believe you’re not… but you are, more than ever.

You’ve learned to observe the details, as always. It’s one of the few things you’re good at, aside from using your power.

You notice the tired look in his eyes, the dark circles underneath, the way his fingers tense around his pen like he’s trying to crush it. The stack of papers on his desk never gets smaller, it’s like it multiplies just to keep you at a distance.

And the subtle changes… that lower tone in his voice when he sees you, like he can’t even be bothered to raise it for you. The way his eyebrows furrow, not out of anger, just… annoyance. Irritation.

That’s what hurt the most.

So you stopped trying. Because if you kept going, you were only going to be reprimanded by the one you were supposed to please. You convinced yourself that you don’t need his approval. That you don’t need his love. That you’re better off without him.

But then, why is it that every time you walk past his office, you pause for a second, hoping that door opens, just once, without you knocking first?

Why do you still need him to see you?

Richard Grayson is the eldest. The first adopted son of Bruce Wayne. Everyone sees him as a beacon of hope, the moral compass of this family made of shadows and scars. And it makes sense. He has that bright smile, that genuine warmth the others can barely fake. He gives out hugs without being asked, listens patiently, laughs easily, and has that absurd gift of making anyone feel seen, at least, if you’re one of his.

Because with you, it was always different.

From the beginning, Richard seemed kind. Seemed. But between that warmth and you, there was always a distance, like someone had drawn a curtain between the two of you. You heard his apologies more than you heard his actual voice.

“Sorry, I have to head out right now.”

“Sorry, I was already on my way to Blüdhaven.”

“Next time, I promise.”

He was always rushing. Always busy. Always somewhere else. And you… you’re not someone who believes in empty promises.

At first, you thought it was just bad luck. That maybe if you insisted a little, if you found an excuse, if you caught him in the kitchen, he might stay for five minutes. Just five. But those minutes never came. And you started to notice a pattern. How his demeanor shifted the moment you walked into the room. How his smile became more diplomatic. More rehearsed. How his footsteps sped up when he thought you weren’t watching.

You didn’t want to admit it at first, but something inside you began to whisper an uncomfortable truth; He was avoiding you.

And then you understood. If Richard Grayson, the kindest, the most human, the most "big brother" of them all, couldn’t be around you, then what was the point of trying with the others? What could you possibly expect from Jason, who barely speaks to you? From Tim, who seems more invested in his computer than in actual people? From Damian, who can barely tolerate his own shadow?

So you did the same. You avoided them. One by one. You decided it wasn’t worth it. That if you weren’t going to be a real part of this family, you weren’t going to pretend.

It’s easier that way. It doesn’t hurt as much if you’re the one walking away first.

But sometimes, when you see them laughing together from the staircase, or hear Richard speaking so fondly of the others, a part of you wonders if it was ever really your choice to walk away, or if they’d been leaving you behind from the very beginning.

Your suspicions didn’t take long to confirm. All it took was talking to a few of your supposed brothers to realize the pattern repeated itself.

Jason, Tim, Damian…

Each one was a story unto themselves. Each one was a maze of traumas, masks, and poorly calibrated emotional responses. But if you had to describe them in one word, it would be: inaccessible.

The second of your brothers was Jason, and from what little you could gather, because no one seemed eager to talk about it much, Jason had died. And then he came back. It wasn’t a metaphor. It wasn’t an exaggeration. He had been buried, and now he was not. That simple statement was enough to provoke a morbid curiosity, almost scientific. What had changed in his body? Did he suffer from partial necrosis? Brain damage? Did his muscles regenerate? What residual effects did resurrection have on human physiology? Everything in you screamed to investigate. To dissect. To understand.

It was a dangerous thought. You knew that. You repeated it to yourself like a mantra: too tempting for your own good.

But what confused you the most wasn’t his condition, it was his behavior toward you. Jason had this aura of latent violence, like dynamite that could explode with the wrong spark. But that wasn’t what kept you away. Not entirely. It was his inexplicable rejection.

You didn’t understand it. You didn’t provoke him. You didn’t talk to him, you didn’t interfere, you didn’t cross the line. And yet, his gaze was always sharp. As if your mere presence triggered something in him. Irritation. Annoyance. Maybe even disdain.

You wondered if it was your fault. If the way you were, the way you spoke, the way you were, simply bothered him. But you couldn’t find an answer. And though you wanted to, you knew that getting closer would be too risky.

Because you’ve seen the broken walls. The misaligned doors. The tables split in two like they were made of paper. You’ve felt the tension in the air when Jason enters a room and isn’t in the mood. And you know, without needing confirmation, that his punches aren’t soft. That his rage doesn’t distinguish between the guilty and the witnesses.

So, you avoid him.

Not out of fear exactly, but out of caution. Self-preservation. You don’t want to be the next crack in the walls of this house.

Tim was a different kind of strange. More than Jason, though in a completely different way. His oddity didn’t stem from aggression or visible trauma. It was more subtle. More internal.

Almost clinical.

You observed him, like you observe everything. With that gaze of yours that searches for patterns, inconsistencies, vulnerabilities. And in him, you found many.

Surprisingly, Tim was brilliant. Not just "smart for his age," but one of those cases where the brain moves faster than the body. Too fast. So much so, that sometimes it seemed like his body gave up halfway through.

The dark circles under his eyes were a constant. His responses were slow, as if they had to pass through a filter of a thousand thoughts before being verbalized. He walked like his mind was too heavy for his spine to carry. A shadow carrying ideas. You were surprised he hadn’t fainted yet from the combination of insomnia, chronic stress, and mild malnutrition.

No one asked you.

No one thanked you.

But still, you started leaving him food. Food that could sustain him without causing a stomach collapse. Nothing too obvious, of course. A yogurt here. Cut fruits there.

Something easy to eat between keystrokes. You allied yourself with Alfred in that small act of silent intervention. The old butler seemed to notice, but he never mentioned it. And you never confirmed it.

Tim would probably assume it was all Alfred’s doing. In fact, you counted on it.

Not because you wanted to keep it a secret. But because you knew that if he suspected you were behind something so... "thoughtful," it would only make him uncomfortable. He doesn’t know how to respond to care, to the intention behind such detail. Tim doesn’t know how to handle it if that sincere gesture comes from you.

Just like you would if any of them ever tried it with you.

Alfred... Alfred is a different matter.

Of all the people in the house, he’s the only one who acts like your existence isn’t a miscalculation. But he doesn’t fool himself. He doesn’t offer you love, or tenderness. He offers you structure. Routine. Measured phrases and cups of tea.

It’s not affection between you. It’s a sort of tacit alliance. Two functional people in the middle of a broken ecosystem.

You know he tries. But you also know it’s not enough for you.

You’ve seen children like you. In hospitals. In refugee camps. In temporary homes. Children who cling to an adult figure as if their life depended on it, and are then destroyed when that figure leaves. Or worse, when they stay but stop looking.

You don’t want that for yourself.

You convince yourself this is better. A working relationship. A dynamic where each one fulfills their role and no one crosses the line into the personal. Because if you get attached, if you let yourself believe this could mean something...

You know how that ends. They can’t give you what you’re looking for.

They can’t give you purpose.

They can’t return what was taken from you when you understood that your value only exists if you can heal, if you can serve, if you can be useful.

You still don’t know who you are when you’re none of that.

Back to the subject of your "family," the last on the list of who your siblings were, was Damian.

The youngest of the group. The second biological son of Bruce Wayne.

You said it out loud once, casually: "Ah, so he is the real one."

No one found it funny.

Unlike the others, Damian didn’t need time to show you that you weren’t welcome. He didn’t bother to fake courtesy or neutrality. From the beginning, he made it clear that your existence was expendable.

Maybe it was your silence. Maybe it was your lack of reaction to his provocations. Maybe he just didn’t like you. But he pointed his katana at you the first month you arrived.

The blade against your neck wasn’t a metaphor. It was real, cold, intimidating contact. You felt a thread of power activate instinctively in your body, a reflex of defense, of desperation. If you had let it go, well, you wouldn’t be here, mentally recalling this account.

You didn’t. Not for him. For you.

Because it wasn’t worth it. Because using your power on someone in your “family” would mean admitting they were important enough to hurt you.

They weren’t. Not yet.

You can’t risk being discovered. No one can know that you actually have this power. None of them can know.

Bruce appeared just in time to prevent the confrontation from escalating. Did he protect you? Not exactly. He simply said something like, “Damian has a complicated history,” as if that justified a death threat in the family kitchen.

Is it common in Gotham to justify a child’s homicidal impulses if they've had a difficult childhood?

That was your question. You didn’t ask it out loud. No one would have liked the answer.

It was also that day you found out that Damian was Bruce’s biological son. And you couldn’t help but think about the irony of it all.

The same Bruce Wayne who, in the public eye, was a scandalous figure, a charming, charismatic playboy billionaire with endless parties, had exactly one biological child. One. Not five. Not a legion of illegitimate children scattered across the world. Just one.

That kid turned out to be a ticking time bomb with a traditional sword.

Everything fit so perfectly wrong that it almost seemed planned.

With the girls, it's complicated. Maybe even more so because, deep down, a part of you thought they could be different.

Stephanie. She was like a female version of Richard, a constant smile, a vibrant energy that everyone seemed to adore, except you.

She greeted you with empty enthusiasm, one that never went beyond the surface. It was easy to see that behind her good mood, there was a locked door she wasn’t going to open for you.

And you understood. Because you'd seen it before.

People who act as if everyone is welcome, except you.

Stephanie was just another confirmation that no matter how hard you tried to fit in, this home was already full. You weren’t in the original plan. You never were.

Barbara, on the other hand, was simpler. She was hardly ever at the mansion. You’d see her sporadically, a red ghost in the shadows of fleeting visits. And still, in that limited time, she always found a way to smile at others, share a joke, a quick conversation, a knowing glance… Never with you.

Not once.

It was as if your presence went by unnoticed, not even worth including out of courtesy.

Cassandra was the most honest, in a way. She didn’t pretend. She didn’t smile. She didn’t speak.

She ignored your attempts to help with almost admirable efficiency. You could attribute it to her trauma, her history, her way of seeing the world… but that excuse starts to wear thin when it’s the only one left to justify everything.

Maybe you’re just not interesting. Maybe you don’t even stand out enough to be actively rejected.

Or is it because you don’t even deserve her attention?

It was easier to believe that they all had a reason not to see you.

Easier than admitting that maybe, you weren’t that hard to ignore.

What was dangerous about this family wasn’t the weapons, nor the katanas, nor the fists that had broken ribs more than once.

It was the mask.

It took you time to understand it. First, it was a hunch. Then a suspicion. Finally, a certainty: they were all vigilantes. Heroes of Gotham. The same ones who make your hands tremble when you try to use your power. The ones who make your gift feel useless. As if it were a mistake rather than a blessing.

The irony is so perfect it could almost make you laugh.

You can’t feel useful, can’t do the one thing you know how to do perfectly, because you’re surrounded by those who fight so that people and beings like you are neither necessary nor welcome.

And yet, you prefer them this way.

Cold. Distant. Detached. Unknown. Because connections are dangerous. Because memories weigh. Because at some point, someone taught you that affection is the hook that precedes the pain.

Because you know it better than anyone. When you get attached to someone, it’s not just pain that you feel when you lose them. It’s as if a part of you dies too. Not because you lose them, but because without your power, without that “usefulness,” you feel like you never deserved to have them in the first place.

In Gotham, you can’t do anything.

You can't heal.

You can't save.

You can't be useful.

You can't be loved. Or at least, that’s what they taught you to believe.

Here, you have no parts left that you can afford to lose. Not while you're trapped in this city that doesn’t need what you can give. A family that doesn't know what to do with you. You don’t know what to do with yourself either.

They can’t give you a purpose.

They never could.

They didn’t even try.

You expected so little, that not even that surprised you.

Until you found him.

The only living person who not only recognized your power, but accepted it for what you wanted it to be:

A miracle.

He called himself Doctor Masashi. A kind voice, a serene figure. But behind that calmness was surgical precision. He knew exactly how to shape you. How to rebuild you, only to destroy you again with elegance.

He was the only one who never lied to you about what you were:

A weapon.

A tool.

A precious jewel that only shines when it bleeds for others.

A perfect puppet.

And you, grateful for the strings.

He gave you direction when all you had was guilt.

He gave you structure when all you had was emptiness.

He gave you… meaning. A cruel meaning. A conditioned meaning. But still, you took it.

It can't be that bad, right?

Clinging to that.

Clinging to him.

Clinging to something that tells you that you can still be "something."

Because if someone, even just one person, can look at you and say that you are good for something, then you're not broken.

Then you're not alone. Then everything that hurt was worth it.

Even if guilt drowns you every night.

Even if the nightmares never rest.

Even if the hands you tried to save still drag you from their graves, begging for a second death.

It doesn't matter. As long as someone believes that keeping you alive makes sense... then that’s enough.

Right?

Maybe you're a weapon.

Maybe you're selfish.

Maybe you did it all just out of fear of disappearing, for that unbearable need to feel alive.

The need to feel that you matter. To have a place to fit in.

But at least you're something. In this shattered world, that's already more than many have.

But how much more can you take before you truly break? How much longer before you completely crumble, like so many times you did on the inside? How much will the price of his greed cost… and your desperate desire to remain useful?

Because in the end, it wasn't Bruce.

Nor your brothers.

Nor your sisters.

None of them ever knew who you were.

None of them understood.

Only him. Only Masashi.

That’s what scares you the most. Because if even he can make you believe that’s all you’re worth. If even he manages to make you cling to that idea, then maybe, you were never more than that.

Maybe you were never more than your power, and in Gotham, where you can no longer use it...

Not even that belongs to you.

I miss them dearly < ♡

shit hurts like hell fr