Didn't Even Offer To Hold My Hand ;-;

cutie patooties

We’re so back!!

As a someone from the Midwest this is true ☝️

I desperately need more fics exploring the fact that Clark was born and raised in the rural midwest, and Bruce was a Jersey rich boy.

Give me Clark taking his shoes off when entering a house, and bringing something to dinner

Give me Bruce being absolutely confused because "what the hell is a potluck"

Give me Clark doing a proper midwest goodbye and Bruce being confused why he hasn't left when he said he was going to go 30 minutes ago and their still talking

(Even better if when Clark first says he's going to go Kon and Jon make no move to leave because they know it's going to be a while)

"They’re not collateral damage — they are being targeted."

The image you see is not from a war movie. It's a real X-ray of a Palestinian child. A sniper's bullet pierced her skull. This was not an accident. It was a calculated shot — to the head. How many children must bleed before the world opens its eyes?

I see this, and I tremble. Because I, too, am a mother. My own child is injured. He cries every night from pain. He needs urgent medical care — but we are trapped under siege, under fear, under silence.

How long before my son becomes another X-ray? Another hashtag? Another number?

If you're reading this, you have power — power to share, power to donate, power to care.

Help me get my son out. Help save him before it’s too late. Gaza’s children are not targets. They are lives. They are futures. Please don’t look away

Please Donate now:👇👇 👇

gofundme.com

Donate to Join Us in Our Struggle: Save Our Family from War in Gaza, organized by Ghazal Naseer

‎‏Dear friends, ‎‏My name is Ghazal Naseer, from pales… Ghazal Naseer needs your support for Join Us in Our Struggle: Save Our Famil

✅️My campaign is vetted by el-shab-hussein& Nabulsi's, my number verified on the list is ( #355)✅️ 👇

Google Docs

Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser List

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.”

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.

MY HEARTTT

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

❝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.

Bruce Wayne as a dad, but he doesn't try to reprimand his kids, he just acts like everything is his 13th reason:

"Jason, if you throw that guy off the cliff, i am also jumping off after him."

"Dick, if you don't get down from there, I will stand under the chandelier when it falls down."

"Damian, if you cut that head off, i will walk into your sword."

could u maybe maybe maybe write smut for ranpo (ik u just did one but im still hungry😞) x reader

🎀"THE PASSION OF EROS"🎀

ranpo edogawa x reader | nsfw

cw! aphrodisiac, female reader, top! ranpo, sub reader, low-key self-indulgent, vaginal penetration, semi-public, office sex, first time (I like drama), unprotected sex, explicit consent, fingering, oral (ranpo receiving), rough sex maybe???

thank you for the request! I'm happy to serve more ranpo content. if you can't tell im still a bit rusty on writing smut lol

"When are you going to be done!?"

You laughed lightly from Ranpo's groaning across the room. You sat in your seat that was beside Atsushi's empty desk working on paperwork and such.

"Kunikida will have my head if I don't finish this."

The childish man groaned again as his chair turned in circles. He kicked his feet like a child. The crackles of plastic and chip bags filled the air as did your light laughter.

He hopped from his seat and rummaged through his desk looking for snacks. You rolled your eyes as he did so. You continued with your work with a smile.

While boring Ranpo had stayed to keep you company. Never would your boyfriend confess to you that he was simply clingy. After all, he needed help getting home, and yet despite his complaining he stayed.

In other words he loved you.

Despite all your shy nature, he loved you nonetheless. Anxiety and all. Ranpo was all you could ever ask for.

While surfing around for snacks Ranpo came across a certain box of chocolates. It ones that you bought without a thought when you were given the task of getting Ranpo snacks. This was one of them he hadn't eaten yet.

Without a care, he opened the box with enthusiasm.

"Hey! Come get one!"

"Oh!"

You got up from your chair with tiny movements. The detective grinned at you. His eyes opened to reveal his green eyes; just to tease you.

Rather sadistically, he liked seeing you writhe in front of him.

"Don't look at me like that..."

You mumbled as you took one chocolate from the plastic tray. The detective surprisingly put another into your hand. His green eyes still bright and narrowed.

"Cute." He booped your nose. You gasped and quickly went back to your seat to resume your work. Ranpo cackled as he popped numerous chocolate bites into his mouth.

"Stupid Ranpo..." You whispered gently as you snacked on the two pieces of chocolates. A sweet milk chocolate taste with a hint of something else in the taste. You curved a brow at the odd taste.

A good taste. Sweet and intoxicating.

The heat of your cheeks seemed to feel hotter about 2 minutes into continuing your work. There was wetness in your undergarments below. You were beginning to get worried because why were hot in your clothes.

"Ranpo-" You started to say but as you moved in your chair it became like a moan. When you heard it you covered your mouth with your hand.

Looking over you saw Ranpo with his head on his desk. His hat was flat on the desk and his brown overcoat was left abandoned on the floor beside his chair. He made a sound that was hard to hear. Looking at the desk the box of chocolates was empty; presumably eaten by Ranpo.

You didn't dare speak afraid you would moan Ranpo's name in such a manner. You stood from your chair and stumbled. Catching yourself on the desk with trembling arms. Papers were crumpled as you tried to retain yourself.

The wetness lower down made itself known that you were standing. The heat trapped below was hard to deny the cold to. Sure, your boyfriend was there but the anxiety of baring your body to him was undeniable.

You were still exempt from any sexual experience with one another. Ranpo himself hadn't had many but still enough that he knew what he was doing. He was patient and allowed you to take your time to get the courage.

Now here you were wet and craving for his arms around you and relishing you. Fantasies ran deep in your mind and you writhed in it. The wiggling of your hips and the noises that wanted to come out. Your thighs rubbed together and that made you breathe a breathless moan.

On the other side of the room, Ranpo's head looked up to see you standing and suffering from this unseen revolution. His cheeks flushed and hot. His cock was hot and tight in his boxers and pants.

He heard your voice moan his voice, and by God, it awoke something in him. Sweaty hands craved to grab your hips and rid yourself of this unfortunate situation.

His eyes went to the empty box of chocolate, and already he saw why the two of you were in this predicament. He weakly grinned as he clawed at his pants to keep his sanity intact. A strangled call of your name was expressed from his lips.

His heavy cock was too constricted. Hips moving which caused friction. Ranpo gasped as one hand held onto the desk. Numerous things fell or rattled due to the harsh slam he made.

It turned him on to hear you making tiny sounds as the chocolate, the aphrodisiac take upon a vicious attack, upon your poor body. Ranpo's mouth craved you and he needed you now or he'd burst.

In all honesty, he was close to tears.

Though it seemed you were the first to break.

Your chair hit the wall and you collapsed onto the ground with tears in your eyes. Skirt ruffled which revealed the less opaque tights you wore. The blouse was unbuttoned and the ribbon bowtie loosened.

Ranpo couldn't have you be like that. As much of a big shot, he'd like to say he was this sight of you...on the ground and crying due to the overwhelming pressure of pleasure and want.

Your first time.

He didn't want it to happen like this, but unfortunately, life didn't plan around Ranpo's wants. So leading forward he got up from his chair with heavy legs. Much more loudly he called for you while pulling at his tie hastily.

"Ranpo-"

Your hands pressed against your tights and right there you felt pleasure but it was unbearable. You felt empty and hot. It was too uncomfortable right now. You needed Ranpo right now.

Like a good girl, you crawled to him.

Just as you did Ranpo was walking towards you.

You're body came up and you sat on your knees. Ranpo's grabbed onto your shoulders as you clung to his pants. Once again you pleaded to him desperately.

"Hey, are you sure-"

"Yes! Yes!"

Ranpo huffed. His hands tightened around your shoulders. His eyes were open and green as they stared into your teary hues. "Are you able to understand what you're asking me?" He struggled. It was too hot. "C'mon, it's your..."

Before he could finish you fumbled with his vest buttons and soon where his cock lay heavy. "I'll be good. So good!" You were crying and had no control of your sexual wants.

"Please don't deny me..."

That was the last straw.

In fast movements, his hands removed your hands from his crotch. Your hues are wide and teary as he removes himself from the confinements of fabric and thread.

There his cock lay heavy and thick. Ranpo cried your name as you grabbed him gently with a firm grip. You radiated heat as you came closer to the organ.

Confusion was clear in your eyes but you tried. Jerky movements which caused Ranpo to groan. "Like this." He drawled out as he helped you jerk him off. "There you go, and now take me in this pretty mouth of yours."

The detective groaned with shaky legs. The hot caven that was inside your mouth was hot and felt so good. He craved more of you. "I'm sorry-" It was so unlike him to say such a thing but he truly was. His hand pushed you down.

You made a noise and vibrations were sent up. "God! Fuck!" He held your head down. Ranpo was drooling as you moved against his hand on your head. Hot hands of yours clinging to his still-clothed thighs.

You were practically soaked but even you couldn't break the tights. You felt so weak despite moving your head and pleasing Ranpo quickly. You wanted him to please you too.

"I'm gonna-" He gasped out. You looked paler and so he removed your head. You felt the relief of air in your lungs, but that didn't last long. Ranpo smashed his lips into yours. You whined into the kiss as he maneuvered you to stand and onto Atsushi's perspective desk.

The fabric of your tights was broken due to Ranpo's fingers. You gasped which allowed for his tongue to tangle with yours. With your skirt flipped up, unbuttoned blouse, and ripped tights; you were a mess.

However, Ranpo was just as messed up. His tie was pulled down as well as his unbuttoned shirt. His pants were still up but his cock was allowed to hang angry and red.

Pushing aside your silky panties he pushed two digits into you. You pulled away from the kiss to moan loudly at his assault. "Ranpooo!-"

Even in his heat of mind, he chuckled. However, he didn't take the time to praise or degrade you. He simply cared about getting his dick in you, since you begged so nicely.

Holding on to his shoulders tightly as you writhed. You were relieved to have something in you, but it wasn't his cock. It was angry and red with pulsing veins. Poor Ranpo must have been in pain.

"Ranpo, I want you in me!"

"Slow down, princess."

It was so filthy. Ranpo took away his fingers and then held his heavy cock against you. You whined loudly. Your hips wiggled until Ranpo's threatening hand took one of them. "Do it- Please, please please, please-"

The two of you expressed moans when Ranpo finally found himself inside your walls. "So good...Good job Princess." He was breathless. Trying to stabilize himself between your tight heat. "God you tight." His hips struggled to enter.

Holding your head back as your hands gripped Ranpo's forearms very tightly. Moaning loudly and wrecking the things on Atsushi's desk. In your hazy mind, you promised a mental apology to the were-tiger.

The groans that were shared were glorious. Ranpo met you fully by the pelvis, and you were full beyond belief. You always dreamed of taking him, but your anxiety and naivety made it hard for you. Wanted to please Ranpo so bad, and he was so patient with you despite his childish behavior.

Within your messed up mind due to the aphrodisiac, you were glad this was happening. Even if unconventional you were able to share this with him and begged for him so well he complied.

Almost immediately Ranpo moved his hips fast and rough. The thrusts end with a harsh hit to the bone. A sweet spot in your crevice was hit multiple times. Your nails scratched the fabric on his face while he leaned down to kiss you once more.

Papers and numerous other things hit the floor but neither of you cared. Way too wrapped up in yourselves to care about anything except each other.

With a need for air, you two separated. Ranpo's hands remained on your hips, while your arms wrapped around his neck. It was all one hot mess as you guys had sex in your clothes and looked disheveled.

"I'm gonna cum, Ranpo-"

Your voice slurred out his name. "Come. Do it." He kissed you once again. His grip on your thighs now was firm enough to leave bruises. "My pretty girl. So good." He groaned into your ear. His thrusts became more sloppy and his moaning uncontrollable.

You came from his praise. In response, his erratic thrusts were hard and fast. His cock pulled at your sensitive folds, and you were almost screaming. Ranpo caught your lips and pushed his tongue in.

His cock throbbed as he got faster and faster, chasing his release. He ripped his head away to bundle his head in your neck as he cums in thick ribbons.

You cried in pleasure from the very feeling of him and his cum in you. "Ranpo~" You slurred through your teary eyes. Hot face and breathless pants. You and Ranpo didn't move.

The heat still hadn't gone away from you, and Ranpo was still hard. His hips moved and you hissed sharply. "Again...?" He pleaded.

You didn't answer. You only tightened his hold on your neck as he began his thrusts up again.

The agency would come to find the office hastily fixed up the next day, and you both called in sick the next morning.

wasn't gonna post any of my art but I decided why not

So here's a sketch of a possible hero/vigilante costume for my DC OC; Dolly Moonin or AkA "The Nymph" :)