#samurai reader

You turned.

The man was lanky, twitchy. Bad teeth. Knife in hand, eyes jittery with something chemical. “Wallet. Now.”

You blinked. Then sighed, pulling out a crisp hundred-dollar bill from your clutch and holding it out.

“Here.”

He stared. “The hell is this?”

“A hundred,” you said. “I don’t carry a wallet. Too bulky. You can buy three pizzas, get high, maybe even tip someone.”

The mugger hesitated. Then lunged for your bag anyway—fumbling, pulling, his fingers catching on your necklace.

Snap.

Pearls scattered like gunfire on the wet cement. They bounced and rolled, luminous little ghosts vanishing into storm drains.

You stared down at them, unimpressed. “Aw, man. I just bought that. Now I can’t pretend I’m Daisy Buchanan anymore.”

The mugger growled, “Are you serious?”

“I’m trying to be.”

“HEY!”

The voice hit like thunder—deep, familiar, jagged with fury.

From the shadows above, a shape descended. Not just a shape—a myth.

Batman.

Cape snapping behind him, boots hitting ground like judgment day. The mugger didn’t even get to scream before he was disarmed and flat on his back, out cold with a single blow.

You folded your arms. “Wow. He wasn’t even that good.”

Batman turned to you. Stopped.

And stared.

It wasn’t the pearls. It wasn’t the alley. It wasn’t even the crime.

It was you.

You looked like a ghost—Martha’s ghost.

Same eyes. Same bone structure. Same pearls—except, no, they were plastic, shattered, lost in puddles. But it didn’t matter. For one split second, Bruce Wayne was back in that alley. The one he never left.

And you—calm, perfectly dry despite the rain, blinking at him like he was the ghost—tilted your head.

“Uh… are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He didn’t speak.

“Wait,” you frowned. “...Mr. Wayne?”

That made him flinch.

“Yeah,” you said, half-laughing. “Kinda obvious. I mean, the jawline. The brooding. All that justice.” You knelt to pick up one of the fake pearls. “You okay? You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

His throat worked, words caught there.

“I—You shouldn’t have been walking alone,” he finally said, voice rough like gravel. “Gotham’s not safe.”

You pocketed the pearl. “Tell me about it. I got mugged for the first time and lost my aesthetic in the same five seconds.”

A pause.

Then you smiled, too brightly for this haunted city. “Hey. Wanna walk me home? If you’re not too busy glowering.”

Batman—Bruce—nodded, slowly, still pale.

You didn’t see the way his fingers curled slightly when he looked at your hand.

You didn’t see the way his eyes followed each broken pearl like a funeral procession.

But you noticed the silence.

“…Do I remind you of someone?” you asked softly, as you walked together out of the alley.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

The rain kept falling. But he stayed by your side the whole way home.

And when he finally disappeared into the dark, you whispered behind him, “Take care of yourself, Batman.”

Later, in the Batcave…

Dick: “Bruce? You okay? You look like death warmed over.”

Bruce: “…She looked just like her.”

Dick: half-joking “Martha?”

Bruce: silence

Dick: “…You’re not serious—wait. Wait. Was she wearing pearls?!”

Bruce: hollowly “They broke.”

Dick: “Oh my god.”

There was a boy born from one of the four foreigners that had set foot into Edo Japan, but what he didn't know that there was a fifth man amongst them. That man was but a servant to the white man that had brought with them to help with their illegal trades. Impregnating one of the whores in Madame Kaji's tea house, the man gave birth to an E/c eyed demon. Those eyes rivaled that of the Onryo that he sought out to befriend. When he was 5, the demon wandered into Yokohama, searching for the rumored boy that had eyes just like him. The two had worked as swordsmith apprentices, becoming that of family with each other. A demon and an onyro, a bloodthirsty duo that only had one thing they wanted to fulfill in life… Kill the 5 foreigners that had brought them into existence.

WARNING: -Sexual Assault, Murder, Weapons, Death, Suicide, Gore, Abuse, Sexual Themes, Rascism, Homophobia, Dismemberment, Will add more if needed

And so he did the one thing he swore he’d never do.

He went to the Devil.

“Ahh, the Bat of Gotham,” the Devil purred, lounging in a throne of embers as if he’d been waiting. His smile curled like smoke. “Here to beg?”

Bruce’s jaw clenched. “I need the relic. The one that can undo this.”

“You mortals. Always need.” A soft laugh, cruel. “And what will you give me, hm? A soul? A favor? Your name, perhaps?”

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Bruce bit out. “Just save the city.”

The Devil’s grin sharpened. Got him. “Deal.”

By dawn, Gotham’s fires were gone. The curses unraveled like dust in wind. The city was saved. But at Wayne Manor, Alfred’s voice carried a strange tremor:

“They’re… not here, Master Bruce.”

Reader’s room was empty. Not just their bed—everything. Clothes, books, photos, even the trinkets they hoarded. Their presence had been erased as neatly as a chalk line in the rain.

It took days before the Devil came again, smoke curling around his shoulders like a lover’s hand.

“You should thank me,” he drawled, watching Bruce stiffen. “I gave your city life. And I gave my wife the only thing she’s ever wanted.”

“What did you—”

The Devil’s eyes gleamed. “A child.”

Reader woke not in Gotham, but in a house carved of bone and velvet, where chandeliers dripped candlelight that never burned out. A woman waited there, pale and radiant, with eyes that gleamed like stormwater.

“My child,” she whispered, pulling Reader into her arms as if they had always belonged there. “You’re home.”

The Witch mother doted on them—warm meals, soft hands, whispered spells shared like bedtime stories. The Devil, for all his cruelty, spoiled them with gifts: blades forged from starlight, pets made of smoke and shadow, a world where they were seen.

For the first time, Reader didn’t feel like a shadow in their own family. No more being overlooked, no more scraping for attention among brighter, louder siblings. Here, they were wanted.

When the Batfamily finally found them—slipping into the Devil’s realm with grit and desperation—they expected chains, bruises, fear.

Instead, they found Reader laughing softly as the Witch braided their hair.

“Reader—” Dick’s voice cracked. “We’re here. We’ll get you out.”

Reader blinked at them, expression unreadable. Then, calm as still water: “Why would I want to leave?”

Jason swore under his breath. Damian drew his blade. Tim’s hands shook as if reaching across a gulf. Bruce stood frozen, the Devil’s grin echoing in his mind.

“You never wanted me there,” Reader said, voice soft but cutting. “Here, I don’t have to fight to be seen. I don’t have to be second best. They love me.”

The Witch pressed a kiss to their temple, eyes locking with Bruce’s. Mine now, she seemed to say.

And Bruce understood the truth far too late. Gotham was saved, yes. But the cost had always been this.

Not a careless mistake. Not a trick of words.

A plan.

The Devil had wanted Reader from the start.

🌽 PART TWO: Dinner at the Kent Farm

You were more surprised than anyone when Bruce told you the Superman wanted to meet you. The Superfamily had never crossed your life much. You weren't a super, after all.

But the invitation to Smallville was... intriguing. Nostalgic, even.

The moment your boots touched Kent soil, something inside you relaxed. The fresh air. The gentle wind. The sound of cows mooing in the distance.

“Hi there,” said a kind woman—Martha Kent. She opened her arms, and for the first time in what felt like years, you felt wanted. No stiff hugs. No interrogations. Just soft acceptance.

Dinner was warm and loud and sweet. Jon talked your ear off. Kon offered you dessert before the main course. Kara was already pulling out her phone and asking for selfies. Even Krypto laid his head on your lap.

And Clark?

Clark just watched you with a gentle smile, as if trying to memorize every expression you made.

“You were raised on a farm?” he asked as the sun set, your laugh echoing through the fields.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Before Gotham. Before... all of that.”

“Do you miss it?”

You looked up at the stars.

“…Every single day.”

🌕 PART THREE: The Next Morning

You woke up before dawn, slipping out of the guest room and tying your boots.

By the time Martha and Clark came downstairs, you were already out back feeding chickens and checking the fences.

“You didn’t have to do that, sweetheart,” Martha said.

“I wanted to,” you replied. “It feels like home again.”

🏙️ PART FOUR: Return to Gotham

Back in Wayne Manor, you were quiet again.

Damian was cold. Tim was distracted. Jason made snarky comments you were too tired to dodge. Dick tried, but it wasn’t the same.

No early morning chores. No wide skies. No fresh air. No one looked up when you entered a room.

You missed the way Kara let you nap on her shoulder. The way Clark listened so patiently. The way Jon lit up when you showed him how to fix a fence post.

You missed family.

🌌 PART FIVE: The Disappearance

You disappeared three days later.

No note. No text. No trace.

But Clark knew exactly where you’d gone. Because he’d been watching. Waiting. Hoping.

Bruce came storming into the Kent home three nights later.

“Where are they?” he growled.

“Safe,” Clark answered calmly, arms crossed.

“They belong with me.”

Clark’s eyes narrowed. “Do they? Because they told Martha they cried themselves to sleep in your house. They told Kara they were treated like a weapon, not a person. They told me… they didn’t want to leave.”

“You took them.”

“No,” Clark corrected, “I gave them a choice. And they chose to stay.”

Behind him, you stood at the doorframe, sun-kissed and smiling in a way you never had at the Manor.

The family is gathered around the Batcomputer. Bruce looks annoyed, Jason is eating chips loudly, Tim is typing, Damian is sulking, and Dick is trying to keep everyone calm.

Dick: So [Y/N] left. Big deal, people leave all the time. The important thing is we don’t panic.

Jason: mouth full Oh I’m panicking. Because now Superman is their rebound, and you can’t compete with cheekbones like that.

Damian: deadpan to camera He doesn’t even have cheekbones. He has… cliffs.

[Cutaway – Jason, interview style]

Jason: Look, if you lose someone to Clark Kent? That’s not neglect, that’s Darwinism. Survival of the hottest.

[Scene – Clark’s Apartment]

Clark: smiling as he cooks dinner I just think [Y/N] deserves to be spoiled.

Reader: You’re literally treating me like a houseplant. Food, water, and sunlight.

Clark: And love. Don’t forget love.

Reader: to camera, cutaway He says “love” like other people say “tax audit.”

[Scene – Wayne Manor]

Tim: sighs, scrolling on the Batcomputer They changed their relationship status to “married.”

Dick: Married?! How—when—why?!

Jason: laughing Dude, you blink and Clark Kent has already built them a house in Kansas and named the cows after them.

Damian: hisses He stole my mom...

[Cutaway – Damian, interview style]

Damian: People say Superman is the world’s symbol of hope. For me, he’s the world’s symbol of theft.

[Scene – Clark & Reader on Couch]

Reader: You know, you don’t have to be so protective.

Clark: I’m not protective. I’m… proactive.

Reader: You’re proactive the way a hurricane is “windy.”

[Cutaway – Reader, interview style]

Reader: Don’t get me wrong, Clark is sweet. But sometimes he looks at me like he’s about to monologue: imitating Clark “You are my sun, my moon, my Kryptonite.” And I’m just like… buddy, I still haven’t folded my laundry.

[Scene – Wayne Manor, Living Room]

Bruce: We need to strategize.

Jason: Strategize? He already locked that down. They’re wearing the ring, B.

Dick: Maybe we can appeal to [Y/N]. Family. History.

Tim: muttering Or maybe we could’ve appealed to them five years ago when they needed us.

Awkward silence.

[Cutaway – Bruce, interview style]

Bruce: I’m not good at… words. Or emotions. Or parenting. long pause Honestly, I’m not sure why people keep letting me adopt kids.

[Final Scene – Clark & Reader in Kitchen]

Clark: I just want you to be happy.

Reader: grinning Well, you married me, so clearly I’m making questionable choices.

Clark: soft smile Best questionable choice I’ve ever made.

Camera zooms in on them hugging, then smash cut to Jason watching their livestream with popcorn.

Jason: to camera Yeah, they’re doomed. But at least it’s entertaining.

[Later, in the Batcave]

Tim: Why is the Batcomputer covered in glitter and… is that ash? Jason: She tried to eat it. Tim: WHY? Jason: I told her it had “bytes.” Tim: JASON.

[At dinner]

Bruce: Let’s all welcome our new family member. Reader (from under the table): growling Damian: She just bit my ankle. Dick: That means she likes you! Reader: burps a tiny fireball Jason: I love her.

[Nighttime]

Dick (panicked): Has anyone seen my blanket? Reader (snuggled up in a nest of stolen socks, blankets, and cape pieces): tiny snore Jason: She hoards soft things. Like a real dragon. Tim: My entire weighted blanket is in that pile. Damian: She took my sword again. Bruce: I think I’m missing a boot. Alfred: …I found it in the oven.

[Training Room Disaster]

Damian: You can’t teach a dragon to stealth. She’s glowing. Reader (flapping into a wall): I do sneaky!! Dick (filming): This is gold. Jason (cheering): LET HER COOK— Reader: literally breathes fire on a punching bag Tim (screaming): SHE’S COOKING TOO MUCH.

[Batfam Group Chat]

Reader (age 10, in a Black Adam onesie): “I AM THE STORM.” Bruce: “You’re grounded from lightning.” Reader: “YOU CAN’T GROUND WEATHER.”

Final Halloween (age 11, in a mysterious costume—hood up, voice modulator): “Guess who I am.” Entire Batfam: “...Batman?” Reader (pulling hood down, revealing Clark Kent glasses): “Nope. Superman’s secret identity.” Bruce: “...I need to sit down.” Clark (laughing): “They’re smarter than all of you.”

The Batfamily—Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Barbara, Alfred—all of them, brilliant, powerful, and relentless… and still too late.

You had been gone for hours when they found your body. No note. No cries for help. No signs that you’d even wanted to be found.

And the truth was, you didn’t. You had already given up. The bullying at school. The cold silence at home. The feeling that you were invisible, the spare child between Tim and Damian, neither youngest nor useful. No one heard you. No one saw you.

Until you were gone.

You were just 14. A child.

And when Bruce cradled your cold body in his arms, the Batfamily shattered.

Present Day — 5 Years Later

The Batcave alarm blared.

“Coffin missing,” Tim whispered, his voice hollow as the footage played on screen. A surgical team. Black market equipment. Someone had stolen your remains from the family crypt beneath the manor. Desecrated you.

Damian was the first to scream. Not out of rage. Grief. Jason punched a wall. Bloodied his knuckles. Didn’t care. Bruce stood frozen, eyes on the screen like if he stared long enough, he’d wake up from this second nightmare.

“We’re getting her back,” he said with deathly finality.

Underground Facility — Gotham Outskirts

They found it buried 200 feet beneath a ruined hospital.

The lab was cold. Silver. Glowing with sterile lights. There were containers of chemicals. Digital logs. Notes on "cellular resurrection." But all of it blurred in the background because—

She was there.

You were there.

Lying on a medical bed, wires and fluid tubes weaving around your body like roots. You looked no older than 9 or 10, smaller than even Damian now. But it was you.

Breathing.

Peaceful.

Alive.

Until your eyes fluttered open.

Wayne Manor — After

You didn’t remember them.

You didn’t remember yourself.

Just blurry lights. A female voice humming lullabies. Cold glass. Dreams you couldn’t describe.

Now they were your “family.” Strangers who claimed to love you.

Bruce was always there. Sitting in your room like a silent statue, watching you breathe like you’d vanish if he blinked. Dick brought toys and books and told you stories with tears in his eyes, like he was apologizing. Jason flinched every time you asked, “Why are you crying?” Tim ran medical checks constantly. "Just making sure you’re healthy, okay?" He tracked every movement, every breath. Damian didn’t speak much—he just stared, as if he was trying to memorize you all over again.

They were kind.

Too kind.

Smiling too tightly. Holding you too long. Always watching.

And they never let you be alone.

Yandere Spiral

You didn’t see the cameras hidden in your new bedroom.

Or how Bruce installed a retinal scanner on your door “for safety.” Or how Tim bugged your clothes with a tracker. Or how Jason muttered death threats under his breath anytime someone other than family so much as looked at you. Or how Damian growled at Alfred when he served your tea too hot.

You didn’t understand why you couldn’t go to school. Why your phone only had their numbers. Why Dick said “the world’s dangerous” and “we’re all you need.”

You didn’t remember how they had once ignored you. Didn’t know how your silence had once been their sin.

All you knew was: you were loved. And protected.

Suffocatingly so.

One Night

You found a photo hidden in your closet.

It was you. But older. Sad-eyed. Lonely.

The writing on the back, in your own handwriting, read:

“Maybe if I disappear, they’ll finally see me.”

You stared at it for a long time.

You didn’t know what it meant. But suddenly, when Bruce knocked softly and whispered, “Pumpkin? You awake?”

You said nothing.