ᴊᴀᴄᴋɪᴇ ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ

Hi may I please make a request? Neglectful Batfam (especially Dick, I don't know if the others would say it) always tell reader something along the line of "I'm sorry, you understand right?" after yet another forgotten promise of family time etc. Reader, genuinely yearning for the Batfam's affection, feels hurt but always tries to understand and makes excuses for them. It's only their best friend, a fellow civilian, who insists over and over again that reader deserves better, that no matter how well-intentioned the Batfam still does neglect reader, etc. One day the two have a huge fight over this and reader's best friend storms off only to be kidnapped by a rogue. Reader gets kidnapped too, but to their horror discovers finds that the rogue *also* has the Batfam and tells reader to choose: Their best friend or their family? While the Batfam takes it for granted that reader would choose them, while reader's best friend despairs that especially after their fight there's no way reader would've... Surprising even their own self, reader turns towards Batfam to say, genuinely apologetic, "I'm sorry, you understand right?"

Bonus the aftermath when the Batfam has successfully freed themselves and goes to confront reader, who's still *genuinely* happy about it but more preoccupied making up with their best friend uwu

Family dinner was scheduled for 7 PM.

You arrived at 6:55 with homemade cookies, wearing the sweater Damian said he liked. The manor was dark. Empty. Again.

A text came through at 7:48.

Dick: “Sorry, patrol ran long. Rain check? You understand, right?”

You sat at the dinner table alone, the cookies cooling beside your untouched plate. You did understand. You always did.

Bruce had work. Jason had intel. Tim passed out at his desk. Cass was chasing a lead. And Dick—your big brother figure, your once-upon-a-time constant—was off somewhere saving strangers with a grin while forgetting you.

They didn’t mean to hurt you. They were heroes. Protecting the city.

You understood… right?

Your best friend didn’t.

“You keep letting them walk all over you,” they snapped one night, pacing your bedroom. “You act like it’s okay just because they say sorry. It’s not.”

“They’re trying,” you defended, voice small.

“No. You’re trying. You’re always the one reaching out. Always the one forgiving. And they just assume you’ll wait around like some backup plan. You deserve better, [Y/N]. You deserve someone who puts you first.”

The words stung. Worse than anything the Batfam ever forgot.

And so you yelled. Defensive. Hurt. “They’re my family!”

“And I’m not?!”

The silence was louder than the shouting.

Your best friend’s face crumbled, lips trembling with words they refused to say. They grabbed their coat and left.

They didn’t even slam the door.

You hadn’t spoken since the fight.

And then they went missing.

Reported last seen two nights ago, no signs of struggle—just gone.

Panic cracked your chest open. You reached out to the Batfam for help. They said they were working on it. That you should rest. That they were close.

You didn’t rest.

Then you went missing.

Black bag over your head. Cold cement under your knees. And when the bag was pulled off—

You weren’t alone.

The rogue—a madman with a grudge against Gotham’s capes—had caged you, your best friend, and the entire Batfam. Their gear had been stripped, the cells lined with suppression tech. They were helpless.

And the rogue? Smiling like a devil.

“One choice,” he said. “Your best friend or your family. One lives. The other dies. You have sixty seconds.”

Your best friend’s face paled.

“Don’t choose me,” they whispered. “You don’t have to—I’m sorry for what I said. I love you, I just… I wanted you to see how much you’re worth.”

The Batfam said nothing at first.

Then Dick muttered, “C’mon, kid… you know who your real family is.”

Tim nodded solemnly. “We raised you.”

Jason, gruff: “You’re one of us.”

Bruce said your name like it was a command.

They all assumed.

Of course you’d choose them.

You turned toward them—quiet, trembling.

And then you smiled, sad and soft.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice breaking. “You understand, right?”

They froze.

Your eyes were already on your best friend, who looked like they'd just been punched in the heart.

“You’re choosing me?”

“I’m saving you,” you whispered. “I’m sorry we fought. I’m sorry I made you feel second. You never were.”

Tears slipped down their cheeks. They reached for you through the bars. “I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t think I could if I tried.”

The rogue cackled. “What a twist!”

He didn’t get to finish the show. Because a moment later, Bat-tech sparked. Cass had pretended to be unconscious long enough to hack the suppressors. Bruce broke the cell doors. Jason tackled the rogue to the ground with a crunch.

Everyone got out alive.

But something shifted.

The aftermath

The Batfam came to see you the next day—bloody, bandaged, guilty.

Dick sat beside you, quiet for once.

“I didn’t realize how much we’ve been… neglecting you,” he admitted. “I guess I assumed you'd always be there.”

“I always was,” you said, no bitterness in your tone. “Even when you weren’t.”

He flinched.

Bruce looked at you. “You made the right choice.”

“I know,” you said, smiling as your best friend walked into the room with warm soup and a shy wave.

You lit up. "You're here!"

They blinked. “Of course. I owed you soup.”

You reached for their hand and held it like an anchor.

The Batfam watched from the corner, speechless, as you giggled softly with your best friend—glowing in a way you hadn’t around them for a long time.

You weren’t angry.

You were just finally choosing you.

And someone who had never once needed to say “you understand, right?”—because they did.

I HATE SPIDER LILLES

angst . gore . wip

summary : a lonesome child dies while a neglectful father loses himself to guilt and grief.

My body bleeds black as it eagerly gushes out my chest . The blade glistens in the faint moonlight - it looks so angelic , so beautiful as it lodges itself deeper into my chest . I want to cry - cry out to the world , cry out to everyone , cry out to them . There are so many questions, yet no answers . Why doesn't Daddy love me like he does to everyone else ? Why did my mummy have to leave me behind ? Why did my brothers have to ignore me ? Why does everyone hate me ?

It's unfair - so unfair that I have to die all alone in this cold , bleak night while they are wrapped in Daddy's warm arms - shielded from Gotham unwavering doom. My eyes strain as they stare out into the darkness- hopeful and naive searching for someone to save me from myself . Tears stream begin to stream down my cheeks as it dawns on me that no one was coming , that daddy and older brothers don't want to save me .

" I'm sorry daddy - I'll do better - I'll be better daddy , I'm sorry I disappoint you alot , I'm sorry I'm not strong enough daddy but - I can do it - I can be strong like jayjay - I can be smart like tim papa I promise - just gimme a chance daddy I can be like them - I can be fast like dick and I could be perfect like damian daddy please - please save me daddy please it - it hurts so much please ". I cry out but no one responds to me .

I let out a pathetic cry - was it too much ? Too selfish to plead for my daddy to save me from this cruelness ? Was I too weak ? Too imperfect for his perfect world ? Was I so forgetful , so useless to him that I deserved to die a painful , agonizing death ? Had I wronged my daddy by simply breathing ? Another painful cry leaves my trembling mouth - yet again questions left unanswered .

A spider lily blooms from the inside of my chest - practically weaving itself around the blade . My bloody , swollen hands reach to cup it like a desperate man would for water on a scorching desert. The petals are soft to touch - almost feather like . Is this what mummy's touch was supposed to feel like ? Soft? Warm ? Comforting? Its pungent scent invaded my senses - my body high on its vanilla like scent -

How sick , how cruel can death be ? How can it be so cold , so painful yet so warm and welcoming at the same time ? Was I always doomed to succumb to my own failure? Had my own brother predicted my downfall when he called me a failure and a waste of Wayne resources ?

Was I always doomed to die ? Did God hate me so much that he blessed my brother with a person to mourn him but left me without ? Another question left unanswered . More red spider lilies begin to bloom around me , swallowing me whole and for once - I give in - I embrace it for what does a child whom has experienced nothing from her own family left to embrace ?

I swallow another choked hiccup back - even now when certain death is about to consume me - I still bottle my feelings in fear of burdening others, even monstrous death himself. Spider lillies began to sprout from my own flesh .

Blood coating its red petals - like a wet blanket, its ire iron smell masks the once sweet vanilla scent . The flowers practically tear through my flesh , lovingly discarding my tissue about like confetti. It's painful, mummy , so painful, daddy - please save me - anyone please save me . I'm sorry for being me daddy - I promise to be better - I promise I'll be someone else anyone, Daddy, just make it stop .

My mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out - nothing but another spider, lily - this time it's pure white . It sways it the wind like an enchanted being , a pure - untouched angel , an ethereal being spreading its soft love for all . The wind proudly ruffles through its prestine petals - a silent kiss of farewell from God , a kiss coaxing them to a far away land promising of a sweet , quiet , painless life. My dull eyes stare back into the abyss , this time, it's glassy , detached - its owner no longer belongs here , in fact they never had .

My eyes slowly closed in on themselves for the last time . Such a slow, pitiful death for a little girl . Left the world all alone and cold with no mummy and daddy to mourn her - no one to cry for her , no one to remember her . Such a sad faith for a little girl .

Bruce stares at name's dead body - guilt eats him alive as before him, his daughter's corpse lays on a plastic cover , cold and unmoving. He can feel bile crawling up his stomach as his mind digests how beyond mauled his daughter body looks .

His poor , innocent daughter lays there , and her once olive tone complexion turned into a sick ghostly pale . His shaky hands reach out towards her, unsure - how shameful is it that this was the first time he's embraced her in ten years ? He embraces her like a lifeline - like a drowning man would to a drifting raft in a vast ocean.

His worn hands traced the black , jaggered blade lodged in her chest - his eyes then dart to the spiraling spider lilly that wraps around it - as if this was some gift . How could such brutality present itself to be beautiful? How can it try to mask to horror of her heart torn into half with faux beauty ? He feels so angry - angry with the world , angry with himself - angry at her because how could she leave him - how dare she leave him in this cruel world with nothing but her cold corpse?

.

He tries to rattle his brain of any fond memories of you both to mourn over and nothing come up - his brain is blank and a delusional part of him wants to blame the fact he's in shock but the little rational part of him left picks at him for the lack of time and love he gave to you.

He wants to desperately go back in time - eight hours ago to stop you and Tim from a bitter argument , to go back and stop Damian from utter harsh words , to go back in time to simply love you like he should of , to go back in time to comfort himself when he got the call from Gordon telling him they found your dead body in an back ally thanks to the neighbors complaining about a disgusting smell.

He desperately wants to go back and fix everything but he knows he can't- what's done is done and now he has to live with the brutality of your death engraved in him forever , live with the reality he's failed you and you won't come back.

He looks down at the red spider lilies that sprout from around and from you - he feels them mocking him - laughing at him because they got to surround you , in your final moments , got to cherish you like a loving family, - got to be with you. Something he can only dream of.

He grips your dead corpse closer , practically encasing you with his entire being . Hot tears flow down his cheek, and he begins mumbling. Sorry, and I love you's, but what good is it talking and apologizing to a corpse when you had the real living thing all your life ? From that moment on - Bruce hates himself for what's happen , blames himself for your death- for your neglect and most of all he's grown to hate spider lilies because he blames them for taking you away from him and his family.

Bruce dislodges the blade from your chest , your inky , black blood coats it like a fountain pen . He grips onto the blade' handle , knuckles going white and strained the more he stares at it . He carefully places it in a plastic container and pockets it immediately - he doesn't trust the GGPD with finding out what happened with you , doesn't trust them handling your corpse with the utmost care and live that you deserved to have .

His face hovers over your open chest , he cringes at the scent of your corpse rottening, and the iron smell of your spilled blood . He rests his face on your wound carefully - scared he hurts you even more than he already did . His cheek collides with your cold flesh and dried blood, and it's there he mourns you over your broken heart - it is here he allows himself to be vulnerable with you - allows himself to shed hot tears . He pulls you in closer , hands embracing you for the first and last time .

He wants to say so many things, but nothing pours out of his mouth . How utterly pathetic , how cruel , how unfair - why , why must even in his last moment with you - he can not express himself , cannot express the fatherly love he feels for you . Angry hot tears cascade down his face - so angry , so blatantly disappointed in himself that he's failed you again and again .

He holds you like that the entire night into the early , wee hours of the mourning until a tired Alfred had to pry him off you.

" Master Bruce, please," Alfred pleads as he holds onto Bruce's crumbling figure . Alfred feels a wave of de ja vulnerable in case he looks at your corpse and back at Bruce - everything is the same way it was the night Martha and Thomas died - just this time Bruce is distraught beyond repair and instead of delicate pearls scattered about , it's your own flesh , blood and spider lillies .

He swallows back as he takes in your corpse - he feels so guilty - he knows he could of done more - knows that he could prevent you from feeling more alone and hurt than you already did but instead of prevention he was the enabler.

" She's gone Alfred - gone - she's not - she's never coming back home." Bruce cries out, pained and strained as he looks back at Alfred - pain clearly etched into his features .

Alfred is left speechless when he watches the police put away your corpse into a plastic baggy and transfers in the into the back of a van . He eyes Gordon, closing the door shut and entering the vehicle - barking orders to his officers .

" She - she deserves better," Alfred finally murmurs . Silence drafts between them as they watched the van and other police cars take off - their sirens echoing down the quiet mouring of Gotham .

Bruce's eyes follow them until they're out of his eyesight before looking Alfred in his eyes , " I am going to find whoever did this to her and break them," he says with finality. Alfred looks at him - realky looks at him and a part of him wants to agree with him - that you deserve justice- another part of him screams at him that they were the true cause of your despair - that it was hypocrite of Bruce and himself to feel this way when they caused this.

Alfred nods, and both men walk to the parked limo - determined to fix things - to bring you back home - to shower you with love and warmth - to hold you like the precious flower that you are .

Don't worry, beloved name , daddy would fix things - daddy will bring you back, sweet girl.

i need to see baddie!reader and jackie during practice. like imagine jackie staring at you the whole time and acting all smitten around you or staring at you while you change but not in a pervy way. she’s just admiring the view 🙂‍↕️

jackie taylor x 90sbaddie!fem!reader at soccer practice a/n: i know you said not in a pervy way but i think i accidentally made it a lil bit pervy...

jackie's always the first one on the field and the last to leave. it's just a part of what she considers her captain duties. this particular time, she's sitting beside shauna on the bench, waiting for the rest of the team to emerge from the locker room.

shauna's telling her about the math test, and jackie nods along, listening intently.  that is, until, she catches sight of you over shauna's shoulder.

she's seen you in your practice jersey and soccer shorts about a million times by now, but her heart still stops each and every time.  suddenly, calculus has left her mind entirely, and all she can focus on is your beautiful hair cleanly slicked back into a low ponytail, giving her a full view of your perfect face, and the subtle sway of your hips as you walk.

jackie's so focused on you, she forgets how to swallow and ends up choking on her water.  she nearly spits it out all over shauna, but she forces it down and endures a terrible coughing fit instead.  shauna pauses mid sentence and sends her a look.

"um, are you okay?"

"mhmm," jackie hums, nodding frantically and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

she doesn't say anything more before she gets up, grabs a stack of cones off the turf, and practically skips over to you.

"hey, y/n!" she says with a grin, falling into stride beside you.  "can you help me set up this drill?" she asks, handing you half the cones.

you willfully ignore the fact that she was just with shauna, who probably would've been more help than you, and accept the cones from her hand.  she makes sure to hand them to you in such a way that your fingers brush against hers.  she almost sighs at how soft your skin is and feels her hand tingling where your acrylic nails subtly scraped her.

"yeah, of course, jax," you say, smiling back. her heart flutters in her chest when she hears her nickname leave your lips.

it turns out "helping" meant setting up everything yourself while jackie followed you around like a well-trained puppy, instructing you where to place each cone, but mostly asking about your day and giggling at everything little thing that you said.  you certainly didn't mind it.  in fact, you preferred it to your usual routine.

once practice begins, jackie can't think straight (literally!).

usually when coach martinez is talking, she's laser-focused on him.  but now, her eyes stray to the side where you're standing with your hands perched on your hips.

jackie swears her heart begins to race when you shift your weight to one side and absentmindedly take your bottom lip between your teeth.  she finds herself fantasizing (for the hundreth time) about how your plump lips would feel against hers.

everything else becomes background noise as her love-sick brain plays "kiss me" by sixpence none the richer while perceiving each of your subtle movements in slow-motion.  that is until she hears a shout of her name and her head whips back toward martinez.

"go ahead and give us a demonstration, jackie" coach martinez says, looking right at her.  she feels everyone turn their attention toward her, you included.

"oh, umm..." jackie trails off, gaze quickly flickering over to you just as you release your lip and it pops back into place.  damn you and those lips!  "okay!" she says walking toward one of the cones and trying to deduce what drill this could possibly be.

it's all your fault that she's so distracted for the rest of practice.  she misses a pass because she's watching you jog across the field all sweaty and graceful. and then she trips over the next ball because she's too busy thinking about how perfect you looked jogging across the field.

"what the fuck was that, jackie?" nat shouts from the endline, throwing her hands into the air.

jackie opens her mouth to respond, but you beat her to the punch.

"hey, give her a break," you say from behind natalie, grabbing her arm.  "we all have bad days," you shrug.

nat grumbles something under breath before shaking her arm out of your grip and stomping away.  you look over at jackie from across the field and give her your best encouraging smile.

jackie is ready to get down on one knee and propose to you right then and there, but she settles for a bashful "thanks" during the next water break.  she makes sure to squeeze your shoulder as she says it just so her thumb can brush over the damp skin of your collarbone.

"anytime," you say, squirting some water into your mouth.  you miss jackie's hungry stare as you do so.  "i know you'd do the same for me."

oh, she'd definitely do the same and more.

when the team is ready to scrimmage, jackie makes the two teams by counting everyone off.  she makes sure to remember the number she gives you and gives herself the same one once she's done counting.

"oh my god, we're on the same team?" jackie exclaims, feigning surprise as she waltzes over to you.  "no way!"

when you score a goal, she uses the moment to her advantage.

"yes, y/n!" she shouts, enthusiastically running over to you and sweeping you into her arms.  you're forced onto your tip toes as her bone crushing grip nearly picks you up and off the ground.  you laugh at the gesture, music to jackie's ear, but everyone else stares at the two of you confused.

"it's not that serious, it's just a scrimmage..." tai says, voicing what everyone was thinking.

"so?" jackie whips her head around to meet tai with a glare.  her arm is still intentionally encircling your waist.  "we need to have more spirit, guys!  come on!"

she only splits from your side when the ball comes back into play, though a smile stays fixed on her lips as she replays your adorable laughter in her head for the rest of practice.

"you were so good today!" she says to you once practice is over.  it doesn't matter if it's true or not, her smile shows she's too smitten to care.

she walks you back into the locker room, eyes flickering down to the hand at your side every few seconds.  she wants nothing more than to lock it with hers and feel your warmth directly.

once inside the locker room, you don't stop talking, even as you change.

you lift your practice jersey over your head in one swift motion, never breaking conversation.  luckily you're not looking over at jackie because her eyes are glued to your chest and stomach, now only covered by a sports bra.  she's practically drooling and if she didn't have self-control, her hands would already be imprinting themselves on your skin.

you tug on the fitted crop top with the low v-neck you had been wearing earlier, and somehow your tits look even better than they did when you were shirtless.  jackie has to literally shake her head in an attempt to shake the thoughts from her brain.  it doesn't work.

she goes mute when you slide your soccer shorts off.  in a state of pure panic, she really tries to keep her gaze fixed straight ahead on the lockers. she really, really tries.  but you have to go on and ruin it by mumbling:

"ugh, i forgot to wear spandex today!"

jackie glances over just as your shorts pool around your feet and holy shit.  how did you even play soccer in those slutty little panties?

when you seem to turn toward her, she diverts her gaze back to the lockers.

"uh, jackie?" you ask when she doesn't respond to what you've just said.  she can see you turned fully toward her in her peripheral vision and suddenly her mouth is uncomfortably dry.

"oh, sorry, i'm just a little...out of it today.  what did you say?" she asks, looking over at you and using all her strength to keep her eyes on your face.  still, she manages to catch a glance of you wiggling on your favorite pair of jeans that are baggy everywhere but around your hips. jackie knows that from her previous leering.

her eyes flit down as you expertly fasten your belt, your fingers deftly moving like clockwork, and she can't suppress the fleeting thought about what else those fingers could do.

when it's time to leave, her heart aches because there's nothing worse than not seeing you until the next day.  she'll fall asleep that night thinking of how you defended her to nat and how warm you felt in her embrace (and maybe even stick her hand between her legs to the image of you in your itty bitty panties) , feeling giddy to make more memories with you tomorrow at practice.

★- 𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

☆ - YANDERE NATLAN VARIOUS X MEXICAN! READER

✦°• - 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇... a Mexican suddenly gets teleported into a random game called "Genshin Impact", and gets into the Nation Of War. She soon meets many interesting people but why are they acting crazy around her?

☆

☆°. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝗼𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝗼𝐧, 𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝗼𝐫, 𝐭𝗼𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐟𝗼𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝗺𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐯𝐢𝗼𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐬, 𝐟𝗼𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝗺𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝗺𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐬 ! 𝐈𝐟 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝗼𝗺𝐟𝗼𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝗼𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝗼 𝐧𝗼𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬!

☆

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 1 - 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 2 - 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 3 - 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 4 - 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 5 - 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 ??? - 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓

☆

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (ᵒᵖᵉⁿ): @salhanskkdbfkekfb

I DO NOT OWN GENSHIN IMPACY, ONLY THIS FANFIC.. ALSO ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE SO EXPECT SOME GRAMMAR ERRORS.

Perv Shauna this, Perv Lottie that. Where is my depraved girl twink representation?

Jackie runs inside her bedroom, slamming the door shut and backing herself against it. She was breathing hard, had she run home? She really didn’t even process getting back to her house, she had tunnel vision. When Jackie finally caught her breath, she slid down the floor to a sitting position, took off her backpack and pulled a sweatshirt that’s all too familiar to her, out of her bag. She clutched the hoodie in both hands, bringing the soft material up to her face, and inhaling your scent.

The truth is, you didn’t really know she had your sweatshirt. Jackie had sat behind you in 10th period History for over half the year now, she was *just* starting to question her sexuality at the beginning of the year, and then along came you. She was constantly smelling your cologne, watching your back and arm muscles flex through your t-shirts, getting an occasional hand graze as you pass the worksheets to her, and Jackie just wasn’t supposed to fall in love? She latched onto you, to an obsessive degree. Desperately trying to refrain from threading her fingers through your hair, drooling as you groan in pleasure when you stretch your back, hearing you speak to friends in the class and pretending all that fondness in your tone was directed at her.

So that day, when she noticed you had accidentally left your favorite sweatshirt behind in class, on the back of your chair right in front of Jackie, she realized she had two options. One, to run the sweatshirt to you before you went to practice, maybe get a chance to have a nice but brief chat, where you’d thank her for making sure your favorite sweatshirt made it back to you. Or option two, take the sweatshirt and run.

And that’s just what she did, she acted on impulse, and now she has something of yours. She has something of yours that’s concrete, something that will make her fantasies more realistic. Because imagining you on top of her, saying and doing all of those sinful things she thinks about, late, late at night, feels all the more genuine if she can smell you and feel your sweatshirt. She could clutch at it, while she touched herself and pretend it was your hands that knew her so well. The smell of your cologne on the hoodie spurred her on to slip a hand into her pants, and begin to play with herself. Her theft had left her turned on since the moment she left the classroom, stuffing your clothing into her bag, all the while thinking of all that she could do with it. She should be ashamed of how wet she was, if she were in the right of mind she probably would be, but she was being driven by the extreme want you produce in her. She muses to herself that you’d probably love the sound of your name on her lips, she tests it out, calling your name quietly to the empty room, hoping she could manifest you n the middle of her room, feeling just as depraved as she was. Jackie touched herself with a torturously slow pace, the way she imagined it, you always took your time with her, no matter how much she pleaded with you. The way you’d pull every “please” from her until she was crying in desperation. Her eyes are rolling back in pleasure as she brings your sweatshirt up to her face and drowns in the ghost of you that haunts the piece of fabric. She’s not even halfway through her favorite fantasy of you before she’s closing her eyes, and finishing with a pathetic moan that’s muffled by the hoodie. Once Jackie is brought back to planet earth, there is only one thing she’s absolutely certain of; You are never seeing this sweatshirt again.

got way too busy to actually answer this but wowwwwwww. im fucking speechless bro honestly. once again i dont think you need to put perv in front of jackie 🤔. i think it's just implied

something about jackie developing a pavlovian response to your cologne after getting off with your sweatshirt all the time. she's sitting behind you in class and is so turned on just from the smell of you. jackie teasing herself silly every night imagining you doing it for her?? she always imagines you so slow and even regardless of how much she begs for it, as if you don't care how much she enjoys it. something about you just touching her however you want really gets her going. jackie getting frustrated with how quickly she's finishing as she breathes in your hoodie so she keeps going with that same slow pace, writhing against her own hand as it gets to be too much. but she just imagines the way you'd keep going even as she begged you to stop. she's so careful not to get her tears on the hoodie, not wanting it to stop smelling like you.

thinking about working on a group project with jackie and she's practically shaking as you sit on her bed talking about the blank check or some shit. "so what do you think?" and jackies just frantically nodding along because she's long gone. finding your hoodie underneath her pillow while she's ran off to the bathroom...

god that was so good broooooooo. holy shit

Broken heart

The rain tapped quietly against the tall windows of Wayne Manor.

But inside, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Not peaceful. Not warm.

Just… hollow.

You’d been brought here when you were thirteen.

After your mother died, Bruce took you in.

His real daughter.

Blood.

No one could say you didn’t belong here.

And yet, every single day since you walked through the doors of this grand mansion…

You felt like a stranger in your own story.

There was no welcome.

No warmth.

Only rooms that were too big, silences that were too loud, and people who were too busy to look.

Bruce gave you a bedroom, not a family.

A last name, not a father.

He told you he was "doing his best."

But he never looked you in the eye.

He never asked what your favorite food was.

Or if you had trouble sleeping.

Or if your chest hurt again.

Because it did.

It always did.

Your heart condition had followed you your whole life.

Weak rhythms, shortness of breath, chest pain.

Stress made it worse.

Loneliness made it unbearable.

But no one noticed.

Or maybe they just didn’t care enough to ask.

Dick smiled at you.

He was always smiling.

But it never reached his eyes.

You sat next to him one afternoon, hoping for connection.

He barely looked up from his phone.

“Bored?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

And he didn’t wait.

He left.

Jason ignored you.

He didn’t mean to be cruel—he just didn’t see you.

One night you collapsed near the stairs.

He found you.

But instead of asking if you were okay, he muttered,

“What are you doing on the floor?”

Like it was your fault.

Like your body betraying you was inconvenient.

He helped you up.

But he never looked at you.

And still... you said “thank you.”

Because at least someone touched you.

Tim barely knew when you entered a room.

You could be sitting across from him, and he’d still be more focused on his laptop than your pale face, your shaking hands.

One night, your breathing grew shallow—fast, unsteady.

You curled up in the corner, struggling.

He was there.

Headphones on. Typing.

You nearly passed out at his feet.

And he never noticed.

Damian hated you.

At least he was honest about it.

To him, you were weak.

Pathetic.

A waste of space.

“You can’t even hold your own weight,” he said one afternoon when you dropped a glass.

The truth was, your hands were trembling.

But he didn’t care.

He walked away while your heart pounded like a ticking time bomb inside your chest.

No one followed.

No one stayed.

You started keeping painkillers hidden in your drawer.

Not because they helped—

but because pretending to take them felt like pretending someone gave a damn.

You started writing letters you never sent.

Journals filled with

“Would they notice if I died?”

“Does it matter?”

Then came the night it finally broke you.

Your vision blurred.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t scream.

You reached for your phone—

but the battery was dead.

Your fingers fumbled.

No one heard.

No one came.

You passed out.

---+--+---------------+-------+-------_---------------

When you woke up, everything was white.

The hospital smelled like bleach and cold air.

Alfred was there.

He looked shaken.

Bruce came later.

He stood by your bed.

Silent.

Eyes unreadable.

And then he said,

“When did it get this bad?”

You almost laughed.

Because it had always been this bad.

But you had never been worth his full attention.

--------------------------------------------------------

Now, lying in a hospital bed, you stared at the ceiling and whispered,

“I didn’t want help. I just wanted to be seen.”

But the damage was done.

---+-------------------------------------------------

Maybe now they’d care.

Maybe now they’d feel guilty.

Maybe now someone would look at you and really see you.

But maybe it was too late.

Your heart was fragile—

and not just because of your condition.

-----------------------------------------------------------

End.

(Or maybe… just the beginning.)

English is not my native language

―୨୧⋆˚ Knee deep in the passenger seat :: pre-crash :: Jackie Taylor

If you had told me freshman year that I’d be making out with a girl I supposedly hated in the front seat of her car, I would’ve laughed in your face. And yet—here I was. Doing exactly that.

I hated you. At least, that’s what I told myself. But now? Now I’m starting to think that maybe I wasn’t mad at you—maybe I was just obsessed with you in all the ways I wasn’t ready to admit. Because if I really hated you, I wouldn’t be here, kissing you like I never wanted to stop.

I knew this was wrong. I was with Jeff. But somehow, this felt right. The way your lips moved against mine, the way your fingers tangled in my hair like you owned me—it was dizzying. Addictive. The kind of thing that makes you forget what’s real and what’s just a bad decision waiting to happen.

You were on the soccer team with me, and from day one, you made it clear you weren’t impressed. Called me a prissy little princess who expected everyone to bow at my feet. And maybe I should’ve been offended, but mostly, I was just shocked. Not because you were wrong—but because you didn’t like me. And yet, here we were. A messy, tangled disaster of a situation after an argument at a party.

You were hot. The kind of girl who made guys—hell, probably girls too—lose their minds. Ripped jeans, fishnets, black nail polish, that perfectly smudged eyeliner. The whole alt-girl fantasy. And right now? You were my fantasy.

We pulled apart, noses brushing, my breath coming out in a soft, nervous laugh. My heart was pounding. My brain was short-circuiting. Every single thought screaming at me to make sense of this, to explain it away.

"Uhm, that was uh—" But before I could ruin it, you just shook your head, shushing me with nothing but a look. And just like that, I shut up.

you can talk to this bot here!

GIRL KISSER NATION RISE! you guys didn't ask for this but my heart did! I am happy to say that I am a jackie taylor defender until I die! I love my wife!

Hey! I really hope I read your rules right and I'm not crossing any lines! Can you write some Jackie Taylor fluff with a transmasc reader? Again, I really hope I didn't mess up your rules!

- Your gf is helping you with T !

Jackie Taylor x transmasc!reader

! Aww I love transmasc reader, but this request made me happy because I’m also trying to figure out my identity rn, and it’s great, love to see representation on my page!

Warnings - shots, needles used. Cry baby!reader, short, I have no knowledge on T shots, so I’m sorry js only what I have gathered from videos I’ve watched :(

“Ouch, Jackie!”

You say, the needle wasn’t even near you yet, all she did was clean up the area that you would get injected into.

Jackie chuckled, rolling her eyes playfully. “Man up, it’s just a little needle. You’ve done this so many times!”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to act like you didn’t care about the needle. “Me? Scared? I can handle a needle!”

Jackie smiled gently massaging the area where you would be getting the injection. “Yeah.. yeah, like you weren’t just whining three minutes ago about not talking the shot.” She rolls her eyes playfully.

She picked up the syringe, checking the dosage before sticking the needle into the vial. "Alright, deep breath."

You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself as the needle slid into your skin. You gritted your teeth, feeling a sharp sting.

Jackie placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze."You're doing great, babe. Almost done." She reassured.

You exhaled slowly as she withdrew the needle, a small bead of blood appearing at the injection site. Jackie quickly pressed a tissue to the area, applying pressure to stop the bleeding.

She offered you a small smile. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

You winced slightly, Jackie still holding the tissue to your skin. “That hurt a lot Jackie!" You whined

Jackie rolled her eyes again, not unkindly. "Oh, come on, crybaby. You're acting like a child."

"It hurt!" he protested, pouting a bit.

Jackie couldn't help but smirk at his antics. "Oh, poor baby. Do you want me to kiss it better?" she teased, leaning in closer, making duck lips at you.

You huffed, crossing your arms. "Shut up." But there was a hint of a smile on your face. You knew you were being a bit dramatic, but you couldn't help it.

Jackie just shook her head, still smirking. "You're such a drama king."

She gently removed the tissue from your skin, checking to make sure the area was no longer bleeding.

"There, all done." she said, putting the syringe and tissue aside. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

You mumbled something under your breath which Jackie could barely hear, but she didn’t push you to speak louder.

Jackie couldn't help but laugh at your grumpy expression. She knew you were just being dramatic, but she found it endearing.

"Oh, come on, don't be mad at me." she said teasingly, reaching out to poke your cheek. "You're adorable when you're all sulky."

You tried to keep up the sulky act, but a smile was tugging at the edges of your lips. You couldn't stay mad at her.

"You're annoying." You said, but there was no real anger in your tone.

Jackie just grinned. "Oh, you love me and you know it."

natalie scatorccio pushing down her love for women her entire life, until the plane crashes.

she's always had a crush on you, even if she'd never admit it. she always felt like she couldn't act on it because people would hate her even more, but she stops giving a fuck after a few months in the wilderness.

you'd be the one to kiss her first. maybe while swimming in the lake in the first season, y'know? swimming together and she just looks so pretty with her hair wet and shit. you just can't resist the urge to kiss her, and who could ever resist that?

so you're in the shallower parts of the lake, calling her to come closer to you. nat barely has time to ask "what?" before you're cupping her cheeks and kissing her.

i think it's safe to say that she never pushed her love for you back down after that

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Being submerged in a new way of living can be, figuratively, a very stressful time for a sixteen-year-old. New school. New city. New friends. 

And a new family, which can be a very fragile subject to handle.

Especially when you are forced to pretend to be someone who is no longer alive; all while looking for your missing twin, learning to keep your uncontrolled powers a secret, and discovering how not to lose your own identity with a body that is very much not your own.

(Y/N) Maximoff did not sign up for family drama. (Y/N) Wayne did not sign up to die young.

Both of them seem to become Death’s favorite tragedy.

Can Maximoff not lose herself in a place designed to see her crash and burn at the stake? Will she be able to find a place to belong? Learn to own up to her situation and even get some peace for the girl that is no longer amongst the living? Get some proper answers in a city full of mystery and secrets?

Thankfully, most of the questions have a positive outcome.

Can she escape from the haunting shadows of a family of obsessive bats?

That may be a lot harder to respond to, as expected.

Masterlist:

Reader's Moodboard

Chapter 1: I Could Be The Eye Of The Storm

Chapter 2: I Am Not My Body, Not My Mind, Or My Brain

Chapter 3: (TBA)

Tag List: (Open)

 @bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild