Post Planecrash!

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.

Her Heartbeat's Wednesday: You just adopted the path of being down bad, I've lived my life being down bad for my pookie Y/n.

That's MY Daughter

DC x Fem!Neglected!Batsis! Reader x Marvel [Just some midnight thoughts]

Bruce and Tim realised something odd about Stark Industries. Ever since a few months ago the technology being produced there had improved by an unbelievable amount. It was futuristic, nothing that this world has seen before. And the weirdest part of it is the fact that Tony Stark had offered to partner up with Wayne Enterprises. THE Tony Stark, Iron Man, the most egotisical man they knew had willingly offered to partner up with them? After years of being petty with Bruce and the JL?

Tim had been made to prepare to become the new CEO soon, thus he recently started taking up more work at Wayne Enterprises when the agreement was made. Though instead of Tony being the one to talk about ideas it was an unknown woman communicating with him about the ideas, the product, the marketing, etc. And the merge of the two companies was an absolute success, the marketing especially drawing in young adults. (courtesy of Tim and the mysterious women who seems to be around the same age as him)

Who was the mysterious women though? Well both Bruce and Tim could only come to one solution. The least known character to Bruce, to Batman, which says a lot considering the fact that he had made a contingency plan for every Avenger, every hero, including his own teammates, including himself, yet this one character was completely unknown, zero plans if she were to go rogue. And that drove Bruce crazy. Her file was blank. Every vital information was marked with the word 'unknown'. It had been making Bruce paranoid for years since she had appeared next to the Avengers.

The reassurance from the Avengers never helped. It was as if something was gnawing at him. After all how could he trust them anyways? (careful Bruce your trust issues are showing)

One of the only things they knew about her is that she is the main hacker/coder for the Avengers, hence the reason why the Avengers digital security was admittedly better than the Justice League's and how much faster they got, what should be, classified information. (no matter how much Bruce wants to deny it)

And her codename, Special Agent Reaper. No she wasn't originally an Avenger, she was crowned the most skilled assassin of this era, working under S.H.I.E.L.D and one of the sole reasons why all of the HYDRA agents that have sneaked into S.H.I.E.L.D have been successfully taken out, her name would pass by in the wind every so often, they might be rumours or the truth but no one truly knows. Hell even Ra's Al Ghul, The Demon’s Head, had acknowledged her once. Even Talia had admitted that Damian's fighting technique was made to mirror The Reaper's, the only difference is he used katanas while the Reaper, fittingly, uses a scythe.

But one thing was for sure. If you saw the shadow of a hooded figure you better run, though at that point it might be too late.

As the saying goes, "Beware of the Grim Reaper. Wherever it goes death follows closely behind.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

“Ah! Brucie! Here you are!” Tony said, wine in hand as he approached Bruce at the gala. Well that was a first. He usually never played into the Brucie persona. Well nonetheless the show must go on.

“Tony!” Bruce threw himself at the other billionaire, acting as if he was drunk, ignoring the way Tony’s expression turned into a grimace for a split second.

As usual, they were both around other pretentious socialites who never seemed to run out of questions.

“Ah! Tony, I heard Stark Industries have been bringing in more money than ever.”

“Oh yes! It’s all because of this prodigy i had found. She actually was the reason why Stark Industries and Wayne Enterprises had a collab. I might even give the company to her when I retire!" He let out a laugh that seems to emanate the word 'rich', a small smirk stayed on his lips as he heard the guests at the gala begin to whisper.

"Oh? Is that so? Then I would love to meet the person I have been working with this entire time." Tim Drake-Wayne said as he finally came out of the corner where he would usually stay in to observe rather than interact.

"Be my guest." A subtle challenge, as if Tony was daring him to go through with it as they locked eyes. A smirk on one face while a well practiced smile on the other.

Bruce let out a light hearted laugh as he tightened his grip around Tony, a subtle warning to stay away from his son, "Well then I wouldn't mind arranging a meeting! I'm sure you wouldn't mind the others joining." His tone had a slight change that even the most observant wouldn't realise.

Bruce could barely keep up the 'Brucie' act with Tony bragging about how Stark Enterprises profits have shot up with him finding a 'prodigy' and someone who will take over the company once he retires.

"Not at all. The more the merrier. I assume you wouldn't mind me inviting more people as well." Tony sipped his wine, he wasn't one to back out from a challenge, especially when he is so confident.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

This certainly wasn't how the Justice League and the Avengers expected their next meeting to happen. A petty fight between the two men that singlehandedly funds their respective teams causing all of them to be in one room together.

"Well then, Stark. Where is this prodigy that you speak so highly of?" Bruce said as he sported his famous batglare.

"I assure you she is on her way. She should just be right about done with her mission." Tony replied with the same tone, shooting a glare as well.

Meanwhile the two teams were watching this as if it was the most entertaining show they have seen.

.

.

.

"Hey I'm here." Y/n entered the hall, still wearing her assassin suit, though her signature black hood was down, revealing her face.

Silence seemed to engulf the room.

"Kid... Your hood."

"...Fuck."

hi! i might have disappeared for a month :D To those who are waiting for more parts of DC x Super/Kent!Reader it will come... eventually. I'm having the biggest writer's block for that specific AU so uhm yeah! I wasn't really planning on making that AU a series since it was mostly just me being bored and writing for the lols but since it received so much attention [thank you guys so much!] I have to do it now. i was doing some worldbuilding and already know how I want the reader to be and allat but I cant really think of how to shape the story ukukuk. so yeah stay tuned for that! also this thing was also just a blurb. Might make somewhat of continuation parts if I feel like it. [Also the neglected!batsis! fanfics I've been reading is getting to me. i have a feral urge to create a diff AU series for that] Also would you guys be interested in me creating a twitter/insta account or like a tele channel to post random things

ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇꜱᴛ ʜᴏᴜʀ | ᴊ.ᴛ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1410

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ʜᴇʀ ꜰɪɢʜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱʜᴀᴜɴᴀ, ᴊᴀᴄᴋɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʜᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ ʜᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱʜᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ɪᴛ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴊᴀᴄᴋɪᴇ ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴜᴍᴍᴍ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ? ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʜᴜʀᴛ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ-ɪꜱʜ. ᴀᴜ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴊᴀᴄᴋɪᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ’ᴛ ᴅɪᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴇᴀᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ (ᴛʀᴀᴠɪꜱ).

You hear the front door slam before you see her go.

Jackie’s footsteps crunch hard against the ground outside, fast and furious like she’s trying to outrun the mess left behind in the cabin. For a second, no one moves. The air inside feels thick, the tension still lingering. Shauna stands there frozen like she didn’t just detonate her oldest friendship in front of the whole team. Finally, Mari exhales, sighing like it hurts.

You shove your arms into your coat pockets and head towards the door, following her.

Nobody stops you. They all know better by now. You’ve made it your job to keep Jackie out of harm's way, even if she acts like she doesn’t need anyone. Especially now. You’ve always been able to tell when she’s just being dramatic and when something actually matters. And that? That was real.

You find her not far from the cabin, breath fogging in the cold, her arms wrapped around herself like they’re all she has left. She’s staring at the meat shed. Not moving. Just looking at it. Like she’s deciding whether it’s worth hiding in or if she should just keep walking and never stop.

When you step beside her, she doesn’t flinch.

She doesn’t look at you. Just mutters, low and even, “I can’t be in there with her.”

You nod, “You don’t have to be.”

Jackie turns toward the shed without another word and walks in like the wind’s pushing her toward it. You follow close behind, grabbing the door so it doesn’t slam shut on you both. It’s dark inside. Freezing. Your fingers are already starting to go numb. But none of that matters right now.

Jackie sinks to the floor near the back wall and pulls her knees up to her chest. Her whole body folds in on itself like she’s trying to disappear. You stand there for a second, unsure if she wants space or if she’s just trying not to break in front of someone. Then she speaks.

“She’s pregnant.”

It sounds like she doesn’t believe it, even though she’s the one who said it. You lower yourself to the ground, sitting a few feet away. Letting her have the silence if she wants it.

“With Jeff’s baby,” Jackie spits. “Of all people. My boyfriend. And she— she just kept it from me and lied. Like I wouldn’t find out. Like I’m some idiot.”

Her voice shakes on the last word.

“She said she didn’t want to tell me because she loved me. Like that makes it okay. Like it’s supposed to help.”

You stay quiet. Let her rant. She needs to say it out loud. Needs to rip it out of herself before it festers and starts eating her alive from the inside.

“I don’t even know who she is anymore,” she says. “I keep thinking about how she looked at me in there. All guilty and soft and pathetic. Like I’m supposed to feel bad for her. Like I did something wrong.”

You look at her. Her eyes are glassy now, but she’s doing that thing, clenching her jaw so tight she might chip a tooth, trying not to let anything fall. Jackie Taylor doesn’t cry in front of people, not unless she wants them to see it. And she doesn’t want you to. She doesn’t want to feel pitied.

But she looks like she’s seconds from breaking.

“I hate her,” she mutters. “But I don’t. And that’s what pisses me off the most. I know I’m gonna forgive her eventually. I always do. And that makes me feel like the stupidest person alive.”

You scoot closer. Not too fast. Just enough that your knee brushes against hers. “It doesn’t make you stupid.”

She scoffs. “Oh yeah? What does it make me?”

“Human. Kind.”

Jackie laughs, but it’s not her usual light-hearted laugh, the one that makes your heart feel like it’s dropped into your stomach. This one is bitter and dry.

“Right. That’s me. Jackie Taylor, a total sweetheart.”

You let the sarcasm roll off. She’s hurting too much to believe anything good about herself right now. You’re used to that, how mean she gets when she’s scared. How sharp she can be when she feels exposed.

But you’re not scared of her.

And maybe that’s why she lets you in. You don’t ask, you just do it. Wrap your arms around her shoulders, pulling her in with the slow kind of confidence that says ‘I’m not going anywhere’.

She stiffens. For half a second, you think she might shove you off.

But she doesn’t.

She sinks into it, slow and silent, like a tree collapsing onto the forest floor. She leans against your chest, arms still folded tight across her stomach, face turned into your shoulder like she’s ashamed of needing comfort.

You hold her tighter and tuck your chin against the crown of her head. Breathing her in.

“I don’t know who I am without her,” Jackie whispers after a long time. “I spent so much time being half of something. Best friends. Jeff and me. Everything was perfect and now it’s all just… gone.”

“You’re still you,” you murmur. “Even if she’s not next to you.”

Her voice shakes. “What if I don’t like who that is?”

You close your eyes for a second. The air is too cold to be comforting, but somehow you don’t feel it anymore. Not with her pressed against you. Not when you’re so focused on keeping her in one piece.

“I do,” you say quietly.

She doesn’t respond. Just curls in tighter, like she’s trying to make herself small enough to disappear into your jacket. Her breath hitches once, twice. You can feel it in your chest when she finally lets go.

No sobbing. No noise. Just quiet, shuddering breaths as she cries against you, trying not to let the tears fall, even though it’s too late. Her face is hot and wet through the sleeve of your shirt.

You don’t say anything else. Just rock her a little. Keep your arms around her Like you’re her only source of safety and warmth.

After a while, her breathing evens out. Her body stops trembling. But she doesn’t move away.

You shift so that you’re both leaning back against the wall, your coat half draped over her. It’s not warm, not really, but it’s enough to keep you both from freezing. She stays tucked into your side, legs tangled with yours, one arm still looped around your ribs.

It’s quiet in the meat shed. The wind whistling faintly outside. Somewhere far off, you think you hear a branch crack.

Neither of you say anything.

Eventually, Jackie falls asleep like that.

You feel the weight of her head get heavier on your chest, and her breathing gradually slows. You don’t move. You don’t sleep either, not really. Just drift with her, warm and still but present, keeping watch.

And maybe it’s stupid, but for the first time in days, your heartbeat doesn’t feel like it’s clawing its way through your chest. You’re still out here. Still stranded in the middle of nowhere, but Jackie’s with you. Jackie’s okay. And somehow, that makes everything feel bearable like you can survive as long as you’re together.

When the sky starts to lighten, you finally open your eyes.

The meat shed door is still shut tight, but the light filters in through the cracks, soft and cold.

You gently shift her off of you, and Jackie stirs, blinking blearily like she forgot where she was. Her face is puffy and tinted pink around her eyes. She yawns, wipes at her cheeks, then glances toward the door.

“Did it snow?” she asks hoarsely.

You stand and crack the door open.

The ground is covered in white.

Thick, fresh snow blankets everything, soft, silent, and untouched. The trees drip with frost.

You glance back at her and nod. “Yeah. A lot.”

She groans softly and slumps against the wall. “Great. Now we’re snowed in the meat shed. Just kill me.”

You smile a little and offer her your hand. “Come on. I’ll help you back.”

She hesitates. Then, slowly, she reaches out and takes it.

Her fingers are cold, chiller bone-deep, but they find yours, threading through on instinct. And when she squeezes, it’s not hard or desperate, just steady. Grateful even. Like she doesn’t know how to say thank you out loud, but hopes this is enough.

Jackie Taylor x Hispanic Masc Reader headcannons + short blurbs.

Word count: 901

(Might have done some projecting on this one but it is what it is)

___________________

• Jackie can’t cook for shit, she just got take out or ate at Shauna’s place. That all changed when she met you. She was somewhat of a picky eater so it was a surprise when Jackie actually sat down to try your version of a pot roast and liked it.

“Baby, I’m gonna make some pollo guisado, you want any?” Y/n asked as she glanced to the living room where Jackie was sitting watching Ferris bueller.

A look of hesitation crossed her face, she liked tacos, barrito’s and quesadillas. She didn’t know if she would like this dish but she would try for you. “Can I pick some off of your plate and get some later if I like it?”

With a small chuckle, you nodded in agreement before finishing up the food.

Once done, you took the bowl to the living room and gave it to Jackie to try.

The way her eyes widened and a grin grown in her face was enough to make you smile and walk back to the kitchen to get another bowl, knowing that one was know hers.

• Jackie was never close to her parents nor did she have a real relationship with any of her extended family. Imagine her surprise when your family not only welcomed her with open arms, but genuinely like to talk and spend time with her.

“But yeah, stiles kept teasing Scott until he made us run laps around the lacrosse field for almost half an hour.” You said to your cousin who laughed as he knew how the three of you were, especially during practice.

As your cousin, Danny, talked to you about what’s been happening in his own life, you couldn’t help but glance around until your eyes landed on your beautiful girlfriend.

She was laughing as she talked to your abuelita, Tia, and cousin Sammy. She looked so beautifully comfortable as she talked with the three, an ease to her body language that was never shown around her own parents or family.

• Jackie, who sucked at almost every language class that’s she’s ever taken, picks up every and any swear word she hears from you. Actually managing to string together legible sentences if mad enough.

Shauna and Jackie were at a party, waiting for you and Jeff to return with their drinks.

Jackie, missing you after being away for almost 10 minutes now, looks around in hopes of setting her eyes on you.

“Quién carajo es la pequeña perra que está coqueteando con mi novia?” Jackie said through gritted teeth as she glared at the sight of some girl holding onto your arm as you tried to get back to Shauna and Jackie with Jeff close behind you.(translation: who the fuck is the little bitch flirting with my girlfriend.)

Shauna looked at her best friend with wide amused eyes as she heard the clear sentence in Spanish. “Damn girl, where’d that come from?”

Jackie went to respond but fell silent at the familiar arms wrapping around her waist, Jeff now standing next to his girlfriend Shauna as Jackie leaned into your touch.

“What’d we miss?” You chuckled out as you handed Jackie her now full drink while Jeff did the same for Shauna.

“Someone’s jealous.” Shauna teased in a sing song tone as Jackie scoffed out her denial.

• Jackie wasn’t the quietest person, but she also never purposefully got loud. While she loved your family, she didn’t love being surrounded by chaotic noise for so long.

You’ve been at your family dinner for about an hour now and all you both could hear was your cousins yelling to one another, the adults talking over one another as they had multiple different conversations, and the younger ones running around and screaming.

Jackie was overwhelmed but didn’t want to pull you away from your uncle Ricky.

Thankfully, you had noticed her slightly tense body language as she flinched at two of your cousins running past while screaming bloody murder.

“You okay, mi amor? Wanna go take a breather for a second.” You asked her softly as your uncle left to talk to his other nieces and nephews.

Shaking her head with some excitement, she stressed out the word with a smile. “Please.”

•Jackie loves parties, always had and always will. She loved going to the parties your family would throw, or the ones that you and your friends had planned. Music was always blearing, talk was constant as well as drinks, food, and games.

Jackie was talking to her Shauna and Lottie at a party you had organized with your cousins for their win, only a few more games till the soccer player would know if her and her girls would make it to nationals.

You were off on the other side of the room, your cousins Maya and Danny beside you as you three took shots and sang along to dtmf by bad bunny.

Your other friends were playing uno against Nat, Van, and Tai. Losing badly and laughing at the playful trash talk being thrown around.

The Taylor girl laughed with Lottie and Shauna when they all saw how Stiles threw down his cards on the table while Scott groaned as Nat yelled out “uno!” With a smirk on her face.

It was chaos, and comfort and all the things she loved about having you in her life. She wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I love your neglected reader stories! Can I request a neglected!reader who is like The Herta from HSR?

The Batcave was colder than usual.

Maybe it was the absence no one wanted to name—the fact that a certain room upstairs had collected dust. Or maybe it was the chill seeping from the screen now glowing bright blue, flooding the cave with that mocking, familiar voice:

“Finally caught up? How predictably slow of you.”

Jason stared at the life-sized projection in front of them. Damian’s fists clenched. Tim had gone pale. Even Bruce—stoic, silent Bruce—stood frozen.

The girl on the screen looked like you. Doll-like. Pretty. Blank-eyed. You, but not.

“Is that her?” Dick asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The figure blinked, tilted its head, then smirked.

“No. But thanks for noticing I was missing—for once. You’re only, what, a year late?”

“Y/N,” Bruce said lowly. “Where are you?”

“Tch. You don’t get to ask questions now, Father. Or pretend you care.”

They all flinched at the way you said "father." So robotic. So clinical. Like it was a word you’d dissected long ago and found wanting.

You were the ghost of the manor. The quiet one. The weird genius they never really knew how to talk to.

When you were younger, you'd tug on Tim’s sleeve, showing him your blueprints for a self-aware drone. He patted your head and said “Later, Y/N.”

When you built a 97% accurate facial recognition bot at 13, Bruce said, “Good. But don’t touch the Batcomputer.”

When Damian insulted your emotional detachment, you responded with perfect calm: “I don’t require praise or love to exceed expectations. Unlike you.”

And when they forgot your birthday—twice—you stopped expecting anything. Anything human, anyway.

So you built something better. Yourself. Perfectly replicated. Dozens of you, scattered across Gotham, interacting with them. Testing them. Taunting them.

Not one of them noticed you were never really there.

Now the real you stood in a lab, miles below Gotham’s crust. Surrounded by dolls. Ice-blue lights shimmered across your porcelain skin, perfectly unblemished. The same expression as always: bored, superior, untouchable.

One of your AIs turned to you. “Shall I begin Phase 3, Mistress?”

You yawned. “Let them squirm a little longer.”

You turned to the camera, tapping your cheek like a bratty noble.

“Maybe I’ll come back. Maybe I won’t. But next time you want to play family, try remembering I was always the smartest one in the room.”

Then you smiled—that smile—all sugar and venom.

“Oh. And Bruce? The doll you hugged last week? That wasn’t me. But I bet she faked love better than I ever could.”

The screen flickered off. Silence.

Then Dick broke. “We lost her.”

“No,” Bruce murmured, hands curling into fists. “We threw her away.”

Meanwhile, you spun slowly in your chair, humming off-tune.

Around you, perfect replicas turned their heads in unison. Your little army of Yous.

“Let them chase a ghost,” you said softly. “Let them miss what they never wanted.”

You tapped your boot against the floor. One of the dolls brought you a frozen drink with a pink umbrella.

You sipped, smug and satisfied.

You didn’t need the Batfamily.

You had yourself.

You know how in most neglectful batfamily fanfic the reader dies and then goes back in time

Instead of the reader going back in time what if one of the family members goes back in time and tries to change things so that they don't die

Bonus points if it's Damian :3

(English is not my first language)

hihi ty for the ask >.<

━ if in this au a character who somehow goes back into time and witnesses just truly how neglectful the reader is, this character should have privy had a solid relationship with them ?

━ like im thinking initially when Damian came into the family - reader and him were pretty close , bonded over the fact they were outcasts, but as he grew into being Robin, they drifted apart ?

━ so like when he does go back in time ? Could be before his time of entering the family or the period they both drifted apart he feels guilty?

━ maybe he tries to reconcile with reader but the thing is - when you're so used to being left alone - socializing can be so stressful for you.

━ so when he is trying to rebuild that bridge reader is having a mental breakdown , too overwhelmed to really grasp the reality and it gets so bad one day she actually fainted .

━ freaked the hell out of Damian that he had to beg Bruce to carry her to a hospital because he's blaming himself for her condition.

━ Bruce starts feeling guilty as hell especially when the nurse is asking questions about the reader and he can't answer half of them .

━ reader gets evaluated on and the nurse literally tells Bruce straight up that she has to be put in a specialized facility to be properly taken care of and he starts tweaking out.

━ he starts like asking if reader can come home and how he can take care of her and the nurse is like " Quite frankly enough putting the patient in this specialized facility is the best option for their wellbeing"

━ we can have Damian visiting the reader , slowly but surely building that bridge and soon enough others begin trickling in.

━ somehow he gets teleported back to his own universe and sews his own reader and starts breaking down when he hugs her.

━ reader is confused and annoyed and just pushes him away because in this universe she has her own life and wants nothing to do with the batfam.

━ Damian literally tells Bruce everything form the other universe and their own outcome, and Bruce immediately guilt ridden and get everyone on a plan to get reader back.

BATFAM X NEGLECTED! MALE READER - PART TWO -

----- Warnings before you read ----- torture, experimentation, angst, death, use of needles

A soft ringing noise wakes you from your rest, you tried to find the cause of it, however you couldn't find the strength to open your eyes. Slowly, the noise got louder. The ringing caused a pounding in your head that made you desperately want to cover your ears, to try and block out the terrible noise. Then, it faded into a low ringing, not exactly perfect but much better.

It was in that moment of peace that everything came back to you, your family, the fight, your death.

You suddenly felt cold; an unbearable chill ran through your body. You weren't sure if the sudden chill was from the fear of your death or if it was because of the temperature. You wondered if this was how your mother felt when she died. No, you don't want to think about her, knowing how disappointed she would be in you. Your heart started racing as panic began to set in, a single thought repeated over and over again, like a mantra inside your head.

"I don't want to die"

"I don't want to die"

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE"

You needed to calm down and breathe.

Your body felt heavy as if tons of weight were resting on it, everything hurt. everything but your arm... Why couldn't you feel your arm? You could feel your heartbeat getting faster and your breath getting shorter-

Then your breath caught as you realized something, you could feel your heart beating. That had to mean you weren't dead. With this realization you tried even harder to open your eyes, you struggled for a few minutes before you could finally crack them open. You took a few moments to look around the room. The walls and floor were completely concrete with a red door near the foot of the bed you were in, to the right you noticed a small rolling table that seemed to have tools on it, but you weren't able to see from your current position. A soft clack of metal caused your attention to drift to your left hand; you were strapped down by a thick piece of metal. When you tried to lift that arm you noticed that one of the screws were loose, maybe you could unscrew it with your other hand. Your gaze drifted over, and you noticed a large wrap around your stomach, your heart shuddered as you decided to ignore that, escape comes first. As you looked over, all the hope left you. Your arm was gone, cut off just below the shoulder. It was wrapped in some white gauze that was drenched in blood.

A loud creek caused your body to tense, looking over to the cause of the sound, you saw a man holding a clipboard walk in. He wore a long lab coat and had a stethoscope draped around his neck. His dark brown hair just barely reached his shoulders; his eyes had a bored look to them however, as soon as he noticed that you were awake his eyes lit up.

"Good morning!" he walked up to your right side and looked closely at the bandage. "You woke up a bit faster than I thought you would. Very good" After a moment he clicked his tongue at the state of the bandage. The man then walked over to the small table, placed his clipboard down and rolled it over to the bed. Thanks to this you were able to see most the stuff on it. There were multiple tools that looked like something a doctor would use and a few that you couldn't recognize. You opened your mouth to speak, to ask the man where you were. However, as if reading your thoughts he stopped you. "Try not to speak for a few days. Your throat was damaged a bit during the explosion. But you don't need to worry, you are safe here. I will take good care of you". His soft smile did not match the look in his eyes. "Your stomach was in the worst shape, you lost a lot of important internal organs, but I was able to get some...replacements" You wanted to ask the man what he meant but decided to save the questions for later. The man then began unwrapping the bandage on your shoulder, his touch was gentle, yet it still caused a sharp pain to shoot through your body. You grunted in discomfort but that only seemed to make your throat ache. The man then shook his head and sighed. "See? what did I tell you about speaking?", You wanted to argue that a grunt wasn't speaking, and it only happened because of him but the lingering pain in your throat caused you to instead just give him a glare. The man simply ignored your glare and instead picked up a fresh roll of gauze and rewrapped your shoulder you had to hold back any sounds in fear of the pain from your throat. He then looked at your throat. "This one was replaced a just a few hours ago, and lucky for you I am almost done with the replacement for your arm". At his words you shot him a surprised look, was this something Bruce paid for? You found it hard to believe given the state of the room you were in.

While you were lost in thought, the man then pulled out a needle and stuck it into the side of your neck, the pain was immediate. You let out a sharp yell which only made it worse. You looked up at the man, he was speaking to you, but you couldn't hear what he said. Your eyes got cloudy before sleep pulled you under.

The next time you woke up you were in a different room, this one was bright, the walls were white and there was a large light positioned overtop of you. The man from before slouched in his chair on your right side. He seemed very focused on what he was doing, he hadn't even noticed that you wake up yet. You steadied yourself and watched the man, making sure not to move any muscle more than necessary. You knew that the best thing to do in this situation was to stay quiet, after all this unknown man held a sharp tool against your skin. He seemed to be attaching the nerves to something metal, an arm you guessed, you couldn't see form this angle.

Your gaze was trained on the man as he worked. You realized that you didn't feel any pain from the operation, you realized that it must've been from whatever drug he injected you with before.

It took a while, but the man finished with a satisfied expression. After checking over his work he looked to you, a look of surprise crossed his face as he noticed you awake.

"Oh my, how long have you been awake?" He asked, as if you could answer him with what he did to your throat. Your glare seemed to speak volumes because he let out a laugh "Don't worry, you can speak now. You have an incredible healing speed. Definitely something to take advantage of" The man seemed to mumble the last part.

"Who are you?" Your voice was rough and scratchy from not using it. How long have you been out?? "Where am I?" You tried to sound threating, however given your current situation, you probably looked no more intimidating than an injured doe.

The man smiled back "I am the one who saved you, my name is Dr. Crane. During the fight between Batman and Joker you were left to die, the building you were placed in blew up. Luckly for you I was grabbing supplies for an experiment nearby and happened to be passing through the wreckage", He watched you carefully as he recounted that day's events, "Unfortunately, there was no saving your right arm. After all, it was hardly attached. Not to even mention the terrible state of your stomach, I was surprised you were even alive, it was then that I knew I had to have you as my patient. However, I had to sever the remaining bit of your arm and drag you with me. Once we were safe and far enough, I stitched you up enough to survive and brought you back to my lab."

You knew you couldn't trust him however knowing your family left you to die shattered your heart. You never thought they would just leave. You realized then that you had never truly mattered to them; you were just a tool. You resigned yourself to the painful truth before asking Dr. Crane another question.

"So, what do you plan to do with me? Kill me? Use me against Batman, I'm sure you figured out his identity because of me". You felt tired. Honestly, at that point you wished you had died, at least then you would've been able to see your mother again, feel her warm arms wrap around you, more comforting than a blanket.

At your question the man let out a laugh. "What I plan to do? It is simple. I plan to make you into my greatest project. No one will stand in your way when I am done." He seemed excited at the mere thought of your future success, "Ah, and about Batman. I honestly could not care less about him; I am a scientist after all, my projects are the most important to me".

You squinted your eyes at him, disbelief coating your features. However, you paused when you saw him reaching for a needle. "What is that for?" You demanded.

"Well, I thought since you keep waking up, we can try a few experiments. you seem healed enough for now". With that he injected the needled into your upper left arm. Pain shot through your body. Red dots danced through your vision; you hollered out in pain. You tried to move away from the pain, how? the pain is everywhere, but you were strapped to the table. Dr. Crane only watched as you withered in pain. You thought you were going to pass out, but you couldn't allow yourself to.

Use him. Use this man's smarts and take revenge on Bruce. For what he did to you. Don't give into the pain. Stay awake!

A voice echoed in your head pulling you from unconsciousness, forcing you awake. Forcing you to suffer through the pain.

Someone- Please it hurts. Please, make it stop! Save me! PLEASE!

Your pleading only seemed to make the voice stronger in your ears, refusing to let you rest. Until finally, the pain subsided into a dull ache across your body. You could feel your own face wet with sweat and tears, your body trembled and twitched. Your eyes were blurry as you tried to focus them on Dr. Crane.

"You managed to stay awake?" the surprise evident in his voice, "Interesting..." Dr. Crane rustled around the table, picking up a small vile and holding it up to your lips, "Let's keep going until you can't anymore. Ok, M/n?" Although he phrased it as a question, you didn't get the luxury to answer before he poured the liquid down your throat. You tried to turn your head, but he squeezed your cheeks with his other hand and forced your mouth open and your head still. You could feel the strange liquid slide down your throat as you tried not to swallow. Eventually you couldn't hold it anymore and had to swallow it down.

Dr. Crane did many experiments that day, you don't remember how many, only the unforgettable, excruciating pain. You lost count of the experiments after around number five.

You learned a new meaning of pain that day.

You don't know how long you were out, but when you woke up again you were in the first room you started out in. You realized you weren't strapped to the bed this time. After gathering the strength to move you got up and looked around the room, for a way out. A Sharp pain emerged from your stomach and arm thanks to the movement. Ignore it, you told yourself, there's more important things to focus on. It was obvious that your only hope was the door. So, you walked to it, using the wall for assistance.

The door was locked, you sighed, of course it was. The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the halls; you hurried back to your bed and just as you sat down, Dr. Crane walked in carrying a tray with food. After noticing you sitting back down, he let out a small huff.

"Now, now. If you're going to be trying to escape, I will have to strap you back down". He sounded like he was scolding a disobedient child. Dr. Crane placed the food down on the table that was now cleared of tools, aside from some gauze. He rolled the table over to you. On the tray was mashed potatoes, some kind of soup, and water. You looked down at the food, unsure. Dr. Crane, noticing your reluctance, picked up the spoon and grabbed some mashed potatoes, he made eye contact with you, then ate the spoonful. "See? Nothing to be afraid of, no poison. We well work on poison resistance another time"

You hesitated before hunger took ahold; you quickly scarfed down the food, as if someone would take it away. Dr. Crane watched as you ate, making sure you finished it all. You chose to ignore the obvious hint of amusement in his eyes.

"How long have I been here?" You asked once you finished eating. Dr. Crane seemed pleased that you spoke with him, he most likely assumed you would hate him. You do; you just need information.

"It has been 9 months and 13 days since I brought you here". He answered, "but, who's counting?"

You hesitated for a moment however you couldn't hold the question back. "And my family, do they know?" Your voice was quiet, as if you didn't want to hear the answer. As you met Dr. Crane's gaze your eyes held an unspeakable plea, one not even you could understand. As if Dr. Crane could read your every thought; he left your question unanswered. You laid down on your side, away from Dr. Crane, as though hiding from the truth. Dr. Crane gathered the empty dishes and left in silence; the soft click of the door rang through the air.

The next day Dr. Crane sat and chatted with you as you ate. When you finished eating, he grabbed the tray and pulled a newspaper out of his pocket and set it down on the small table. Once he left the room you cautiously picked it up. After reading the headline you felt your heart drop in sadness? fear? anger? you couldn't say for sure.

"BRUCE WAYNE REFUSES TO SPEAK AT M/N WAYNE FUNERAL"

Your fingers traced the words, then drifted to the article. Your funeral was court and simple, much like your mother's. Her voice soft in your ear as you read.

See? they never cared about you. Take revenge on them. Don't forget all those years of neglect.

The voice was all around you, there was no escape from it. It demanded revenge, you began wanting it to.

Days turned into months, then years. Every day was similar; Dr. Crane would do experiments; he'd keep testing new things until you passed out. After the experiments He would bring you food, during these times he'd always sit and talk with you, it would be about anything that came to mind, you began to feel a type of connection with him. You almost felt like he was your friend, or maybe like the big bother you always wished you had. You resigned yourself to this fate, vowing to one day get the revenge that voice promised you.

After the first couple months Dr. Crane started putting his experiments to the test. He'd take you to what he called the 'training room'. It was a white padded room with vents in all corners. There you would train in strength, agility, resistance and even testing your smarts. The worst experiment that would happen in this room was when he would release a poisonous gas, you were told to bear with it, and you did, past limits you once thought you had.

Other times he put the room to a terrible cold temperature, leaving you with nothing more than your boxers. Even as frost bite gnawed at your bare body, you gritted your teeth and refused to give into the pain.

Everyday Dr. Crane would try injecting you with something new he invented. Sometimes the drug would fail, and he would have to rework it until he deemed it a success, then after that he would take you to the training room to test it.

It was a miserable experience. However, it allowed the betrayal and hatred to build over the years you were there.

You were strong, stronger than ever before. You had him to thank for it, and you knew it. So, you resolved to give him a painless death. You had been planning your escape for years and finally you could leave and extract your revenge. As you looked down to Dr. Crane's smiling face, you knew you did what you had to do. However, you could not stop the silent tears that fell down your face. In one way or another, this man had become someone you learned to care for.

"Wonderful..." Dr. Crane's voice was shaky, he coughed up some blood. So much for a painless death. "No, don't cry over this. You are my greatest success; through your actions I will live on". His voice faded as the fire you caused wrapped around the two of you. However, His eyes remained open, so you leaned down and closed them as a final gesture of gratitude, then you left. You walked through the fire that consumed the lab, the building crumbled around you. The scene almost beautiful in a way, your white pajama pants slightly charred at the ends, you didn't even flinch as your bare feet stepped on the burning embers.

Thanks to Dr. Crane you have truly become a monster, driven only by the need for revenge.

TO BE CONTINUED

Tags @mallowryblog @blover143 @venomsvl @sunnyfield

Batfam x Neglected Tomie Reader

English version

In the Wayne Manor, there was a room without history. It had a small window, a neatly made bed, and a mirror without fingerprints. And in that room lived her.

She didn’t have a cape.

She didn’t have gadgets.

She didn’t have battle scars or soul wounds that others could see as worthy. She only had a face.

And in that house of masks, that meant nothing.

Since she was little, she learned not to make noise. When she walked through the carpeted hallways, she tiptoed, as if the echo of her steps were a crime.

When she spoke, she did it in a soft voice, afraid of interrupting the conversations between the heroes. When she laughed... she stopped. No one laughed with her.

She didn’t belong to the "team." She didn’t have official training. She wasn’t Nightwing, Red Hood, Robin, or the new girl from the orphanage with a perfect memory. She was just the daughter. The mistake. The useless shadow.

Her mother had died giving birth to her. Bruce raised her out of duty. Alfred was polite but distant. And the rest... simply didn’t see her.

"Since when has she been here?" Tim once asked aloud, not realizing she was right behind him.

Jason mocked, "She's always been here. She's like a nice piece of furniture.Looks good, but isn't useful for fighting."

And they all laughed.

She didn’t.

She just looked at her hands, delicate and soft, then lowered her head.

Bruce never trained her. He said he didn’t want to "put her in danger," but everyone knew he didn’t trust her strength. He didn’t consider her useful. He taught her to keep silent. To observe. To read books instead of reading bodies in combat. And she did. She learned to see without being seen. To understand without asking. To lock everything she felt in a corner of her chest where no one could enter.

But there was one thing she inherited: the gaze. That deep and sharp look. The one that made the guilty tremble. Hers was different, yes. Softer. More beautiful. But just as hypnotic. And no one in the house dared to hold it for too long.

---

One day, she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was fourteen years old.

She had the darkest eyes in Gotham.

She had lips as soft as silk.

She had skin that seemed sculpted. And she felt nothing. "What’s the point of being beautiful if no one sees you?"

Someone knocked on the door. It was Damian.

—Move, useless. Some of us have things to do.

She didn’t answer. She just lowered her gaze. But that night, she broke the mirror with her fist. She didn’t cry. She just bled.

---

Time passed. She turned fifteen. Then sixteen. She knew no one would go to her room on her birthday. She knew no one would say "I’m proud of you." She knew that, to them, she was a mistake without scars. So, she left.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t leave a note.

She didn’t seek drama.

She simply made the bed.Closed the door. And disappeared.

Bruce didn’t search for her. "If she wants to come back, she will," he said coldly. And the rest continued with their missions.

No one imagined she would find another way to exist.

And to shine.

---

First came the photos. Self-portraits on lonely streets. Her face surrounded by shadows. Her silhouette reflected in puddles. Her lips slightly parted as if whispering secrets. Someone found them. Shared them. And the world… listened.

“They call her the Marble Girl.”

They said she had an impossible face. Too symmetrical. Too pure.

But what attracted them the most wasn’t her beauty. It was what she hid.

A silent sadness.

A threat without violence.

A sweetness that was poisonous.

---

At seventeen, she was in Paris.

She signed contracts without giving her real name. She modeled without saying a word. And every time the camera focused on her, the world stopped. Not because she smiled.

But because it seemed she didn’t need to.

She denied it.

And that... drove them crazy.

---

She lived alone. In a small glass apartment with black curtains.

She slept little. Dreamed a lot. And never looked back at Gotham.

She never mentioned her family. Not because she hated them. But because... they no longer existed for her.

They had died the day they forgot her.And she... had been reborn.

---

One night, an artist asked to paint her face.

—You have something tragic about you —the woman said, as she traced her jawline—. Like a broken virgin. Or a sad goddess.

She just smiled, without answering. And when the painting was displayed, people cried in front of the canvas. They didn’t know why.

It just... hurt.

---

At eighteen, the world already knew her. Magazines. Art videos. Red carpets.

But never interviews.

Never words.Only that presence. Mysterious. Distant. Unreachable.

And then... Bruce saw her.

---

He was working in the Batcave when her image appeared on the screen. An irrelevant article. A gossip piece.

But there she was. Sitting in a velvet chair. Dressed in black. Surrounded by photographers. And smiling. That smile. Calm. Unbreakable.

Free. Bruce blinked.

—It can’t be… Dick looked down.

Jason clenched his fists.

Tim swallowed hard.

Damian, for the first time, said nothing.

Because they all remembered her. And she didn’t remember them.

—Why didn’t she come back? Dick murmured.

Jason clenched his fists. —Because we didn’t make her feel part of this.

Damian whispered: —She seems happy.

Bruce didn’t answer. He just looked at the screen. And inside, something broke.

It wasn’t guilt.

It wasn’t love.

It was fear.

Because she didn’t need them. And that... was unforgivable.

prompt hc 43. with jackie taylor x transmasc reader 🙏😁

okay reader has top surgery btw :3

“c’mon get in with me! it’ll be fun!” your girlfriend squealed in the bathtub, the bubbles almost spilling out the top. brushing your teeth, you just shook your head and chuckled at her. jackie knows you’ll give into her begging eventually, so she keeps nagging you (and it finally works!)

you spat into the sink and started to undress, your shirt coming off first. you felt jackie’s eyes on you. “you’re staring.” you slipped off your boxers. “i can’t help it.”

jackie giggled when you finally sat down in the warm soapy water, immediately putting bubbles on your face and head. she began staring at you again, except the smile on her face was bigger. “what?”

“you’re so handsome.” her hands went down to your flat, bubbly chest. you giggled softly, trying to play off you getting flustered by splashing her. “y/n, stoppp!” she shrieked playfully as you flailed your arms in the water like a dolphin. by the time you stopped, jackie already had a pout on her face. “you’re mean.”

“what if i wash your hair to make up for it?”

“and give me a cuddle.”

“you got yourself a deal, babe.”