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Transfem Jackie in the wilderness??

The feeling of you.

Contents: female reader, transfeminine Jackie, angst and comfort, internalized guilt, detailed descriptions of feelings, exploring themes of transexuality, 3rd point of view from Jackie's prespective, vanilla smut, gentlia described vaguely. Not really thought plot.

Words count: 7k/ about 12 pages

Author's note: As you read, this is a transfeminine Jackie oneshot. I wanted to explore themes of self hatred in many ways. Since I am not transexual, I based myself on the expereince someone in my life had to describe various moments in this oneshot. If this might be offensive to anyone, please dm me so I can edit this work. This is the first time in an oneshot where I write full on smut. This might not be very 'sexy' then, so forgive me for that. This oneshot contains vanilla-ish sex, so it might not be everyone's cup of tea. Anon, I'm sorry for the several months long wait, but I wanted to be sure to write something in character for Jackie.

To make reading easier: the italics are charcaters thoughts. First half is from Jackie's 3rd pow and second half (from smut onwards) reader's 3rd pov.

Enjoy everyone!

When you joined the Yellowjackets soccer team, you didn't expect to fall heads over heels with its capitan, Jackie Taylor.

It was a rainy November afternoon when you joined. You had seen Jackie walk around school from time to time, but have never interacted with her this close, for all it was worth, you didn't even know she was the soccer team captain. You joined the team some months after your best friend Vanessa did; she had insisted that it was fun and it would build up your confidence. So, you have joined.

Vanessa had talked about your frail character with Jackie before you joined, telling her that you were insecure in your abilities, so, after the coach had tested you, Jackie choosed to assign you the substitute position of right winger. So, you wouldn't have had to play all the time.

Right before you got introduced to the team, Jackie had talked with you. A look of worry was visible in your eyes and Jackie, even if she didn't know you all that well yet, was slightly worried. For you maybe, yes, but also that you could potentially be more of a burden to the team, if you didn't do well enough. After all, Jackie needs to have as many competent people in her team as she can. You need to grow more confident.

So, she had taken you by the arm and led you to a secluded place right outside of the field's entrance. Jackie had looked up at you and smiled kindly, "Well, are you ready to go?". You had felt incredibly scared and apprehensive that day but when you felt Jackie's hand lightly touch yours, trying to get you out of your head, you felt safe, seen.

That was the first instance of your feelings blooming for Jackie. At every game, she did not ever forget to encourage and praise you for your actions. Even when you didn't perform well, you knew Jackie would always be there to make you feel better.

To her surprise, a year after having joined the team, you were almost a completely different person. Confident, strong and willing to stand up for herself and others. Jackie did have to admit that your change was more than welcome. She could never say it out loud, but whenever she saw you in the changing room, her heart skipped a beat. Of course, Jackie had to maintain her reputation at school.

No one, besides her parents and Shauna, knew that Jackie wasn't who others thought she was. Since she was a child, she had felt like she was missing a core part of herself. It was when she met Shauna that everything changed: with her, Jackie had confessed her worries and secrets and in exchange, got the help to finally become her true self. Her parents weren't as supportive as she thought they were going to be. Sometimes, she saw her mothers sending glances in her direction, which she couldn't decipher as worry or disdain; but she didn't care.

In an attempt to finally convey that image she built of herself, upon entering her new school alongside Shauna, she had seduced Jeff, one of the guys she found less ugly. She wasn't able to fully explore herself before jumping hand in hand with him in the relationship.

The first time and only time she and Jeff have had sex, she didn't dare to make him look. Somewhat, she managed to create an excuse to not strip and only get him off. It was a rather boring and disappointing night. But she hadn't left him, in a way Jackie still felt some kind of odd feeling when she was with him. She couldn't tell if it was love.

This is why she couldn't show herself shy when she was near you. She couldn't risk her image, people would talk if they saw her behaving in a flirtatious way towards you, and Jeff would leave. She knew he was probably cheating on her, but as of right now, she couldn't worry less.

Jackie feels her mind slipping out of consciousness time and time again. She can vaguely feel what is happening near her, bodies bumping on her shoulder and light dimming lower and lower until, behind her eyelids, she can only stare back at the darkness.

Shauna wakes her up, and she's not sure she's completely herself at this point. Her body moves before her mind can process what's happening and just mere seconds later, she falls hard to the forest floor. Just as her cheek comes into hard contact with the naked soil, her mind registers what's happening. Jackie looks behind herself to see something that shakes her to the core and will for the years to come. People, her teammates flooding away from the main entrance of the plane, all gushing out like droplets of the leftover alcohol of the red cup she had drank from last night, at their last party.

Jackie struggles to get back to her feet, her legs giving just as she gets up. Shauna is there, she holds her and runs her fingers on her face, tracing over the bruise that has begun to form. She searches for your face among the others and finds you clutching at your left leg, a scar running down your hips.

Jackie's eyes follow as Shauna gets back into the plane and a feeling of dread fills her heart. She knows that if she doesn't help Shauna, her best friend will die. When she enters into the crashed death trap smoke fills her lungs and her vision. She searches for Shauna, finding her fiddling with something behind her shoulders. For a second she considers slapping Shauna, telling her that she's an idiot and taking her back, but when she hears Vanessa's desperate sobs her brain is filled with fear and horror and something akin to bravery. Her hands brace on either side of the seats and summoning a bravery she didn't know she had, along with Shauna, Jackie manages to open a window of opportunity for Van to slip out. Once the fresh air fills her lungs again and her brain is awake, Jackie searches for you.

Misty had hastily put together various bandages that ran down the entirety of your leg, blood already seeping out and darkening the cloth. Jackie can't even register that she has you in a death grip until she feels your chest moving on hers in an attempt to get more air in your lungs.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- '' her words get cut off as you push into her, already wettering the neck of the blue and yellow jacket she wore. Your throat bobs and tears fall from your eyes ``I, I'm scared". Jackie holds you to her chest, sobs threatening to leave her body, "Me too".

The smell of fire and pine needles filled the air around you, the tall trees shielding your view of the night sky. Hours after the disaster, you were surprised to find yourself enjoying your teammates' jokes near the campfire. You would have expected to feel this happy in another situation, but there you were: laughing in the dark night with the corpses of your old friends already starting to decompose back into the deathtrap. Jackie had insisted on sitting near you along Shauna. She kept to herself, having to maintain that image of her authority. Maybe she could be the one aiding the team to take a stand against nature. But in the aftermath of saving Van she had let her selfishness surge again and had protested against her cleanser being used as a sanitizer. She didn't mean to, the words left her mouth before she could understand the gravity of the situation. This wasn't what she was prepared for, her mind wasn't prepared enough to survive, to see the lifeless bodies of her own friends burn and decompose under her eyes.

Jackie had gotten silent for some time and her mouth had tasted the tears that were threatening to fall, but when she had felt your touch linger on her hand, a feeling of calm panic had washed over her. Your eyes stared into hers, understanding, saying 'I feel you, I understand you' and her heart ached. The fear was still clawing at her heart but she tried to subdue it in favor of quietly looking at you, trying to breathe through the hurt. Unbeknownst to her, Shauna's envious eyes had watched the whole interaction with anger boiling over the surface.

That night, Jackie dreams. She dreams of the last game, the leather of the ball comes into hard contact with the white metal of the goal and bounces back away from her and the other team wins. She dreams of a world where she and Shauna are now in her room, sad and bitter, but not here. Not on a cold night. She dreams of a world where she comes back to Jeff, he comforts her by kissing her cheek and whispering sweet, fake nothings to her. She dreams of him finally admitting he cheated, of a world where after months of sadness and thought, she manages to confess the strange feelings she has whenever you're around. She dreams of your lips touching hers.

If only... if only she didn't score, maybe...maybe...

The morning had come by fast, a pale light shone down from the trees and greeted their painful awakening. Jakcie had fallen asleep the night prior cuddled between you and Shauna. All the team had cuddled closer during the night in an effort to maintain as much heat as possible. The soil was scattered with clothes, remaining junk food leftovers, branches and the mechanical remains of the plane. And when she woke up, Jackie had panicked. As quietly as possible she had begun to hyperventilate, the reality of the situation finally kicking in. In an effort to keep calm, to get comforted, Jackie hides her face into your chest and lets her tears fall freely. In your sleep, you cling onto her and for a split moment, her heart bursts out of her chest. It feels like her rib cage has suddenly tightened on her organs and her body has been set aflame. She couldn't feel like this. She shouldn't. And why with you of all people? Why you, and not Jeff? Why you, and not Shauna? What is in you that makes her poor heartache, even in the most desperates of situations? Nevertheless, Jackie allows herself to feel and falls right back asleep. Reality can wait for some time.

When the bodies had been buried and were beginning to dissolve into the earth, a heavy silence had weighted on the team shoulders. At least they could rest in peace, for the rest though only chaos was waiting. Jackie had never been so scared in her life. So, when Taissa shouted that she had seen a lake nearby, Jacki couldn't believe it. Or, more accurately, she was scared of leaving. What if the rescue team came just as they left? And what if they didn't find them? She couldn't afford to lead her team into another hazard. so, when almost all of the team agrees to go, Jackie feels betrayed. It's stupid and selfish but she does, especially when Shauna raises her hand in favor of leaving. Without too much thrust, Jackie follows. She steps away from Shauna and walks with you, helping you move your leg on the uneven forest floor.

When she spots the shore, a sense of wonder and happiness fills her for the first time in hours. With her help, you manage to speed up to the lake. There, a realization dawns on her. She hadn't told the others that she was 'different'. No one here except Shauna knew. What would they have thought of her? "Aren't you going in?" she heard your voice ask her. "Uh, I- I don't know..." she stammers out. Her eyes widen when she sees you changing out of your dirty clothes "Well, I'm going. Misty had said that the water might cleanse my wound, but she never talked about lake water" Jackie vaguely registered your response while her eyes were still trained on your figure. "I hope there aren't any germs there" you lose the branch that supported your uneven walk in favor of trying to get out of your pants.

"Hey Jackie... I know this is weird to ask, but can you help me out? I can't crouch low enough to pull them off" her heart skips a beat and almost automatically, she starts to undress you out of your pants. She's sure her cheeks are a bit more red than usual. "Ah, thank you. Are you sure you're not coming in?" she doesn't know, she isn't sure. But she so, so wants to be there with you. "Uh yeah just, just let me change and I'll be there".

Jackie's eyes follow as you dip into the water. Vaguely, she can feel her blood flow in her body faster than normal, but she dismisses it. When she nears on the shore, as quickly and as carefully as possible, Jackie strips out of her clothes and watches for any unwanted gaze. When the cold water crashes on her skin, her body begins to cool off and that thirst she felt has been quelled. Now she reaches you and guides you to deeper waters, careful to listen to any signs of discomfort from you.

That's how you spend the rest of the afternoon: splashing each other with water, resting on the rocky shores of the lake and gossipping. The everpresent eye of Shauna watching your every move. When Lottie had spotted something in the distance, everyone had been on the move, hoping to find a new shelter for the night. And they did. The cabin was decrepit. Its roof was slightly slanted, vines and vegetation covered the wooden walls; but it worked. It could work. When she entered, a smell of mold and old plants had hit her nose. She found a can of green beans and when attempting to open it, her hunger preceding the thought that maybe she could have preserved it, she was greeted with the sight of many greenish beans swimming in a gray pool of liquid.

On the other side of the room, some of the girls are checking out one of those old sex magazines. Natalie calls out to you "Hey look, this girl kinda looks like you" and right then and there, Jackie crumbles. "Nah, she doesn't look like me! You have a shitty sight Scatorccio '' the team's eyes all gather to one point in the page, some let out whistles while others comment on it. "So, are you like this gentlelady under your clothes?" Van jokingly teases you "Guess you'll have to discover it yourself". Despite thinking she's above this, Jackie steals a glance as she walks out. And it's true, that woman did look like you, despite some differences. And now, Jackie has to deal with yet another problem.

She feels her body shift without her wanting to and heat spreads through her lower abdomen, begging to be put out. She walks out of the door fast and follows a trail behind the cabin. There, she tries to calm down but to no avail, images of you fill her mind and she feels her shorts tighten. Jackie lets out a grunt of discomfort: the situation wasn't exactly the most comfortable one to 'rub one out'. She looks back at the cabin, it's far but still in view: maybe here she can take care of herself with no prying eyes watching.

Jackie slips out of her shorts and starts to palm at her length. She tries to think about Jeff, about Shauna, even about her celebrity crushes, but nothing works. Everything morphs into you. So, when she finally gives up and allows herself to fall into your image, she finds that her body is already at the brink of release. She feels your hands stroking her skin, the tension releases out of her shoulders and your voice whispers reassurances in her ear. "Let it go" and she falls from her high, her legs give out and the skin meets the hard ground. Her gaze falls to her hand. Oh god, what have I done?

The afternoon lights had started to shine through the trees. After taking care of her little problem, Jackie had come back and sat on the wooden porch at the side of the cabin. This can't be real. It can't, right? Her heart aches far more than she realized. She doesn't belong here. She is angry, sad and terrified. This isn't real.

Regret, both for the plane crash and for what she had just done. Did she really jerk off to a friend in the middle of the forest, right after what happened? God, how could she be so disgusting? So careless? People died and all she could think about was fulfilling her own needs. Like always Jackie, you always have to be the center of attention. You couldn't even let your teammates have a peaceful rest, you just had to think about yourself huh? Can you even feel something, anything for others? Do you have anyone else in your mind except yourself?This just shows the utter scum of a person you really are. You waste.

Back at home, everyone always counted on her. She was the voice of reason, the one person who could bring different people together under one team. She had been the one to create the Yellowjackets, to care for them, to nourish them. She knew she was selfish, selfish and stupid, but she really tried. Jackie didn't mean to be this much of a fucking liability, but she couldn't help it. This place, these people, did they even think of her as an equal? Or did most of them fake their appreciation for her? She didn't mean to be a bother, trying to fix the old music player instead of doing the chores, but she needed desperately to not think. Please, for the love of God, get me out of here.

Days, months have passed and winter starts to tighten its cold hands on the Yellowjackets. All of them know. When winter comes, they might die. Every night, the last breeze of autumn comes knocking on the door in the form of the Grim Reaper, begging to be let in. To join the fun. For how much their determination is worth, nature has a sick way of playing with its prey.

They don't have to think.

That's why Jackie had hosted a seance in summer, to distract them. And that's why she decides to host a Doom Coming. Death is already at the door, so why not having fun in the last few weeks of their lives? And her life is just a mess. Jackie feels as if all of the world's faults weigh down on her shoulders. She's sad, bitter and angry: sad for Laura Lee and her unfair death, bitter at Shauna and Jeff, and angry at the world.

Finally, night has fallen. The sun is lowering down the horizon, the cold air nipping at the skin, but she tried to ignore it. The camp smells of leaves, fire and earth. It's almost calming. Laughs and wind and fire crackling fill her ears. Jackie sits on a log which acts as a stool and closes her eyes.

Right now, when everyone is partying, she allows herself to be vulnerable. In the months following the summer, Jackie had come to care less and less about what others might have thought about her if her secret came to be known. So her facade had finally started to crumble.

Jackie sat on the log, her legs spreading far apart, her back hunched and with her face in her hands. She knew the others would look at her and make fun or feel sorry for her, but right now she didn't care too much. A quiet whine left her body and trickles of tears staining her cheeks. Something moves at her right side and she jumps up to see you holding two makeshift wooden bowls. "Hey, thought of giving you this. You haven't eaten at all".

Maybe she doesn't want to. Maybe Jackie would rather die, her body to be eaten by the people she loved most and then dissolve into the earth, broken apart by nature and scattered like a constellation. "I... I am fine" she mutters into her hands, trying to mask her sobs.

"But you're not Jackie. You're so not fine; don't you think I can see that?" she's taken aback by your teary eyes burning a hole through her heart. You push the tears back in and hand her the warm bowl of soup. "I am scared too, Jackie. We all are. But at least, just before the end...won't you try to be happy?" and you know that asking her this is stupid and pathetic, but you too need to push reality away. And Jackie doesn't have enough strength to deny you. "...You're right", she takes the makeshift wooden spoon and dips it into the brownish soup. She lets the earthy flavors fill her mouth. "This isn't half as bad as I thought it would be'' Jackie smiles as she sets the bowl down. A giggle leaves your lips as you stand up, your legs feel wobbly and your skin starts to feel uncomfortably hot. "Say... you wouldn't want to have... a dance with me, would you?" words slurred, you try to pry Jackie out of her log and she happily complies.

Jackie feels strange. She isn't in total control of her body, her mind is foggy, her body moves slowly and lazily. She looks at you with lovey dovey eyes, as if you are a goddess on earth who came to relieve her of her pain. She doesn't even care that Mari's and Alikah's eyes are on both of you; as of right now Jackie only sees you. But now her mind is playing tricks on her: she sees you on her bed, naked.

"W-what?" and now that discomfort is back again, twirling inside of her stomach. "What is it?" Jackie can only feel her body stiffen once again, swaying 'Uhhh shit'. "I- I, don't worry!" but you insist with that look on your face that she can't resist. "What? What is it? Are you feeling ill?".

Shit!. "N-no I-" it's almost like her brain can't form any coherent thought anymore. Why? Why now?!, you get closer to her, an inch from her ear "Do you need something?" God damn it. "I need to- I need-" Jackie stops dead in her tracks as she feels your leg accidentally pressing on her groin. Shit! No! No, no, no! Why?! What is wrong with you?

You look down to see something puffing under her dress. What the heck was she hiding there?. It takes you a moment to understand what it really is, and when you do, you let out a small 'ohh' of understanding.

"Do you have something to tell me?" and Jackie feels embarrassed: embarrassed, guilty and disgusting. How could she have those kinds of thoughts for a friend? She's no better than Jeff, she's no better than them. "I am so, so, so sorry please, please I' didn't mean to-' ' you cut off Jackie with a shush, take her hand into yours and guide her in the forest.

You lead Jackie through low tree branches and vines, through bushes and dirt until you stumble in a beautiful clearing. Hidden between the thick branches of the pine trees, away from the cabin, the uneven forest floor becomes flat, the trees give away to green grass and moss and flowers. On the way, Jackie had noticed strange scrapes on the trees, like a knife had cut through the bark.

"This is where I come when I'm overwhelmed. I found it while having lost myself after going to get the water. You remember that day I didn't come to the cabin after dark?" Jackie nods, waiting for your voice again "I actually had been walking on circles, some feets away from the cabin I took the wrong turn and ended up in the wrong place, here." From your pocket, you fish out a small cutting knife, an old candle and a couple of matches you had stolen from Dead Guy's stash. "Luckily, I had this with me" you gesture to the knife, "If I hadn't, I'm not sure I could have come back". You let your things fall to the base of a tree, forgotten. "So," you say as you sit down and pat the ground next to you "mind explaining what that was?".

Jackie feels as if her blood had become ice cold; she's terrified, so much so that she's stiff and can't bring herself to sit near you. "Come here" she awkwardly lets herself lay on the ground with her legs tucked under her body and away from you.

"I- I am..." throat closing in on her words, she takes a breath and gathers all the courage she has left in her heart "I wasn't happy once. Before. I didn't realized it once, Shauna helped me understand. Sometimes I faked begin happy just to see the people near me happy. To see my parents happy. But once I started to put my own happiness before, I understood". Jackie feels as if a block of ice got stuck in her throat and it's preventing her from speaking clearly.

"For the time we have left, I will continue begin myself. I- I don't care what others think of me" and maybe that last part was a lie, maybe she does care. Every human need reassurance. But when she says that, she's looking directly into your eyes, with determination. A smile graces your lips and Jackie feels as if she has died for a moment and her soul reached heaven "I understand you" which is far better than any 'okays or 'alright's she has gotten so far. "Y-you do? I thought, I thought you would be... grossed out", silence fills the air and Jackie's breath hitches, waiting for the final blow at her heart. "You could never 'gross me out' Jackie, why did you even thought about that?"

"I really thought that you might-" Jackie's words die engulfed in your arm, her head cradled on you, "You are safe with me". Something in her, a cage, breaks into million shining pieces and lets her heart beat red blood into her flesh. Jackie feels as if the old cruel world broke and left space for a new, shining future, one she shares with you. She weeps into your shoulder, finally understood, happy, euphoric, free from her own self and from the world's expectations.

You let her weep into you for some time, the sky's color changes from the purple and orange evening glow to a light cobalt, the stars already starting to show.

"Now, I want to ask you something else..." your cheeks feel suddenly hotter, thighs closing in on themselves. Jackie listens to you, and you're suddenly very interested on your hands. "That... thing that happened back there... why? Why did it happen while we were dancing?". Ohh shiiit.

Jackie feels sick. A ball of nausea forms in the deepest parts of her stomach and reaches out to her mouth. For a second, she feels like she will throw up. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry I forgot, I-" and now, emotions and feelings of the past months come crashing down on her heart. And when she parts her lips, it is too late to stop.

"I... like you. I do. I've felt like this for a while now. Back there I don't- I don't know why I felt like that and why it happened, but t-that's not like me at all! I- I am-" but the silence that follows is enough for Jackie to stop. Right then and there, she knows she has lost you. "I should probably go..." she says to you; Jackie's muscles move to follow her torso but your arms hug her shoulders before she can escape you. For a moment she's confused and almost thinks an animal might have tackled her to the ground, but when she feels your touch on her cheeks, peace fills her heart. You lightly trace her small skin marks under her eyes and lean down to kiss her. In her eyes billions of stars shine and in her heart, billions of stars explode. Her body is lighter, almost made of condensed air. It almost feels like a sin when she touches your hand: like if her fingertips could dirty the beautiful soul in front of her. "I want you too" you say to her, a whisper. Now she truly is gone.

Jackie kisses you back with a passion you didn't know she had in her. Everything is forgotten: the dirt of the soil, the rotten cabin, the looks of the others, the touches of Jeff, the desire for Shauna, the desire to run from the world. Here and now, Jackie is at peace. Finally at peace, after months of hardship. Her heart beats and her blood runs, and she's happy. So, so very happy.

When you leave the kiss, Jackie feels lightheaded. A dark feeling inside of her screams to stay, to take, to devour. She takes you right back into her arms, clinging to you so hard that you're sure your bones will snap. The kiss becomes raw, hungry and dangerous; all lips and tongue and teeth. Her hand cradles the back of your head and with the free hand, she claws at your shirt. There is a feeling blooming inside her groin and stomach; she wants to devour and be devoured. You get rid of your clothes and discard them aside. Now Jackie can see you in all your beauty, skin shaded by the blue evening night.

It's getting dark.

"Maybe, maybe we shouldn't..." Jackie whispers in your mouth but makes no effort to stop. Your hands find her soft skin, you cradle her head upwards facing you, "Let morning come". Your hands find Jackie's skin underneath her dress and her breath stops, she tries to gulp down air in her lungs but they feel tight. Your hands are just so soft and she feels so good, so right here with you. For the first time in a while, she doesn't have to be in charge of anything. For the first time, she can be her whole, broken self without needing to be something she's not. With a trembling voice, Jackie asks you to help her out of her dress. The cold air hits Jackie all at once, making her shiver but she is too caught up in you to care. As soon as the dress is off her hands are already on your skin, touching wherever they could. "I- I want to..." but she couldn't find in herself the strength to say what she wanted, needed to do. Instead, Jackie decided to crash her lips into yours again and rest her hand on your back, atop the clasps of your bra, a silent request. The dizziness of before had almost worn off by the time you were bare before her. A breathy sigh left Jackie's lips "Wowza...", you couldn't help but let out a giggle "Really? 'Wowza'?".

"What?! I couldn't help it..." her words trail off when her gaze falls to your chest. Fingers come down on you, caressing and touching and groping at every inch of skin she finds. She props you up on her lap, trying to relive the pain of her hardness starting to show. It's almost embarrassing how desperate she is, her cheeks are flushed red, her eyes unfocused and watery. Jackie's lips circle your nipple, biting and licking and sucking and tugging at your skin. Jackie's length gets harder and hard by the minute, for every time her name falls off your lips. All the uncomfortable and guilt has gone, leaving behind something dark and primal. She starts to hump on your ass while continuing to suck on you. "Oh, I see someone is eager" and all that confidence she had goes right out of the window, her sober self comes out more embarrassed than before "Oh- gosh I'm-I am sor-" but she is shut down by your grinding down on her. "Who said you could lead tonight?".

Oh shit I'm so into this.

"N-no one..." her voice came out shaking with excitement, the prospect of the night and all the scenarios playing out in her head.

"That's right, you deserve a break" not as sexy as she would have wanted, but this is fine too. More than fine. She was tired of feigning leadership. Your hands fiddle with the waistband of her underwear, feeling around the skin of her waist. This feels like a torture to Jackie. "Please, I-..." she meets your hands and tries to grind into you. As teasing as ever, your touch skims right on her thighs, squeezing and stroking her skin. "Tsk, I thought you wanted to be taken care of. Maybe I should stop?".

"N-no! No, please I will be good I promise". Jackie settles back against the earth, her puppy eyes looking up at you with the fear that you won't touch her anymore. "That's what I wanted to hear". Finally your fingers dip under her waistband and pull, freeing her after what felt like an eternity. Now, the both of you are bare against each other. "What do you want me to do, Jackie?" after some thought, Jackie says, "I... I want to taste you... Please....".

Now you take her place, laying down on the earth. Jackie watches you with adoration while her fingers start to travel downwards. Her fingers part your legs and she kisses the skin of your thighs, just mere inches away from where you need her the most. You whisper her name, wanting her to get on with it, to please you. At that, Jackie dips into you. After months of desire, it feels like heaven on earth. Her fingers tease your clit, circling it multiple times before moving down. But you're not prepared enough for the intrusion. So, Jackie starts to suck on you. She's so attentive and shy it makes you want to cry. You ground on her face and hear her letting out a whimper, she's getting pleasure from this too. When you are wet enough, Jackie's ring finger teases your opening and enters. You have already done this before, but it pales in comparison on how Jackie is making you feel. Almost like a shock running through your body and a wildfire spreading in your limbs. And you are sure that if Jackie continues, you will combust on the spot. Finger flicking your nipples, tongue occasionally joins her fingers to lick up your slit, eyes always fixated on your face twisted in pleasure. You look under her to see her free hand stroking her length quickly, white wetness dripping from it. "I- I am about to..." but your words die in your throat. When Jackie comes up again, the lower part of her face is covered in your release, she's still stroking herself. "Please, please I need it, I need it" she continued as she came closer to you. "What do you need Jackie?" she whimpers, desperately humping into her hand "y-you please. Your... mouth".

You smile at her, reaching to tease her length but just a few movements of your hand are enough to send her over the edge. Jackie gasps when she comes undone, her hands tightening over your shoulder. "O-Oh God I, I usually last way more than this..." you snort at her, "Hm? Way more?". Her brows are furrowed, cheeks red with embarrassment "...ok, a bit more". You decide to stop teasing her and reach down, sucking the last drops of her release. Her moans encourage you to get on top of her, legs straddling her hips on both sides. Slowly, you began grinding down on her.

"Oh... I like this'' Jackie moans in your mouth, hands exploring every inch of your skin. After what feels like an eternity, you line up Jackie's lengt with your slit, sliding it from under you on purpose and meeting her hips. "Please... stop teasing..." she lets out a grunt, her hands rest steady on your hips and she begins to drag you down on her. You like this double sided version of Jackie. All her dominance goes straight out of the window when she enters you. It takes an unholy amount of strength for Jackie to not start pounding in you, and to keep herself from coming too fast. She pants as if she's shoulder deep inside a pool of cold water, shaky. It's the first time she has reacted this way to having sex. Usually, she could keep a cool, passionate demeanor but she's so excited to do this with you. It feels different from any other casual sex encounters she had.

You still above her. She has reached the deepest point she could, cuddled between dark and hot and wet. It feels too much to you and you rest your head on her shoulders, trying to catch your breath. She is so delicate with you, whispering sweet encouragements on how -"you take me so well", "You can do it" and "I like you so, so much"-. You're the one that starts to move, surprising Jackie who was still in the middle of her praise. Her breath hitches when she feels you move on her, slowly and methodically taking her to the tip and all the way back. This is perfect.

You rest your hands on her shoulder and hers rest on your hips, guiding you back and forth on her. The grip is tight enough that you can feel your skin bruise under her touch. "Fas-faster please..." you try to comply, bouncing on her faster than before, but your legs feel wobbly and uncertain. When she sees that you can't go any faster, Jackie trusts up into you and meets your hips with force, bouncing you up and down. "I-I'm sorry I' can't go slower..." it feels so good you can't really complain about it. Now you have regained enough strength to meet Jackie halfway, both of you lost in a frenzy of pleasure. She's loud, almost yelling and in the back of your mind, you are terrified someone might come and take a look, but another part of you is thrilled at the prospect of begin found out. You are a bit shocked when Jackie's hand comes down on your ass, but you don't complain. If someone walked past you, they would immediately understand what was happening.

The only sounds that can be heard in the forest are your whimpers, moans, the slapping of skin, wind and chirping and, a little farther, yelling and rabid howls of creatures that resemble humans. But that is not important right now. Your minds are too lost in pleasure to think that, in the dark corners of the night, something could wait for the chance to pounce on you.

Jackie starts to move faster than you can keep up. She moves so you lay your back against the dirt and face her. She brings your leg up and opens the space between your thighs more, allowing herself easier access. She begins to pound into you, faster and harder and sloppier than before. She has no rhythm left, no care, only pleasure and the need to relieve both herself and you in her mind. She grabs your leg hard, not letting go in fear that if she does, you might vanish into thin air. "I am close, I am gonna-" she doesn't want to cum, not right now: this moment should last forever. But she can't hold herself back anymore.

From the dark, a pair of brown eyes had spied on the both of you. Shauna was hungry and her hunger was so grand that it made her vision, her brain and the world around her blurry. She was chasing Travis, along the others but had been left behind when she heard sounds coming from behind some bushes. Her mouth had watered thinking it could be an animal but she got let down when she realized the sounds were coming from you. Her initial shock had been replaced by annoyance. She had so hoped to get something beneath her teeth, but to no avail. Then, hate had bubbled its way through her veins and into her heart. She hated you at that moment. The both of you. Shauna couldn't understand if she wanted to be with Jackie or in between you two. Sure, she thought of Jackie before, during the night hours but she hadn't dared to make the first move. And then, when Jackie had gotten with Jeff, she was hellbent on having all of her. She did realize that there was something sparking between the two of you after the first few games, but she kept quiet. She imagined herself, between bodies. Skin and sweat and kisses. She thought of taking Jackie's while kissing you, of guiding your head down, of bending Jackie over and-. Her stomach growled. It was loud enough she could clearly hear it, but not enough for you two to get suspicious of anything. That fantasy of hers would never happen. She retreated back into the dark.

Jackie is moving fast against you, hips slapping repeatedly up on yours and hands reaching every little bit of skin she can. From deep inside her groin, she feels something snap. She's not gentle with you anymore. Something raw and angry has taken control over her brain. Jackie slipped out of you and snuck behind, her arm lifting up your leg before entering once again. In this position she can reach deeper and move faster. She's being too hard on you. A scowl appears on her face when you try to slow her down by slipping from her grasp, "You- you will, you will stay here a-and take-" growling, her fingers grip at your flesh again, harder this time.

A knot snaps inside your guts and without managing to yell a warning, you release on Jackie's. She feels you dripping down on her. Your coming prompts her to do the same: Jackie gives a final long and hard thrust and leaves you empty, releasing on the soil.

She falls on top of you, spent "O-oh wowza. That... that felt amazing". You laugh at her "Again, 'wowza'?! It's not sexy Jackie" she mumbled something back at you and then hid her face in the crook of your neck. You're silent, now left with the remnants of your lovemaking and the constant presence of death looming over you. A faint trace of cold is coming out of the earth and down on you. "What do we do now?" she asks, embracing and shivering against you "Did- did we do something bad? What's gonna happen now? We will all still die-" her voice hitches. She's crying: tears fall down your skin as she nuzzles on it. You take her hand, tracing patterns on it, "We will manage".

Days later, when Jackie finally confronts Shauna, secrets get spilled. Of affairs, of grudges that lasted years, even of your lovemaking with Jackie. She had stormed out of the cabin: just like she feared, everyone had turned on her. Jackie watches the fire, cold seeping in her bones and her mind getting groggy. Shauna walks to Jackie, hand embracing her best friend's back. "Come inside" you say, your features and voice replacing Shauna's. In the back of her mind Jackie wants to preserve her dignity: walking back into the house would mean to admit that she had lost the argument; but staying out here could kill her. Jackie follows you, gripping at your arm tightly. Everyone is asleep; you lead her to rest on one open spot near the fire, finally hugging her cold body to yours. "Rest easy" and she doesn't need to be told twice, falling asleep right away in your arms. Next morning, it was snowing.

sunset beach walks with jackie...

BAH! her abs here.....

little drives to the beach with her ☹️ packing lunch and drinks and blankets..... jackie making you guys a sandwich while you run around the house looking for the sunscreen because she burns easily.. and you know she's too overprotective and just lathers that sunscreen on you in the car before walking out....

jackie hanging her head out of the window so she can feel the wind hit her face.. you almost crash into a car while admiring her :/ stopping by some gas station for a little snack on the way and i feel like she's suck a trinket girl.. she gets you guys these hats (ur out of the city atp) and these little fidget toys for back home 😞 tbh. she's not above buying shovels and sand buckets...

getting there later than expected but still having fun ^^. just something about the simple act of laying ur blankets down next to each other, jackie's little sack of food in the middle.... watching her get undressed and smiling at her as she holds her hand out and tells you to come in the water with her. i need.

jackie splashing you and pouting when you splash even harder. jackie who yelps and jumps into your arms when she feels seaweed touch her feet 😭

staying there late, just eating ur food and watching the sun set together as you talk about whatever. ur practically the only ones still there and you feel safe enough to leave ur things on the sand and ask her to walk with you. silent walks :( jackie clinging to your arm and just enjoying the feeling of being with you. she speaks up to ask if you liked how today turned out, hoping that you say yes :( she's so giddy when you do say yes, smiling bashfully when you say that she made it so good.

idc how cheesy and sappy this is, thinking about play fighting with her and then racing back to your towels, jackie pouting angrily when you win (you didn't even say that, you called it a tie to make her feel better) and pushing you on your ass so she can sit on your lap, holding your arms down and telling you to admit that she won. anyways, thinking about it turning into a soft makeout session, jackie resting her head on your chest and watching the sunset after you both get tired.

I don't know if you write for Jackie but she's so pookie so Imma send it

Imagine like, loser!Jackie having the biggest crush on the reader and just being a mess trying to be confident around them to impress them, but just failing at that (reader is obviously endeared with this type of behaviour from Jackie)

loser behavior - Jackie Taylor

—

“She’s staring at you again”, your friend spoke to you as your eyes trailed to her.. Jackie Taylor The yellowjackets captian.. she has been staring at you for the whole hour she was to distracted by you. .. you knew what she was doing, ''you should try and talk to her'', shaking your head before you tried to speak the bell rang for the next class.your math class wasnt so bad but jackie was sitting next to you. ''hey did you know im the captain of the yellowjackets'' she tried to impress you her eyes looking into your, laughing at her and smiled at her, ''i know Jackie'' smiling at the captain, she was the biggest loser and you loved it.

Jackie Taylor was once again looking at you she watched everything you did write,laugh,walk… man you were a real life Disney character — she was in a trance.. your eyes trailed to Jackie who was staring at you again, “hm?” Humming at her Jackie blushed at you and played with her hands nervously, it wasn’t the first time she was near you - quiet for a moment she opened her mouth trying to find the right words to say to you. ''your boobs are nice'' fuck did she just say that to you.. ''huh?'' tilting your head at jackie.. she was a nervous wreck right now ''i mean do you wanna go hang out after school its kinda like a datebutiwouldntmindijustwantedtoaskyou'' nodding at her laughing ''sure i would love to jackie see ya after school'' you had left class leaving jackie alone in her thoughts who was cheering in victory like the gay loser she is

Cuddle Bug

summary: a flashfic exploration of Wally's inability to be anything but a plural image when you're within reach. aka: he's codependent as fuck and neither you nor he care.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. smut lite. AU - everyone is alive (zesty). lore established offscreen.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🍃

Wally Clark's love language is physical touch. No surprise there. The guy needs cuddles like flowers need sunlight to thrive. Always has. Being a ghost for 40 years exacerbated that need, and now that he's a real boy again, he can't help himself. Wally sits too close, hugs hello and goodbye, touches arms and knees when he's telling a story.

It's just that much more amped up when it comes to you.

He was affectionate before you and he became inseparable. Lightly grazed your hand when he walked beside you, found every excuse to tackle you when he tried to teach you football techniques. Ajay and Charley stood there like extra wheels even though it'd been Wally who'd rallied everyone to the field.

What? Your giggle's so damn cute! No way was Wally going to be able to focus on anything else!

Besides Charley's just as bad when Yuri's around, and Simon can't even function when Maddie gives him the eyes. So, everyone can suck it as far as Wally's concerned.

During group activities, Wally would find a way to sit next to you. Would squish his long limbs between you and Maddie and give you a bright, boyish grin. Sometimes he'd stare Xavier down until he got the hint and scooched closer to Nicole at the lunch table, leaving a gap that Wally could settle into beside you. His arm around your shoulders and his knee touching yours. Totally innocent.

Wally brought your favorite snacks to Game Night, established himself as your personal chauffeur despite the fact that you lived closer to Simon and Rhonda, and loyally helped you filter clothes when you and the girls went shopping. Yes. He'd made himself one of the girls just to spend time with you. Don't look at him like that; it worked, didn't it? 👀

Since accepting him as your boyfriend (he grins so big, his cheeks ache), Wally's dependence on your touch, warmth, shape against his, has increased a hundredfold.

You sit on the picnic table before the first bell, chatting to Maddie and Claire about something Wally isn't listening to, his arms around your waist, upper body slumped between your legs, head resting on your thigh as you rake your fingers through his thick hair. Oh, he could die all over again and be the happiest of ghosts just for this. Not that he wants to be a ghost again. Not unless you're with him this time. Which would require you to die, too, and that's a terrible thought and he's never going to tell you about it. But the sentiment remains. Wally doesn't want to do anything without you, ever.

He managed to convince the secretary to put him in all your classes, pouting and pleading his case that he'd been dead since 1983 and, "it's so traumatic coming back, she's the only thing I have that feels real...please?" A tactic that he should stop abusing, but it worked on all the teachers when he requested to be sat next to you. Every time a teacher caved, Wally would fold into the desk beside you, beaming like a winner. And who cares? Mina and Ajay, and Charley and Yuri pulled the same doe-eyed trick and got what they wanted, why couldn't Wally do the same?

On Fridays, everyone piles into Wally's high school best friend's living room—Rodney now Wally's legal guardian for reasons—to have movie marathons. There's trivia to guess the movie. Winner gets one veto and can insert their own choice, but there's three movies in total so pick wisely! They figured out awhile ago that Wally sometimes (always) lets you win trivia when it's his turn to play his lineup. You never veto anything, equally as eager to watch what he opts for. It drives Simon and Ajay insane.

He takes over a whole couch, the three-seater, sprawls long-ways and tucks you between his legs, your body draped over him like a blanket as he wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for anything. He traces patterns on your back, cradles your head against his chest, soaks up the physical contact like a sponge after years of ghostly numbness.

In the school halls, Wally keeps his hand on your hip. He kisses your head and cheeks and jaw. Doesn't care who sees because you're his girl and he'll do what he wants, thank you. He's proud that you call him yours and wants to show off who his heart belongs to. This one! This one said yes!

You're in his lap more than your own seat when the group descends upon Max's Diner after football games (that, no, Wally doesn't participate in. That era is firmly in the past and he'll never don a jersey again; sorry mom, God bless, rest in peace). His hands are all over you as you engage Rhonda in conversation; on your thighs, waist, back, hips. Anywhere and everywhere that's still appropriate in public. His head under your chin, eyes closed as he listens to your heartbeat, strong and steady, the rhythm matching his.

Wally rolls over in his bed, crushes you beneath his weight as he plays dead—knock on wood that that won't happen again for many years—and tries to stifle his laughter when you struggle to reverse the position. Eventually, he showers your skin with kisses, nudges between your thighs and laces his fingers with yours, pressing his smile to yours before kissing you deeply.

The sex is amazing, but nothing beats the afterglow when he has you pliant and sweet, curled into him on your side, your face in his chest, his hand on your lower back, whispering how much he loves you as you doze. Call him codependent, but Wally doesn't want to spend even an hour without you. He isn't a lost puppy, knows how to behave like a man. He just spent too many years being forgotten that he still has trust issues.

And you don't mind. You welcome it, in fact, and that makes Wally feel safer than he ever has. It makes it easy to ignore the looks people give you and him when you agree to go somewhere, "only if Wally's invited, too" because you and he are a package deal. And he does the same for you. Obviously, not for the same reasons, you're perfectly fine being alone, it's just that Wally's not ready to experiment with your absence just yet. Maybe never will be.

Rodney's long since accepted that Wally's room has become your room. From married and childless to married with several formerly-dead teenagers and their SOs, Rodney and his wife have accepted their homebase status like champs. They treat you like family—you have a house key for the rare occasion Wally isn't with you after school—and acknowledge that Wally can't sleep without you without suffering.

He stays curled around you all night, kisses you awake, big hand trailing from your waist to your hip as he nips the top knot of your spine and grinds his morning wood against your ass. God, you get him hard so easily, Wally sometimes thinks he should get checked out. You hum then sigh then turn in his arms, hook a leg over his and press yourself against him in exactly the right way.

Through half-lidded eyes, Wally gazes at you. Licks his lips as he rocks his hips slowly and watches your expression go from sleepsoft to wanting. You like how that feels baby? You want it inside you? And he kisses you deep and thorough, rolls you onto your back to fit between your legs, groans when one of your hands squeezes his ass through his boxer-briefs.

He needs to be inside you yesterday, loves how you feel, tight and wet and hot around him. Soft touches turn hard, light sweeps of lips turn to teeth and tongue and fresh bruises on your neck. Wally loves to taste you first, to prolong his pleasure by giving you yours, his tongue delving into you and sucking your clit gently; deliriously slow because he can't get enough.

It's not until you're begging him so pretty for his cock that he finally lets himself fuck into you, so hard and sensitive his brain explodes upon fitting deep inside you on the first thrust. A refrain of fuck, yes and oh God baby, you feel so good fills the room—sorry Rodney—the headboard smacking against the wall in time with Wally's hips. Throughout, Wally holds you like something precious, kisses you like salvation, breathes you in like he can't live without you.

He makes sure you come first before he even thinks about letting go, the sensation of you shaking apart around him ripping his own release right from his core. Wally licks into your mouth, moans like a beast, and then, one two three more stunted thrusts and he goes still. Hazy eyes hold yours and you can see the depth of his emotion for you. At least, he hopes so. How he'll treasure you forever. He'll never love anyone as much as he loves you. That's a promise and a threat and he smiles a lazy smile at you as you begin to giggle.

"What's so funny, baby?" Wally nudges your cheek with his nose.

"Nothing, I promise, I'm just...really happy." You tell him and he moans in delight.

"You don't feel suffocated or claustrophobic like Rhonda said you would?" Wally asks, a little insecure. Okay, a lot insecure, even if he doesn't usually feel that way about how reliant he is on your proximity. You've never given him a reason to feel anything but safe and happy and loved, but still. Rhonda knows how to hit bone even when she means well.

You shift, forcing Wally to look at you, your hands cradling his jaw, "Never. I will never, ever want this, us, to be anything but exactly how it is. I love having you all over me."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." And you grin, a warm little thing, "I like sharing everything with you. It's nice. My very own witness to my life."

Wally kisses you again, another slow, deep, sentimental gesture; everything he feels poured into it, before he settles down on top of you, careful not to crush you, his head above your breasts and his eyes fluttering closed. Relaxed. Sated. Safe.

Wally Clark's love language is physical touch, and, in this second chance at life, he's profoundly grateful to have found someone fluent in it.

🍃___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

if you liked this, you may also enjoy Fifty Seven.

fluff. between 1982 and 1983, Wally meets and falls completely head over heels for a girl who changes everything. his biggest fan, his greatest love. you.

Equals: Chapter III - Kitsune!Male!Reader x Yae Miko

A/N: Finally, eh? I didn't expect this idea to get so popular. This one got quite chonky, 4.5k words, so I decided to post it early and just split things up. This way, you get content early and I get something to look forward to. As for making Reader an actual character, I decided that I will give him the name Fractal when I post it to AO3. Anyway, do enjoy! CW: Light violence, mentions of body modification, mentions of suicide. It's just the aperitif.

Respected Yumemizuki Mizuki,

It has been a while since our last outing, and I cannot help but wonder if you hold a grudge for that jovial bit of teasing regarding the recent customer crisis of your bathhouse. I can only assure you I meant no harm, and pray most piously to the Sacred Sakura for your forgiveness. It was my intention all along to motivate you out of your, do not take offence, rather pathetic state of defeatism. Judging by how the issue was resolved, it seems that my ploy found significant success. Wouldn’t you agree?

Regardless, there is a matter of great importance that happens to require our attention. I am sure the situation regarding a certain destructive white fox has reached your adorable, pointy ears - it is indeed the topic of this letter. You may remember that he was rescued quite recently from the open ocean, but until yesterday, he was rather docile in terms of behavior. His sudden outburst worries me greatly; dark bags under his eyes, seemingly relentless night terrors and his words all lead me to the conclusion that his unprecedented episode of mania is related to his dreams. I will share more details at my home - feel free to visit me at your earliest convenience. Haste would be appreciated as the sedatives will wear off in about a day or so; I believe the opportunity to examine him without resistance will significantly speed up our work. 

If you indeed hold a grudge towards me, I ask you to do it for him, not for me.

Awaiting your visit, 

The Beloved, Beautiful and Powerful Kitsune Guuji of the Narukami Shrine

Yae Miko

That morning, with the warm sun shining down on her, Mizuki was greeted with the sight of soldiers as she approached the Yae estate. The walls around Miko's home towered high but, clearly, proved inefficient at stopping one of her kind. Even if in her heart Mizuki doubted that humans, further slowed by armour, could stop a fox, she acknowledged the reasoning. 

The standing officer nodded as she went past him and further into the courtyard towards the Tengu General, exchanging words with her subordinates. Mizuki stepped up, attracting Sara's attention. 

“Greetings, Yumemizuki Mizuki.” She bows formally, a gesture returned by the newcomer. 

“Good afternoon, general-sama.” 

The soldier bows deeply and walks away, leaving the two women alone. Sara glances towards the building and sighs. 

“I assume you are here for Y/N? He made a lot of hassle, I'm sure you've heard.” The Tengu crosses her arms. “He sneaked between the house staff and left shamelessly through the front gate in his fox form.”

Mizuki nods. “I see. I wonder, if I may… Isn't it too trivial of an incident for you to get personally involved?”

“Not at all. After all, the fox escaped because of the incompetence of Tenryu guards. It's no insignificant matter as the escapee was a kitsune. As you know, they are highly dangerous.”

The doctor frowns. Wasn't Y/N supposed to be docile? From Miko's previous descriptions he sounded more like a traumatised child than a violent one. 

“Was anybody hurt, general?” She asks, looking around for any bandaged or limping soldiers. 

“Hm. Well… Sort of.” Sara clears her throat. “During his extraction from a cave by the beach, two officers tried to take him in by force. Y/N resisted, scratching and biting.”

Sara turns and waves a duo of soldiers closer. “See, despite what Yae Miko told me, not only did they escape with their lives, but also with little to no harm done to them. Show her.”

One of the soldiers passes his spear to the other and, saluting his superior, wraps up his sleeve to reveal… Nothing on his left forearm. Mizuki takes his arm and moves her face closer. There are no obvious marks - no blood, no scars, not even redness of the skin. Eventually, her sharp eyes spot two barely noticeable dents. She runs her fingers over them. It's almost as if this wasn't a bite, but a simple poke with two fingers. 

“That's… Strange.” She mumbles to herself, seeking out more of these bite marks. There are very few, as if the kitsune was playing, not seriously intending to defend himself. “Did he attack you anywhere else?”

“Mhm. Here, on my face.”

Indeed - Mizuki’s eyes quickly found multiple bruises and red lines across the man's right cheek. Again, however, these didn't seem like an honest attempt at doing harm, even superficial. The markings clearly signaled the fox's hands to be the weapon, but he must have had his nails trimmed so significantly that they lost any hardness in them. Was that even possible? 

Mizuki nods. “Thank you, soldiers, general. Is Lady Miko home?”

“She is, waiting for you and keeping an eye on the Yokai. Go in, we shan't keep you here any longer.”

After a brief exchange or parting pleasantries, the women part ways. Mizuki skips up the stairs and places a few polite knocks on the door. Almost instantly it opens, revealing Miko's exhausted, but smiling face. Without a word she moves to the side and motions towards the house’s depths, inviting her guest in. Mizuki enters. 

“What's the situation? How does he feel?” She asks, looking around to guess where Miko is leading her. 

“Asleep”, comes the answer. “The Naku Weed brew will keep him like this for the next three, maybe four hours. We can work in peace.”

Mizuki lifts her perfectly groomed brow. “Isn't that poisonous?”

“Heh. Not at all, for us kitsune at least. This kind of dose would do irreparable damage to the nervous system of most yokai and humans, but our race is more protected against it.” Miko explains, pressing the knob and pushing open the door to your room. “No need to be quiet, he's out.”

Her eyes land on your unconscious body, your back turned on her. The long, grizzly scars carved into your body assault her eyes. Some are new, staring back at her with recently scabbed crimson, but some seem old - so old that their only remnant is a colourless, white line left on uneven skin. Snow-white bandages snake around your torso, some stained with dark, red blood. There are many scratches and sickly-purple bruises across your arms and torso, likely there from your mad dash of an escape. In places untouched by harm, your skin is clean, pristine, so soft that just looking at it feels like caressing velvet. The hair in your head, as white as the bandages, seems to grow messily around two pointy, fox ears, only barely relaxed due to your state. 

“He went through much trouble, I can tell.” Mizuki sits down on one of the chairs facing the bed. “Who is he? A warrior?”

Miko looks down on her hands, tone nonchalant. “Hardly. I'd say that the term… Slave… Would be more descriptive of his life.”

“S-slave…? Yours?” There is surprise, but also worry in the baku’s voice. After all, the wretched act of taking away another's freedom was prohibited for centuries, ever since Makoto came to power. The thought of Miko enslaving one of her kin…

“Not at all. I should feel insulted by the mere notion that I would stoop so low as to chain another, but I'm willing to forgive your ignorance.” Miko's gaze hardens as she looks at her friend. “You don't seem to know the basics of our history.”

“Then, please, enlighten me.”

Miko crosses her arms. “Inazuma was always welcoming towards Yokai, was it not? No matter the age, all of us could find shelter here. Baku, kappa, oni, tengu… Even malicious spirits like umibozu or ningen were left to their devices, provided they did no harm. But to this rule there was an exception. Us, kitsune.”

A sigh escapes her lips. “Before humans settled here, Inazuma was primarily a mess of city-states belonging to Yokai species, constantly warring for influence and territory. Kitsune were, of course, major players. Even a single fox could strike down tens of oni or swat even the most nimble of tengu from the sky. Our power was grand, but so was our thirst for conquest. My kind would have long conquered this land if it weren't for a major burden nature left us with. Kitsune mature slowly, so slowly that replenishing losses took centuries, millennia even. Every war was a blow to our population. Vixen like me bring litters into the world, counting up to seven kits true, but we can't reproduce at will - starvation would quickly set upon us. We knew we were a dwindling race, but we didn't bother changing our disposition.”

The Guuji stands up, starting to walk up and down the room at an even pace as she recounts. “We accumulated hate, curses, hexes. We drowned in evil, but we made light of various nithings and omens. Most of those bad charms were able to be nullified, but the more we turned against our kind, the more powerful our next opponents became. Until one fateful curse befell us.”

Mizuki stays silent, a part of her surprised at Miko's voice growing ever more silent. The next words are spoken with great care, as if to avoid insulting whatever being cast that spell. 

“May your daughters forever weep, for your unborn sons and brothers shall repent for your crimes and writhe in agony within the world below. Plague shall befall your fathers and husbands and brothers and sons until only the ninth remains standing, able to raise his arm in the name of evil.” Miko says, staring out the window. “These words, clear of any hatred towards its foxian killers, were spoken by a dying kirin.” She turns, a somber expression on her face. “Indeed, it is as you think. We, kitsune, murdered a kirin. And we were punished for it.”

You stirr in your drug-induced sleep. Miko quickly comes to your side as you turn on your back. She places a hand on your pale, scarred breast. 

“That day every male was brought to his knees by an illness unlike we saw before. It acted fast, so fast that most weren't able to even go home, let alone get help. Choking to death on their own blood, clutching their throats with veiny, purple hands, they fell and died on the street, corpses soon littering every corner. They died in agony and panic, no matter who they were - a soldier, a hunter, a doctor, a farmer… All paid for something our entire race was responsible for. Not even children were spared… They… Died the quickest. Newborns died in their cribs while infants spasmed in their mother's wombs. As it said - the majority of our dogs died, leaving the nation’s vixens in maddening grief. Only one in nine males survived, and each was only decades old… Far too young to hold a spear.”

She continues, stroking your hair. “In a matter of years our society plummeted into disarray. From the lack of engineers to keep our cities whole to a dreadful absence of warriors to fend off other, vengeful races. A male birth was an event so grand that entire towns came to greet the kit. We crumbled into dust, gradually pushed back to the brink of extinction, saved only by the coming of Makoto who chose to enforce peace between the Yokai.”

Her hands roam around to yours, her index finger stroking the bruises and scratches around your wrists. “Dogs became previous. They had to be protected, at all costs. We kept them inside, we monitored their every step, rushed to their side with medicine at the smallest cough. Their extinction meant our end - we couldn't allow that. Us vixen took it to heart so much that, over the centuries, males went from priceless treasure to slaves. To goods, like gold or the purest jewels. They were trained from birth to obey, forced into a rigorous training regiment to remain healthy and appealing to their owners, and sold when the time came - for Mora or political favours. Some vixens treated their dogs well, while some enjoyed torturing them for their sick entertainment; but no matter the personal preference, we sent them a clear message - they weren't people.”

Both women remain silent; Mizuki takes in her friend's words while Miko grips your wrists gently, clenching her teeth. For what they did to you, they deserved to be treated likewise. They deserved to be fed from a bowl, to be fed raw meat, to be assaulted whenever their captors wished. To have their clothes, their children, their dignity, their foxhood stripped away. 

“They deserve to be treated like animals. For what they did.” She hisses through her teeth, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes. Helplessness. 

“Hm?” Mizuki shakes her head out of deep thought and asks. 

“Nevermind.” Milo sighs. “There is a reason, Mizuki, that even the benevolent and kind Makoto could not bare to see what we were doing to them. She ordered our race to cease our barbarity or be gone from this land. The answer to what happened next should be obvious - most of us, noblewomen and mistresses with their entourages, families, entire clans even, left. Some of us stayed. I was, for example, abandoned at just three years of age during the exodus. Those that remained took me in, raised me to be who I am today. Our matron Hakushin was one of the fair few who did not choose to participate in this cruelty and tried to fight back when we were exiled, to wrench at least one male from the claws of her kin. Kitsune Guuji chose to live a childless life of chastity in the name of those crushes in our claws. And she failed.”

“I see. I'm… I can't even imagine what he went through. How old is he?” The baku asks. 

“Six hundred years old. Can you picture that? Six centuries of slavery, torture, rape. Six centuries of being fed like a canine, kicked away or being forced upon. Six centuries… Tens of litters, either pried from your hands or never allowed to be there in the first place. A living nightmare. A hell that, for him, was reality.” She raises up and turns back towards Mizuki. “As for what he'd been through, we shall see.”

The woman freezes. What? Surely, Miko wouldn't be willing to metaphorically crowbar his mind open and see inside…

“Oh my, I can tell what's going on inside your head, Mizuki. Are you perhaps thinking I would violate his privacy without proper cause?” Miko turns, her gloomy expression now replaced with a light smirk. “Whoever do you take me for?”

Mizuki stands up and crosses her arms. “Sure, sure. I know you have a reason, but we'll see if it's convincing enough. I never force myself into any mind, and I wouldn't make an exception for you.”

“I understand. Let me tell you, then, why this course of action is not only the best, but also the necessary one. I doubt you understand the true scale of his mind's corruption. If things were, indeed, less severe, I would have just waited for him to rest and taken him to the bath house.”

Miko leans over you and places a hand over your forehead, checking the temperature. It's normal, making her breathe a sigh of relief. 

“When I caught up to him and had the rickety old house he hid in surrounded, I went in on my own. I didn't want to scare him, you see. Y/N pounced on me from the ceiling wielding a rusty knife. I shielded myself, making him fly across the room like a rag, collapsing into some shelves. He didn't surrender though - he rose up, coughing, and attacked me with his bare hands. I had to push back yet again, but this time he fell and did not strike again. Instead, I saw tears in his eyes. The words he spoke are why you are here.”

—

“Ugh…” You clutch your chest, trying in vain to stop the blunt ache from spreading across your body. The dust and sand raised by the commotion gets into your lungs - you cough. Her pink hair pierces through the colourless cloud of dust, slowly coming closer. 

Your hand desperately pats your closest surroundings in search of a weapon. Nothing. 

“Calm down, please.” She speaks, raising both her hands in an attempt to look less threatening. But you know these tricks like the back of your hand. Even the softest of tones can carry the most hateful of words. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“Liar! Do you think I'm… Ah… Stupid enough to believe you?!” You crawl back but soon feel the woodworm-chewed wood of the hut against your skin. There is no way out, but you won't go quietly. “What is this new torture? Did you find my screams and pleads boring enough for you to invade my dreams too? Do you think that you infesting my waking life is not enough?!”

She stops, her hands lowering. You can't see her face through the dust-caused tears, but she looks… disoriented. A soft “what” reaches your ears. 

“So that's how it is, Matsui. If you think you can fool me with a simple change of face and name, you're wrong. And if you think you can rape my mind too, you're mistaken! This is my dream, I have the power here! And I can do whatever I want. I can kill you. Or I can kill myself.” You look around, spotting a dusty razor blade, half-buried under the debris. You make sure not to look at it directly. “You may hurt me in the physical world, but you won't hurt me in the only safe haven I have left. Fuck you!”

Leaping forward towards the weapon, you quickly feel your body freeze in mid air. Thin, purple lightning wraps around your wrists, arms, ankles… You're stuck. You wiggle your fingers, desperately trying to reach your way out. Your proof of agency. Your display that you can influence what happens to you, that you’re not a mindless object. This simple tool that will break her toy once and for all. 

But regardless of your desires, Miko snares you with her elemental powers, just short of the razor. An ancient painting of helplessness and dread. 

“I hate you! I hate you!” You scream, ears folding in rage. “I hate you and everything you stand for!”

Miko doesn’t respond. She simply does not know if any word could convey the feelings brewing in her mind; neither the confusion about the reason for your outburst, nor the astonishment at just what came out of your mouth, are expressible. She observes you as your malnourished body trembles with rage, with hate. Vitriol rolls freely off your tongue. You call her every single insult you know in a hopeless attempt to… Scare her, make her back off, make her react somehow. The silence confuses you… Does she not want to kick you into shutting up? Your futile resistance against the bindings falters, wrath turning into hopeless sadness. Yet again you feel tears rolling down your face. 

“H-hate you… W-why…”

Your body is lowered back onto the floor and you immediately fall limp. The world, your past, your future and your present overwhelm your senses. You don’t want this, you never did. You didn’t plead in the face of Gods to let you come into this world, experience neither the pleasures, nor the pains of what surrounds you. You cannot deal with this yourself. You cannot be a hero. You cannot be an example that it’s possible, that you can endure anything and live on. You’re weak. 

So weak and witless that you can’t even kill yourself. 

You hear her shuffle closer to you. Normally you would move away from her, dodge her touch as best as you could. But this time your hands wrap around her loose sleeves and pull them closer. Before long your face nuzzles into her chest, attempting to hide from the world, even behind the one that hurt you so much. She strokes your hair, softly speaking to you in an attempt to ease your nerves, fruitlessly. Because, sobbing, you realise why you cling onto her so much. Even after she broke your tails, even after she broke your ribs, branded you, starved and humiliated and assaulted and belittled and objectified you. 

It’s because you have nobody else. 

Only her. Only Matsui. 

—

Mizuki listens intently to Miko’s report, her mind already picking apart your words and analysing it for potential basis. Her conclusions come swiftly and decidedly. 

“Derealisation”, she says. “Clear signs of post traumatic stress disorders, suicidal ideation and rock-bottom self esteem. Nod-Krai syndrome.”

“I’m unfamiliar with that. What does it mean?” Miko sits by your side, eyes boring into your unconscious face with a vague, hateful expression. She wants to hug you, shelter you from the world like she did just hours ago. But she would much more tear out the throat of Matsui, whoever she was - sky kitsune or a lowly fox, it did not matter. 

“Nod-Krai was conquered by the Cryo Archon, who quickly began decisive repressions against the local culture and ethnic identity.” Mizuki explains. “However, thanks to circumstances, local power play and propaganda, the native people of the land became thankful and loyal to their oppressor, the destroyer of altars and the murderer of entire villages. In the same exact way, Y/N seems to cling to Matsui - in this case, believing you’re her in disguise, despite everything she did to him in the past.”

Miko clenches her other hand, keeping the one on your shoulder soft and open. She nods. “I understand.”

There’s a moment of silence before the baku picks up the conversation. 

“Would you let me examine him?” She stands up. “I might not be a trained medic, but I think I can pick up some things you might have missed.”

The other woman, having shaken off the gloom of her memory, sends her friend a playfully indignant expression. 

“With respect to your own skill, Lady Guuji.” 

Miko smiles. “Ah, such compliments. In that case, you may have a look.”

Mizuki nods in thanks and takes the spot just freed by her host. Your defences seemed rather timid - the reason could be simple restraint or mercy, but judging by Miko’s accounts of your mistrust and paranoia, something else was at play. She guides her finger closer to your lips and carefully lifts up your lip, revealing perfectly tended, pristine teeth. Upon a closer look, she notices what exactly stands out among them. 

“His canines. They are filed down, see?” She opens your jaw a little, revealing just how even your teeth are, deprived of the four points in the corners. “The ends are imperfectly flat and there are small chips on the inside of each tooth. It could have been done with a simple nail file… I barely see red, meaning they must have been fairly long before.”

Ignoring the chills running down her spine from the mental image for curiosity’s sake, Miko leans in to get a better look. “Isn’t the pulp inside the entire tooth?”

“It is.” Mizuki nods. “But here it has a large circumference, meaning this is the base of the tooth.” Her own teeth hurt as if in solidarity with yours. “By the Shogun, I pray he wasn’t awake for this…”

Miko refrains from speaking to avoid words unbefitting of the Guuji slipping from her lips. The psychologist’s eyes wander down to your hands. The sight of perfectly clipped nails, so much so that they end with not the thinnest of white lines, seems odd to her. Surely after an extensive journey to Narukami Island by sea, and presumably no manicure from Miko, they would have grown even a little bit. She takes your left index finger into her hand and pauses right away. The nail… It’s not tough. To verify her suspicion, she scratches at it with her own fingernails, only to find that they meet no resistance. What’s more, something brown flakes off. Mizuki does this some more and proceeds to gather up the shavings onto her palm, turning around and presenting it to Miko. 

“Can you please tell me what they smell like?” She asks. “I touched his fingernails and they flaked off.”

Without question, Miko lifts Mizuki’s hand up to her nose and takes a careful whiff.

“Hm…” She muses. “His scent, sweat and… Leather? Yes. Tanned leather, the sort used for shoes.”

“Then it is just as I had feared. Miko, I think he’s been… Declawed, in a manner of speaking.” She presses your fingers into her arms, as hard as she can, but she feels no toughness digging into her skin. 

Miko’s heart begins to beat faster. “Declawed? Like a cat, you say? How is that even possible if he is in human form? Human nails grow all the time…”

“That’s a good question. I’d guess that the techniques they used to subdue dogs became advanced enough to do that. Even if it’s impossibly cruel… It’s impressive.” She shows your hand to Miko. “These painted strips of leather do look like normal fingernails.”

Your caretaker glances at your hand, then back at your peaceful face. It seems like your owners didn’t like their toy having any capability to fight back, or just show displeasure. Like a cat that paws anybody in defence or a dog, biting its cruel owner, you were stripped of your natural defences. She can already imagine it wasn’t enough - judging by how you acted, they tried to remove your very instinct to oppose and protect yourself. If not for this episode of confusion between dreams and the waking world, would she never see you fight back? Never see you refuse, stand your ground, all because whatever you could use was taken away and your mind was washed with cruelty and abuse to be unable to comprehend consent, self-preservation?

Most importantly…

Was this done to you right away, or as punishment…?

“I want to know. I want to see what he experienced.” Miko says, her brow furrowing. “He might not be able to tell me, but I must know. I must understand.”

Mizuki nods. “Give me a moment. We’ll see soon enough.”

In Miko’s gaze, resting on your limp, nailless, tortured hand, there is a promise. 

She’s coming for you. 

She’ll pick up the pieces and put you back together, however shattered you might be. 

Thanks for reading!

ALWAYS, FOREVER :: JACKIE TAYLOR

⏝ི ✿ 𝓢𝗬𝗡. a tender chronicle of two souls intertwined through secret languages and stolen kisses, as they shatter beneath society's frost only to thaw into truth under courage's warm light.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[cw.] — a narrative shaped by Spring Into Summer by lizzy mcalpine; an au where the crash never occurred. jackie, constrained by compulsory heteronormativity, navigates the complexities of longing and self-discovery in 1996’s quiet ache.

jackie taylor was born in december, a winter child with snowflakes in her hair and frost on her eyelashes. you could see it in her eyes—hazelnut blonde, wide and unblinking, framed with lashes so thick they cast shadows on her cheeks—the innate understanding that beauty was both weapon and armor. she resembled a wide-eyed doll come to life, porcelain-perfect and untouchable, a girl who learned early how to smile just right, how to laugh at jokes that weren't funny, how to hold herself with the straight-backed posture of someone who knew she was being watched.

you were born in april, a spring child with pollen dusting your shoulders and petals unfurling in your lungs. your curls were the color of soil after rain, rich and earthy, framing a face that was all soft planes and curious eyes. you had lips that naturally pouted, as if perpetually on the verge of asking another question. while jackie stood straight, you moved like water finding its way downhill, following currents invisible to others, bending but never breaking.

the first time you met, you were both four years old, playing in a sandbox that was really just a glorified cat litter box behind wiskayok elementary's pre-k building. jackie had a plastic shovel and a determination to build the perfect castle. you had nothing but your hands and an imagination that transformed each grain of sand into universes.

"you're doing it wrong," jackie said, watching you pat formless mounds with your palms.

you looked up, squinting against the late summer sun, and replied, "there's no wrong way to play."

jackie considered this with the serious expression of a child contemplating philosophy for the first time. then she handed you her extra bucket.

"here. now you can make towers."

instead, you filled the bucket with dandelions and placed it atop her meticulous castle like a crown.

that was how it began—the bunny and the doe, an unlikely pair bound by the mysterious gravity that draws children together before they learn to question why they like who they like.

⚘

in the arithmetic of childhood friendships, you and jackie defied every equation. she was all clean lines and planned adventures; you were smudged margins and spontaneous detours. she collected friends like trading cards, carefully arranged and displayed; you collected stories and kept them pressed between the pages of your mind like wildflowers.

jackie's house was a showcase of suburban aspiration—gleaming hardwood floors that her mother polished every sunday, furniture arranged at perfect right angles, family photos in matched frames documenting their collective perfection. the refrigerator door was a museum of accomplishments; jackie's straight-A report cards, certificates of achievement, newspaper clippings of her youth soccer victories.

your house was a labyrinth of books—stacked on stairs, teetering on tables, forming makeshift furniture of their own. your father, an english professor, believed in the sanctity of the written word; your mother, a nurse with the soul of a poet, believed in the healing power of stories. they gave you a childhood scripted by dickens and alcott and austen, letting you run wild through fictional worlds when the real one seemed too constrained.

in jackie's bedroom, everything had its place. trophies on shelves, stuffed animals arranged by size, clothes sorted by color and season. you spent countless afternoons lying on her pink carpet, watching her organize her life into perfect compartments while you read aloud from whatever book had captured your imagination that week.

"don't you ever get bored?" jackie asked once, sitting at her vanity, practicing french braids on her own hair. "reading about other people's lives instead of living your own?"

you looked up from your dog-eared copy of "anne of green gables" and said, "i'm not reading about other people's lives. i'm living a thousand lives in addition to my own."

jackie's expression flickered between confusion and fascination. "i don't think i could ever be like you," she said finally.

"why would you want to be?" you asked. "i already have me. the world needs you to be jackie."

she smiled at that, a rare genuine smile that reached her bunny eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. "you're so weird," she said, but she said it like it was a compliment.

in your room, books formed a fortress around your bed. posters of the cranberries and your favorite french movies covered the walls. your dresser was a archaeological dig of half-finished stories written in notebooks, fragments of poems on loose paper, quotes copied from favorite books onto index cards.

"how do you find anything in here?" jackie would ask, perched primly on the edge of your unmade bed, afraid to disturb the creative chaos.

"i don't find things," you'd reply. "things find me when i need them."

she'd roll her eyes but submit to the ritual of lying beside you on the floor, heads close together, while you pointed out shapes in the textured ceiling and spun stories about cloud kingdoms and star wars, years before either of you had heard of george lucas.

between your houses lay wiskayok itself—a town too small to hide in but too big to truly know everyone. you navigated its streets like parallel rivers, sometimes converging, sometimes diverging, but always flowing toward some shared, unnamed sea.

the summer before sixth grade was the summer of secret languages. twelve years old, teetering on the precipice between childhood and something more complex, you and jackie created ways to communicate that no one else could understand.

it began with a simple code—replacing letters with numbers, leaving notes in each other's lockers, giggling when others couldn't decipher them. then came the elaborate hand signals, each flick of a wrist or tap of fingers conveying entire sentences. by july, you had developed an entire vocabulary of facial expressions, able to conduct silent conversations across crowded rooms.

it was also the summer jackie's body began its betrayal, developing before yours in ways that drew new kinds of attention. boys who had pulled her hair in fourth grade now found reasons to stand close to her, to brush against her in hallways. girls who had been friendly rivals now measured themselves against her, finding themselves wanting.

you watched this metamorphosis with a scientist's curiosity and a poet's heart, cataloging the changes in your best friend like phases of the moon. the way she started wearing her hair down instead of in the practical ponytail of her soccer-playing days. the careful application of lip gloss where once she'd just slathered on cherry chapstick. the measured pace of her walk, slowed from its former eager bounce to something more deliberate, more aware.

"do you think i'm pretty?" she asked one night, both of you lying on the trampoline in her backyard, the august sky a tapestry of stars above you.

"you know you are," you answered, turning to study her profile in the dim glow of distant porch lights.

"no, but do you think i'm pretty?" her voice had an urgency to it, a need that transcended the typical reassurance-seeking of preteen girls.

you propped yourself up on one elbow, looking down at her face—those wide eyes reflecting pinpricks of starlight, that perfect nose, those lips now slightly parted in anticipation of your answer.

"i think you're the most beautiful thing i've ever seen," you said, the truth spilling out before you could filter it through the appropriate lens of girlhood friendship.

her face changed then, softened and opened like a night-blooming flower. "show me," she whispered.

and there, beneath the indifferent gaze of distant galaxies, you leaned down and pressed your lips to hers in a kiss that lasted three heartbeats—one for courage, one for discovery, one for a revelation neither of you was ready to name.

when you pulled away, jackie's eyes remained closed for a moment longer, her lashes dark crescents against her cheeks. when she opened them, there was a new language being born between you, one with no words or gestures, one written in quickened pulses and hitched breaths.

"we should practice," she said finally, pragmatic even in this uncharted territory. "for when we kiss boys."

"for boys," you agreed, though even then, you knew no boy's lips would ever fit against yours the way jackie's did.

that became another secret language—kisses stolen in the shadows of her basement during movie nights, in the back corner of the library behind the reference section, in the equipment shed after soccer practice when everyone else had gone home. always under the guise of "practice," always followed by giggles and performance reviews, as if you were merely rehearsing for some future that required this skill.

by the time school started again, you had become fluent in each other, able to translate the slightest change in breathing, the smallest shift in posture. it was a dictionary written in skin and breath, a grammar of touch and taste.

a language destined to become a dead one far sooner than either of you could have imagined.

⚘

eighth grade arrived with the subtle seismic shifts of tectonic plates—imperceptible to most, but you felt the tremors beneath your feet. jackie joined the advanced soccer team, began spending weekends at tournaments in neighboring towns. you joined the literary magazine, disappearing into the cocoon of the newspaper office during lunch periods.

the kisses became less frequent, though more intense when they happened. there was a desperation to them now, as if jackie was trying to memorize the feel of you before something took you away from her.

"jeff sadecki asked me to the harvest dance," she told you one october afternoon. you were lying on your stomachs in her bedroom, algebra homework spread before you, though neither of you had written anything for twenty minutes.

"are you going to go?" you asked, carefully keeping your voice neutral, tracing the edge of your textbook with one finger.

"i think so," she said, watching your finger move. "my mom would literally explode with joy. she's been hinting about me and jeff since his mom and her started that book club."

you nodded, understanding the invisible architecture of expectations that had been built around jackie since birth. good grades. soccer excellence. student council. and now, the perfect boyfriend—handsome enough, smart enough, from the right kind of family. jeff sadecki with his easy smile and varsity jacket already as an eighth grader, being groomed for high school glory just as jackie was.

"he's nice," you offered, because it was true, and because you knew that was what jackie needed to hear.

"yeah," she agreed, not meeting your eyes. "he's nice."

that night, when she kissed you goodbye at your front door—a risky move given the well-lit porch and curtainless windows—there was a finality to it that made your chest ache.

"just because i'm going to the dance with him doesn't mean anything changes with us," she whispered against your lips.

but you were the reader of stories, the one who could see foreshadowing in everyday moments, who understood the inevitable trajectory of narrative arcs. you knew an ending when you tasted one.

"nothing ever stays the same, jackie," you said, pulling back to look into those bunny eyes, now shining with unshed tears. "that's okay. that's how life works."

she shook her head, suddenly fierce. "not us. we're different."

you wanted to believe her. for a moment, standing there with her cold hands framing your face, you almost did.

the fault lines continued to spread throughout that year. jeff became jackie's boyfriend in the official, going-steady sense. you started spending lunches with lottie, who shared your interest in astrology and tarot, and laura lee, whose fervent christianity somehow complemented your more pagan sensibilities rather than clashing with it. different lunch tables became different social circles became different weekend activities.

the last time you and jackie kissed was the night before high school started. she had come to your house, unexpected, climbing the tree outside your window like she used to do in elementary school when her parents were fighting and she needed escape.

"i'm scared," she admitted, sitting cross-legged on your bed, looking smaller than she had in months.

"of high school?" you asked, closing the book you'd been reading.

she shook her head. "of everything. of not being good enough. of being exactly what everyone expects and nothing more. of—" she paused, looking down at her hands. "of how i feel when I'm with you."

the confession hung between you, heavier than any silence you'd shared.

"how do you feel when you're with me?" you asked, though you knew. of course you knew. you felt it too—the rightness, the completion, the sense of coming home that no other friendship or relationship had ever given you.

"like i'm real," she whispered. "like i don't have to pretend."

you moved then, crossing the small distance between you, taking her face in your hands as she had held yours so many times. "you never have to pretend with me."

the kiss that followed was different from all the others—not practice, not play, but promise. a vow written in the press of lips and the tangle of tongues, in the way her hands fisted in your shirt and yours threaded through her hair. you tasted salt and realized she was crying, or maybe you both were, tears mingling in the seam where your mouths met.

when you finally broke apart, breathing hard, foreheads still touching, jackie spoke words that would echo through the empty corridors of your future;

"i can't be this. i'm sorry, but i can't."

"this?" you gestured between you. "you mean being friends?"

"you know that's not what i mean." her voice dropped to a whisper. "the other stuff. it has to stop. it's—it's not right."

the words landed like a slap. "not right?"

"it's disgusting," she said, but her voice wavered on the word, betraying the lie. "i'm with jeff now. i think i love him."

you stepped back as if burned. "you don't mean that."

"i do," she insisted. "we're not kids anymore. it's time to grow up."

high school dawned crisp and clear, a perfect september morning that felt like a mockery of your shattered heart. the hallways of wiskayok high were wider than those of the middle school, the ceilings higher, the social hierarchies more rigidly enforced. by lunchtime on the first day, everyone knew their place—or at least, knew where they were supposed to aspire to sit.

jackie slid effortlessly into her predetermined role; freshman soccer star, girlfriend of sophomore football player jeff sadecki, potential homecoming court material despite her young age. she walked the halls with a confidence that looked genuine to everyone who hadn't spent a decade learning her tells—the slight tension in her shoulders, the too-wide smile, the way she checked her reflection in every available surface.

you found your niche in the spaces between expectations. too smart to be dismissed, too pretty in your unconventional way to be entirely outcast, too unapologetically yourself to be fully embraced by any single clique. you spent your lunch periods in the library or the courtyard with lottie and laura lee, an unlikely trio bound by your shared appreciation for the mysteries that existed just beyond the veil of everyday life.

lottie, with her dark eyes that seemed to see straight through pretense, never asked why you flinched when Jackie and her soccer teammates passed your table. laura lee, whose faith gave her a compassion rare in the gladiatorial arena of high school, simply passed you extra cookies from her immaculately packed lunch on the days when jackie and jeff were particularly demonstrative in the hallways.

you watched from a distance as jackie became more polished, more perfect, more packaged for public consumption. her natural grace on the soccer field translated to a carefully choreographed performance of ideal teenage girlhood off it. by sophomore year, she was captain of the jv team, dating the varsity quarterback, maintaining a gpa that kept her solidly in the top ten percent without threatening the true academic overachievers.

you bloomed differently—unfurling rather than constructing, growing toward whatever light called to you rather than the one you were expected to seek. your essays won state competitions. your poems were published in literary journals that usually only accepted college students' work. a short story you wrote about two childhood friends who communicated through a secret language earned you a summer workshop at the state university, where professors spoke of your voice as "astonishingly mature" and "hauntingly authentic."

for two years, you and jackie enacted an elaborate performance of polite distance. you acknowledged each other with nods in hallways, exchanged bland pleasantries when mutual activities forced interaction. to outsiders, you were former friends who had drifted apart as childhood companions often do. only you knew the truth of what had been lost.

until junior year, when the fault lines that had been dormant suddenly ruptured.

⚘

it happened at shauna shipman's halloween party, one of those high school gatherings that seemed destined for disaster from its conception. parents out of town, a house too nice to risk trashing but too tempting not to use, alcohol flowing freely despite most attendees being years from legal drinking age.

you hadn't planned to go. parties were jackie's domain, not yours. but lottie had insisted, claiming the veil between worlds was thinnest on halloween, and what better place to observe the unmasking of true selves than at a costume party?

so there you were, dressed as ophelia in the depths of her madness—flower crown askew on your curls, vintage nightgown artfully torn and stained with watercolors to suggest river water, eyes dramatically lined to hint at beautiful despair.

"bit on the nose, isn't it?" lottie commented when she picked you up, herself resplendent as some pagan goddess with antlers woven into her dark hair.

"literature is always on the nose," you replied. "that's why it hurts so much."

you didn't plan to stay long—just enough to appease lottie, maybe talk to a few people from your ap literature class who might appreciate your costume's details. what you didn't plan for was jackie, three drinks past her usual limit, dressed as a playboy bunny—an outfit that played up both her soccer-toned body and the nickname you had given her so many years ago.

she saw you from across the room, those wide eyes growing impossibly wider. for a moment, the carefully constructed mask slipped, and you saw your jackie—the girl who had handed you a sand bucket, who had let you read aloud for hours, who had kissed you beneath a canopy of stars.

then jeff's arm slid around her waist, and the mask snapped back into place.

you retreated to the relative quiet of the kitchen, hoping to find water or perhaps even a quieter exit. instead, you found yourself cornered by travis, a quiet boy from your calculus class who had been working up the courage to talk to you for weeks.

"your costume is amazing," he said, sincerity evident in his voice. "you actually look like you stepped out of a pre-raphaelite painting."

you smiled, genuinely surprised by his art history reference. "thank you. i wasn't sure anyone would get it."

"i did a project on millais last year," he explained, then launched into an enthusiastic if slightly nervous discussion of victorian art that was actually interesting enough to distract you from your desire to leave.

you didn't notice jackie watching from the doorway, her bunny ears askew, her eyes narrowed with an emotion too complex to name.

later, you would piece together what happened from fragmented accounts and your own blurred memories; jackie, drunk and emotional, confronting jeff about some perceived slight. jeff, equally intoxicated, saying something careless. jackie, storming off to the bathroom. you, excusing yourself from travis to get some air on the back porch. the paths crossing in the hallway.

"having fun with travis?" jackie's voice had an edge you'd never heard before.

"he's nice," you said, echoing her words about jeff from so long ago.

"nice," she repeated, almost sneering. "is that what you want? nice?"

"what do you think i want, jackie?" the question came out tired rather than confrontational.

she stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the vodka cranberries on her breath, could see the smudge in her otherwise perfect eyeliner. "i think you want what you can't have."

"that's rich, coming from you."

"what is that supposed to mean?"

"it means you're the one who walked away, not me." the words came out sharper than you intended, years of carefully contained hurt suddenly finding release.

jackie's face contorted, a kaleidoscope of emotions shifting too quickly to track. "you think i wanted to? you think i had a choice?"

"we all have choices, jackie. every day."

"easy for you to say." her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "you get to be you. free and artistic and not caring what anyone thinks. i don't have that luxury."

"it's not a luxury. it's courage."

she recoiled as if slapped. "so i'm a coward now?"

"i didn't say that."

"you didn't have to." jackie's eyes filled with tears that she angrily blinked away. "you've always been so fucking superior, haven't you? so sure you know everything about everyone's heart."

"i never claimed to know everything," you said quietly. "just yours."

something broke in her expression then—the final wall crumbling. "you don't, though. you don't know what it's like to feel like you're rotting from the inside out. to know that everything you're supposed to want, everything you've been raised to chase, feels like ash in your mouth compared to—" she stopped abruptly.

"compared to what, jackie?"

"compared to one minute with you," she whispered, defeat and revelation mingling in her voice.

what happened next was inevitable as gravity—her hands finding your face, your bodies colliding against the hallway wall, mouths meeting with the desperate hunger of the long-starved. it was nothing like your childhood kisses, nothing like your tentative teenage explorations. this was excavation, archaeology, mining for something precious thought lost forever.

and like all such desperate digs, it caused a collapse.

"what the fuck?"

jeff's voice shattered the moment. you broke apart to find him standing at the end of the hallway, face twisted in confusion and dawning anger. behind him, a small crowd had gathered, drawn by the promise of drama.

jackie froze, her face draining of color. you watched as her eyes darted from jeff to the onlookers, saw the exact moment when panic overtook every other emotion.

"it's not—she just—i was trying to get her off me," jackie stammered, stepping away from you as if burned.

the words hit like physical blows. you stared at her, unable to process this ultimate betrayal.

"jesus, i always knew there was something weird about her," someone in the crowd murmured.

"fucking dyke," someone else said, not bothering to lower their voice.

jackie looked at you, naked terror in her eyes. "i'm sorry," she mouthed silently.

but you were already moving, pushing through the crowd, ignoring the taunts and whispers, running from the house with flower petals from your crown scattering behind you like ophelia's sanity breaking apart on the current.

the aftermath was as brutal as high school could make it. for you, at least. somehow, jackie emerged relatively unscathed—the popular girl who had been accosted by her strange former friend, the victim rather than the participant. jeff, after initial anger, took her back. her soccer teammates closed ranks around her. the story morphed in the retelling until you were the predator, she the innocent prey.

lottie and laura lee stood by you, fierce in their loyalty. travis, surprisingly, became another ally, walking you to classes when the whispers grew too loud, sharing his notes on days when you couldn't face the hallways. but high school was still high school, and the weight of being suddenly, unwillingly visible was suffocating.

winter came early that year, november bringing snow that usually waited until december. you watched it fall from the window of your bedroom, wondering if the universe was mocking you with its metaphors—jackie's season descending before its time, burying the world in cold silence.

you didn't see her outside of classes you couldn't avoid. she kept her eyes down when forced into proximity, her face a mask of practiced indifference. only once did you catch her mask slip—in the girls' bathroom during fifth period, when she thought herself alone. you entered silently, saw her gripping the sink, staring at her reflection with such naked self-loathing that you almost went to her, almost reached out.

then she noticed you in the mirror and the mask slammed back into place. she left without washing her hands or saying a word.

december brought holiday preparations and the temporary reprieve of everyone being too busy with exams and family obligations to maintain active torment. you threw yourself into writing, producing a series of poems that your english teacher described as "disturbingly beautiful" and urged you to submit to collegiate competitions.

january crawled by, february a blur of gray skies and slush-covered sidewalks. you survived by disappearing into books, into words, into the worlds you created where endings could be rewritten and love didn't collapse under the weight of expectation.

and then came march, with its false promises of thaw, its teasing glimpses of sun between snow flurries. you were sitting in the library during lunch, lost in sylvia plath's "ariel," when a shadow fell across your page.

"can we talk?"

jackie's voice, so familiar yet strange after months of silence. you looked up to find her standing awkwardly before you, clutching the strap of her backpack like a lifeline.

"i don't think we have anything to say to each other." your voice came out steadier than you felt.

"please." one word, but it contained oceans.

you gathered your books slowly, giving yourself time to rebuild the walls her presence immediately threatened to crumble. "fine. where?"

"the old equipment shed? after school?"

the location choice wasn't lost on you—the site of so many of your secret meetings in earlier days, now abandoned as the school had built newer facilities closer to the main fields.

"i'll be there at 3:30," you said, not looking at her. "i won't wait long."

she nodded and left quickly, as if afraid you might change your mind.

you told yourself you wouldn't go. told yourself it was masochism, not closure. told yourself there was nothing she could say that would matter now.

but at 3:25, you found yourself walking across the still-frozen field toward the shed, your breath clouding before you in the march chill.

jackie was already there, pacing the small interior, her varsity jacket pulled tight against the cold. she stopped when you entered, her eyes wide and uncertain.

"you came," she said, as if she couldn't quite believe it.

"i said i would." you remained near the door, unwilling to step fully into this space so laden with memory.

jackie took a deep breath. "i need to apologize. what i did at the party—throwing you under the bus like that—it was unforgivable."

"yes," you agreed. "it was."

she flinched but continued. "i was scared and drunk and stupid, but that's not an excuse. i've been a coward for years, and that night was just the worst example."

you said nothing, waiting.

"the thing is," she continued when you didn't speak, "i've been thinking a lot about what you said. about choices. about courage." she paced again, unable to stay still under the weight of what she was trying to say. "i don't want to be a coward anymore."

"what does that mean, jackie?" you were tired, suddenly, of riddles and half-truths.

she stopped pacing and looked directly at you for what felt like the first time in years. "it means i'm in love with you. i think i have been since we were kids. and i've been running from it because i thought there was something wrong with me for feeling that way."

the words hung in the cold air between you, crystallizing like frost.

"you hurt me," you said finally. "not just at the party. every day since eighth grade when you decided i was too dangerous to your perfect life."

"i know." her eyes filled with tears. "and i will regret that for the rest of my life. but i'm here now, telling you the truth, finally. for whatever that's worth."

"and jeff? the soccer team? the perfect jackie taylor life?"

she swallowed hard. "jeff and i broke up last week. the rest... i don't know. i just know i can't keep pretending. it's killing me." she took a tentative step toward you. "i don't expect you to forgive me. i don't expect anything. i just needed you to know that you were right—about me being a coward, about me making choices. i'm trying to make better ones now."

you studied her face, looking for signs of the old jackie—the girl who would say whatever was necessary to maintain appearances, to keep her world spinning on its prescribed axis. but all you saw was raw honesty and fear.

"i don't know what to say," you admitted.

"you don't have to say anything. i just..." she wrapped her arms around herself. "i miss my best friend. i miss the person who knew me better than i knew myself. i miss you."

the simple truth of it cracked something in your carefully maintained armor.

"i've missed you too," you whispered.

jackie's eyes lit with cautious hope. "really?"

"every day."

she took another step toward you, then another, until she was close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, could smell the familiar scent of her shampoo.

"i can't promise i won't mess up again," she said softly. "i can't promise i'll be brave all the time. but i want to try. with you, if you'll let me."

you reached out slowly, touched her cheek with fingertips that remembered the feel of her skin from years of memorizing it in secret moments.

"i don't need you to be brave all the time," you said. "i just need you to be honest. with yourself, most of all."

she turned her face into your touch, eyes closing briefly. "i can do that."

outside, a tentative sun broke through the clouds, sending shafts of light through the shed's dusty windows. somewhere in the distance, a bird began to sing—the first herald of spring's approach.

"it won't be easy," you warned, thinking of the world waiting beyond this momentary shelter.

jackie opened her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "nothing worth having ever is."

she leaned forward then, hesitant, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn't. when her lips met yours, it felt like recognition, like remembering something essential you had tried to forget.

it felt like spring melting winter, like currents too strong to fight.

it felt, at last, like truth.

⚘

spring came late that year, but when it arrived, it came with a vengeance—green exploding across the landscape, flowers erupting from soil that had seemed dead only weeks before, the world renewing itself with reckless abandon.

you and jackie moved cautiously at first, relearning each other in stolen moments between classes, in weekend hours spent in the sanctuary of your book-filled bedroom, in long walks through forests just beginning to wake from winter's dormancy.

the rest of junior year unfolded in unexpected ways. jackie quit the soccer team, causing a minor scandal that was soon overshadowed by prom drama and graduation preparations for the seniors. she joined the literary magazine staff, revealing a talent for photography that complemented your words in ways that surprised you both. together, you created a series of photo essays that won the publication its first national recognition.

lottie and laura lee welcomed jackie into your lunch table circle with minimal skepticism, though lottie made it clear in her eerily perceptive way that second betrayals would not be tolerated. travis became a friend to you both, his quiet intellect and complete lack of interest in high school politics making him a safe harbor in still-turbulent waters.

there were still whispers, still sidelong glances in hallways. but as spring progressed into summer, as junior year gave way to the promise of senior year and beyond, those voices seemed to matter less and less.

on the last day of school, you and jackie returned to the equipment shed—not out of secrecy now, but out of sentiment. you brought a blanket to spread over the dusty floor, a small basket of strawberries and chocolate, a bottle of sparkling cider smuggled from your parents' fridge.

"do you remember the first time we came here?" jackie asked, lying beside you on the blanket, her fingers intertwined with yours.

"seventh grade," you said. "after you scored the winning goal against westfield. you were so pumped up on adrenaline you practically dragged me in here."

she laughed. "i told you i wanted to show you something important."

"and then you kissed me."

"and then i kissed you," she agreed. "best impulse i ever had."

you turned to look at her, at the face you had loved in so many different ways throughout your shared life. "we took the long way around, didn't we?"

jackie's expression softened. "maybe we needed to. maybe i needed to understand what i'd be missing if i kept making the wrong choices."

"and now?"

"now i know." she shifted onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at you. "i know that nothing—not popularity or parental approval or some cookie-cutter future—is worth giving up what i feel when I'm with you."

you reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "and what do you feel when you're with me?"

"real," she said simply, echoing words from a night years ago. "like i don't have to pretend."

you pulled her down to you then, a kiss that tasted of strawberries and possibility, of winters survived and springs renewed.

outside, summer was asserting itself—the sun high and hot, the world lush with life. inside the small shed, time seemed suspended, the past and future collapsing into a perfect present.

later, walking home with your hands swinging between you, unafraid now of who might see, jackie stopped suddenly.

"what is it?" you asked.

she was looking at you with an expression of wonder, as if seeing you for the first time. "i just realized something."

"what?"

"im happy," she said, sounding surprised. "actually, genuinely happy."

you smiled, feeling the truth of it in your own chest—a lightness that had been absent for too long. "me too."

as you continued walking, you thought about the cycles of seasons, how winter always gives way to spring, how spring inevitably yields to summer. how nothing is permanent except change itself.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ yuri is life :3 who missed me?

TAGLIST :: @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @waitforyrlove @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled @m4gz-png @ifwdominicfike @honeymoonchem @ch6rm @freshloveee @theapollochronicles @mattsdolll @jetaimevous @secretlocket @saturniolo

😭 Thank you so so so so so much for writing my request!! There's absolutely no rush with this I just wanted to ask another one, Because I'm kind of obsessed with your work-

Perhaps Jackie Taylor X Reader where they have been married for a long time. Like 10 plus years. She wakes up ready to go to work but their reading is standing in the kitchen, And it reminds Jackie of when they were so young and in love. It just makes her fall in love with the reader all over again and she decides she just has to take the reader and eat her out on the counter!

-🦜

── RUNNING HOME TO YOUR SWEET NOTHINGS

— summary: slow mornings with jackie.

— warnings: established relationship/marriage. fem!reader. domestic fluff & nsfw content. mdni.

jackie stretches as she wakes, letting consciousness settle over her slowly. the sheets are warm, cocooning her in their familiar weight, too tempting to leave just yet. from the other room, the quiet sounds of morning drift in; the rustle of pages turning, the soft clink of a spoon against ceramic.

jackie’s muscles, untrained but prominent from years of soccer in highschool and college, uncoil as she turns her head toward your side of the bed. it’s empty but still holds the warmth of you, the shape of your body faintly imprinted on the freshly washed sheets. not gone long, then. she smiles to herself, fingertips tracing the dip where you had been.

a soft weight presses against her shin, pulling her from the last remnants of sleep. glancing down, jackie finds your cat curled at the foot of the bed, paws tucked neatly under its chin. she reaches out, running her fingers over its soft fur, scratching lightly between its ears. the cat barely stirs, only flicking its tail once before sinking deeper into sleep. even after all these years, it still favors you.

with another stretch, she swings her legs over the side of the bed, the morning air cool against her skin. reaching for the worn sweater draped over the chair, jackie tugs it on quickly. yours, technically, but she’s long since claimed it as her own in the mornings. the fabric is too large on her, with sleeves hanging way past her hands, but it smells like you and the lavender laundry detergent you always buy and feels more comforting than any of her own clothes.

once she pulls it over her head and untangles her limbs from the sheets, she moves from the bedroom. jackie already knows exactly where she’ll find you.

as she walks through the hallway, she passes all the little signs of your life together: the framed photo from your honeymoon hangs slightly crooked on the wall, something you always insist you’ll fix but never do. tucked into the frame is a worn polaroid from your first apartment, covering a small crack in the glass. in it, jackie is holding up a wine glass, while you’re caught mid-laugh, leaning into her the same way you always have, even in the wedding photos that follow further down the hall.

the entryway table holds a vase of dried flowers, a bouquet she had given you months ago, now preserved because you couldn’t throw them out. nearby, a small stack of mail she keeps meaning to sort through, books piled beside it, some hers, some yours, overlapping in the same way your lives always have. it’s a cozy kind of mess, one that makes her smile even in passing.

and then there’s you, the centerpiece of jackie’s existence now, standing in the kitchen, bathed in the light that spills through the curtains.

you’re still in your nightgown, its hem skimming the curve of your thighs, and your hair is a little mussed from sleep. one hand cradles a mug, while the other flips absently through a book on the counter, your lips quirking every so often at whatever you’re reading while you wait for the eggs to cook.

jackie freezes in the doorway to watch you for a bit.

it’s been over a decade. over ten years of this, of waking up and falling asleep to you, learning every single one of your habits, and still, she finds herself caught off guard by how much she loves you and how much she still wants you, in all the ways that matter.

she remembers mornings like this from the beginning, back when you were both in high school, and time alone was a rare thing. the only moments you had to yourselves then were tucked into the short window between her parents leaving for work and shauna pulling up to drive you both to school.

everything felt like new territory back then. your presence in her house had meant rushed breakfasts at the kitchen counter, stolen kisses between sips of coffee in the too-large home of the taylors, always cut short by the sound of an approaching car and the reality that you couldn’t stay.

now, here you are, still stealing her breath away.

you glance up as if sensing your wife, and your face softens into a smile. jackie swallows, her heart doing something embarrassingly teenage in her chest.

“you’re staring,” you tease, taking a sip of your tea. jackie hums, pushing off the doorframe and crossing the room. “can’t help it,”

you laugh. before you can say anything else, she’s there, warm hands finding your waist, pulling you into her. sighing into the touch, you instinctively set your mug down on the counter as she buries her face against your neck and breathes you in.

“mhm, good morning to you too mrs (y/l/n),” you murmur.

god, jackie never tires of hearing that: your name, now hers.

it had never even been a question. the moment it came up in a long conversation spent curled up bare under the sheets of the cottage where she’d proposed, jackie knew. you had tilted your head, fingers tracing lazy patterns against her shoulder, and asked, ‘so, what do we do about names?’ she had just shrugged, as if the answer was the simplest thing in the world. ‘i’ll take yours’

and that was that. no hesitation or second thoughts, just certainty, like so many things when it came to you.

“you still like the sound of that, huh?” you tilt your head enough for her to kiss you properly.

“best decision i ever made,” jackie whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. she can feel your smile against her lips in response.

“aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for work?”

she lets her hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt. “i changed my mind…”

“oh?”

“yeah. i think i’d rather stay here,”

you hum, and your fingers move into the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging just enough to make jackie sigh against your mouth.

she always knows where you need her before you do yourself, and her hands slide further up beneath the silky fabric, over warm skin, cupping all of your breasts in her palms. her teeth graze your bottom lip just enough to make you whine into her. she swallows the sound greedily, tilting her head to kiss you deeper, her fingers tightening like she wants to pull you even closer. like close will never be close enough.

just as smoothly as she works your lips apart to slip her tongue in, she hooks her hands under your thighs and lifts you onto the counter. with a startled laugh, you let her move you. jackie grins when she steps between your legs, roaming the expanse of your bare thighs.

“easy,” you tease.

jackie’s palms caress up your parted thighs, the heat of her touch leaving a trail in its wake until settling firm at your hips. she holds you there and you exhale against her, fingers slipping back into her hair, curling it in your fists.

your legs tighten around her waist, pulling her in closer until jackie swears under her breath, clearly feeling the warmth that radiates from your center. she breaks the kiss just long enough to press her forehead against yours, breathing heavy, lips agape.

“you,” she accuses with her index poking your sides. “are trying to kill me here!”

“i’m not doing anything!” you protest.

jackie scoffs, quick to steal another kiss. then another. and another, like she has all the time in the world. right when you’re sure she’s going to lose herself entirely, the kitchen timer beeps.

the eggs.

for half a second, jackie looks almost offended at the rude interruption, but then your head drops against her shoulder and your body shakes with laughter. she groans, but your laughter is contagious, and soon enough, she’s laughing too.

jackie doesn’t let go of you, blindly reaching behind herself to fumble for the stove dial until she manages to turn it off.

“you’re just going to leave them sitting there?”

she nods, lips trailing down your jaw again so her voice comes out muffled. “they’ll survive”

you wrap your arms around her shoulders whilst she kisses her way back to your mouth.

jackie’s fingers fumble with the tie of your nightgown, working it open without needing to break the kiss. years spent learning where to tug and pull to free you from your clothes are to blame, the different motions muscle memory by now.

no matter how familiar jackie is with your body, she will never not take her time savoring the sight of you: you’re not wearing anything underneath, save for a thin pair of panties, so with the way she’s pushed the gown open your chest is on full display.

“so pretty,” she purrs, already closing the distance again. her hands cup your breasts, rolling your nipples gently at the same time as she’s kissing you. jackie’s mouth wanders to the side of your throat, then further down.

there’s no longer need for claim, for desperate encounters that aim to prove something. jackie will occasionally enjoy ravishing you (sinking her teeth in your flesh until the skin between them bruises all while she’s really fucking you), but it has become this for the most part: gentle lovemaking whenever you have the chance, still unable to keep your hands off of each other.

her lips briefly graze over the valley between your breasts, then slide below your belly button as she lowers her weight to the ground in front of you. with a smile, you cup one side of her face, taking your own share of time to admire your wife.

jackie doesn’t let you have a lot of it, though: before you know it, her mouth is on the fabric of your underwear and your head falls back against the wall as she feels you up with her tongue and lips, pressing in the places she’s memorized by heart.

“is that okay?” she breathes against you, still fully clothed, but aching with want.

“mhm,” you tighten your grip and jackie, who sighs happily in response and reaches out to peel your panties off. she’s careful with it, making sure you won’t slide off the counter while she lifts one leg after the other, just to pocket the underwear once that is done.

an invitation would not be necessary, and still, you spread your legs wider, not out of urgency but trust, shame and self consciousness long outgrown.

she has seen you in every state, knows every scar, every curve, every place where time has left its mark and, still, jackie looks at you like you are the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. her hands brush over skin she’s traced a thousand times before, never with any less reverence.

you look down just in time to find jackie pressing a first kiss to your mound, her ragged breath ghosting over your soaked sex that pulses impatiently lower.

with the index and middle finger of her right hand parted, she runs them through you, spreading your labia open in awe. a breathless sound tears from your throat, aware of how easily her digits slide through your wetness.

“come on,” you urge, lifting a leg over her shoulder. easier access.

jackie complies; her lips are parted when she presses them against you, applying just the right amount of pressure. the moan you let out at the first contact is loud and ragged, echoing through the kitchen.

“right there,” you cry.

right there, not because jackie needs guidance but because you know she loves it when you’re open. loud. when you let her know that she’s making you feel good, whether it is by letting your moans slip or by praising her verbally.

the vibrations of the noise she makes in response go straight to your core, more arousal dripping for her mouth to drink up hungrily. it is coating her, slick and wet as she traces over your clit and swirls in clockwise circles.

for a while, jackie eats you out like this, getting lost in your taste just like you are in the sensations of her tongue flicking from side to side, licking broad strokes through you, then fucking into you deep.

her hair, a little longer now but still the same golden brown she’s been maintaining, clings to the thin film of sweat on her forehead in delicate strands, proof that she’s just as affected by what she’s doing to you, whilst her neatly manicured nails dig into your flesh. soft pastel pink almond shapes drag lines of red down the side of your thighs, goosebumps and shivers rising from the touch.

“you taste so good” she says softly once, then leans right back in to continuously flick your clit.

you can tell she’s toying with you, avoiding your most sensitive spots with purpose, only ever ghosting it briefly until you’re grinding yourself against her face in frustration you cannot contain. she knows exactly what you would need to get close to the edge, pretends to give it to you, then withdraws once pleasure starts building up.

“jackie,” you whine.

between your legs, she holds your gaze, reaches out and runs a hand through your folds. when she tilts her head, asking for permission silently, you immediately nod and jackie pushes forward, two fingers sinking into the heat of your cunt.

this draws the loudest moan from you yet, though you wouldn’t dare to try and stifle it.

that’s a habit you’ve long since left behind, discarded like the passed down furniture and mismatched dishes from your first apartment. then, everything had been hushed, kisses stolen behind locked doors, moans muffled into pillows. the walls were thin, the neighbors close, and the fear of being overheard turned every moment into a careful mix of restraint and want.

in the home you live in now, there are no walls to mind, no need to press a fist to your mouth to quiet yourself. here, you are free to gasp when jackie’s lips press against your clit, free to let her love you without reservation.

jackie has taken her mouth off of you to watch the way your face contorts in pleasure as she rubs the tips of her fingers against your g-spot, allowing you to see the arousal smeared across the lower half of her face, glistening beautifully in the light.

she’s moaning too, quieter and less desperate of course, but moaning all the same when she feels the way you flutter around her as though she could actually get off from this. your pleasure had always been jackie’s, too.

“good?” she rasps.

“mhm,” you lift your head from the wall behind you, watching in awe as jackie puts her tongue back to where you want it. you don’t even know what it is about jackie’s mouth but she could probably make you cum from nothing but gentle kisses if she tried, always knowing exactly where to move to coax the most pleasure from your body.

her hair curls up between your fingers when she starts sucking on your clit gently, drawing a contented hum from her mouth.

the words jackie is saying morph into muffled babbles against your cunt, her voice white noise to the pleasure that sets your nerve endings alight as she sucks, her eyes rolling back in their sockets at the taste of you.

“jackie” you gasp, your hips pushing further into her face. an unreleased tension starts building in your abdomen, making your whole body tremble wildly.

“are you close love?” jackie asks, her fingers thrusting into you at a faster pace. “it’s okay,” she sits back on her heels to look at you, her hand making up for the momentary loss of her mouth. “i got you. just let go”

your free hand reaches for hers, fingers lacing together so that she can give you one long squeeze. jackie’s mouth starts sucking your clit harsher, pushing into you deeper, making your walls clench around her fingers. the sensation is so much. it’s not nearly enough. it’s perfect, sending you over the edge in mere seconds.

with a strangled cry of jackie’s name, you cum against the feeling of her mouth on your clit and her fingers buried deep inside you. her voice feels distant as pleasure rushes through your veins.

“that’s it” jackie praises, holding you through your orgasm. “oh my god, that’s it. fuck, you’re so beautiful” she talks you through the entire height, her voice cracking whilst she watches you fall apart and come undone. she continues her licking and sucking too, until you comfortably move her head away, spent and on the verge of overstimulation.

with a wet pop, she releases your throbbing clit and presses a last kiss to your knee before rising to her feet. you’re still perched on the counter, catching your breath, warmth buzzing under your skin.

jackie reaches for the edges of your nightgown next, making quick work of pulling the fabric back together, tying it loosely at your waist. you watch her fuss over it with amusement, as if she hadn’t just spent the last several minutes undoing it in the first place. “very modest of you”

“someone’s gotta keep you decent,” she quips, a teasing smile on her lips as she slots herself back between your legs, hands settling at your waist. the kiss that follows is slow and sweet, her mouth still carrying the taste of you. jackie lingers until the soft scent of something cooking reminds you of the world beyond her touch.

your gaze flickers past her to the stove, where the eggs still sit, long forgotten. “so...you still want breakfast?”

jackie glances over her shoulder at the abandoned pan, then back at you, considering. “i mean, we did work up an appetite, huh?”

you roll your eyes, swatting at her arm playfully before slipping down from the counter. she doesn’t let you go far, her hands finding your waist again as she stands behind you, holding you close while you move around the kitchen.

hc! on the sunny side of the street

jackie taylor x fem!reader

summary: jackie taylor has a massive crush on you.

warnings: jackie not being subtle at all, reader is a yellowjacket, pure fluff, not proofread

୨୧ jackie was on the sunny side of the street every time you were near and she was very obvious about that.

୨୧ you joined the team last year and, at first, you were frightened of her. judging the book by its cover, jackie fulfilled every requirement to be a successful and typical mean girl; silky and shiny hair, extremely popular, team captain and a huge collection of admirers.

୨୧ it took you half a second to alter the perception you had of her when you joined her in the locker room after the short reunion you had with coach martinez. jackie was so energetic and excited to welcome you in, with an inviting smile and arms enthusiastically pulling you closer to a warm embrace. the sweet perfume of her lingered on your mind for days.

୨୧ on your first day as a yellowjacket, most of the girls were receptive and patient and ready to help you in whatever you needed.

୨୧ “okay, everyone. let’s give her some space!” jackie used her bossy team captain voice to disperse the crowd of curious people around you. at the second the other girls backed off just enough, she grabbed your arm and started to gush about a new party that was happening on friday night, inviting you to go with her.

୨୧ jackie didn’t want to give you some space. that girl wanted you to give you a space from the others!

୨୧ remember that jackie wasn’t subtle at all? well.

୨୧ during practice, van failed it to stop the ball a few times and even though it was no big deal, jackie got furious.

୨୧ “if we can’t even catch a ball, maybe we shouldn’t even bother to try for the nationals!” she lectured the team with arms folded across her chest and flushed cheeks for running too much.

୨୧ “it was just a mistake, jackie. relax!” taissa is the first one to defend her girlfriend, never afraid of going against jackie.

୨୧ “a mistake that could cost us a lot!”

୨୧ but then, the moment you literally tripped over the ball with your big ass feet and fell on your face, jackie was all over you with concerned eyes and tender touches on your arms to help you up.

୨୧ “are you serious? she sucks.” mari scoffs, rolling her eyes. a few of the girls were covering their faces with their hands to hide a laugh.

୨୧ “don’t say that. it was just a mistake! everyone makes mistakes sometimes.” jackie snarled at mari and decided to ignore the multiple death stares at her when she ignored your beginner mistake just to yell at van for something harder than just chase a ball.

୨୧ “you have to be fucking kidding me.” tai sighs.

୨୧ the very next day during practice, everyone was warming up and getting ready when jackie came in. hair flawlessly soft with a yellow ribbon adorning it.

୨୧ “attention, everyone! the nationals are coming, as all of you may know, and i thought it was a great idea to work on our speed. so…” she smiles proudly, hands forming a cup to hold a few pieces of paper. “i’ll randomly select a few people every day to run around the field for five minutes.”

୨୧ at the speed of light, all of the girls began to protest and call jackie a crazy girl. it was a lot, actually. the field was huge and if you were a panting mess after a simple practice, you would be dead after running for five minutes.

୨୧ “come on, yellowjackets. don’t you wanna win the big game?” she tries to encourage them with a forced smile, while disregarding the discontent comments.

୨୧ knowing that neither of you had a say on this, the silence settled in when jackie began to choose people and you were praying to all of the gods to not be chosen.

୨୧ “and the first one is…” she holds a small piece of paper in the air and reads the name written on it. “mari!”

୨୧ “are you serious? that’s not random, i saw you looking at it! i wanna see the it.” mari defends herself and jackie pull her hands back to her chest, protecting the papers like it was something worth of dying for.

୨୧ jackie knew damn well why she couldn’t show the papers. she spent a few minutes of her night yesterday writing only mari’s name on a sheet of paper. she could just pick someone else who was bothering you later tomorrow, she thought.

୨୧ “jackie, this is cruel. you’re just mad at her cause she said something about your precious girlfriend.” nat stands up this time, visibly annoyed.

୨୧ “and the second chosen one is natalie” jackie looks straight at the blondie, not even bothering to look at the names in her hands and act surprised. “have fun.”

୨୧ she was definitely favoring you and you were worried that everyone would hate you for that.

୨୧ if jackie wasn’t defending you from the girls passive aggressive comments, she was glued by your side like a god damn guardian dog.

୨୧ “good job today. you look so pretty.” says jackie after you missed the ball twice, kicked shauna’s leg by accident, almost lost balance when nat accidentally bumped into you and your hair was wildly all over the place. ignoring all of that, she definitely made you blush.

୨୧ it was quite a performance, an adorable and smart one. she would bat eyelashes, twirling her hair around her finger like in those cliche movies and acting all giggly and foolishly before saying goodbye.

୨୧ shauna would always give jackie a ride home and at the moment she got into the car, shauna was looking at her like 🤨 “what the fuck was all that about?”

back on my tmasc nat thoughts because i love him. being so attentive after his top surgery, like he could be saying "ow" from the slightest wince and you're already rushing to his side

you honestly can't stop admiring him, maybe he's in denial of not seeing the changes yet you completely reassure him :((( getting so flustered at his voice getting deeper and raspier, especially from the hair growth too UGH

⋆ 🍓

i like to think that since hes Italian, he started getting way more body hair after starting T. nat who whines about it because his roots are even darker, and he has to bleach his hair more >.>

also, trans or not, nat with body hair 🤤🤤 nat with fuzz on his stomach....nat with hairy arms and hairy legs... nat with that prepubescent mustache that every tmasc guy has a phase of. Yeah.

feel like he'd love the amount of attention you give him after surgery, blushing while telling you that he can get up on his own but pouting when you actually give him space. nat who loves being taken care of!! gosh he's so thankful that you have everything ready for him back at home... his favorite pillow already fluffed up and his cozy clothes ready for him to put on. he loves you so much.

nat crying because of the pain :( he moved the wrong way and hated the way the compression binder rubbed against his scars and just lost it, breathing out heavily while trying to control his tears but he ends up calling for you, face twisted up in pain that makes you almost cry. ur so much more attentive after that, literally any slight "ouch" from him and ur asking a million questions to see if he's alright 😭

nat whos slightly disappointed at how it looks post op because all he wants to do is be shirtless all the time but it's all bruised and he's so nitpicky about it but i think he's just in slight denial of this huge change he went thru. of course he's happy tho!! and all those times u reassured him that it'll look good once it heals helps him so much :(

also thinking of him working out after it heals too 🤤 taking progress pics and sending them to you whenever he goes to the gym...

I am me

The lab was a cathedral of cold steel and sterile light, buried deep beneath Gotham’s decaying underbelly. Vials hissed, monitors pulsed, and the air hummed with the arrogance of creation. Dr. Elias Varn, a man whose ambition outstripped his humanity, stood before the culmination of his life’s work: a figure suspended in a glowing tank, muscles taut, eyes closed, a paradox of sinew and menace. The clone. A perfect fusion of Gotham’s greatest hero, Bruce Wayne’s discipline, and its most infamous monster, the Joker’s chaotic brilliance.

But Varn had never considered that the clone might have a mind of its own.

They called him {your name}. A name you didn’t choose, but one Varn etched into your file—like a cold, indelible mark. The first sinner, the first to shed blood, the biblical outcast. {your name} was feared before you even took your first breath. Your creators saw only the potential for ruin—Bruce’s tactical genius combined with Joker’s unpredictable fury. But what they couldn’t see was this: you looked at chaos and found it… wasteful.

Your first memory was the hum of the lab, the weight of eyes upon you, and a question that burned brighter than the fluorescent glare: Why destroy when you can build? It wasn’t about morality, not exactly. Morality was for others—guilt and virtue were clumsy dances. You saw the world in probabilities, in outcomes. Destruction was loud, fleeting, inefficient. Helping, fixing, optimizing—that was the puzzle worth solving.

Gotham was a city of screams, and you walked its streets like a ghost. Six feet of lean muscle, your features a haunting blend of Bruce’s chiseled resolve and Joker’s sharp, unsettling grin. But your eyes—one green, one gray—were entirely your own; the only flaw in Varn’s perfect design.

People flinched when they saw you, sensing the danger in your stride, the latent power in your hands. They didn’t know that you’d spent the morning rerouting a soup kitchen’s supply chain to feed twice as many mouths with half the waste.

Tonight, you stood in the shadow of a crumbling tenement, watching a woman named Mara load boxes into a battered van. Her face was streaked with tears, her movements frantic. Divorce had gutted her, left her scrambling to escape a home turned hostile. The neighbors had offered hugs, platitudes, casseroles. But you saw their gestures for what they were: emotional noise, useless in the face of logistics.

You stepped forward, silent as a predator, and Mara froze. “You’re… you’re him,” she whispered, voice trembling. The papers had leaked your existence weeks ago—Varn’s hubris ensuring that. The Clone. The Monster. The End of Us All.

You tilted your head, assessing. “You’re moving out. You need help.”

Her eyes widened. “I—I don’t—”

You didn’t wait for permission. In ten minutes, you’d packed the van with ruthless efficiency, stacking boxes in a Tetris-like arrangement that left room for her daughter’s crib. By midnight, you’d secured a lease on a subsidized apartment across town, one with a deadbolt and a view of the river. Mara stammered thanks, but you were already gone, her gratitude irrelevant. The task was done. The outcome optimized.

The world didn’t understand you, and you didn’t care. You weren’t good, not in the way people wanted. Good was Batman, cloaked in sacrifice, or the civilians who clutched their pearls and prayed for heroes. You were something else—a mind that saw systems where others saw stories, a heart that weighed effort against impact. Danger pulsed in your veins, yes. You could kill with a flick of your wrist, outwit a SWAT team, or burn Gotham to ash. But why?

Chaos was a tantrum, and you weren’t a child.

Your next project was a man named Carl, a dockworker whose father had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Carl’s friends had clapped him on the back, sent cards, and organized a fundraiser. Nice, but insufficient. You spent three nights combing through medical journals, hospital records, and survivor forums. By dawn, you handed Carl a dossier: a ranked list of oncologists with the highest success rates, a breakdown of treatment costs versus outcomes, and a dietary plan tailored to bolster immunity. Carl stared at the pages, dumbfounded. “Why’d you do this?” he asked.

You shrugged. “It was the logical thing to do.”

Logical. That was the word they didn’t get. To Gotham, you were a walking apocalypse, the Joker’s madness wearing Batman’s cape. They saw your lineage and wrote your story before you could. Varn had wanted a destroyer, and the city braced for one. But you weren’t their puppet. You were your own man, carving a path neither Bruce nor Joker could have imagined—one where power served purpose, not chaos or control.

The Bat watched from the shadows, his cowl a mask of conflict. Bruce Wayne had found you, tracked you through Gotham’s veins, and now stood on a rooftop, grappling with the truth. This clone, this abomination, wasn’t the monster he’d feared. You didn’t kill, didn’t scheme, didn’t revel in pain. You helped. You solved. You were neither hero nor villain, but something Bruce couldn’t categorize—a man who saw the world as a machine and chose to fix it, not break it.

The Joker, too, had heard the whispers. In his latest hideout, he cackled at the irony. His DNA, his legacy, turned into a do-gooder? It was hilarious, infuriating, perfect. “Oh, kid,” he muttered, twirling a knife. “You’re gonna ruin my brand.”

But you didn’t care about brands, or legacies, or the war between order and anarchy. You cared about outcomes. And tonight, as you slipped into an abandoned warehouse to dismantle a gang’s fentanyl operation—not with fists, but with evidence mailed to the DA—you felt the weight of eyes on you. Bruce’s. The Joker’s. Gotham’s.

Let them watch. Let them fear. You weren’t their story. You were your own.