I Am Me

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.

A sweet life

Fandom: DC Pairing: Baby!Batsis x Batfamily Word count: 1.2k Summary: A little excerpt of a day of baby!batsis lifes and all the sweetness Requested by a sweet, fluffy Anon: Are they requests open if so can u write a batfam x baby!batsis reader like something fluff you decide

Our story begins on a nice, sunny morning in Gotham city - a morning that had a rare feeling of peace and calm to it - and in the bedroom of local billionaire and vigilante Bruce Wayne in Wayne Manor. Only a few of the golden sunrays found their ways through the almost closed blinds and landed on the man himself, laying on his back on the mattress with one arm stretched out beside him and the other protective wrapped around the little bundle that was laying on his chest - snoring ever so quietly. Y/N Wayne, newest and youngest addition to the family, would usually be found here in the mornings, even if the evening before she was brought to bed in her own room only a few doors away by one of her family members. It was a lovable, if maybe sometimes a bit frustrating for Alfred, trait that Bruce could not help himself but take the sleeping Y/N to his room when he came home from patrol and saw her lying there in her crib. He just wanted to feel her warmth, know that she was safe and protected at his side, that he would be there to keep her away from all the darkness and the horrors he experienced everyday in this cruel world. It was rather fortunate that over all the years of training and fighting Bruce has build up a habit of staying completely still in his sleep and it seemed that Y/N had somehow inherited that, because she too was always completely still - except for the occasional wiggle - on his chest - both things that helped calm Alfred down slightly every time he thought about what would happen if Bruce turned unluckily in his sleep and she’d be crushed or thrown off the bed (not that that had or would ever happen). But, no matter how often he advocated that she had to learn to sleep alone sooner rather than later, Alfred couldn’t find it in him to actually tell Bruce to let her be in her own bed, so the routine stayed steady and Y/n always woke up on her fathers chest. Or rather that she was woken up. Because, just like Bruce who came to her at night to make sure if she was okay - only to take her with him - Alfred, who was unsurprisingly always awake first, no matter what was going on, quietly made his way into the room to make sure Y/N had survived this night as well. And, as if she could sense him coming him, Y/N’s cute half-squeal-half-yawn made him aware of her now awake state so - seeing as Bruce needed all the sleep he could get and he wanted some time with his granddaughter as well - Alfred did the same he did almost every morning and pulled Y/N out of Bruce’s embrace, exchanging her with a pillow so that Bruce wouldn’t wake up, and went with her to her own room while she was slowly waking up completely. When they had arrived in the room Y/N was completely awake and squealing in happiness at Alfred’s funny faces he pulled to entertain her a little bit. “How about we’ll get you ready and get you some breakfast after, does that sound good?” The only answer Alfred got, and needed, was your happy giggle as she clapped her chubby, little hands together. As always, Y/N (who was used to that interaction by now) tried to help as much as she could as Alfred changed her diapers and put her in a cute onesie with a bee-pattern, before picking her up and carrying her through the manner. In the kitchen he fed her, letting himself be a little more playful as he played the airplane-game with her spoon, delighted by the little giggles and the gigantic smile on her face. After that Alfred went to clean the small amount of dishes he had used to prepare Y/N’s food, thinking about what to do after, only to turn around and find her chair empty and the sound of steps that definitely belonged to a certain little demon. Sighing, Alfred shook his head but decided to let Damian have that win and get on with his daily tasks, knowing that her brother would take good care of Y/N. Damian, who was glad that he had been able to ‘abduct’ his baby-sister without her making a sound - something that he had spent weeks training her for - knew it was all worth it when she smiled up at him and raised her hand to pat his cheek. Happily entertaining her with peek-a-boo, Damian showed his softer, kinder side that had mainly developed thanks to Y/N’s presence in his life, before going to the entrance room where her stroller was standing and - like he had sensed it - Titus came padding towards Damian and Y/N with his tail wiggling happily. “You wanna take titus out for a walk?” Damian asked her seriously, even though he knew not to expect an answer, before helping her into a cute coat, shoes (even though she wasn’t walking yet) and a cute self-knitted hat by Martha Kent, strapping her into her stroller and getting Titus on his leash (which was more for the public eye than the actual use, because Titus was very well behaved with Damian and Y/N). The trip to the park was a pleasant one, not a lot of people were out so he didn’t have to worry about being talked to or someone coming to close to his sister, and Y/N seemed to be delighted by everything around her, especially once when inside the park her eyes landed on a familiar person. “Grayson, what are you doing here?” Damian asked, already annoyed at the prospect of his brother taking Y/N over. “Alfred told me you were off with the little one and I guessed you’d be here. Me and Barbara wanted to take her to buy some new clothes.” “She has enough clothes already, doesn’t she?” “Uhm..Well, I mean-” Dick scratched his neck, aware that he was caught, “-She’s going to grow bigger soon, so…” Damian sighed, aware that he didn’t have much choice, no matter how stupid Dick’s reasoning was, and rolled his eyes. So Damian said his goodbyes to Y/N and gave Dick the stroller before going back on his way to the Manor. Dick brought the little one to his car, strapped her into the baby-seat and drove to the mall where Barbara was already waiting for the two of them, happily taking her favorite ‘niece’ onto her lap as Dick took the liberty of rolling her wheelchair through the mall and through all the cute little baby stores where they bought two bags worth of clothes, toys and other baby-things for Y/N who kept on being her excited, happy self until she got tired and fell asleep in Barbara’s arm. Later that day, when they had brought her back to the Manor where Cass was already waiting to watch Y/N’s favorite cartoons with her and when Tim came home in the evening he managed to win himself the right to put his little sister to bed and read her a story. And then, the cycle began again. Soon Bruce would come home from Patrol and everything would start again. All in all, Y/N’s life was pretty sweet and she herself sweetened the lives of her family in return.

1K notes View Post

mitsukii-07

1 month ago

Batfam x Neglected Tomie Reader

English version

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

She didn’t have a cape.

She didn’t have gadgets.

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

And in that house of masks, that meant nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they all laughed.

She didn’t.

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

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

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

---

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

She had the darkest eyes in Gotham.

She had lips as soft as silk.

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

Someone knocked on the door. It was Damian.

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

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

---

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

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t leave a note.

She didn’t seek drama.

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

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

No one imagined she would find another way to exist.

And to shine.

---

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

“They call her the Marble Girl.”

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

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

A silent sadness.

A threat without violence.

A sweetness that was poisonous.

---

At seventeen, she was in Paris.

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

But because it seemed she didn’t need to.

She denied it.

And that... drove them crazy.

---

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

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

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

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

---

One night, an artist asked to paint her face.

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

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

It just... hurt.

---

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

But never interviews.

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

And then... Bruce saw her.

---

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

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

Free. Bruce blinked.

—It can’t be… Dick looked down.

Jason clenched his fists.

Tim swallowed hard.

Damian, for the first time, said nothing.

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

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

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

Damian whispered: —She seems happy.

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

It wasn’t guilt.

It wasn’t love.

It was fear.

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

121 notes View Post

mitsukii-07

1 month ago

Hi! Sorry if this is weird or anything, this is my first time sending an ask lol

But I just finished reading your writing about the singer/influencer reader and omfg I love your brain. Like imagine the reader did a cover of/wrote like spit in my face by ThxSoMch or Cigarette Ahegao by Penelope Scott (love her sm btw-) cause just imagine the GUILTTT

Imagine the Batfam listening to their music and just hearing the bitterness in their voice as they sing “Screwing everything up, doing everything wrong, In my defence I wasn’t supposed to be around this long, so” HGDECANZZKNFBVD

Anyway, I love your writing and I hope you have an absolutely amazing week! Take care of yourself too- drink water, eat some food and try to get some sleep ml <3

Nah anon you're cool. I love reading asks. ALSO credits to Luludelulusramblings, they made the originally made Influencer reader. Batfam belongs to DC as usual. Singer reader post: here

You know, in the Art History year 1901-1904, Picasso started the Blue Period where he only painted in the shades of Blue. It started due to the death of his friend, later his financial struggles, and of course the current state of the society. Blue Period art was so good but so doleful and depressing that no one wants to hang it in their house. Singer! Reader started their career covering mainstream songs, band songs, maybe even vocaloid.

Their blue period started months before they planned to leave the manor. It was a simple cover of MARINA’s ‘Are you satisfied?’ A lot of burnt out overachievers ate that cover, even Tim himself. The song is basically the reader questioning the Wayne last name. Sure it was a goldmine to others but to them it’s a ticket to misery. One song cover turned into many song covers, enough to make a long playlist to play at 3 a.m. when you’re about to have a breakdown.

The whole playlist? Batfam avoids it because it reminds them of the times they could have been giving you love but they didn’t BUT at the same time they can’t really avoid it. It became like those guilty pleasures playlist. Damian loves and hates reader’s ‘The Family Jewels’ cover because it reminds him of the fact that he and the reader are basically on the same boat. They were just children who needed attention and love. He got that attention and love immediately because of the whole league of assassins backstory. He won’t admit it but the weight of the role weighs like tonnes of iron on his shoulders.

Jason, Bruce and Cigarette Ahegao will roll together so much. That man has twice the amount of trauma Bruce had and his coping mechanism sucks. All the aggressiveness was just a coping mechanism, underneath he’s a man with conflicted feelings and those years of being dead and suddenly being resurrected didn’t help. Let’s face it Bruce is a tired man who lives a double life. He's a man who dresses up like as a bat making sure the city is safe but he can't cover all grounds. The neglect on reader was unintentional but neglect is neglect.

Dick with reader’s cover of ‘Stressed out’ by Twenty one pilots, no explanation needed. ‘This is me trying’ by Taylor Swift with Cassandra, Stephanie, and Tim. Cassandra and Stephanie being raised by villains and Tim being an overachiever to have his parent’s attention. His parents being always away and realizing he basically did the same thing to the reader by making them feel invisible.

Double guilt if they left the playlist on autoplay and ‘Daddy issues’ plays. Any version but I think the original fits the bill. Reader ends their blue period with a cover of Mother Mother’s ‘Burning Pile’ basically saying ‘Yeah fuck it, it’s over. I’m burning it, I’m leaving it, I’m closing the chapter’. But to the Batfamily, it meant renewal and turning a new leaf, an invitation to make things better.

853 notes View Post

mitsukii-07

1 month ago

King of My Heart

Summary: "The story of your burgeoning relationship with Jackie Taylor told through a series of drunken encounters. College au."

A/N: drunk girlfailure jackie my beloved. its not described graphically but there are mentions of jackie throwing up a few times if that bothers you. based loosely on this ask.

August.

The first time you met Jackie Taylor she was on her knees on a dirty bathroom floor puking her guts out into the toilet. Normally you would have just minded your business, but you weren’t nearly drunk enough to ignore the accompanying sounds of her sobs. You stumble slightly into the room, squinting slightly as the bright fluorescent lights are so much brighter than anything else at the party. “Hey.” You say cautiously as you carefully drop to your knees next to her. You place a comforting hand on her back as you draw her hair behind her head and hold it out of the way.

Your nose wrinkles disgustedly at the whole experience, but you turn your head away from her as you gently rub her back. “Just get it out pretty girl, it’s gonna be okay.” You murmur comfortingly. You do your best to ignore the sounds of her retching lest you join her, but you can tell that she’s finally stopped sobbing so you decide talking must be working. You keep up the encouragement until you finally hear her flush it away. She leans back exhaustedly as she shifts off of her knees to sit back against the tub and buries her head in her hands. You awkwardly drop your hands off her, sitting just a little too close to her now that she’s stopped being sick.

She brings her hands back down from her face as she stares pathetically over at you. She smiles weakly in greeting as you take her in: her wild hair, bloodshot eyes, red nose, and her mascara running down her face in tracks. You smile back, not wanting to let her on to how much of a mess she looks like right now. You suspect she might still be on the verge of crying, but considering the way her sobs were rocking her entire body when you walked in you were willing to take it as a win. “Are you alright, pretty girl?” You ask genuinely. You start to regret the question as her lip starts quivering as her eyes tear up again.

Your eyes widen suddenly. Oh shit. You think. You barely have time to catch her as she launches herself into your arms on the bathroom floor. You awkwardly wrap your arms around her as you receive a lap full of crying girl. She buries her head in your shoulder, which you think is far too intimate for a stranger you met in the bathroom but you certainly weren't going to be the one to tell her that. You can vaguely hear her whimper out some words but she’s crying so hard you can’t really make heads or tails of them. You finally catch something about ‘drunk’ and ‘Shauna’.

“Who’s Shauna?” You ask while rubbing at her back, figuring she wanted to talk about it. She spills every last little detail between sobs into your shoulder. You can’t help but be strangely invested in the whole story. You did ask with the intention to comfort her but you found yourself drawn more and more into the drama of it all. You wondered what the fuck happened to make her lonely enough to spill all this information to the first stranger she found on the bathroom floor, but that was none of your business.

“What?” You ask, gasping in shock. She pulls back, eyes red and swollen as she nods seriously. She wipes at the tear tracks on her face as she finally manages to calm herself down.

“I know. I know.” She draws out dramatically.

“She really said all that shit after she slept with your boyfriend?” You asked in disbelief, shaking your head as she hums in acknowledgment. You really weren’t expecting to get such good gossip out of this venture, but this shit was better than reality TV. You reach up above you to pull a hand towel off of the bar and gently bat her hands away as you wipe her mascara off her face. She’s sitting fully in your lap at this point, which you're doing your best to ignore, and lets her eyes close as you take care of her face. When she opened her eyes again the expression on her face was unreadable but her big eyes seemed to stare straight into your soul.

You shift uncomfortably as you look away, which is harder than you’d think considering how close to you she’s sitting. As if she’s suddenly becoming aware that this isn’t a normal amount of intimacy to share with a stranger she mumbles a quick sorry, but interestingly enough makes no actual move to get out of your lap. What the fuck is wrong with this girl? You wonder idly but decide it would probably be easier to just go along with it at this point. She has this way of making her socially unacceptable actions seem perfectly normal as if you’d be the weird one if you questioned her about them.

You listen quietly as she talks your ear off about this and that, sitting back against the wall with your legs crossed as she sits sideways across your lap. She throws her arm over your shoulder as she talks, seemingly getting more comfortable the more you allow it. By the time she finally stands up and stumbles back to her dorm, you think you must know everything there is to know about soccer and the epic rise and fall of her friendship with this Shauna girl. You stand up slowly as she leaves, your legs going numb for how long she was sitting on top of them. You stumble back to your own apartment falling straight into bed, emotionally exhausted from the entire experience.

…

October.

“Y/N!” Jackie calls out happily. You can tell from the slightly glazed look in her eyes that she’s already had one drink too many. You weren’t entirely sure how she had learned your name but were admittedly pretty curious to know if she had gone out of her way to find out. Secretly you hoped she did. You’d run into her at a few more parties, not all of them as eventful as the first. You murmur a quick goodbye to the friends you came with as you walk over to see what she wants. Her face lights up when she sees you coming. Her chair is far too small for the both of you to sit comfortably, but you still acquiesce as she excitedly pats the seat next to her. You shift a little awkwardly at the way it pressed your thighs together, but she certainly doesn’t seem upset about it.

“Hey, gorgeous.” You greet a little awkwardly. You still didn’t know her name, but she always flushes with pleasure at the compliments so you’ve decided just to roll with it.

She pats you excitedly on the thigh as she starts talking, mouth immediately moving a mile a minute as she catches you up on everything that’s happened since the last time you ran into her. You find yourself strangely invested in her life and listen intently as she speaks. She seemed oddly lonely for such a bubbly girl, and you wondered why she was having so much trouble finding other people to talk to at these parties when she obviously could have made a lot of other friends if she tried.

“God, I know.” You interrupt. “I had a professor like that my first semester. The average was like 45% and somehow we were the problem.” Jackie nods enthusiastically in agreement as she speaks.

“He acts like he doesn’t have a one-star rating!” She groans, leaning her head against your shoulder. She pouts up at you, as if she’s the only person to have this problem ever. You raise your cup to your lips to hide your grin, but judging by the knowing look she sends you it didn’t work too well. She sighs dramatically in offense, shaking her head as if disappointed. Jackie catches sight of your empty cup, suddenly standing up and dragging you off to the kitchen with her.

“Jesus!” You exclaim as you stumble after her, a little dizzy from the sudden change in position. You were honestly surprised that she managed to pull you up like that: she was definitely a lot stronger than you gave her credit for. She rummages through a few glass bottles sitting on the table before she finally finds the one she wants. She grabs your cup from you as she starts pouring you a drink. “Oh,” You say in surprise. “Is that for me?”

Jackie rolls her eyes as if to say obviously, as she continues. “Then this one girl was like maybe the people who didn’t study are bringing the average down, as if I didn’t have to step over her passed out on the floor the night before the exam.” You laugh softly as you look up at Jackie with an overly fond grin. Your eyes lock as she returns an equally fond look, the two of you getting lost in each other in the middle of the kitchen. You nearly jump apart at a loud yell of glee coming from another room. Jackie’s hand flails slightly, knocking over the bottle she just sat down on the table. It falls over on your hand with a loud thud, making you hiss in pain as you draw it back towards your chest.

You groan as you flex your fingers painfully, but it fades quickly enough that you know it isn’t anything serious. Jackie bats your other hand away so she can examine it closely, poking at your fingers as if to determine any damage. “What the fuck is that going to do?” You ask wryly, the corners of your lips quirking up in amusement. She ignores you as she keeps messing with your hand, failing at what she obviously considers to be a subtle move as she laces your fingers together.

“I’ll have you know that poking at the wound is a tried and true method.” Jackie defends with a too-wide grin. “I was really worried about your fingers.” You shake with silent laughter, your face contorting weirdly as you try to choke it back. “What?” She asks in confusion, which finally sends you spiraling over the edge.

“I bet you were.” You say between peels of laughter, flexing your fingers in an obscene gesture. Jackie scoffs, a blush immediately covering her face, and gently shoves at your shoulder in reproach.

“See if I nurse you back to health again,” Jackie mutters with a pout, looking adorably embarrassed as she backs away from you.

“Wait! Wait, Doctor…” You trail off playfully, giving her an expectant look. She grins as she shakes her head.

“Guess you’ll just have to keep calling me pretty, Y/N.” She says smugly. You slowly grin at the realization: she’s been purposely keeping her name from you to make you compliment her. She waves her fingers playfully as she turns and disappears off into the party.

…

November

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, you were far more invested in your current conversation, but your interest immediately peaked at the mention of someone crying in the bathroom. It couldn’t be… No, You think. It definitely is. You sigh, abandoning your cup on the table as you walk off to find her. You follow the sound of sobs up to a familiar bathroom and sure enough there she is. She’s just crying this time, not throwing up, so you’re deciding to count it as progress. She looks up quickly as you open the door giving you a watery smile. She doesn’t seem all that surprised that you’re here, in fact, she seems like she was rather expecting it. You get the strange feeling that you are running late.

Jackie looks utterly pathetic sitting on the bathroom floor, holding her knees up to her chest with her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her bottom lip quivers as she blinks away tears and you're nearly overcome with the desire to hide her away from anyone who could ever hurt her. She has this strange way of inspiring extreme loyalty even in someone whom she hasn’t even graced with her name.

You sink to the ground next to her, opening your arms wide as she immediately scrambles into your lap. She buries her head in your shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around you as she shakes with sobs. You wrap your arm around her stomach and rub the other hand against her back, cradling her as you try to comfort her the best way you can. You’ve never been particularly good at comforting people, but you and Jackie work well in the sense that she doesn’t seem to expect you to be. She seems pretty content– as content as someone sobbing on a bathroom floor can be– with just having your attention as you murmur your best attempt at comforting words.

You’ve gotten three ‘let it out pretty girl’s, two ‘it’ll be okay gorgeous’s, and a ‘you need to breathe baby’ before Jackie finally manages to get herself together. Jackie sighs against your neck, wiping her eyes off on your shirt. You resist the urge to groan, knowing from experience how hard her mascara was to get out of your clothes. You shiver as Jackie’s cold hand brushes up against the back of your neck as she plays with the edge of your collar. You find it incredibly distracting as she rolls it between her fingers as she says, “You came.”

You shrug. “Heard there was someone crying in the bathroom.”

Jackie hums in acknowledgment as she looks down at the hand wrapped around her stomach. “You keep taking care of me.” She says quietly. “I didn’t think I’d ever have someone to take care of me like that again after…” She looks so incredibly sad, but at the same time, she stares at you with such a large amount of affection that it makes you squirm in discomfort.

“It’s not a bad gig,” You admit. “Out of all the girls that could have been crying all over me at a party I’m glad it’s you.” She smiles evenly throughout but you can see her eyes narrow slightly at the mention of other girls. You shift nervously underneath her and she whines quietly in protest as she tries to hold you still. You roll your eyes as you lean your head back against the wall, getting the sense that you're going to be here for a while.

“What brought you to the bathroom floor this time?” You ask.

Jackie sends you an amused grin as she asks, “Would you believe I dropped something?” You roll your eyes as you give her an expectant look. She sighs exaggeratedly, as if she hasn’t been impatiently waiting to talk your ear off about whatever’s upset her this entire time. If she’d had the ability to speak while she was crying that hard you're sure she would’ve already told you several times over.

You listen patiently as she speaks, reacting at all the appropriate points. You tilt your head in consideration as you think, feeling strangely proud at how high Jackie seems to hold your opinion as she watches you thoughtfully. “You miss this Shauna girl a lot, don’t you?” You state more than ask. Jackie nods slowly, as if a little embarrassed to admit it. You couldn’t say you approved much of the desire, but you knew Jackie needed to try to mend this relationship for her own sake. There’s only so many times you can find someone sobbing on the floor before it starts to get concerning.

“Do you think you can forgive her?” You ask. Jackie seems to consider this for a long time as she cozies up in your lap. The longer you sit here the more aware you become of just how warm her body feels against yours, regardless of how cold her hands seem to be, and you're more than content to bask in the feeling while Jackie thinks. You can feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes and it starts to lull you to sleep. You startle as she suddenly speaks, having almost forgotten what you were sitting around for.

“I just want her to say she’s sorry, that’s all.” Jackie’s eyes prickle with tears that you're quick to wipe away, placing an affectionate kiss against the side of her head in an effort to stifle her tears. You really don’t want to do this again tonight. Jackie’s eyes widen as she flushes, burying her head further in your shoulder. You aren’t quite sure what that’s about, but at least she stopped crying.

You sit on the bathroom floor with her sitting pretty in your lap for quite a while, moving on from Shauna as you talk about anything and everything she could think of. You really enjoy spending time with her even as strange as she seems, but you really wish you could start meeting more in other places. Your legs ache something terrible from sitting in that same spot for so long, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world as Jackie prances off happily a few hours later. You groan as you pull yourself to your feet, leaning heavily against the counter as you wait for the feeling to come back. Still, you managed to get at least one thing out of tonight.

“Jackie.” You say quietly, deciding you quite like the name. Finally getting it out of her was like prying teeth, but you think it really fits her.

…

New Year's Eve

The first time Jackie Taylor had run into you right as you were leaving class you had chalked it up to chance. The two of you had gotten lunch together, leaving you with the realization that she’s still that delightful mixture of strange and kind even when sober. The next four times that Jackie had run into you had left you more and more suspicious, but you didn’t seem to mind as much as you probably should. If you were ever unsure, the look of utter happiness on Jackie’s face when you had run into her outside of her own class would have changed your mind. She’d hung off your arm the entire afternoon, dragging you around to show you all her favorite spots on campus as if they were super niche and underground.

Despite these encounters, you were more than a little surprised when Jackie Taylor had plopped down in the seat across from you in the library– mostly because you weren't aware she knew where the libraries were, let alone what time you’d be there– but the surprise had quickly turned to fondness when she asked where you were going to be for New Years. A combination of Jackie not wanting to stay the whole break with her family and you living off campus has brought you here: leaning against the wall at a dingy frat house as you nurse your drink.

It wasn’t the best night you’ve ever had, admittedly already starting on a sour note as some guy hit you with a lame question of “What's a pretty thing like you doing here?” in what he obviously believed to be a charming voice before you’d even made your way into the door. You scowled at him but before you could answer Jackie popped up out of nowhere and placed a surprisingly firm hand on your arm as she dragged you far away from him. Jackie happily talked your ear off as she handed you a drink, even if she had kept glaring in his direction. You’d ended up away from the rest of the party, not being able to hear each other well over the music, which left you standing awkwardly by yourself without her.

Jackie had walked off to get another drink a few minutes ago, not that she needed it as drunk as she was already, and you were admittedly concerned with how long it was taking her. You were about to set off to find her when she excitedly wandered back in. “Y/N!” Jackie calls out in surprise when she sees you as if you weren’t exactly where she left you. “I’ve been looking for you!” She smiles so wide it splits her face as she finally finds you.

“You found me.” You say with a grin, unable to stop yourself in the face of her clear exuberance.

“Where’d you go?” She asks in a whiny voice. “I missed you.”

You laugh fondly. Where did I go? “I missed you too.” You say instead. Jackie gasps quietly, looking a little hesitant.

“You did?” She questions, eyes wide. You nod and Jackie looks at you for a moment like you put the stars in the sky. She clears her throat suddenly as she glances away before sending you what you're sure was meant to be a flirty smile. “Of course you did.” Jackie giggles, more self-confident than ever in her inebriation.

“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?” Jackie teases. You scoff as you gently push at her shoulder. Jackie looks far too proud of herself at the moment. Two could play at that game.

“Good thing you were there to save me, yeah?” You tease. Jackie flushes slightly at the comment.

“Save you?”

“Oh, yeah. A real knight in shining armor.” You confirm with a wry smile. You suspected Jackie was more jealous than anything, but you appreciated how fast she had gotten you out of there. Even if the idea of having her pay so much attention to you made you a little lightheaded. Jackie preens at the comparison, grinning smugly over at you.

Jackie reaches out to lean against the wall next to you, but clearly misjudges the distance as she crashes face-first into it with a loud thud. She reels back with a pained cry, nearly tripping backward in her haste only to be saved by your quick reflexes as you grab at her arm. She stumbles into you as she gets her feet back under her, one hand covering her nose. “Fudge!” She curses as she pulls her hand away and finds blood.

Fudge? You mouth in surprise. Whatever. You’ve got bigger problems. You quickly pull her by the hand to the kitchen as you go searching for paper towels. You gently hold them up to her face to soak up the blood as you hold her tightly against you in comfort. You can hear her jagged breathing as she tries not to cry, not wanting to risk further irritating her nose. You whisper soothing words in her ear as you try to calm her down.

Jackie's hands clench tightly around the fabric of your shirt, enjoying the proximity despite the reason behind it. She’s long since calmed down before you try to peel away from her. She whines pitifully but doesn’t make a move to stop you, her hand falling limply to her sides.

Jackie hisses as you pull the paper towel away from her face to inspect the damage. Jackie watches you closely as you carefully turn her face to look at her nose. “It doesn’t look that bad, Jackie,” You say as you pull your hand away. She looks upset at the loss, her bottom lip sticking out slightly in a pout. You consider her for a moment. “Does it still hurt?”

Jackie pauses in consideration before suddenly whining in pain, nodding insistently. You narrow your eyes, not quite believing it, but you return to fussing over her even as she seems to have a miraculous recovery. After she stops whining about it you take a wet paper towel to her face as you gently wipe the blood away. You're holding on to the side of her face as you turn it side to side as you clean her up. Jackie seems entirely focused on the contact, eyes nervously darting around as her face burns bright red.

You're just pulling the paper towel away from her face as you hear the countdown begin, nearly startling you away as the screaming starts. You’re about to join in the revelry when Jackie lunges forward and kisses you just as the new year begins. Jackie hisses in pain as her nose touches your face but doesn’t pull away for a second. You eagerly reciprocate the kiss despite your surprise at its origins, and have to resist the urge to push forward as she pulls away.

Jackie smiles nervously at you as she stumbles away. You try to call out for her but she throws a “Sorry, I’m more tired than I thought!” over her shoulder as she rushes out of the kitchen. You're left standing in the middle of the kitchen still holding the bloody paper towel as partygoers scream happily around you.

What the fuck was that?

…

Valentine’s Day.

You didn’t see Jackie for a couple of weeks after classes resumed due entirely to the way she’d turn tail and run every time she saw you so much as looking at her. She’d shown up outside your class one day as if nothing ever happened claiming a family emergency that she’d insist upon no matter how much you grilled her about it. You finally gave up on arguing when she caved and apologized for it, seeming oddly guilty given what she was claiming. You were admittedly very excited when she asked you to go out to a party with her for Valentine’s Day, only to be quickly disappointed when she followed it up with a “As friends, of course!” Whatever.

She’s gotten progressively drunker as the night goes on, practically hanging off of you as she giggles far too loudly at a joke that you didn’t think was nearly funny enough to warrant that kind of reaction. She’s gotten noticeably flirtier as the night goes on as if every drink she throws back is emboldening her more and more. Despite your concern with how much she’s drinking you find yourself endlessly charmed as she squeezes at your arm and gently makes fun of you, always giving you her full attention. You don’t think she’s looked away from you once in the last hour which would be concerning coming from anyone else but Jackie seems to make it work as always.

“You’re like… really pretty,” Jackie says suddenly, changing the topic as she blinks at you in what you're sure was meant to be a wink. You flush slightly but try to shake it off.

“I think you’re really pretty too, Jackie.” You reassure, smiling softly at her. Jackie groans as she shakes her head.

“No!” She whines, looking frustrated.

“No, you’re not pretty?” You question, tilting your head to the side in confusion.

“No, no. I’m pretty,” Jackie says almost immediately, making you laugh. “You’re just so…” She trails off, reaching her hands out to cup the side of your face. You inhale sharply as the motion brings your faces closer together.

“Jackie?” You question softly, remembering how she acted the last time she tried this.

“So pretty…” She murmurs again, “Made me nervous.”

“You’re… You’re not going to run off on me again?” You ask slowly. Jackie shakes her head exaggeratedly fast, looking like she immediately regrets it as she quickly backs up with a hand flying up to her mouth. You jump away from her, terrified of her throwing up on you, but you slowly relax as it seems to be a false alarm.

Jackie still looks a little nauseous but otherwise no worse for wear. You sigh. You should probably get Jackie home before the night ended in tears. You couldn’t for the life of you figure out why she’d drink so much if she knew she had such a low tolerance for it every time. “Let’s get you home gorgeous.” You say placatingly. Jackie sighs, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her face. She nods as she holds her hand out four you to hold.

You lead her by the hand out of the party, looking at her expectantly as you get to the street. She stares back at you in confusion, happily swinging your joined hands between you. “Where do you live?” You prompt her helpfully. Jackie shrugs. What?

“What’s your dorm?” You ask slowly. She shrugs again.

“Dunno,” Jackie says.

“You don’t know?” You ask with a touch of irritation. Jackie frowns as she makes a big show of thinking about it.

“I don’t remember.” She concludes finally. You look away in frustration, fingers coming up to pinch at the bridge of your nose as you try to calm down. You miss the knowing grin on her face as she quickly stifles it before you turn back.

“You don't remember where you live?” You ask in disbelief. She shakes her head hard enough that she starts to look dizzy, leaning heavily on you as she loses her balance and almost takes the both of you down. You eye her wearily, not sure what you're supposed to do with the drunk girl hanging off of you. Judging by your typical meeting site– holding her hair back as she throws up and sobs her life story to you– you suspect there isn't anyone you could put her off on even if you tried.

“Do you wanna sleep at mine?” You ask finally, deciding it would be better not to leave her there.

“Mm,” Jackie murmurs happily as she clings to you. You’re practically holding her up at this point as she doesn't seem to want to stand. She doesn't seem to want to do anything but climb all over you at this point.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes. Start screaming you're being kidnapped if you disagree." You say playfully, not even sure if she's awake enough to listen to you. You're practically carrying her down the sidewalk to your apartment at this point and you dread to think how it looks to passersby.

“Noooo.” She whines quietly in your ear, barely loud enough for you to hear it. “Please don't throw me in your dungeon.” You shudder at the hot breath directly against your ear. She doesn't seem to mind though, as she starts resting her head on your shoulder and breathes against your neck. You can admit to being slightly self-conscious as the gorgeous girl hanging off of you stares at your face from 6 inches away.

She's so strange, You think absentmindedly. You decide that you kind of like it anyway. You make a squeaking noise that you'd later deny as she presses a gentle kiss against your jaw. “Thank you for taking care of me.” She murmurs with a tired grin on her face. Her eyes are barely open as she stares up at you. Her hair is wild and unkempt and she smells suspiciously like vomit, but under the streetlights you think she's never looked prettier. You flush at the thought, looking away from Jackie as you drag her to your apartment.

You pull her into your bed the second you step into your room, deciding to forgo changing under these conditions. She immediately latches on to you the second you're within grabbing distance. She clings on to you like a child, whining petulantly when you try pulling away. After you stop fighting she starts positioning your limbs where she wants them, ending up with her curled back against your chest with one of your arms and a leg thrown over her.

You're in the strange position of holding someone against your own will: she holds on to your arm so tightly you're not sure you could get it back without hurting her. She's surprisingly strong for how tiny she is. There's a faint stinging where her fingers are wrapped around your arm, you think she might have drawn blood. You sigh quietly as you decide to just go limp. You've slept in worse places, after all. God was she fucking cold, though.

You're sitting against the edge of your bathtub with Jackie resting her head on your thigh as you gently massage her scalp with your fingertips. She’d immediately woken up hungover, rushing off to be sick as you were left comforting her over it again. Jackie pulls her head back with a groan, looking up at you from her position on the floor. She sits up to move between your spread legs, wrapping her arms tightly around your back as she buries her face into your stomach. She whines against you, prompting you to resume running your fingers through her hair.

Jackie murmurs a muffled “I’m sorry,” into your stomach, making you shudder at the feeling of her breath. You try to pull her away to look at her but she only digs in more, refusing to let herself be moved from the safety of your body.

“What are you sorry for?” You ask finally, giving up on looking at her.

“Ruined it again.”

You sigh, sliding a hand down to rub comforting circles against the side of her face with your thumb.

“You didn’t ruin it, Jackie.” She scoffs.

“Did too,” She insists.

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did no-” You trail off, shaking your head. “What are you, 12 years old?” Jackie giggles as she pulls away, smiling gently up at you from her knees. She looks serious all of a sudden, resting her hands against your knees as she sighs.

“I wanted you to be my valentine,” She admits, “I chickened out asking you.” You grin softly, looking incredibly pleased.

Jackie, upon noticing your reaction, grins back at you as she squeezes your knee affectionately. “Always more confident when I’m drunk,” She says wryly. “Got too drunk again though.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “You could ask again?” You offer.

“Do you want-” She starts.

“Yes,” You interrupt, making her laugh. “Maybe somewhere without alcohol, yeah?” You suggest playfully. Jackie’s face scrunches up as she nods in agreement.

“Never going to drink again,” She mutters, looking a little ill still. You don’t think she’ll hold out on that for too long, but you’ll enjoy making fun of her again when the time comes for it.

The two of you lock eyes for a long moment and Jackie slowly leans up. You shake your head insistently as you press your hand flat against her mouth. “Not until you brush your teeth, Romeo.” You mutter. Jackie whines in protest as she slumps back against her legs. Her eyes narrow as she licks at your hand making you squeak in surprise as you draw your hand back. She looks smug at the action, slowly rising to her feet as she starts to look through your drawers for a spare toothbrush.

At least she knows what she wants.

…

Two Years Later.

“Y/N!” Jackie complains, huffing in annoyance as she drags you stumbling out of the bar. You were more unsteady than you'd thought you'd be, probably owing to the last drink Jackie had warned you not to get.

Whoops.

“Whoops?” Jackie asks, rolling her eyes. As annoyed as she is she doesn't seem to be actually mad, maybe even a little amused at the situation. You grin widely, tugging her against your side as you throw your arm over her shoulder.

“Did I say that out loud?” You ask, just a touch too loudly. Jackie laughs softly, leaning against your side as she wraps her arm around your back to guide you home.

“I told you that you'd had enough.” She says wryly.

“It tasted good.” You defend weakly, pouting over at her. She hums in consideration, pausing for a moment before she swiftly kisses you. You eagerly begin to reciprocate but she quickly pulls away as she gives you a teasing grin. She slips out of your arm and she makes a big show of licking her lips before nodding decisively.

“It does taste good,” Jackie confirms as she pulls you by the hand down a side street and up to the gates of your apartment building. You groan in disappointment which just makes her laugh. Her smile lights up her face like it so often does, and you find yourself lost in her eyes. As much of a rush as Jackie has been to get you home she's more than willing to let you admire her, the corner of her lip quirking into a smirk the longer you stare.

You can't help the rush of excitement that comes over you as Jackie reaches over and tugs you forward by your belt loops. Her hand rests on your hip before it slowly slides into your pocket. Your pocket?

Jackie pulls away as she holds your keys up, waving them in front of your face before she turns and walks up the stairs. You wait at the bottom dumbfounded for a minute, rushing up the stairs and catching up just as she unlocks the doors. “Not fair.” You complain, holding the door open for her and locking it behind you.

“No.” Jackie agrees, setting her purse down on the counter. “Fun though.” She adds as she walks off to get changed.

You cry out happily as she finally walks back out of the bathroom, having already gotten changed and ready for bed. You hold your arms out for her to climb into, but she chooses to ignore them as she walks over and lays on the other side of the bed. You gasp in offense, rolling over to stare at her in disbelief. She feigns a sternness that she isn't actually able to enforce as she shakes her head. “Told you not to get that last drink.” She says, looking away from you in an effort to hide her smile.

“Jackie Taylor,” You say slowly, having to really think about your words. “Are you… punishing me?”

She shrugs. “Is it working?” She murmurs.

“On my birthday?”

“I had a surprise for you,” She complains. You snicker as you give her a knowing look.

“Was it you?” You ask wryly. She scoffs, rolling over to face away from you with her arms crossed over her chest. You'd worry she was actually mad if you couldn't see the blush on the only visible part of her face.

“Don't be like that, gorgeous,” You say, pulling gently against her shoulder. She lets you pull her on her back, still refusing to look at you. She huffs loudly, just in case you'd forgotten she was annoyed. “Give me my present in the morning, yeah? I'm sorry I got too drunk for it,” You say placatingly.

Jackie uncrosses her arms, letting them fall limply to her sides. Still, she makes no move to get any closer. “Come to bed?” You whine, tugging gently against her arm.

“I'm in bed, ” She teases, giving you a smug look.

You smirk slightly as you playfully lean up to press a wet open-mouthed kiss against Jackie’s jaw, falling back against the bed giggling when she exclaims in disgust and jerks her face away. She gives you what she obviously considers to be a warning look but does next to nothing to deter you as you shift up to your elbows, intent on planting another one. She makes a whiny noise in protest as she gently pushes your face away from her. She pouts over at you and you grin softly as you roll on your side to face her. You reach a hand out and squish her cheeks together, making her lips bulge out exaggeratedly. She slaps your hands away with a groan, giving you an exasperated look. “No.” She whispers, trying to be firm but still giggling as she points a stern finger at you.

Jackie cries out in shock as you gently bite at her finger, trapping it between your teeth. She watches in disbelief as she tries and fails to get her finger out. “Please?” She asks finally, giving up on fighting you. You release her immediately, grinning far too wide as you climb on top of her and hug her tightly. She makes an irritated noise as your weight presses her into the bed, but reaches up to massage your scalp with her fingertips as you yawn into her neck. You shift on top of her as you find a comfortable position, more than happy to let her gentle motions soothe you to sleep.

…

5 Years Later.

You ignored the banging on the door to your hotel room at first, figuring some drunk couple had the wrong room, but the longer it went on unimpeded the more concerned you got. Finally, after the thought of Jackie being hurt crossed your mind, you shot up to go answer the door. Your eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Jackie, hand flying up to cover your eyes. “Jackie!” You cry out in shock, feeling an equal measure of shock and pleasure at her arrival. “Thought it was bad luck to see the bridge the night before the wedding.” You chide gently.

“You don’t believe in that,” Jackie accuses gently, a mixture of drunk and exuberant. You shrug, still holding your hand over your eyes.

“You do,” You say, entirely unsure why she’s here with you instead of at her bachelorette party. You’d had your party a few days before, choosing not to risk the hangover. Jackie, on the other hand, always loved to live on the edge. You smile fondly at the thought. Jackie makes a pleased noise, hands reaching up to tug your hand away from your face.

“Look at me,” Jackie pleads, smiling brightly at you. She pushes gently against your shoulders as she walks into the room, the door swinging swiftly shut behind her, walking you backward until the back of your knees hit the bed. You fall backward in surprise, taking a giggling Jackie with you as she falls on top. You grunt at the sudden weight, but that does nothing to stop Jackie from moving up to her knees to straddle you, grinning smugly down at you.

You can tell from the glassy look in her eyes that she had a few too many tonight, making you roll your eyes. She pouts at the reaction, hands coming down to cup the sides of your face. You shiver slightly at the coldness of her ring against your face, but you enjoy the reminder of her place in your life. Your fiance, and tomorrow your wife. You can’t help the way your smile lights up your face as you stare up at her, the love of your life who broke her own silly superstitions because she missed you.

You rest your hands against her hips, shifting her into a more comfortable position as you ask “What’re you doing here?”

“Don’t you want to see me?” Jackie whines, looking seriously put out. You laugh gently as you squeeze at her hip.

“You know that. Staying apart was your idea, gorgeous.”

“I’m drunk,” Jackie informs you.

“No. Say it isn’t so.” You say dramatically, feigning shock. Jackie nods seriously as if she truly believes it to be novel information.

“You always take care of me when I’m drunk,” Jackie confesses, a look of affection suddenly coming over her face. She leans down and presses a kiss against your hairline, lingering far longer than she needs to. “You’ll take care of me, won’t you?”

You choke up slightly as you say “Always Jackie. I promise.” Jackie frowns at the sight of your tears, quickly wiping them away. You clear your throat awkwardly, leaning up to kiss her as a form of distraction. Jackie grins happily when you pull away, but she’s still watching you a little closer than you’d like as you gently coax her to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Your wife always took care of you too, in her own little ways.

218 notes View Post

mitsukii-07

2 months ago

girlfriend? jackie taylor ೃ࿔*:

jackie taylor x fem!reader

every time you and jackie go out you get asked if you’re a couple, and for the first time jackie doesn’t bother to correct them.

(jackie might be kinda ooc but idc)

It happens at a party.

Jackie had been the one to drag you there—obviously. She always did. She had this way of making it sound like fun, of making you feel like you’d actually be missing out if you said no.

“Come on,” she had said earlier, linking her arm through yours as she flashed that bright, effortless grin—the one that made people bend to her will without even realizing it. “It won’t be the same without you.”

And like always, you caved.

Because that’s what you do.

You follow Jackie into the chaos of red solo cups and bad decisions, standing a little too close, listening to her talk, pretending you don’t memorize every laugh.

Because that’s what you’ve always done.

It’s late now, the house full, the music loud enough to shake the walls. Jackie had taken you by the wrist earlier and led you through the crowd, pulling you into conversation after conversation, always keeping you near.

You’re standing in the kitchen now, half-listening to some girl from Jackie’s English class ramble about her latest crush.

Jackie’s beside you, casually sipping from a red cup, her hand resting lightly against your arm. She’s always been touchy—grabbing your wrist, looping her arm through yours, hooking her chin over your shoulder when she’s bored.

You’re used to it.

Or at least, you pretend to be.

And then, mid-sentence, the girl glances between you and Jackie and just—says it.

“You two are such a cute couple.”

It’s casual, an offhand comment, like she doesn’t even think twice about it.

And for a second, neither of you say anything.

You expect Jackie to roll her eyes, to scoff, to wave it away like she always does when people assume things about her. Like she always has before.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, Jackie just smiles.

It’s not a big thing. Not an obvious, earth-shattering moment.

It’s barely anything.

But it makes your stomach drop all the same.

Because Jackie Taylor hates clichés.

She hates the predictable, the obvious, the expected. She’s spent her entire life curating herself, making sure she’s always in control of how people see her.

And yet—she doesn’t correct them.

Doesn’t laugh it off, doesn’t even glance at you like she’s expecting you to jump in.

She just lets it sit there.

She looks at you, not at the girl who said it.

Like she’s waiting.

Like she’s expecting something.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

Later, when the party has died down and the air outside is crisp with autumn, the two of you walk home together, arms brushing with every step.

Jackie hasn’t mentioned it.

Neither have you.

But the silence feels different.

Like something is hanging between you, something that wasn’t there before.

At one point, Jackie exhales softly and says, “Hey.”

And you think—this is it.

She’s going to bring it up. She’s going to laugh about it, make some joke, maybe tease you for looking so flustered.

But she doesn’t.

She just hesitates.

And then, finally—“Never mind.”

You swallow.

Jackie’s not like this. She’s not hesitant, not uncertain. She always knows exactly what to say.

But now?

Now, she just tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and keeps walking.

Like she almost said something, too.

When you say goodnight, she lingers.

Just for a second.

And as she turns to go, she bumps her shoulder against yours and murmurs—too soft, too knowing—

“You didn’t correct her either.”

And then she’s gone.

Leaving you standing there, heart racing, wondering if you imagined it.

Wondering if maybe, just maybe—

She’s been waiting for this, too.

217 notes View Post

mitsukii-07

1 month ago

I just saw your Makima post and I loved it! Is it a bad thing to ask for a part two of it? Where the batfamily tries to get reader back but somehow Makima is always there, like they see Makima hug reader, treating her like a sister/ daughter (or kind of like a dog like she did with Denji). Only if you want, if not it’s fine! It’s your blog and your choice what ever you want to do and I respect it!

Makima wraps the scarf around your neck like you’re her little sister headed out for school. Gentle. Patient. Her gloved hands don’t tremble—never have, never will—but there’s something protective in the way she tucks the last corner in and smooths your hair.

“You’re cold,” she murmurs, as if it’s the only thing that matters.

You nod quietly, letting her fuss over you like you’re something fragile. Something worth fussing over.

Across the rooftop—hidden but not unseen—the Batfamily watches.

Jason growls. Damian twitches. Dick takes a small step forward before Bruce halts him with a hand.

“She’s not hurting her,” Bruce says tightly. “She’s… caring for her.”

It’s the caring part that guts them.

Makima doesn't treat you like a soldier. She treats you like her baby sister. Like someone who needs warmth, not commands. Someone she braided hair for in the morning. Someone she taught self-defense and sharp wit and the kind of elegance that makes enemies kneel.

And you—so different now—you don’t look lost anymore. Not like the little ghost that haunted the Batcave’s corners. You’re dressed in crimson and black, with your chin high and a soft smile tugging at your lips.

You laugh at something Makima says.

And the Batfamily flinches.

You never laughed like that with them.

Later, Makima wraps an arm around your shoulders as you walk down a rainy alley. She holds her umbrella above you both, shielding you first. You lean into her like a sister you’ve known forever, and when she gives you the last piece of mochi, you take it with a quiet thanks.

“She’s using her,” Dick whispers. “She has to be.”

But even he doesn’t sound convinced.

You stop walking. Your head tilts slightly—listening. You know they’re there.

“They’re watching again,” you say softly.

Makima looks up, right where the shadows ripple, and offers a serene smile. She leans in and whispers in your ear like an older sister sharing a secret at a sleepover:

“Do you want to talk to them?”

You shake your head.

“I already know what they’ll say,” you murmur. “And they never listened when it mattered.”

Makima squeezes your shoulder. “I did.”

258 notes View Post

mitsukii-07

1 month ago

–BRING BACK THE DEAD UNIVERSE!

WARNING : emotional neglect, kidnapping, murder, physical abuse/torture, obsessive behavior, schizophrenia, self-harm(?), more will be added.

NOTE : If you are sensitive to the subject matter, leave immediately! Please provide any feedback so that I can improve. Just don't go off the deep end by telling me to commit suicide because you don't like my writing, okay? Thanks! :)