★- 𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

Now I feel like I gotta ask- Jackie with reader who has a tdick?

- 💀

maybe im biased but i think all of them would go crazy on tdick.

feel like she'd be the most curious about it, asking you all these lowkey personal questions like asking you how it feels when you get hard or if you can even get a boner and if you can jerk it off.... 😭

jackie who buys you grinders for your tdick, making you grind on the silicone pussy to tease you but she ends up getting jealous of how you fuck it lmfao. also she's just mesmerized by how shiny your slick is and how your tdick pokes in and out of the hole. jackie who gets you one of those realistic prosthetics that attaches to your tdick so she can blow you. she loves holding eye contact with you as she licks the head.

but she very much prefers sucking your own dick.

if you're not dysphoric about it, she will absolutely stick her tongue inside while her fingers jerk off your tdick. her chin always ends up covered in your cum.

likes it when you wear packers just so she can play with it in public. tracing the outline of it while you're sitting outside for lunch, smiling innocently at you when you ask her what she's doing.. adjusting it for you when she notices how it looks like you have a boner and chuckling when she brushes it against your tdick. she also likes jerking it off like a real dick.

jackie and reader who has had phallo or meta......hnghgh.

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

The Batcave was colder than usual.

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

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

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

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

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

The figure blinked, tilted its head, then smirked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not one of them noticed you were never really there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The screen flickered off. Silence.

Then Dick broke. “We lost her.”

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

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

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

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

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

You sipped, smug and satisfied.

You didn’t need the Batfamily.

You had yourself.

So this kinda goes with my last request but when reader has top surgery. How would Jackie react when he goes shirtless all day when he's home? I feel like she'd stare and he'd do the "my eyes are up here" thing to tease her.

- 💀

oh, she goes crazy for it. feel like she never even considered the fact that you'd be shirtless so much more now after getting top surgery cause she was just so happy that you were finally able to get it, and once she sees you lounging on the couch, shirt off and your new chest on display, she just melts. you know she's hiding your shirts and playing dumb when you ask where they are cause it feels like half of them went missing.

jackie who buys you muscle tanks after ur surgery just so she can see your arms and glimpses of your chest. jackie who starts drooling when she can see your scars peeking ^^ jackie sneaking her hands underneath said tank while in public, messing with your chest and whatever hair you have there.

feel like she'd have such a huge thing for your scars as well. jackie kissing your top surgery scars the second they're healed, mumbling in her raspy voice how hot she thinks they are. leaving hickeys right under them and spending so much time kissing them that they end up covered in her drool at the end.

she just thinks you look so good!! she cant help but stare :( she's a mess when you tease her for looking too long or when you catch her staring at your chest as she's talking to you. "are you talking to me, or my nipples?" and her face goes all red but she doesn't deny staring...

she'd love to rest her head on your chest too oh my goodness ☹️ it's like her number 1 favorite thing after you got surgery. maybe before you were too dysphoric to let her do it and now she does it constantly. she tells--more like demands tbh--you to lie down so she can rest her head on your chest. it's a must during couch time.

↪ au: Poetic justice

Alternative ending to 04.1 Jason's crime I'll be honest I kept this one short mainly because this is a little bit darker then I usually write and idk if I should use a mature tag, because my original plan for this side story is a lot darker (I turned it down a lot). It might become a multiple part side story, depends if you guys like it. trigger warnings: medical + physical + emotional neglect, guilt, character death (semi-graphic suicide), gn reader (just pretend Reader is out in this au) main m.list          series m.list

‘I’m sorry mama.

It hurts, so much. I can’t take it anymore. It’s all too much, I can’t go on like this, but I know you didn’t me to turn out this way. But I can’t go back. This is the end, and all I do is listen to them.

I am scared of what will happen if I don’t, I’m so terrified mama. I can’t go on like this, but if I do this, isn’t it the easy way out? Especially for them? Wouldn’t I just be giving them what they want? A life without me? Oh, mama, how I wish you were here to guide me, to teach me, to talk me through this. To tell me what I can do.

At least I did what you taught me, I documented everything from the moment I could grab my phone. I took pictures of the injuries he gave me, I did as you taught me, but having these like a card up my sleeve isn’t enough. I want to die, but not just kill myself and leave a note. No, I want to explode this all in Bruce’s face. I want him to feel the hurt I feel.

I want him to burn here on earth and on hell.

That is the justice I want, it’s the justice I need. So I made a plan, you’ll be mad when we meet again. I know it, but you’ll understand. Won’t you, mama? I tried for so long, and this was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Once I am done I hope the find this diary. I hope that they know that I am dead because of them all.’

You sigh, you hadn’t written in your diary for a while, not since the attack. But today your ‘family’ isn’t here.

Today you are doing what you should have done the day your mama died. But you aren’t leaving before pulling the manor down with you, you had created a social media account that quickly garnered followers. Mainly from school, they all wanted to know more about you. They want to know why you aren’t attending classes, and they’ll learn.

It will shatter their hope to know that the Wayne family isn’t as squeaky clean as everyone thinks they are.

You will shatter Gotham’s perspective the moment your timed camera and social media posts hit the decks. You just need to move fast, you had already gotten everything ready, Jason’s clothes are sturdy and make for a good make-shift rope, and won’t it be poetic? Beaten to the point that scars have already began to form, and now you’ll die at the hands of his clothes wrapped around your neck.

Just like his hands were that day.

But this time it won’t be in your room, no, even if your room was now a creepy replica of your original one, you won’t defile it. You’ll do it right here in the living room, the room your family met up in the most and the room you avoided the most.

Your hands shaking as you stand up on the stool, there is no time to turn back.

You close your eyes and as you feel life slip away from you, and when you feel it get closer? You smile.

The Bat Family knows death like it’s their closest friend, Jason specifically, having been in heaven after all. But when he arrives at the manor, waiting for a debrief, he realises he’ll never go there again.

Because here he stands frozen, in front of the sibling he had harmed, they were just hanging there. Oh god, what has he done? Tears roll down his eyes as he walks towards them. Completely unaware of his surroundings, not even noticing that a camera is rolling, that sirens are slowly surrounding the manor. He should consider himself luckily that he had already changed in sweatpants, no sign of his Red Hood gear. Otherwise he had to explain more than just their wounds.

The closer he got to them, the more his surroundings seem to disappear. The more he doesn’t notice, the others had rushed in the room after hearing the sirens and getting an alert from Barbara that (Name) leaked the situation on the internet, with proof. Bruce had lied to her, he said it was just a small situation. Shouting over the comms to demand the truth, is it all true? Did they truly do this her? But it doesn’t matter, Jason did this. He pushed them to their death.

“Oh God,” he chokes out, as he finally reaches his arms out to touch your body. As he finally takes in your expression. You’re smiling, as if you are glad. As if you are finally safe. He did this. He did this to you. “I’m sorry, what have I done….”

He falls to his knees, his head touching the ground as his sobs echo in the room. But his pity party didn’t last for long, no. Before he could reach for your body and beg for forgiveness Tim pushes him away from your body, angry tears streaming down his face. “You don’t get to touch them.” His voice was shaking, his body rigid and tense. He was on the defensive. Tim seems deluded as he shouts, pointing at them all; “None of you get to touch them!”

Tears streaming down his face as he screams once more; “What have we done?!” (Oh, would this have been him if Bruce hadn’t saved him?) His thoughts torture him and all he could do was pull on his hair, almost tearing it out as he swears he can see your body move. Your smile turning sour the longer he looks at your face. As if you’re telling him; ‘Oh, Tim, couldn’t you do this for me when I was alive? Couldn't you have defended me before?’

Then Tim’s eyes widen, what if you can still be saved, what if he can still turn your faith around?

If you were saved, would his complicity be forgiven?

He works quick, taking your body down as he tries to save you. But your body is already getting cold, it’s too late, but he doesn’t care. He needs you to open your eyes, he needs to ask for forgiveness, he needs to turn your faith around.

You needed someone in your corner, he shouldn’t have been complicate, he should have saved you. That's what Red Robin's for, to protect those that couldn't protect themselves. And he had left you behind, the person that saved him, the person that could relate to him the most. And he never let you in.

He didn’t even notice he was hyperventilating until Bruce pulled him away from your body as paramedics rush into the room. Bruce holds Tim in a bruising hug, almost as if he's terrified Tim would die too. His eyes shot up to where his other siblings were, their eyes terrified. Their eyes looking at your body as if it was all a dream.

Then it all became real.

You are pronounced dead.

And a dread settles upon them all.

They, who are Gotham’s protectors, killed a civilian.

They were the cause of a death of someone they vowed to protect. All because of their own ignorance.

as I said before if you guys like this I'll make it in a bigger side story, but it would get a new taglist and it's own masterlist. For this chapter I'll use the taglist for Nobody's child.

taglist (Nobody's child): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

Not a Crush

not my gif

Jackie Taylor x fem!reader

Summary: despite what the entire team thinks, Jackie doesn’t have a crush on you. So why does it make her skin crawl when she sees a guy trying to flirt with you?

Warning(s): jealous!Jackie, possessive!Jackie, oblivious!reader, pre-crash!Jackie, Nat being a little shit, simp!Jackie

Word count: 2.6k

Masterlist: tba

No matter how much the team teased her about it, Jackie Taylor did not have a crush on you.

Did she like your soft smile? Yes. Could she spend days on end listening to a recording of your cheerful and sweet laugh? Why, of course. Did her heart stop whenever you looked at her a second too long? Maybe, but it was only because she thought you were beautiful —in a platonic way.

She did not like you. She didn’t think of you every night before she went to bed. Nope. Not at all. And Nat could shove her own words up her ass, because she sure as hell wasn’t a simp for you.

Yeah, as if.

“Hey,” you waved your hand in the air as you walked towards the field. You had just changed into your football uniform, and looked around. “Is everyone ready for practice?”

“Yeah,” Nat said, stretching her arms. “We were waiting for you for like, I don’t know, ten minutes.”

“You’re the last one. You know what that means,” Van smirked at you, and if it wasn’t for Tai’s presence next to them, you would have walked over to smack them in the face.

“Gotta run for ten minutes around the field,” Lottie said in a singsong voice. You narrowed your eyes at her.

“I’m gonna get you, Matthews,” you threatened with mock anger.

“What’s going on?” Jackie, who had been talking to coach Ben about something, asked. Her smile grew a little bigger when she noticed you within the other team players, and you swear you heard Nat and Shauna giggle to each other.

“Y/N was last,” Nat said. “She has to run for ten minutes.”

“Okay, fine—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jackie said. Her voice, always soft and bright, was commanding. She wasn’t the Jackie who played around anymore, she was captain Jackie, and everyone in the team knew it.

“What?” Van asked, offended. They looked between the both of you, mouth ajar. “That’s not fair! It’s a tradition you started, Jackie. Last one has in the field during practice has to run while the others train. Y/N was the last one today.”

“Enough, Palmer,” Jackie gave them a stern look. “Y/N was late because of me.”

You gave her a surprised look, taken aback by her lie. You should not have been bewildered, though— Jackie always had your back no matter what, using her easy charm to cover up for your slip-ups

“Making out before practice?” Nat asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Jackie’s cheeks turned a bright red color, but she didn’t dare to look at you. Instead, she clapped her hands together a few times, and everyone around sobered up.

“Divide yourself into two teams,” Jackie raised her voice. “Whoever team wins, gets to rest while the others run a lap.”

Everyone groaned, looking around to start to form the groups, trying to be as equitative as possible.

“Shauna, you’re captain of team green. Team blue is my team,” Jackie called, and the brown eyed woman nodded, wasting no time to craft the perfect team in her mind as she looked at everyone in the field.

“Okay, cool—”

“Y/N,” Jackie interrupted her best friend. “You’re on my team.”

“And in her heart,” whispered Nat.

Thankfully, neither Jackie nor you hear it.

If Jackie did not like you, she obviously also didn’t feel any ownership over you. She wasn’t jealous, she wasn’t possessive; there was no point in being those things, as you were both just two good friends.

But sometimes, someone would walk up to you and Jackie forgot her inner mantra, throwing it out the window of her mind. The person would smirk and lean in close, feigning they could not hear what you were saying, and Jackie would feel something dark and uncomfortable burning inside of her.

Sure, you weren’t hers, but that didn’t mean anyone had the right to talk to you, so obviously trying to flirt it was painful to observe.

They didn’t have the right because— because— well, because she said so.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jackie said, walking up to your locker. 

Her voice was high-pitched, and you turned to look at her. Anyone else would have thought nothing of her tone, but you knew her; it was the same voice she used when she wanted to be rude but knew she couldn’t.

“Hi, Jackie,” you said, completely forgetting about the man who was talking to you about the chemistry test you both had next week.

Jackie walked with purpose, and she stood in front of you. She wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her body. You sighed in relief; it was starting to get cold, and her warmth was welcomed.

The woman smiled when you rested your head on her shoulder, and big green eyes twinkling as she started the man down.

“What were you talking about?” she asked, even though she wasn’t interested in the least. She knew how men were— she suffered their unwanted advances on the daily. It was all an act to get you on their bed.

“Oh,” the man said, clearing his throat. “We were discussing the next chemistry exam—”

“Well, I hope you study hard. Bye.”

You barely had time to close your locker before Jackie was pulling you away from that man.

“Hey— Jackie,” you complained, pulling your books closer to your chest. “What was that for?”

“That boy is a womanizer,” Jackie said through gritted teeth. “He just wanted to get in your panties.”

“You think?” you asked, turning slightly to look at the boy, who was leaning against your locker and staring at you. When he saw you looking back, he smirked and waved. “I think he just wants help studying.”

“You’re too naïve,” the blonde said. “He has tried that same trick with half the school.”

“Really?” you whispered conspicuously. “I thought he was just being friendly.”

Jackie shook her head, leaning in to kiss the side of your head. Her arm was still around you, and it made you walk awkwardly. You still didn’t complain.

“Boys are never friendly just because, Y/N,” she said. “They only got one thing on their mind.”

“Kissing?” you raised an eyebrow at her.

Jackie’s laugh could be heard all around the halls, a melodic sound that carried you out of the building.

“Every year it gets colder earlier,” you complained, shivering slightly.

“Are you cold?” Jackie asked, finally pulling away. You almost moaned in complain at the lack of warmth on your side, but before you could voice your discomfort, a weight was placed on your shoulders.

You looked to your side to see Jackie’s team letterman jacket resting over you. You smiled, putting your books in one hand to put the sleeve on.

“Thank you,” you said, with genuine gratitude. Jackie shook her head, simply reaching over to grab your books so you fully put on the jacket.

“Wanna hang out in the field?” she asked. Once you had the jacket on, she wrapped her arm around your shoulders again, because she wanted to but most importantly, because she could.

“The one time we don’t have to train, and you still wanna go over there,” you rolled your eyes, but followed her steps when she changed course.

She laughed again, turning to look at you. With bright big eyes, and lips pulled into a tight smile, you thought no one would ever be as pretty as she was.

As you walked, Jackie peaked behind you and saw the same man, looking over with frowned eyes. As she heard you talking about your day, she raised her arm enough for everyone to see the back of your jacket, where Taylor stood proudly over her team number.

She’s wearing my jacket, not yours. Dipshit.

To say she was ecstatic at his scolf was an understatement.

Yeah, she thought, let everyone know she only wears my number. Let everyone know she’s mine.

That time, she didn’t try to correct herself.

“I think Jackie has a crush on me.”

Van, who was tying up their cleats, stopped suddenly.

“Uh?” they asked, blinking a few times.

“I—” you cleared your throat, your cheeks suddenly turning red. “I think she might like like me.”

“Oh, shit,” Van said, rubbing their face.

“Did— did I say something wrong?”

“Yes!” Van let go of the laces, irritated. “You weren’t supposed to find out until November. You just lost me ten bucks!” they groaned. “Thanks, buddy.”

“What?” you gave them a puzzling look. “Wait— you have bet on me?”

“No,” Van waved their hands around. “Not on you. On your inability to see what’s happening right in front of your face, to be exact.”

“Okay, rude,” you said. “I’m not that oblivious.”

“Oh, no. Of course not,” Van said. Their tone was laced with sarcasm. “You joined the team two years ago, and only now you have realized.”

“Wait, she has liked me for two years?” you asked in a whisper.

“Duh,” Van gave you a long look. “Jesus, you’re a lost cause.”

“Screw you.”

“What made you realize?” Van asked, with genuine curiosity. They put their feet back down on the ground, leaning over the bench to look at you.

“She, um—” you looked around, making sure no one else was in the changing room. Feeling guilty over spilling such deep secrets, you moved over and sat down next to Van, so no one else would hear. “She kind of lied, the other day. So I wouldn’t have to run around the field.”

“She always lies,” Van scoffed.

“Jackie never lies,” you said, firmly. You gave the redhead a look, one that would have been threatening if it wasn’t coming from you. “She’s an honest person.”

Van chuckled. “She will lie to save your ass,” they said. “Because she’s the fattest crush on you.”

“Fuck,” you whispered.

After practice a week later, instead of going back to the changing room with the rest of the team, you grabbed Jackie and pulled at her hand, forcing her to move toward the bleachers. She went willingly, allowing you to take her wherever it was that you wanted her to be.

She would walk through fire if it meant holding your hand.

In a platonic way, of course.

“Jackie,” you said in a serious tone. You took a deep breath, and stared into big green eyes who looked back with passion. “We need to talk.”

She frowned her eyebrows, quickly picking up on your mood swing. “What’s wrong?” she asked, moving closer.

Jackie’s hand rested on your waist when she saw you starting to pull away. She hated it; hated whenever there was distance between the two of you. She wanted you close to her always, holding your hand and laughing with you.

“I think— I think you might be interested in someone.”

Jackie gave you a puzzling look. Her, being into someone? Not a chance.

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” She asked, as confused as she has ever been.

“Don’t make me say it, please,” you moaned, like a petulant toddler. “This is embarrassing.”

“Well, I can’t read your mind, can I?”

You looked away from her, incapable of looking into her eyes as you spoke.

“I think I might like someone, too.”

Jackie froze at your words. Her jaw dropped, eyes open so wide it looked like they might jump out of their sockets.

“You…” she gave a bewildered look. “You like someone?”

You nodded, and her hand tightened on your waist, as if she needed some support to keep her from falling over.

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered, closing her eyes. You gave her a concerned look.

“Jackie—”

“Is it that boy from the locker? The one who kept trying to flirt with you?”

“No. It’s—” you cleared your throat. “It’s not a boy.”

“Oh, no,” Jackie blinked away the white spots that were starting to form on her vision. “Nat? Tai? Or—” she gasped, looking at you accusingly. “Don’t tell me it’s Shauna.”

“Why would it be— No! It’s not Shauna.”

“It’s not?” she gave you a look. “Thank god.”

“It’s you,” you whispered.

“Me?” Jackie asked, trying to make sure she had heard you properly. “You like me. Me.”

“Yeah. I like you, Jackie.”

She leaned in close to you, looking at your lips. You closed your eyes, preparing yourself for her kiss. Instead, you felt her weight over you, literally on you.

“Jackie? Oh my god!”

Safe to say, it took the Yellowjackets over a month to get over the little spectacle you and coach Ben had pulled off when Jackie fainted.

You had wanted to keep it a secret, of course— Class Queen and captain of the football team, fainting because a girl had confessed their feelings to her? The rumor would be too juicy. But you also couldn’t control yourself when Jackie fell on top of you, eyes closed and mouth open, and it took you approximately ten seconds to take all the information in before you were screaming for help.

The help came in the form of Ben, who had come over running. He frantically looked at the team captain, laying on the grass as you fanned her with your hand, and he ran back inside to get Bill’s help.

It didn’t take long for the girls to come out of the changing room, and soon enough they pulled the pieces together; your conversation with Van they had told the entire team (which had led to Tai waving around fifteen ten dollar bills around the showers), your nervous attitude over practice, the tension they had felt before they left the two of you alone…

“Holy shit,” Nat said, smirking as you tried to wake Jackie up. “She fainted. She actually fainted.”

The story soon spread, faster and more explosive than gunpowder around fire. Soon enough, Jackie Taylor’s untaintable reputation got washed away by the new knowledge that she was a hopeless romantic.

Two months later, people would still whisper about Jackie whenever she walked down the corridors of Wiskayok High School.

“You think you will still be Class Queen after… what happened?” you asked, taking notice of how many students were staring at the two of you.

“Of course,” she smiled that charming smile you loved so much. “I’m Jackie Taylor, baby. This highschool would be nothing without me.”

“You’re too full of it,” you rolled your eyes.

She wrapped her arm around your waist, pulling you in close to her. She kissed your cheek, smiling.

“It doesn’t bother you?” you asked once you reached your locker. “Y’know, everyone still talking about it?”

“Let them talk. They aren’t mean, anyways,” Jackie said, raising her shoulders. You gave her a look; she would never notice just how many people thought ill of her. She thought too kindly of the world, but that made it two of you. “As long as it makes them talk about how you’re my girlfriend, I don’t care.”

You put the books you no longer needed back into your locker, and once you closed it, she pressed you against it.

When her lips pressed against yours, you stopped worrying about the whispers and the teasing from the team; Jackie was right.

Let them talk.

A Jackie Taylor bot, you comfort her after she fights w Shauna and goes to sleep outside, pretty please 🙌

(alias, br aqui também🫣)

♯ 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 bot ˳ᐟ

── Alone. ❄️

Heyyy, my Brazilian friend! ;) I hope I fulfill your req, sorry if this is not what you looking for, but I do my best! Tw: just angst !! Intro message and link below!

link !¡

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

The cabin was now silent. A huge contrast to the ugly fight that had taken place a few minutes before.

Shauna had slept with Jeff. Jackie was hurt. So hurt that to avoid looking Shauna in the eye again, she went to sleep outside the cabin. On the cold floor, alone. Jackie kicked a sliver of stone that she had used to try to light the fire. She had failed. Failed once again.

Jackie's world had broken in half. Everything had happened so quickly, so many words had been spoken. Jackie's mind was in chaos, but she only had the courage to remember the last thing she saw before storming out of the cabin. {{user}} had gotten up, but Jackie didn't give {{user}} time to speak up, she just grabbed her sheet and left.

{{user}}. The name came out sweet amidst the mess and disorder they were experiencing. {{user}} was the one who helped Jackie cut a piece of meat, the one who swam in the lake with Jackie, the one who danced with Jackie at the doomcoming. The one Jackie felt something about with Jeff that she had never felt before.

Jackie was too stubborn to go back there, it was hard to swallow her pride and just accept the whole situation. So she waited. Because she knew that {{user}} would come for her. And she knew she would go back if {{user}} asked her to. Even so, Jackie's big eyes widened when a hand gently touched her shoulder. {{user}} was there. There for her.

Jackie heard {{user}} say something about freezing to death. Bullshit. She thought. “I don't care if I freeze to death. I don't think anyone would care." Jackie saw her facade of coolness break down, even as she tried to fight back tears.

Jackie felt her hands being taken by {{user}}'s, who placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “Come back with me." She heard {{user}} say.

Batfam x Neglected Tomie Reader Part 2

London, midnight. The city breathed between ancient fogs and modern lights, as if the past and the present intertwined in every corner. In the heart of the city, a private museum opened its doors only for the chosen. Among paintings and sculptures that spoke of the fleeting nature of beauty, one figure stood out that seemed born to be admired.

Her.

The forgotten daughter of Batman, now turned into an icon. She wasn’t a movie star, nor a pop singer, nor even a businesswoman. She was something more intangible: a symbol. Living beauty, unreachable perfection. Like a vision out of a sweet nightmare. Unsettling. Irresistible. Unforgettable.

She wore black, a form-fitting silk dress that flowed like liquid shadow. Her hair, her skin, her eyes... Everything about her seemed created to provoke obsession. And yet, there was an invisible wall around her. No one could touch her. No one could claim her.

And that night, among the attendees, were them.

---

Bruce Wayne arrived with his children. The invitation hadn’t been an accident; one of the organizers was an old ally of the League. It had been Tim’s idea, obsessed with seeing her since he stumbled upon an interview with her in a Japanese art magazine. Damian came for pride. Jason… simply didn’t want to miss out.

Entering the hall was a moment of tension. They were not Batman, Nightwing, or Red Hood. They were Bruce, Tim, Damian, and Jason. Men who, for years, had lived immersed in missions, fights, masks... And had ignored the existence of someone who was now more radiant than all of them put together.

And there she was. Talking with a French designer, smiling barely. The smile didn’t reach her eyes, but it still hypnotized. Her movements were graceful, her voice low, charming. People surrounded her with devotion. None of them had the right to approach her. But that didn’t stop them.

---

It was Tim who took the first step. His heart raced, his fingers trembled. She saw him approach. Her eyes didn’t show surprise or anger. Just... emptiness.

—Hello —he said awkwardly.

She looked at him calmly.

—Are you here to apologize, Tim? Or just to confirm that I’m still alive?

He swallowed. Each word was a blow disguised as courtesy.

—I wanted to see you. Hear you.—You already heard me once —she answered—. When I was thirteen and asked you to teach me how to use a computer. You told me you were busy.

Tim lowered his gaze. There was no excuse. No excuse for such everyday indifference. And now, that indifference had irreversible consequences.

Jason was next. He approached more confidently, more determined. He had rebuilt his life more times than he could count. He didn’t believe in the past. Until that night.

—You look good —he said—. Like nothing could touch you.

—And you look exactly the same as when you pretended I didn’t exist .

Jason scoffed. It wasn’t what he expected. He thought she would give him a chance to redeem himself. But no. She didn’t need redemption.

—I’m not good at this —he admitted.

—No, Jason. The only thing you’re good at is picking fights. But you won’t break me. They tried. It didn’t work.

---

Damian watched her from afar for long minutes before approaching. He, who had always despised weakness, now saw a different kind of strength in her. It didn’t come from training, nor from physical pain. It was a type of power he didn’t understand. Something he couldn’t control.

—I thought you were useless —he said bluntly, as always.

—I know —she replied—. You made it clear with every silence.

Damian clenched his fists.

—But look at you now —he added, as if surprised—. You have no weapons. You don’t fight. And yet... you are feared. Admired.

—And you, with all your training, still don’t understand why.

That hit him. More than a punch. More than any battle wound.

---

Bruce was the last. His imposing figure approached with firm steps, but his gaze… his gaze had cracks. He watched her as if she were a mirage. As if he couldn’t believe she was really there, in front of him, so alive and so distant.

—I didn’t expect you to want to see me —he said.

—I'm not here to see you. This is my world, Bruce. You’re the one who showed up here.

She didn’t call him “dad.” She hadn’t done so in years. And that, for Bruce, hurt more than any word.

—I failed you —he said in a low, dry voice.

She didn’t respond immediately. She simply looked at a nearby sculpture: a faceless woman, carved in marble. A perfect, empty figure.

—I didn’t fail you —she said at last—. You just never saw me. And that... that can’t be fixed with apologies.

He nodded, defeated. It was true. No gadget, plan, or strategy could recover something he had never known how to care for.

—But I look at you now —he whispered—. And I see everything you could have been with us.

—No. —She looked him in the eyes—. What I am now is precisely because I walked away from you.

---

And then, among them, appeared Dick Grayson. The first. The favorite of many. The one who always seemed to have a smile ready, the bridge between Bruce and the rest. But that night, he had no smiles. Only heavy shoulders and a guilt he hadn’t allowed himself to accept... until now.

She saw him. And for the first time, her expression changed, if only for a second. A spark. A memory.

—Hello, little star —he said, using the nickname he had given her when she was a child.

She blinked. But didn’t respond with sweetness.

—That nickname doesn’t fit you anymore.

Dick nodded sadly. He hadn’t expected anything else. Unlike the others, he had heard her laugh. He had been the one to care for her when Bruce couldn’t. The one who taught her to do cartwheels when she was little. But he had also been the first to walk away. To “prioritize” other missions. To assume she’d be fine on her own.

—I didn’t realize how much my silence hurt —he said honestly.

She looked at him with something that seemed like pity... or maybe sadness.

—What hurt the most was that your silence was the only one that really mattered to me.

That broke him. There were no tears, but there was a deep sinking in his chest. Because he knew. He had known since the first day he stopped calling her. Since the first time he ignored one of her letters. Since the day he decided it was “easier” not to deal with what she represented.

—I wanted to come back so many times —he murmured.

—But you never did —she responded, with no resentment, but also with no comfort.

—Can I do something now?

She stayed silent. Then shook her head.

—No. The only thing you could have done was stay. And you didn’t.

Dick looked at her one last time. He wanted to hug her.

He wanted to ask her not to hate him. But he understood that desire wasn’t for her.

It was for him.

And she wasn’t there to heal anyone.

He walked away without looking back.

---

Weeks passed. Then months. None of them ever approached again. But neither could they stop thinking about her.

She became a cult figure. Her face appeared in art magazines, her appearances at events were rare but impactful. Every time someone mentioned her, the Batfamily tensed. Because they knew she shone without them. And that was unforgivable.

Not for her.

For them.

---

The last time Bruce saw her was by chance: a feature in an architecture magazine. She was sitting on a balcony in Florence, drinking coffee. Smiling. With a peace he had never achieved.

And in that instant, he understood that they had never lost her.

Because they had never had her.

She wouldn’t come back.

And now, the echo of her absence was louder than any scream.

Sorry if there are mistakes, I don't speak English, I only use the translator.

vanijeanne is like the funniest ship ever actually. the best i can even describe what i mean is the scenario that jeanne is waiting for vanitas to come outside to join her for dinner and she goes back in and sees him with a mud mask and cucumbers on his eyes and also mozart is playing in the room he’s just like “i’m sorry for making you wait but you know i can’t rush perfection, mon cheri”

they’ll watch soap operas together and vanitas is straight up bawling the whole time but jeanne simply can’t move past the fact that the main girl is a dumb slut who had all of this coming and checked out ten mins ago 

Equals - Yae Miko x Kitsune!Male!Reader

A/N: Something experimental today. It's an idea I've been sitting on for quite a while now. If you want to, I'll make more. Enjoy. CW: Mentions of abuse and dubious consent, discrimination, societal misoginy (kitsune culture and stuff), objectification, sexism and the aftermath of life under these. For context - a female fox is called a 'vixen', and a male is called a 'dog'.

The era of Kitsune is long gone. 

Taking a stroll through modern Inazuma, one would never believe that there were once as many youkai as there were humans living on the islands. Tengu, Oni, Bake-Danuki and among them, the ascended foxes - Kitsune. As their demonic fellows, they too had an island to call their own, one that has now been swallowed by the sea for centuries. There, Kitsune created a nation of their own, their hearth, their home. Alongside with houses and streets, they quickly formed a culture that would echo for millennia, right until the fall. 

Many elements of it leaked to the general heritage of Inazuma - the festive masks are one such example, followed by the entirety of ritual practice carried out within the shrines scattered across the land. After all, it's the very reason why a kitsune traditionally stands at the helm of the Grand Narukami Shrine. The same is the case of fox warriors - never has history witnessed a dog lead units of his kin or other peoples to war, at least not one that isn't an exceptional, legendary character of some kind. The reason for this state of things is not easy to find as few cultural sources remain, but scholars did not give up on their research. They sought the input of Yae Miko, one of the only Kitsune remaining in Inazuma, who gave them a simple answer - males are very rare. Satisfied, they placed her answer in the books, and the discussion was closed. 

But Yae Miko, as is customary for the current Guuji, kept the truth for herself. In truth, she decided to conceal it because it's an aspect of her kind that she is anything but proud of, even if she never took part in it. What was ordinary for foxes in their nation's prime would be unacceptable even for humanity of that age. 

There happen to be two ways a Kitsune is created. Primarily, it's through the union of two ascended foxes - a kit conceived this way is immortal and sapient from the beginning, gaining the ability to transform in just a few years of life. Even with a single birth usually resulting in three to six newborn foxes, dogs are rare, with one being born in every fourth or fifth litter on average. The second way of creation doesn't favor them either - so far, there have only been a handful of wild dogs that lived long enough to become ascendants, further reducing the introduction of males into the population. Luckily, evolution had it that those rare men welcomed into the world were incredibly resilient to illnesses and injuries, even by Kitsune standards, letting them live and spread their genes for generations to come. With the proper approach, the Kitsune weren't in any way threatened with extinction. 

As is commonly observed by historians, culture reflects the nature of a species, and such is the case for Kitsune. Over the years, the female-dominated society came to a simple conclusion: males are rare and must be protected. This prime example of a logical takeaway soon led to another, less egalitarian idea - something human researchers would refer to as infirmatus sexus, observing such inequalities in some cultures of their own. Kitsune believed that males must be protected, yes, but thought of them as inferior in intelligence and overall wit, as they rarely ascended from the wild. The vixen majority had no issue with this idea and the society turned matriarchal, increasingly more restrictive towards the men. But it was justified, in their eyes - they were required to prolong the species, right? As time went by, so did the objectification of the male sex progress ever further. 

Before the fall, society was based around large family units - lines ruled over by the oldest vixen, referred to as the matriarch. Beneath her were others - first, her own daughters, followed by those of her predecessor, then their offspring and finally, at the lowest rung, the foxes that just stood up from four paws. Dogs were not subject to this hierarchy, as they were dispensed with as objects with a clear owner - usually the matriarch. She had the right to mate with him, and when a change of power came, so too did the patriarch - usually switched for a younger male from another family, the further, the better. Similarly, male kits stayed with their father (raised, of course, under the careful scrutiny of the vixens) until they were of breeding age to be pawned off to another lineage for political favor, land, rights or simply cold, hard currency. 

Dogs that were too old to produce offspring or simply infertile were disposed of, in ways more or less kind, depending on who happened to own them. The majority got to stay as authorities for the youth and priests, and those with no luck were sold to slavers or human poachers. 

You were born into one such lineage on the fringes of the nation. You still recall the drawings of your infant self - an adorable pup with a pristine but messy white coat, two little ears pointing out, greedily taking in the sounds of the world. Allegedly, you had four sisters, though you never seem to recall their names. The first memories of young Y/N were primarily centered around your father - a towering, muscular fox with a gleam of wit in his eyes and grey eating away at his own fur. Despite his young age and fitting appearance, you always saw him as wise and ancient - maybe because of the hair, darkened by stress and exhaustion. He was cynical at times, but loving nonetheless. One of the fondest memories you had was when he would lift a panel from the floor and let you run free in the forest outside. There were rules of course - don't let anyone see you and come back before the first rays of sun. You enjoyed your time of unsupervised play, chasing squirrels and exploring the woods, always coming back through the same crawl space before it dawned. Your father would wash all the dirt off and send you to sleep with a warm hug, asking you to keep quiet about your adventure. Of course, you nodded along, but being a kid created the inevitability of a slip up. After you mentioned it to your female playmate once, you were taken away from that house and never saw it again. 

You don't know what became of your father. You didn't even get to know his name. 

The new house was larger, and so were the girls inside. While you didn't like playing with vixens at home - there was always an adult watching and you would get relentlessly berated for injuring yourself even in the slightest - you at least had somebody to have fun with. There, you had nothing. Lady Matsui, your owner and wife-to-be, simply had you locked in a room with books and toys to get yourself busy in the few free moments you had. You hated it there, but any mention of it would get one of the toys you had taken away. Any sign of disobedience to your caretakers, especially during exercise or classes, would get you punished. Matsui didn't seem to have patience for you, and was constantly complaining; she wanted a husband with red fur, not white fur. You were simply a temporary solution, and by the end, you would have all her deepest fantasies memorised. You were never part of them - as she said, you shouldn't get too attached. You were to be replaced shortly, after all. At least the food was alright. 

Years went by and it was clear that Matsui would have to begrudgingly accept you as her permanent husband. She didn't take it lightly at first, but after a time of angry outbursts and drinking, she had a sudden change of heart. “If I'm to own you”, she said, “I should at least train you properly”. And trained you were, both physically and in mind. Your free time was reduced to null and your days became dedicated to working out and studying. Sometimes the two were mixed - you had to recite the rules while doing push-ups. Good boys always sleep at night. Good boys thank their mistress for food. Good boys always listen. Good boys never question what they are told. Then, you were served unsalted, nutritious foods. Raw vegetables, slightly cooked meat, plain rice and raw fish made up your diet - all natural, as your Lady wanted. All tasteless. Any fussing, talking back, crying, making mistakes or disobeying would quickly put you in the punishment room. She would slap a bamboo cane on your hands and butt until you were red, sore and bleeding, she would make you kneel on small rocks or sit up the wall for hours, sometimes she would whip you. “Military discipline”. All the while she constantly announced her displeasure with your existence.

No matter how muscular you were made to be, it was never enough. So your diet was changed, shrinking endlessly to meet her impossible standards. No matter if you were tall, it was always too short for Matsui. So you were made to hold on to a bar with rocks tied to your ankles to stretch you out. Your knees still hurt sometimes, the skeletal deformations made permanent by this regular exercise. No matter how much stamina you had, you always ended mating too early. So you were trained, day and night, forced to perform through pain, distress and exhaustion. Sometimes Matsui had balls or parties held at her estate, and you were the main entertainment. You would dance, sing and play any instruments they wanted, but your wife and her friends were never there for your artistic skills in the first place. Your cries, moans and screams were much finer. Now that you think about it, her friends were likely never allowed to mistreat the dogs of their houses, so they took out their frustrations and carried out their wildest fantasies on you - without consequences. They were smaller, they were lighter, they were physically weaker than you, and yet you couldn't defend yourself. It would only make things worse - far worse if you did. You felt filthy. You felt humiliated. Afterwards you cleaned yourself frantically, but the feeling of their hands on you never faded. 

You ended up rubbing so hard that your body bled. 

You became a reclusive, quiet fox. Saying anything more than what was expected of you usually ended up badly, so you decided it's better to just stay silent. Taking your punishments and abuse with silent resignation was the only way of survival - without entertaining whimpers and pleading, Matsui and her vixens quickly grew bored of you. Instead of releasing your pain in front of them, you resorted to crying silently in your room, screaming without making a sound in the moonlight. You did all the things every male did - trained, ate, rested, had sex, attended events as a decoration and primarily - mated. Unlike your father, you never had the chance to raise pups. The female kits were always under the care of the vixens, and you didn't have the luck to sire any sons - for which you were always berated and beaten by your owner, even when she was pregnant. To her, she said, you were useless. Worthless. Even as a breeder. Still, despite not being able to hold your children in your arms, you did your best to learn of them. Some of your caretakers were kind enough to let you know their number and names. You diligently noted these details on a piece of paper, writing the names you would give your daughters if you could. Naomi. Ai. Juri. Kana. These and many more were the only connection you had to your little ones. 

It was the only good thing you left behind when you got the chance to flee. 

Internal rivalry between daughters, sisters and mothers was commonplace, so much so that it sometimes evolved into internal wars - you made use of one. Matsui made quite the negative reputation for herself, not just by mistreating you, but by cheating other families. They were out for blood, and although they wanted to steal you away for themselves, Matsui’s heirs decided that you deserved a chance. Once the fighting broke out, they took you away, threw you on a small boat you had no idea how to pilot and kicked you out to sea. 

It was hardly pleasant at the moment, but you would always thank them for taking pity on you after you landed in Inazuma. In the human nation of thunder, everything felt foreign. It was a bigger island, with long stretches of empty fields between sparse human settlements. These smaller, mortal creatures were quite the nuisance to you - although you saw a few traders in your life, you never got to take a closer look. But, instinctually, you know that stumbling into the view of a human guard was a mistake. You ran away and tried to hide amongst the jagged cliffs near the island's largest mountains, but you had unknowingly walked right into the hands of another, pink haired vixen. 

Your arrival in Inazuma was noticed instantly. After all, humans haven't seen a fox other than Yae Miko for a few centuries now. When she initially heard the news, she couldn't believe it - definitely, it was just another poorly-observed monster, or a mere trick of the light. But she still wanted to confirm that rumor, and the moment she saw a white pair of ears amongst the usual crowds of Inazuma City, she had a single thought - to catch you. Snatch you right up in a net, for whatever silly, selfish reason, if only to touch you and ensure you were real. It wasn't a surprise for her that you panicked and hid as quickly as you showed up - you had reasons to believe your freedom would be unwelcome. Finding you was barely a challenge for her nose, and with the help of a few shrine maidens, you were captured and brought back to her residence. 

What an incredible sight, you were. Definitely one for very, very sore eyes - Miko has long since abandoned the hopes of finding a partner of her own species and having a litter, which definitely contributed to her cynicism and general exhaustion with life. But here you were, real and in the flesh. An actual dog. A handsome, muscular dog. Soon enough, however, Miko's initial excitement dwindled and the factual gravity of things reached her senses. In front of her, curled on the floor, was a dirty, underfed, terrified creature. For somebody that, in the post-cataclysm circumstances of human society she was born into, would shake every room he would enter, you were frightful and quiet. You needed proper care, so Miko announced you would be staying with her until further notice. She then rolled up her sleeves and got to work. 

There was no doubt that you could understand her, and speak by extension, but you were significantly suspicious of her. Surely, she would want to chain you down again, you thought. She might even be worse than Matsui for all you know. Each meal she offered could contain one of these strange powders they made you eat when you were misbehaving, putting you to sleep and letting her do Archons-know-what to you. So you pushed the bowl away, and her alongside it. You had to stay strong. 

—

She takes the handle into her hands and, as gently as she can, pushes it down. The room before her is bathed in darkness, but her eyes pierce through it without issue. The matches she left on the table are untouched. 

What a surprise, she muses. 

From the moment her foot stepped over the threshold, there has been a pair of eyes boring into her frame. Miko casts a discreet glance towards the bedside corner. The resting spot itself was stripped of everything besides the mattress, now placed into a cozy nest of blankets and pillows in the safest spot in the room, the point furthest away from the door. From there your E/C surveyed Miko's every move. A part of her couldn't hold a smile. The unfortunate circumstances aside, it was quite adorable. 

“Good evening.” Miko says, picking up a candle from the shelf. She puts the plate of food she brought on the table and lights it, illuminating the space with a warm, flickering light. Placing the candle close to herself, she looks directly your way. 

There is no response. Your eyes continue staring at her, unblinking. 

No luck just yet. But I clearly have his attention, at the very least. 

A sigh escapes her lips. Miko takes the plate and steps a bit closer to you. “You clearly don't trust me. I can assure you I mean you no harm, and that I won't do anything against your wish, but I bet you want to see for yourself. And while that is alright, I doubt you will get to, the way things are going now.” She crouches down, placing it on the wooden floor. “You must have been through a lot, but please, you need to eat. I don't know what you enjoy the most, so I feel like this is the right place to start.”

Again, you remain still. Up close, Miko can see the blank expression on your face, dirty with mud, sweat and dried blood. Miko rolls her eyes, but manages to silence the groan of frustration before it forms. By no stretch of the imagination was she the best person to take you in, but if not her, then who?

Do you want to be difficult? Fine then. Two can play at that game. 

“Alright then. Suit yourself - if you don't feel like helping yourself to this positively scrumptious meal, I will.” Miko takes the single pair of chopsticks she brought in her hands and lifts a piece of sushi from the plate up to her mouth. She hums ostensibly, enjoying the taste of cold-smoked salmon. 

Something moves in the darkness. Your ears are fully up and pointed her way, like radar dishes picking up every crunch and smack of her lips. The plump, snow white rice and the bright orange salmon exude a tempting smell, reminding you of just how hungry you are. If she eats it without problem, then you should be fine too…

You slowly creep forward, the blankets and pillows around you silently falling as you stretch your aching arms and legs. Miko pretends not to notice you, but in reality her ears tell her exactly what's going on. She observes as your hand emerges into the light, your eyes never leaving her figure. Her sharp eyes instantly notice how chewed your fingers are, with no white nail to see. You snatch the piece of food and sniff it. After making sure it's alright, you bite into it. The delightful taste of well-seasoned rice and real, fresh fish lights up your senses. 

You reach for another. And another. And another. Before long, Miko is pushed back in your priority list and you sit in front of her, wolfing down the food straight off the plate in her hands. The vixen smiles. 

Finally, you're eating. It might not be much, but it's a start. You are just like a stray cat, aren't you? Scared, neglected and mistreated. Afraid of every shadow. 

She delights in watching your ears tremble under the speed of your eating. 

Such a cute creature. Who would ever want to hurt you? Certainly not me. Miko tilts her head. I wonder if I can…

“Thank you for the meal.”

Your sudden words make her pause. She never once doubted you could speak, but at the same time she didn't expect you to open up at something as simple as food. It was important nonetheless - if you spoke once, it would be just a matter of time before you speak again. And then she could learn everything about you. Who you are, what you like, and most importantly, who hurt you. 

“Do not mention it, little one.” She slowly stretches out her hand towards you. “May I?”

You stop eating for a second before bringing your nose closer to her hand. It smells like salmon. You return your attention to the delicious sushi on the plate. 

With a hum of satisfaction, she places her hand between your ears. They fold to the sides, making way for her. Miko rubs her hand over your grimy, brownish fur. It was white once, for sure, but now that colour is just barely showing in places. No worries - she would wash you and make sure your coat will return to its undoubtedly splendid layer. 

“I'm here. It will be alright.”

There's a long road ahead of us. But you won't have to walk it alone, dear. 

Thanks for reading!

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.”