Surviving The Wilderness

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.

Marshmallow Miles

summary: prompt fill. Wally needs to get the hell out of Split River. thankfully, he finds the perfect excuse and takes you along for the ride. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. fluff. AU - everybody is alive (zesty). lore established offscreen. same 'verse as Cuddle Bug.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧁

Marshmallow Miles

Wally spent the last 40 years haunting the high school. Then spent the last few months within the town limits, adjusting to being a regular student while he got his second chance at life organized. Principal Hartman, Ms. Chung, and Mrs. Moretz—the guidance counselor—banded together to help the formerly-dead reacclimate, and part of that means they all need to graduate.

Except, obviously, Mr. Martin, who Sheriff Baxter's keeping a tight leash on. Or Janet, wherever the hell she is.

Point being, Wally and his friends are still tethered to the place they hate most in the world. Even if there is a light at the end of the tunnel this time, they don't get to enjoy it until they walk across the stage, diplomas in hand.

Which means Wally? Is feeling somewhat-very claustrophobic. Skin too tight, walls closing in, suffocated and nauseous at the thought of having to spend another goddamn second in the town that killed him.

It's as he's listening to you, hanging onto your every word like psalms, that the idea strikes. Light. Bulb. Wausau? Claire's stepdad's ski lodge? You don't say!

He knows your birthday's coming up (Simon made sure to stick post-it notes in every single one of Wally's text- and notebooks to remind him) and he's been fretting over what to do for weeks. But this? This is it! Not only will Wally be able to celebrate you the way you deserve, doing something you seem genuinely keen on, he'll be able to put Split River in the rearview for a whole week.

Is it a little selfish to use your birthday as an excuse to escape? Kind of, sort of, maybe. But he's desperate to find out if he can have a life beyond this. Beyond Split River High and Number 57 and tragedy and discombobulating rise-agains. And the only person he wants to find anything out with, well, is you.

It's two-birds-one-stone, honestly, and don't you always praise his efficiency? Hell yeah, you do. His biggest fan. Besides, he will dote on you, treat you right, make you feel like the center of the universe because you are. At least, you're the center of his, and that's why he has to do this. To prove there's a future with him that has more potential than cultivating small town syndrome.

You catch him grinning that dopey little grin he gets when he's thinking about surprising you, but Maddie distracts you before you can question it. Which gives Wally the rest of lunch to plot into his tater tots.

Thank you, Maddie. Best wingwoman ever.

‗•‗

The plan comes together seamlessly. Everyone pitches in to help bring Wally's vision to life. Claire gives him the keys to her stepdad's lodge. Maddie and Charley morally support Wally as he shops for warm clothes in your size that he can smuggle in his own luggage so you stay in the dark for as long as possible.

Nicole and Rhonda, the unlikeliest of best buds, drag him into The Body Shop and Victoria's Secret—"imagine a romantic bubble bath after skiing all day?" Nicole coos. "Imagine undressing her on a bearskin rug in front of a fire." Rhonda smirks around her new vape.

That's. Really. All the convincing Wally needs to make a dent in the allowance Rodney gives him.

Wally even swallows his pride, puts on his most charming smile, and asks Xavier for his truck. He knows the only reason Xavier agrees is because it's for you, but still, a win is a win. With a general, "hurt her and I'll rip your balls off," from your platonic soulmate, Wally joyfully departs. Tosses the keys in the air and catches them, his chest feeling lighter than it has in decades.

Everything is packed in the truck and ready to go the night before. He called you earlier to impart the vaguest of instructions as to what you should bring, proud of himself for not giving anything away too soon. Even when you asked in that silly-sweet voice, pouting on the screen like a princess, "Please? At least give me a hint!"

No. No hints.

Like a child on Christmas, Wally can barely sleep, he's so excited, but he manages a few hours. Dreams of the world beyond Split River as if he's setting off on some grand adventure and not just driving a 3.5 hour span of state highway.

Tomorrow, Wally will experience a first. Something that was so far out of reach there was no point entertaining it because all it led to was disappointment and regret. Instead there were years upon years of distractions. Mock Trials and obituaries and looking at his feet when he should've looked back.

Wally sometimes wonders if those missed opportunities weren't the yellow brick road that brought him to you. Everyone else walked through The Door with him, but there's no sign of Dawn who crossed over. If Mr. Martin didn't do what he did, Wally might've moved on, and you and he wouldn't exist...

His heart lurches in his chest.

No sense ruminating. You have him. He has you. That's all that matters now. And tomorrow, Wally will have his first real taste of freedom with the only person he wants to share that moment with.

It's going to be perfect.

‗•‗

Wally picks you up just after sunrise. You're grumpy and sleepwarm and, Jesus, Wally loves you. Pouting at him like he's both a menace and your savior. Arms up, lower lip jutted out, a sweet demand of carry me before you slump into his embrace and force him to take your weight. Which he does, easily, big grin on his face as he toddler-carries you to the passenger side of Xavier's truck.

He bundles you in, sets you up with the softest blanket Claire found at Target—Yuri and Ajay not doing their jobs as devil's advocate at all as the cart filled up with Claire's suggestions. Honestly, Wally doesn't care. Especially not after your eyes brighten as you run your fingers over it, wiggling happily in your seat.

"You cozy, babygirl?" He asks as soon as he's behind the wheel and the smile you give him makes him fucking melt.

"You got me a blanket." You state, tucking yourself in more securely; shoes off, feet up, elbow on the console so you can lean over it and kiss Wally's cheek. "Thank you."

Wally blushes, he can't help it, and shrugs as if it's nothing. "I got you a bunch of things, baby," he says as he starts the truck, "Just wait and see. You're gonna feel like a princess, I promise."

You slip your hand into his, fingers laced, and he rests them on your thigh as he drives. Down the street, turn left, continue to the intersection of Main and 4th. Right on 4th, all the way to the end and then left on Pine. Drive until the highway onramp. Now Leaving Split River, We'll Miss You!

Oh God... Wally's heart pounds, blood rushing in his ears. This feels bigger than his first step off school property. Bigger than feeling air in his lungs and a drum in his chest after being hollow for so long.

Somehow, and Wally doesn't know how, you manage to talk him through pulling over, crawling over the console to plant yourself in his lap. Hands cradling his jaw, you press your forehead against his and guide him away from the edge of a panic attack.

"—got you, Wally, I'm right here, you're okay, shh, you're okay..." The steady cadence of your voice sharpens as his breathing regulates. He's holding you like a lifeline, arms fastened around your waist, heaving great gulps of air as he trembles slightly.

"I'm sorry, baby," He gasps and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Nuh-uh, no apologies, Wally Clark," You say firmly. There's a lull before you chuckle, gentle and kind, "Hey, this was a lot better than the night you first stepped across the school boundary line, right?"

Fuck, that was a mess. However, Wally wasn't alone when that happened. Charley and Rhonda and Yuri, Mr. Martin and Ajay, Mina, they were all there too, equally as overwhelmed. Rhonda threw up on Quinn's shoes. Charley passed all the way out. Yuri and Ajay were fine, fuck them, but Mina just...screamed. And then laughed. Then cried. Then screamed some more, listening to the sound ricochet off the surrounding buildings in a way it wouldn't have days before The Door.

Wally snorts, "Yeah. Sure," and finally peeks up at you. Your thumbs stroke his cheeks that he realizes belatedly feel damp. Is he crying? Weak. But you aren't judging him, simply gazing at him like he hung the moon; you're perfect person, the man you love most, and Wally's chest swells. "We're out of Split River," Wally croaks.

You beam at him, "We're out of Split River."

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River.

‗•‗

After climbing out of the truck to holler into the ether. To chase each other around the Now Leaving sign. To grab you, spin you around and fall into the grass as you and he laugh and laugh and laugh, Wally finally gets the show back on the road.

Once again, he tucks you into your seat, takes your hand, checks his mirrors and then pulls back onto the highway, the town that raised him then witnessed his death becoming a speck in the background with every mile marker you and he pass.

He lifts your hand, grazes a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes on the road and his mind on you and everything he has planned for this trip. At the halfway point, he stops for gas, shadows you as you browse the aisles for exactly the right snacks. Fondly gazes after you the whole time as you make tough decisions: Nerds or Twizzlers? Cookies or chocolate? Wally, do I want a vanilla or butterscotch pudding with my Oreos? Because that's a normal combination, what?

He's absolutely no help at all, too busy mooning over you as you flutter between the fridge and the chest freezer, babbling about how integral to your mood it is to pick the right snack. To cover for the fact that he isn't paying attention, Wally grabs a bag of marshmallows off one of the shelves when you call him out for not listening.

"These." He says, holding the bag up and then glancing at the graham crackers and Hershey's displayed at eye-level. "Maybe these?"

"You wanna make s'mores in the truck?" You ask, dubious.

"No," Wally saves himself, "Just these," and he jiggles the bag of marshmallows. They're the jumbo kind; the kind he used to bet his cousin Dennis to eat five of in one bite or else he couldn't play Wally's Magnavox Odyssey.

You consider the marshmallows for a moment and then, with a decisive nod, "And hot chocolate."

"And hot chocolate," Wally agrees, following you around the shop to the coffee station.

Wally pays for everything, hip-butting you (carefully, no spills) out of the way when you try to pass the cashier your card. He takes the bag and the tray of hot chocolate and still holds the door open for you with his heel. No fucking way is his princess lifting a finger on her birthday-slash-Wally's-freedom trip.

For every mile, you dip a marshmallow in your hot chocolate—dipping Wally's as well and feeding him, giggling when he nips or sucks the gooey sugar from your fingertips. It's silly and sweet and Wally basks in every second of it. Every second of your off-key singing, your trivia answers, your arguments over which is better, Thunderbirds or Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons.

"You know, I have been catching up on TV shows, right?" Wally laughs, "You can use better examples."

"What's wrong with puppets, Wally? Are you a pupaphobist?"

Wally barks a laugh, "That's not a thing!"

"It definitely is a thing," And you wield your phone, flashing Google as Exhibit A. "So? Are you? Just say it, you hate Jim Henson and everything he stood for."

And it's amazing. It's anything and everything and so much more than Wally could've ever hoped for. Even the quiet intervals when the sugar wears off and the early wakeup call catches up to you; your body curled up in your seat awkwardly just so you can angle yourself right to rest your head on the console and place Wally's hand in your hair.

Adorable little diva.

As you doze, Wally watches the scenery drift by, his lungs expanding more and more with every mile he puts between himself and Split River.

Eventually, he turns off the highway and onto the backroads without you noticing a thing. His fingers card through your hair, trace the shape of your jaw and cheek as he absorbs the softness of the moment and tucks it away behind his ribs. Safe and sound, to be pulled out and cherished when he's alone.

When he parks, he's reluctant to wake you. So, he doesn't. Not immediately. Rather, he spends a few minutes just resting himself, sinking down a little in the driver's seat. Then slants sideways, curls over and around you to kiss your ear, cheek, jaw.

He couldn't dim his smile if he tried, enamored when you protest at first, but then sigh, realize where you are and who you're with before groggily chuckling at Wally's antics.

"Surprise, baby girl," He whispers, letting you sit up so you can take in your surroundings.

The look on your face tells Wally he did a good job. The way you tackle him into the inside of his door and kiss him tells him he's going to have to start planning next year's surprise tomorrow, because, fuck yeah, this is exactly the reaction he's looking for.

Getting out of the truck and staring at Claire's stepdad's lodge; at the trees and the snow and the vast expanse of sky, it hits him again like a ton of bricks.

Holy fuck. He's out of Split River!

‗•‗

He doesn't wait to celebrate. As soon as he closes the door behind him, he reels you in, kisses you deep and hungry while you're only halfway out of your jacket. That's okay, he helps you get it the rest of the way off, along with everything else.

"Let me make you feel good, baby," He whispers against your skin, hands everywhere, his hips rolling into yours as he pins you to the wall beside the door. "Let me show you how much I love you..."

Wally kisses you deep, hungry, groaning into your mouth as he keeps grinding his hard cock against you, fuck, you get him going like nothing else. All you have to do is breathe in his direction and his pants tent.

Heat courses through him, curls tight in his belly and flushes outward to his limbs, God, he needs you. Now. Right fucking now, baby, come on. He carries you to the enormous kitchen island, peels your leggings and panties off and has his lips on you and tongue in you faster than you can cry out his name.

"So sweet, baby," He moans into your pussy, panting, not bothering to breathe in his greed for your taste and pleasure. "Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you."

He spears his tongue in and out of you before teasing little circles around your clit, his fingers plunging into you in place of his tongue. Wally could do this all day and never get tired; the sounds you make, the way you writhe and beg for him, Jesus, he can't imagine ever wanting anything else.

Cruel, desperate, he doesn't care what you call it, he stops right as you're about to come, shoves his sweatpants just below his balls and drags your hips off the counter to punch his cock into you. His head falls back as soon as he feels you around him, so tight and hot, "Fuck, yes, baby, so good for me."

And he sets a frenzied pace, unable to keep himself in check now that he has you like this. His fingers dig into your lovehandles, your legs hooked over his elbows. He's grunting, you're mewling your pleasure, and Wally about loses it before you do. But he doesn't. He's better than that, fucks you like a beast until you scream and shake and squirt around his cock.

It's game over after that. No way can he hold on, his body tensing, hips grinding, as he spills deep inside you. Carefully, he sits you more firmly on the counter and leans in to kiss you, soft, sated, a little blissdrunk in the afterglow. Bodies pressed together, slowly recovering, Wally strokes the arches of your cheeks with his thumbs and gives you a muzzy smile.

"You're my whole world, you know that?" He tells you and then captures your lips in a kiss that quickly turns heated, "I'll do anything for you, baby." Fuck, he's already getting worked up again, needs more of you, always needs more. "I'll die all over again if you asked me to."

"Wally..." You gasp when he rocks his hips forward, driving his cock back into you.

It's just after sundown before you and he finally check out what's beyond the open kitchen/living room space, the table and couch and ottoman and, shit, bearskin rug fully christened in sweat and come.

You and he jump on the beds with childlike glee, music blaring on speakers that cost more than Rodney's mortgage. Claire explicitly forbade Wally from using the master suite so, taking that into consideration, that's the first bedroom he fucks you in—from behind, driving his hips forward while he pulls you back against him. What? He'll do the necessary laundry.

If he remembers...

‗•‗

After a supper of haphazardly thrown together and grossly microwaved nachos, Wally snuggles you between his legs on one of the Adirondack chairs outside, under a thick blanket and dressed accordingly in the thermals and sweater and fuzzy socks he secretly bought and brought for you.

The fire pit blazes, the stars above twinkle, and the land around is a peaceful kind of dark. Not the ominous, suffocating dark Wally grew accustomed to in the confines of the school. The comfortable silence between you and him is accentuated by the crackle and pop of the fire, the scene so peaceful, Wally has to wonder if he ever experienced any such feeling before.

His arms tighten around you and he presses a kiss to your cheek from behind, watching the flames dance as you lance another marshmallow on your stick.

Tomorrow is your birthday and he intends to take you skiing. Or, when he knows you'll diplomatically decide to trade skis for slippers, he'll bring you back here at noon and spoil you rotten with presents and a homecooked meal; that bubble bath Nicole suggested (thank you, Nicole), and a long night on that bearskin rug (thank you Rhonda).

It's going to be an incredible week, he assures himself. And on Saturday, the others will arrive while he takes you into the resort town to explore so they can set up your big surprise party. Yuri will grill in a t-shirt, and Charley will force everyone to play '90s boardgames he died too soon to play, and Rhonda will make everyone take shots whenever Wally gives you heart eyes just to watch the messiness unfurl.

Claire will probably reprimand him for fucking in her parents' bedroom, but Wally doesn't care. Because it means he celebrated you right. That you and he had fun. That there's evidence of the fact that, for the first time in 40 years, holy fuck, Wally made it out of Split River!

🧁___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

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if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Anxiety.

a smutty flashfic explaining how not. clingy. Wally is even when he thinks you're mad at him but won't tell him why.

hc! jackie has a crush on you and she doesn't hide it well.

jackie taylor x fem!reader

summary: jackie having a painfully obvious crush on you while you remain completely oblivious.

warnings: characters are aged up, oblivious reader, jackie being possessive, jealous, clingy and over-the-top affectionate, jackie being awkwardly sweet, jackie as the most dramatic lesbian alive, not proofread.

a.n: oh hi! its been a long time...

jackie taylor, the golden girl of wiskayok high, was not known for being subtle. like, at all.

when she developed a crush on you? game over. everyone could tell. the team knew. her parents probably knew. heck, even the cafeteria staff were rooting for her. everyone... except you.

she would insist on walking you to every single class, even if her next one was on the other side of the building. "it's fine, I need the cardio," she’d say, hair bouncing as she kept pace with you.

whenever you sat together at lunch, jackie always had some excuse to sit as close as humanly possible. your thighs would brush, and she’d casually drape an arm behind you on the bench like this was some romcom where she was the suave lead.

her attempts at giving you compliments were both endearing and slightly chaotic. “that shirt looks really good on you! not that it wouldn’t look good off— wait, no, not like that!” cue her face turning an alarming shade of red as she stammered, completely flustered.

jackie was all about grand gestures. she'd bring you your favorite snacks without asking, even if it meant "borrowing" them from her teammates' lockers. r she'd "accidentally" sign you up as her partner for every school project ever. that was probably just her 'marking territory'.

her jealousy was comically bad. if someone so much as looked at you for longer than five seconds, jackie would swoop in like a hawk, throwing an arm around your shoulders and flashing her biggest, most obviously fake smile. "Oh hey, let’s go! you promised to help me with... uh, math homework!” (she had a solid A in math, by the way. that girl is smart.)

sometimes, her crush got the better of her, and she’d trip over her own words. “so... you wanna make out? i mean go out— I mean, hang out? like friends! or more than friends! or—" you’d just laugh it off, assuming she was being her usual goofy self, while she tried not to combust on the spot.

her teammates would not let her hear the end of it. “just tell her already!” van would groan during practice. “she’s not that clueless.” jackie would shoot them a death glare because, in her mind, this was a delicate, slow-burn process. it's all about romance!

she wasn’t above using petnames to test the waters. “hey, sweetheart, pass me that notebook?” she’d grin when you handed it over, your only response being a confused, “uh, sure?” her heart would leap even at that small acknowledgment.

one time, during a party, someone asked if you two were dating. jackie nearly choked on her drink while you laughed and said, “no way, we’re just friends!” jackie’s forced laugh after that? absolutely tragic.

despite all her awkwardness and dramatic flair, jackie genuinely adored you. she’d memorize all your quirks, from the way you scrunched your nose when you were deep in thought to how your laugh sounded when you found something genuinely funny.

if anyone asked her why she liked you so much, she’d have an entire list ready: you were smart, kind, gorgeous, and somehow still completely oblivious to the fact that she was hopelessly in love with you.

spoiler alert: eventually, her feelings would spill out in the most unplanned, dramatic way possible. probably during an argument where she’d blurt out, “because I like you, okay?!” only to immediately cover her mouth in horror.

and even though you’d be stunned into silence for a moment, when you finally smiled and said, “you should’ve just said so sooner,” all her embarrassment would melt away in an instant.

because, honestly? it was all worth it for you.

post planecrash!

after the crash, jackie’s crush intensifies tenfold. with no distractions like school or soccer, all her attention is on you, which becomes very obvious to everyone.

jackie insists on sticking close to you at all times. “we need to stay in pairs, it’s safer that way,” she’d argue, even though it’s clear she just wants to keep you within arm’s reach.

she’d hoard little things she finds that might make your life easier, like an extra blanket or berries she foraged. she’d always frame it like it’s no big deal: “i just thought you’d want this, that’s all.”

jealous jackie? oh, it’s dialed up to 100. if someone else offers to help you with something, jackie will immediately swoop in. “she doesn’t need your help, i’ve got it covered.” even though she could barely lift a bucket of water.

arguments would break out among the group about leadership and survival, but jackie’s main concern? you. she’d constantly check in on you, asking if you’re warm enough, if you’ve eaten, or if you’re scared.

shauna would initially try to protect jackie’s secret, but even she’d get tired of the whole thing. “jackie, just tell her. you’re already risking frostbite just to sit next to her by the fire.”

during the long, cold nights, jackie would find excuses to be near you. “body heat is the best way to stay warm,” she’d say, but the blush on her cheeks would give her away. that damn fag. (affectionate :D)

if you ever got hurt or sick, jackie would lose her mind. she’d hover over you like a worried mother hen, snapping at anyone who wasn’t taking your condition seriously enough. “she needs rest! and better food! and-” you’d have to calm her down before she worked herself into a frenzy.

and even though the wilderness is brutal and unforgiving, in that moment, her confession would feel like the warmest thing in the world.

Ppl like grumpy x sunshine more than “paint me like one of your French girls” and I mean- if you’re making a series and go for the most votes… can you at least make a one shot on “paint me like one of your French girls”?

Please? For me? 🥺🥺🥺

For the brains behind soul painter?? 👉👈

-🍄🍄🍄

You’d painted before. Hundreds of pieces. Thousands of strokes. But never like this.

She lay there—draped across your studio couch, nude in the golden light, all sharp angles softened by the glow of sunset filtering through the window. A living masterpiece. Every curve a siren’s call.

And still—still—you weren’t looking at her the way a man would. You looked like an artist possessed.

She watched your eyes flick from her hip to her collarbone. Your tongue flicked across your lip as you mixed another color. The veins in your hand flexed as you clenched the brush tighter—focused. Your jaw locked, then twitched.

God, the control in you was intoxicating.

She’d stripped down thinking you’d tease. Maybe flirt. But no.

You were silent.

Worshipping her with the way you looked at her… but not like a lover.

Like an addict.

She shifted, slowly—just enough to make your gaze falter.

It did.

You paused.

Eyes flicked to hers.

“Don’t move,” you said, voice husky, low.

She smirked. “Why not?”

“Because,” you said, eyes dropping back to her form, “this light on your hip—if it slips, I’ll lose it.”

Her brows lifted. “So serious.”

You didn’t reply. Just lifted the brush and went back to it.

She stared at your forearms—taut under the rolled sleeves. At the muscles shifting under your shirt as you painted. At your hands. Those hands.

Veins raised, fingers stained with dried pigment, moving with such control it made her knees press together, even from where she laid.

You didn’t notice.

But then you turned.

And she saw your back.

Shirt pulled tight between your shoulders as you reached for a rag. Muscles dancing as you adjusted your stance. She exhaled hard.

“You’ve been painting me for over an hour,” she said, voice breathy.

You glanced over, surprised by the interruption.

“Is it not working?” you asked.

“No,” she said, sitting up slightly, eyes dark. “It’s working too well.”

You blinked.

She stood, unapologetically nude, walking toward you slowly. “I was trying to be your muse. But I’ve been watching you this whole time, and I realized—”

She touched your chest, eyes raking over your body.

“You’re the art.”

Her hand moved down. Over your abs, slow and reverent. “You don’t even know, do you? The way you look when you’re painting. That jaw. Those back muscles. The veins in your hands—”

She took one in her fingers. Kissed your knuckle.

“—I want them on me.”

You dropped the brush.

And when you kissed her, it wasn’t frantic. It was reverent. Careful. Like she was another canvas and you were building her color by color.

She reached for your shirt, sliding it off slow, dragging her fingers across the grooves in your back like she’d studied them. She kissed each one, from shoulder to spine.

“You gonna finish that painting?” she whispered, breath hot on your skin.

“Later,” you murmured.

Because right now?

You were the brush. She was the canvas. And the art was made in every slow, aching, soul-painted touch. A/N: Fuck you, now I'm horny 4 this man (I meant it as a joke btw)

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

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

Bonus points if it's Damian :3

(English is not my first language)

hihi ty for the ask >.<

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was debating on making a second part to this but I think now is a good time.

As you fell to your knees, barely on the brink of consciousness, the loss of blood rushed out of you and leaving your nerves to give out. Hands pathetically on your wound as if it could stop the flow. For you final vision - what of left you can see are blurry sights of the family you've grown to forever resent reaching Damian first before giving an afterthought to your dying body.

You wish you could've seen their faces when their gaze directed to your form but alas only the blur overcomes your sight. Leaving the last chuckle out of your as blood splurts out of your mouth, you've taken your last laugh.

Oh but the family couldn't handle it. Only after your death had they taken to initiative to even feel the guilt rising. The audacity of they who should've known better.

Dick 'Richard' Grayson, The Eldest of The Bunch. Stared in horror at your slumped body, his own frozen and hesitant even if he has seen bodies before - this time it's different. It's You who's dying or worse yet — dying. His sibling that he's not even worthy of calling them that, has died. His thoughts snapped out of it after dismantling the weapon away from Damian with others and immediately came rushing next to your lifeless body. Water dripped down on you, has he been crying? How could he not have noticed like how could he have not noticed you all along?

Jason Todd, The Second and The One Death Once Claimed. He was approachable at first, violent yet sweet and trusting. Those eyes that used to look at You with endearment then icy now looks at you with grief. He oh so badly wanted to claw at the floor but he can't move. Even when you've fallen limp and everyone else rushed to you side, he took a step back. He may be strong once but now he's weak.

Tim Drake, The Third Of Them Who's An Exhausted Genius. This is not part of expected variables that could happen. Pathetic isn't he? Still thinking of You as aere problem. He begs over and over that maybe it didn't hit anything vital but when you've fallen and blood continues gushing, he could only stare. When Dick rushed over, he follows with a slight trip because what else can he do? He's a genius yes but he doesn't - can't bring you back alive.

Damian Thomas Wayne, The Violent Youngest Raised By The Strongest. He stumbles. He is acting strange. How unlike his nature but he trip backwards, still holding onto the bloody weapon that has graced upon You. When he reluctantly glanced at his weapon, immediately it was dropped as if it was on fire. Weapon out of his hands by forced from others. Why is he acting Ike this? He should be proud, he should be happy but this? This feeling? It's a feeling that he wants to desperately scratch off his skin as it is beneath it.

Finally, Bruce Thomas Wayne. The One Who Hovers Over Them All. He failed. He wouldn't expected this. You weren't supposed to be in front of him bleeding. It was as if you two were the only ones in the dark and he wouldn't even as much as reach a hand out hesitantly. He's not worthy of taking care of you and it was proven to him with blood splatters on the silver tray. Out of everyone in this family he had created, little old you was someone he should've keep a closer on. A lot of his thoughts gone haywire and doubts use to crawl up his shoulder when he saw you to the point his reasoning has long gone past within reason.

Now the family had truly destroyed what's left of you they've known alive.

Now the family has directed their thoughts and eyes on you.

Now even in death, they know to not truly let you go for they have to try for another chance.

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

- Your gf is helping you with T !

Jackie Taylor x transmasc!reader

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

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

“Ouch, Jackie!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jackie Taylor Masterlist

The feeling of you: Transfeminine Jackie in the wildernes Sleepover: Transfeminine Jackie x reader Transfem virgin Jackie Taylor blurbs Using transfem Jackie for your own pleasure Transfem Jackie x chubby reader Jackie in a relationship with werewolf reader Friday night date: cheating on her boyfriend

day 28 - pick an actor and draw them

i owe my life to @yellowjacketsfashion for this one their work is insane

Genderbend!Yellowjackets x leitor

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mention of blood, language, murder, alcohol and drugs and suggestive themes.

Based on the Paramount TV Series: YellowJackets

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Episodes:

000-The Pit Boy

001- Nostalgia

002- Just Another Trip

003- High and Dry

extra:

Before The Storm (part 1)

Before The Storm (part 2)