Okay, But... Jackie Taylor With Reader! Princess Treatment? Reader Just Loves Sitting On Her Lap While

Jackie Taylor -- "Our Destiny" (Part 2)

Jackie Taylor x Male reader/oc

Summary: What happens when a plane crashes in the middle of the Canadian Wilderness full of teenagers? How something as traumatic as that can affect the people and and how they find comfort in each other.

Words: 7.270

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Your POV

I wake up disoriented, feeling the cold invade my body and a great pain going throughout my body as if I had slept on the floor. I grunt in pain, shifting in place and trying to get into a better position.

I move my hand around without opening my eyes, trying to find the blanket and cover myself again, as I feel like I'm freezing.

Not finding the blanket anywhere, I open my eyes with some difficulty due to fatigue and the bright light. So I close my eyes again and curl up into a ball to warm up. Once my body starts to warm up, I feel sleep invade my mind once again and I fall asleep.

When I wake up again, it´s to the feeling of hands caressing my back and moving along my right side.

Jackie: Good morning.- she whispers against my ear lovingly, leaving a kiss on the spot and tracing the healed scars with her fingers.

Y/n: Good morning.- I murmur without opening my eyes and enjoying the caresses on my side, stomach and back.

Jackie: You're freezing.- she murmurs against my shoulder, pressing her body against my back and molding herself to mine completely.

Y/n: Yeah, well, it turns out someone loves to hog the duvet and blankets at night, and then there's no way to cover myself with them in the morning.- I reproach her, amused, feeling her bite my shoulder in response. -Ouch, savage.- I complain, trying to separate myself from her, but she clings to my back like a koala.

Jackie: Now I'm a savage? So when I bite you while we're fucking, then I'm not a savage anymore or what? - she asks me amused with a certain lust in her voice.

Y/n: On both occasions you are a savage.- I assure her, turning around and facing her. -But at no time have I said that I don't like it.- I tell her with a smile, moving my eyebrows suggestively.

Jackie: Idiot.- She laughs, hitting my shoulder and I hug her around the waist to hold her flush against my body.

Y/n: If I'm an idiot, then what are you when you married one? - I ask her amused, hiding my face in her neck and starting to leave small, affectionate kisses.

Jackie: I don't know and I don't want to think about it.- she answers me caressing my back and leaving a kiss on my head. -But we have to get up, you have to make breakfast and I have to wake up the gremlins.- she reminds me starting to caress my hair.

Y/n: Yeah, if you think I'm going to get out of bed and let you go if you keep caressing my head, you have it difficult.- I assure her, snuggling up against the warmth of her neck and closing my eyes.

Jackie: Come on, the kids have to go to school and we have to go to work.- she tells me leaving another kiss on my head and trying to get away from me.

Y/n: Noooo.- I complain, keeping my grip on her waist and pulling her towards me, while she keeps trying to escape from my grip. -5 more minutes.- I beg, fighting with her so she doesn't get up.

Jackie: I let you sleep 5 more minutes earlier.- she says pinching my hand and causing me to let her go. -I did it, i´m free!- she celebrates standing at the foot of the bed with her arms in the air.

I just frown, giving her a dirty look and crossing my arms as I watch her celebrate. The way her whole face lights up with happiness, how her natural waves bounce in her now dark brown hair and how her eyes squint at the smile on her face.

Even at 42, there are times when I look at her and see the same 17-year-old Jax running around the soccer field with a smile on her face.

The accident 25 years ago may have been the worst experience we have ever been through, but that doesn't take away the fact that the experience brought me closer to the person I love most in this world, and with whom I have formed a truly happy family.

A family based on love, affection, honesty, quality time and parental presence. Not like the families we grew up in, where love and the lack of parents was bought with objects, and where criticism filled the whole house constantly.

We have created a family and a home that we both should have had when we were children and in which to grow free. A home where our children live happily and we feel complete by being together.

Jackie: Move and stop looking at me like that.- she tells me throwing a pillow at my face and leaving the room.

I can only smile in response, getting out of bed and walking to my closet to get ready for the day.

Once dressed and shaved, I begin preparing the pancakes with chocolate chips and blueberries, along with the bowl of fruit and orange juice. While the coffee is brewing, I head out of the house to the mailbox and pick up today's mail.

I leave the mail on the kitchen island, grab my cup of coffee from the machine and start preparing my wife's just the way she likes it.

I place the breakfast plates in their usual places on the island and begin checking my email while I wait for the rush of footsteps down the stairs that every morning brings.

I'm looking through the bank letters, advertisements, and an envelope from the high school about the 25th anniversary reunion, when an envelope with no return address catches my eye. I open it while taking a sip of coffee and see that it's a postcard.

The postcard shows a mountain range, with a lake in the middle of a forest and snowy mountains in the background. On the right side, at the bottom, you can clearly see a message: Wish you were here! and when I turn it over, I choke on my coffee at the sight of the symbol.

The damn symbol that was everywhere in the woods, in the cabin, and everywhere you looked closely.

I react quickly when I hear the stampede downstairs, folding the postcard and stuffing it into the pocket of my black suit pants.

Tomas: Good morning dad.- he greets me jumping on me with a smile just like his mother's.

Y/n: Good morning gremlin, how did you sleep? - I asked him leaving a loud kiss on his forehead and sitting him on his stool.

Tomas: Very well, I dreamed that a dragon appeared and burned down the school. - he tells me with excitement and with his eyes wide open with the imagination of an 8-year-old child.

Alice: And his homework is doing sums and coloring.- she growls, sitting on her stool and starting to eat her breakfast.

Jackie: As if you were doing your homework. - she reproaches our 15-year-old teenage daughter with amusement.

Emma: I like school. - the middle child of the family shrugs her shoulders with a big smile.

Y/n: That's my princess.- I support her with a smile and high five her.

Tomas: I like school too, because I can play with my friends and learn cool things.- he tells us happily with his mouth full.

Jackie: You don´t talk with a full mouth, honey.- she corrects him with a smile, wiping his mouth with a napkin and leaving a kiss on the top of his head.

Alice: You'll tell me if you still like going to class when you go to high school.- she says to her 12 year old sister with an amused smile.

Y/n: Don't be mean to your sister and don't try to scare her.- I shake my head at my oldest daughter, drinking my coffee and trying to hide the smile on my face at the faces of the 2 youngest.

Tomas: I´m not going to like high school?- he asks us all, a little scared.

Jackie: Don't pay attention to your sister, it's just that the boy she likes doesn't pay attention to her and that's why she has such a sour mood. - she reassures him with a wink, earning a laugh from him and a complaint from the teenager.

Y/n: What boy? - I ask my daughter, confused and serious, when I have processed my wife's words.

Alice: None.- she growls in response, biting the piece of fruit somewhat aggressively.

Jackie: Don´t deny it, there's a boy in her math class that she likes and he doesn't pay attention to her.- my wife tells me with a huge smile. - His name is Axel? I don't know, but apparently he's in the debate club and he's a basketball player.- she says with a voice full of emotion.

Sometimes I forget how much my wife loves and enjoys other people's gossip. But she especially likes it when it's about our teenage daughter. It's like she goes back to that age again.

Alice: Alex mom and no, I don't like him. - she corrects her mother with a serious gesture.

Y/n: You better, because you're not going to have a boyfriend until you're 30, and that's me being nice.- I shook my head seriously.

Jackie: Aren't you being a little bit exaggerated? - she asks me, standing next to me and hugging my waist with one of her arms.

Y/n: No, my children will not know what a broken heart is until they are emancipated.- I deny seriously, making my teenage daughter and my wife laugh at me. -Now we are all finishing up because you guys have to go to class.- I hurry them a little and start to collect their plates.

Jackie: And remember that today I will pick you all up after school. - she reminds our children when they go up to brush their teeth and get their backpacks.

Within ten minutes, I've kissed Jax goodbye and am driving off with my three kids in it. My first stop is the high school where Alice has class and debate club, and then I have to drop Emma and Tomas off at their school.

Jackie´s POV

I turn off the car once I'm parked in the driveway and can't help but frown at the presence of a woman on my porch. I stare at her for a few seconds, before turning my gaze to the back seats and seeing my two youngest children laughing.

Jackie: Go inside with your siblings and do your homework.- I order my teenage daughter.

Alice: Why? What's wrong? - she asks me confused, taking off her belt and picking up her bag from between her legs.

Jackie: I don't know, but I don't know who that woman and considering that it´s the anniversary of the accident, I don't want to take any risks. - I explain sincerely and she nods in understanding.

Alice: Okay.- she nods and gets out of the car as I do and helps me get her youngest siblings out of the back. -Come on kids, the sooner we finish our homework the sooner we can play in the garden.- she tells them excitedly and they run towards the door.

I walk quickly to the porch, opening the door for my children and closing it once they are inside. I look at the woman who is leaning against the porch railing in total comfort, observing her closely and crossing my arms in defense.

Jackie: Who are you and what are you doing in my house? - I asked the stranger directly and without wanting to prolong the subject.

Jessica: My name is Jessica Roberts, I work as a journalist for the Star-Ledger and I wanted to talk to you and your husband about a juicy deal.- she answers me with a fake smile.

Jackie: How the hell did you get our address? - I asked aggressively, taking a couple of steps towards her and trying to maintain my composure.

Jessica: I have my sources.- she answers, still smiling. -I just want to talk about the proposal I want to offer you.- she repeats, moving away from the railing.

Jackie: What proposal? - I asked wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible and get her out of my property as soon as possible.

Jessica: I'd rather wait for Y/n to talk about the proposal.- she tells me without ever stopping her smile and that makes me want to slap it away.

Jackie: And I'm telling you to tell me now.- I demand, raising an eyebrow. -Because if you don't get off my property in the next 5 minutes, I'll call the police for trespassing and i can assure you that you will spend the night in a cell.- I assure her with an evil smile.

Jessica: Star-Ledger wants to make a deal to publish a book about what happened 25 years ago. - she answers, removing the smile from her face and with a more serious tone.

Jackie: Everyone knows what happened 25 years ago, it came out in the press conference that was held and it is not a secret. - I remember her tensing my jaw and trying to remain calm.

Jessica: Yes, but is that what really happened? - she asks now, crossing her arms. -Because we both know there's more to it than what was said. - she clarifies with a certain knowing tone, as if she knew something about what really happened.

Jackie: What really happened? - I asked sarcastically. -What happened was that one of the happiest moments of our lives turned into a hell in which many people lost their lives. Either because of the accident or because of the bad conditions in which we lived for 19 months. That's what really happened, and I'm going to ask you to get off my property right now.- I say with my arms at my sides and standing up as much as possible to look taller.

Jessica: You could earn more than seven figures just by telling your story, the reality of what happened and not letting other people benefit from your misfortune. - she insists with some desperation.

Jackie: Do you know how much my husband and I make in a year?- I ask her with a smirk. -Your offer is only 15% of our earnings, so if you really are a journalist and you think that is a juicy offer, I think you should do a better job.- I say walking towards the front door. -So get the hell out of my house right now and never come back again.- I end the conversation and enter the house, closing the door behind me.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart and get my hands to stop shaking from the adrenaline.

Once I've calmed down, I walk to my office on the first floor and leave my briefcase on the table. I take my cell phone out of my jacket pocket, texting my husband and asking him to come home as soon as possible.

With the message sent, I walk to the living room where my children are doing their homework and sit down among the little ones on the floor.

We didn't spend much time on their homework, as they didn't have much to do and it didn't have much difficulty with the grade they are both in. So once they had their middle of the evening snack, the four of us went out to the back garden and played soccer for a while.

When I hear the garden gate open, I see Y/n still dressed in his black suit pants and a dark green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

I stare at him in rapture for a few moments, appreciating the way his clothes hug his body in the perfect places and how the colors of the clothes make his skin tone and eyes pop even more.

Jackie: Keep playing, dad and I are going to start preparing dinner.- I say to the three of them, leaving a kiss on the top of Tomas head and walking towards where my husband is.

When I reach where he is, I hug him by the shoulders and stand on my tiptoes to give him a welcome kiss. A kiss that lasts longer than I was planning, as he hugs me by the waist and holds me close to his body so I can't move away.

Y/n: Is everything okay? - he asks me in a low voice when we separate from the kiss and I can see his worried expression.

Jackie: Let's go to the kitchen so we can talk while we prepare dinner.- I ask him, leaving another kiss on his lips and grabbing his hand to pull him along.

Y/n: But is everything okay? Are the kids okay? Are you...- he starts asking non stop and I interrupt him with a look.

Jackie: Wait until we get to the kitchen and then I'll tell you.- I order him without stopping walking and pulling him with me.

Once in the kitchen, I take out the ingredients for the pasta and place them on the counter. I take a couple of deep breaths, trying to gather my thoughts and think of the best way to tell him what happened.

I can feel his curious and somewhat worried gaze on me, making me more nervous than I already am.

Jackie: Stop looking at me, I can't focus.- I beg, a little frustrated at not knowing how to start the conversation.

Y/n: What are you thinking for dinner? - he asks me, leaving a kiss on my head and checking the ingredients.

Jackie: I was thinking of making carbonara and some roasted vegetables to go with it. - I explain to him and he immediately starts taking out the things we needs to cook it.

Y/n: I'll start with the pasta and you with the vegetables? - he asks me and I nod in response.

We both start cooking in complete silence, moving around the kitchen in total synchrony and naturalness. After a few minutes of cooking, I feel more relaxed and while I am chopping the carrots I decide to start the conversation.

Jackie: When I got home with the kids, there was a woman on the porch waiting for me, and it turned out she was a journalist.- I begin to tell him, listening to the sound of the frying pan stop. -She wanted to talk to both of us and offer to write a book.- I explain with a grimace.

Y/n: A book? - he asks confused and I hear the sound of the frying pan again.

Jackie: A book in which we tell what really happened 25 years ago. - I answer, swallowing hard and listening a frustrated sigh behind me.

Y/n: I can't believe it.- he denies with her voice full of annoyance. -Every year it's the same, there's always someone lurking around trying to dig into what happened. Why can't they leave the past behind and let us live in peace.- he complains with anger and I sigh tired with the situation.

Every year some journalist or news article appears questioning the version that was published when we were rescued. Every year it is the same, hundreds of conspiracies and stories about what really happened come to light again. Some of them are very close to the truth that we all, absolutely all of us agree to deny and hide at all costs.

Jackie: I know, but like you said, it's nothing out of the ordinary and as soon as they appear, they disappear. But I had to tell you because this time I didn't feel the same way, she was more insistent and it seemed like she actually knew something. - I tell him with some uncertainty, not knowing very well if the journalist was bluffing or if she really knew something.

Y/n: Maybe this time it will be different.- he comments with a sigh, leaving the kitchen and leaving me confused rooted in my place.

Jackie: Where are you going? - I ask without understanding why he is leaving and where he is going.

I look confused at the hallway where my husband has disappeared, trying to process what just happened and why he left. I try to think of something, but my husband comes back into the kitchen and leaves something in front of me.

I look at what he has placed in front of me, seeing that it is a postcard with a beautiful landscape on it and a simple phrase.

Jackie: What is this? - I asked confused, looking between the postcard and my husband.

Y/n: Turn it around.- he orders me in a soft but somewhat heavy tone.

I do as I'm told and as soon as I see what's on the back, I drop the postcard immediately like it burns. I take a few steps back, hearing my heart racing in my ears and feeling my mouth go dry.

Jackie: Like... I don't... I don't... - I try to say something, but it's like my mind and mouth have lost all communication.

Y/n: It arrived this morning.- I listen to what he says and look at him in astonishment. -I haven't told you anything because I thought it would be a joke and that I shouldn't give it any importance. But the presence of that journalist makes me doubt if it's a coincidence or something premeditated.- he explains to me with some insecurity, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes for a few seconds.

Jackie: So what... what are we supposed to do? - I asked with a little difficulty, trying to keep my focus on the conversation and not on the symbol on the postcard.

Y/n: I don't know.- he denies, defeated, resting both hands on the kitchen island. -Maybe our best option is to ignore it for the moment and wait to see if something else happens.- he says with a doubtful tone that makes it more of a question than a statement.

Jackie: So we ignore it all? - I ask to make sure.

Y/n: Yes.- he nods, letting out a long sigh. -Unless you think there's something else we can or should do?- he asks me with some curiosity.

Jackie: No.- I deny through my teeth, feeling the tremble in my lower lip and an annoying itch in my eyes.

Y/n: Hey, everything's going to be okay.- he assures me, running towards me and wrapping me in his arms. -Nothing bad is going to happen.- he tries to reassure me, placing my head on his chest and gently stroking my hair.

Jackie: What if something bad happens? - I ask with a broken voice, with my hands on his back and my fists clenched around his shirt.

Y/n: As long as I'm around, nothing bad will happen to you or the kids. I promise.- he whispers with conviction against the top of my head, continuing to comfort me and letting me cry against his chest.

We spend a while wrapped in each other's arms, until I feel like I'm no longer crying and that I feel a little calmer.

Once I move away from his chest a little, he immediately grabs my face and gently wipes away all traces of tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. I just stare into his gorgeous green eyes, which are filled with worry and something more intense.

Y/n: Do you want a glass of wine? - he asks me with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood and cheer me up a little.

Jackie: More like the whole bottle.- I reply with a pout, causing him to laugh, and in the end I join him.

Y/n: A bottle of wine is coming to the most impressive woman in the world!- he exclaims with humor, leaving a kiss on my forehead and walking towards the wine rack. -Red, white, rose, sparkling?- he asks, moving his fingers between the bottles.

Jackie: White.- I respond amused, watching how he moves and feeling more relaxed with his movements.

Once we have a meal in hand and a lighter mood, we go back to preparing dinner. I just hope that Y/n is right and that doing nothing is the most appropriate thing for this situation.

I just hope it's a coincidence and there's nothing premeditated or organized behind this.

I look up from the color palette, when I hear the doorbell ring and I frown looking towards where the front door is. Somewhat doubtful, I sit on the stool and think about who could be knocking on the door.

But I don't have anyone I know in mind or any reason why someone would knock on my door on a Sunday morning.

The doorbell rings again, so with a sigh I get up from the stool and walk calmly to the door. I open the door and the polite smile on my face immediately disappears.

Jackie: What the hell are you doing here? - I ask through clenched teeth, looking behind the people and making sure there's no one else around.

Taissa: We need to talk to you and since you're not answering the phone, we've been forced to come. - she answers, crossing her arms and walking past me to enter my house.

Jackie: No, no, no.- I deny trying to grab Tai and prevent the others from entering the house behind her. -You can't come in.- I growl annoyed.

Natalie: This concerns you too.- she assures me, looking at the photos on the walls. -Where's Y/n?- she asks, turning around and looking at me.

Jackie: Out.- I answer simply, frustrated with the presence of the three women and closing the door.

Taissa: When will he come back? - she asks me a little worried.

Jackie: I don't know.- I answer, passing by the three of them and walking back to the kitchen.

Taissa: And could you call him to ask him to come as soon as possible? - she asks me walking behind me.

Jackie: No.- I answer as if it were obvious.

Natalie: What do you mean no? - she asks with a hint of aggression in her voice. -We have to tell you something important, something related to that and it's urgent.- she assures me, referring to our accident.

Jackie: That's in the past and right now my husband is busy with our present and future. So no, I'm not going to call him and ask him to come over immediately. - I explain with finality, knowing that I'm not going to call him and force him to leave our son's soccer game.

Shauna: You're still just as selfish. - she tells me evilly, speaking for the first time since I've seen her and causing me to clench my jaw in anger.

Jackie: You, you're the one calling me selfish? - I asked in a sarcastic and somewhat poisonous tone. -The one person who, after fucking my ex-boyfriend and getting pregnant by him while she was still with me, made ME look like the bad guy. - I reproached her, still upset and hurt by what she did to me.

Shauna: And yet after all this time everything still revolves around YOU.- she reproaches me with pure venom in her voice.

Jackie: You're in my house, you've entered uninvited and you're demanding things from me when I haven't seen you in over 20 years.- I remind to two of three. -But I'm the selfish one for refusing to do something, when you two haven't even asked me how I am or explained the reason why you've invaded my home.- I comment, pointing at the three of them with obvious frustration.

Shauna: Because you've blocked us from everywhere and this is the only solution we've found. - She gestures around her with both arms. - So don't blame us for being here, when this could have been avoided with a phone call and that's it. - She spits in my face through her teeth.

Jackie: And you're surprised that I blocked you? - I asked her surprised. - You're surprised that after almost freezing to death because of you, I didn't want to know anything about you and I made sure of that? - I asked her with some sarcasm and disbelief at her attitude.

Shauna: It wasn't my fault! - she exclaims in denial. -I didn't force you to leave, I didn't put a knife to your neck to get you to leave the cabin and you know that perfectly well.- she claims pointing at me with her finger.

Jackie: You may not have held a knife to my neck, but at no point did you make me feel welcome or safe to continue being in that cabin that night.- I assure her through gritted teeth. -And the only, the ONLY reason I'm alive today, is because Y/n went outside with me that night, who put me in the meat shed when it started to get too cold and who made sure I didn't freeze to death that night. So yes Shauna, I hold you mostly responsible for my near death.- I remind her with venom and some pain at the memory of that night.

Neither of them says anything for a few seconds, filling the kitchen with a tension that could be cut with a knife, which gives me time to start gathering my things from the island and processing their presence in my house.

Natalie: What is that? - she asks me curiously, approaching the island and looking at the different sketches, colors and textures spread out in it.

Jakcie: A work project.- I reply vaguely, placing everything in a pile and putting it into a big folder.

Natalie: What project are you working on? - she asks again with curiosity, pulling out a stool and sitting on it.

Jackie: In the inside of a two-story and 500 square meter house, decorated with natural colors and metallic objects.- I explain with a small, happy smile at her interest.

The truth is that in all these years since we were rescued, both Y/n and I cut off ties with all the other survivors. The only people we kept in touch with were Nat and Lottie.

After all, Lottie is Y/n's twin sister so it's only natural that we maintained our relationship with her, especially given how overprotective my husband has always been of her. On the other hand, he and Nat have always been very good friends, so we continued to keep in touch with her after being rescued and returning to our daily lives.

It's been a while since we last saw them, but seeing Nat in front of me and giving me a slight smile makes me happy. Since the moment we were rescued, she was one of all of us who had it the worst at adapting and is constantly in rehab.

Taissa: Do you work? - she asks me, surprised by the information I just gave.

Jackie: Why do you seem so surprised? - I ask her, both offended and amused by her reaction.

Taissa: I don't know. - She denies with a grimace. - I always imagined you marrying someone rich and being a rich housewife. - She explains, shrugging her shoulders.

Jackie: Well, you got the first part right, because I married someone rich.- I remind her with an amused smile. -But I went to college for a reason, right? Besides, it's something I love and they pay very, very well depending on the client.- I explain, shrugging my shoulders.

Natalie: And are you going to offer us something to drink or? - she asks, moving her hands in circles.

Jackie: Do you want something to drink? - I asked them politely, offering a fake smile to the dark haired one.

Taissa: A coffee with milk would be nice, thanks.- she thanks me sitting on the other stool.

Natalie: You know what I want.- She gives me an amused look and I shake my head at the ridiculousness of it.

Shauna: Something strong.- she answers sitting on the last stool on the island to Nat's left.

I quickly start making the coffee and while it's pouring into the cup, I grab the bottle of tequila from the cabinet on top of the fridge and place it in front of Nat. I grab three shot glasses and Tai's coffee, placing them on the island.

The brunette opens the bottle and begins to fill the glasses with the yellowish liquor. We each take a glass and drink the contents in one gulp.

Jackie: Okay, what's so urgent? - I ask them once the sting of the tequila in my throat calms down a bit.

Taissa: This.- she answers me taking her phone out of her pocket and sliding it towards me along the island.

Jackie: What the hell is this? - I ask, somewhat disturbed and scared when she saw the message.

Natalie: Blackmail.- she answers me as if it were obvious. -Haven't you received the message?- she asks me confused.

Jackie: No, neither Y/n nor I have received it.- I immediately deny. - Yes, we received a postcard a week ago and a journalist showed up that same day offering a deal to tell what really happened. But apart from that, nothing.- I tell them with all the honesty possible.

Shauna: It wouldn't be a Jessica Roberts, would it? - she asks me with her eyes wide open.

Jackie: Yes.- I nod immediately with my eyes open. -Did she go to your place too?- I ask trying to connect the dots.

Shauna: Yes, she came to me a little over a week ago, offering to write a book and receive a sum of more than seven figures to tell what really happened in that forest. - she confirms, pressing her lips together in a continuous line.

Natalie: None of this makes sense.- she denies, massaging her temple and pouring herself another shot. -The postcard was only received by Misty, Tai, Y/n, you and I. While the blackmail message was received by Taissa and me. So why send the postcard to some and the message to others?- she leaves her doubt hanging in the air and I agree with her.

As Tai was about to say something, we hear the front door open and a couple of quick footsteps.

Y/n: Jax we're home! - I hear him shout from the entrance and I can hear the fun in his voice.

Tomas: Mommy, mommy, mommyyyyy! - he shouts, running through the house and entering the kitchen with his dirty uniform and a huge smile on his face. -We won! - he exclaims completely happy, running towards me and jumping into my arms.

Jackie: Really? - I asked, exaggerating my reaction and smiling at the happiness on her face.

Tomas: Yes.- he nods enthusiastically. -I scored a goal.- he tells me enthusiastically.

Jackie: Wow that amazing.- I say with my eyes wide open and a hugh smile.

Emma: Auntie Nat? - she asks from the kitchen entrance with her eyes wide open.

Natalie: Isn´t that the blonde dwarf. - She smiles, getting up from the stool and opening her arms. - How you've grown. - She growls against my daughter's blonde hair when she hugs her.

Shauna: Auntie Nat? - she asks completely confused, exchanging glances between the black haired adult and the blonde girl in her arms. -Since when do you have children? - she asks, looking at my son in my arms.

Jackie: Since when do I have to give you any explanations? - I answer sharply. - Why don't you go out with your sister to the garden and play for a while? Okay? - I ask my son, giving him a kiss on the forehead and putting him down on the ground.

Tomas: Okay.- He nods happily, holding out his hand to his sister and running with her to the garden, once they both join hands.

Jackie: Plus, I'm surprised my mom didn't tell you about it at one of your lunches.- I commented ironically, crossing my arms.

Shauna: She didn´t.- she shakes her head with a strange expression on her face.

Y/n: Jax, you're not going to believe the funniest moment of the game you missed.- he comments between laughs entering the kitchen. -What's going on here? Nat? When did you get out of rehab?- he asks, wiping his smile away when he sees the three people in our kitchen.

Natalie: It's been almost two weeks.- she answers, shrugging her shoulders without giving it any importance.

Y/n: And didn't you think to let us know or come visit? - he asks her, crossing his arms.

Natalie: Yeah, well, let's just say I haven't had much time between Travis' death, the postcard, Misty being crazy and now the damn blackmail. - she tells us with some frustration and I can only open my eyes in surprise at the information, and I can see that my husband has a similar reaction to mine.

Y/n: Travis is dead? - he asks in shock. - Wait, postcard? Did they send you that damn postcard with the symbol too? - he asks again, approaching the group.

Taissa: They also sent it to Misty and me.- the curly haired girl answers. -But we're not here for the postcard, we're here for a more important reason that affects us all.- she explains seriously, picking up her cell phone from the island and showing him the blackmail message to my husband.

Y/n: What the hell is this? - he asks angrily after reading the message.

Shauna: We're being blackmailed by someone who came back with us or who has been told something from one of us. - she replies, taking another shot.

Y/n: Have you been the only one who received it? - she asks the future senator and returns the phone to her.

Taissa: The two of us.- she answers pointing at the short black haired one and herself.

Y/n: Okay.- he nods with a frown. -But they haven't sent us that message.- he says with some doubt looking at me and I shake my head in confirmation.

Natalie: It seems so.- she nods, agreeing with him.

Y/n: So why are you all here?- he asks confused. -Don't get me wrong, it's good to see you again and all that, at least some of you. But I don't understand why you're here.- he comments seriously, walking towards me and giving me a short kiss.

Taissa: We didn't know that you hadn't received the message. - she explains, letting out a sigh and taking a sip of her coffee.

Jackie: Well, you already know that we didn´t and to be honest, I don't want to get involved in whatever you're doing and have our children be affected in any way. - I deny, adopting a defensive posture.

Natalie: And we understand, but we need your help.- she asks us, biting her lip and letting out a sigh.

Y/n: What do you need? - she asks directly.

Shauna: Money would be nice, if you have it.- she answers with her lips in a straight line.

I immediately throw a dirty look at the one who was my best friend, letting out a mocking sound at her audacity and I feel the words bubbling in my throat.

Y/n: Okay.- nods and disappears through the archway into the main floor hallway.

Taissa: Where is he going? - she asks me, just as confused as I am.

I just shrug my shoulders, not knowing why he left without saying anything and not knowing where he was going. Nat refills the glasses with tequila and I bring mine over to him to refill.

Jackie: And how did it go this time in rehab? - I ask the short haired one with interest.

I rest my elbows on the island, leaning against them and giving my friend my full attention. Since we were rescued, Nat was the one who had the hardest time adjusting back to our life before the accident.

So since we got back, she's been going to rehab and has got herself arrested a couple of times.

Natalie: Fine.- she answers with a grimace. -I haven't taken any drugs yet and I'm not lacking in desire with everything that's going on.- she admits, taking the shot.

Taissa: You better, because I can't pay for your rehab visits anymore. - she comments with a certain humor, taking another sip of her coffee.

Y/n: Here you go.- he says returning to the kitchen and leaving a wad of bills on the island.

Shauna: You have 50,000 grand at home? - she asks surprised seeing the money.

Y/n: I have more than that stored at home.- he admits shrugging his shoulders and I look at him surprised.

Jackie: Why do you have so much money at home? - I asked, stunned by the money and thinking about where he could have that money.

Y/n: For emergencies - he respond simply raising his shoulders downplaying it.

Shauna: Is that really 50 grand?- she asks again and my husband nods. -Well, it's a bit disappointing compared to the standard of heist movies.- she says with a smirk on her lips.

Y/n: It's 50 grand in 100 dollar bills.- he answers as if it were obvious. -How crazy would I be to have that much money in our house in small bills, they would take up a lot more space.- simply explains as if that amount of money wasn't much and placing a hand on my lower back.

Taissa: We already know who will pay for your next rehab.- she says to the short-haired girl somewhat funny.

Natalie: Thank you for your faith in me, Tai.- she reproaches her, rolling her eyes.

Jackie: Do you need anything else? - I ask them with some impatience, wanting this conversation to end so they can leave.

Taissa: No, thanks for this.- she says holding the wad of bills in her hand. -We will let you know if we manage to catch the blackmailer so we can return your money.- she tells us and I nod in agreement with her words.

Natalie: Well, let's go. - She gets up from the stool and takes a few steps back.

Y/n: You're not leaving.- he points at her with his finger. -You're staying for dinner and spending time with your goddaughter.- he says seriously and with an evil smile.

Natalie: Really? - she asks, grumbling like a child.

Y/n: What do you think? - he asks back with his arms crossed and raising an eyebrow.

Shauna: Well, then the two of us are... we're going to go.- she says, pointing towards the archway towards the hallway with her thumb and with a slight tremor in her voice.

Jackie: Can you help them out and while I bathe Tommy?- I ask the only man in the kitchen.

Y/n: Sure.- he nods with a smile, leaving another kiss on my lips and walking with the other two women towards the exit of the house.

Jackie: And you play with your goddaughter for a while, she missed you.- she ordered the brunette with a big smile.

Natalie: Yes, captain.- she mocks with a military salute and walking with me to the garden.

I watch my children for a few seconds, listening to their laughter as they chase each other and feeling a warm feeling all over my body at their happiness.

The unexpected visit and the conversation with the girls made me remember the worst moments of my life. But they also made me realize how lucky I was, because thanks to that accident I found my soulmate and I managed to start a family with him.

A happy family, with its bad times and its good times. With dysfunctional aunts and absent grandparents. But a family like neither of us had growing up with.

We have managed to form a family based on love and the different forms of affection that our parents omitted during our growing up.

In addition, I am now the happiest I have ever been in my entire life, without having to pretend and I feel complete with the presence of my loved ones.

For that very reason, I curse that horrible day when we got on that damm plane, but I bless the moment when I set my gaze on Y/n in the middle of all that madness. 

Because thanks to him, I am alive today at this moment and I can be watching our children run around in our home. It was all part of our destiny.

THE END

Hi can you do more Jackie trans masc comfort? It was my first time reading about someone like me in any sort of writing and I thought it was amazing thank you

ofc! im glad you saw yourself in my writing ^.^ that means a lot! i hardly see any butch readers on here, let alone transmasc, so i try to incoperate them into my work a lot!

these are just scattered thoughts i have of jackie with a transmasc bf, not really in any order.

· · ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ · ·

i think she'd jump at the opportunity to do your tshot. if you're perfectly fine with doing it yourself, she'd just watch you as you do it, smiling up at you so proudly after you're done. but even then, i think she'd try and ask if she could do it just once. she thinks it'd be romantic and sensual in a way. being able to do it for you would mean a lot to her i think :( mainly because of how much you trust her to do it. and you know she buys you all that shit you need for it. if ur running low on needles, she knows even if you don't, and orders like a 100 pack on amazon. always picking up some more alcohol pads for your shots :( always getting you cool bandaids bc she thinks you'd like 'em.

she'd be so supportive when you have bad dysphoria days it's almost suffocating 😭 almost. i definitely feel like she overdoes the compliments sometimes but she doesn't mean it like that yk?! she just wants to be there for you and help you feel better :( so what if she's called you her best boy 20 times within the past 5 minutes? she means well!! but gahh. she sits there and listens. which is more than you could ever ask for. sometimes you just need to rant about how shitty you feel without her saying anything, and she knows that. her hugs make all the noise drown out even just for a bit. she loves when she can get you to smile when she cracks a little joke too.

since she's got that #money, thinking of jackie who orders a bunch of binders for you so you can test out the best one!! maybe one's too tight but you like the material better than the others, and she researches along with you to find something similar. the best feeling for her is when you find the one, one that makes you feel good and causes you to smile while thanking her over and over again with a bunch of kisses. or maybe if your chest is too big to feel comfortable in any sort of binders/tape, i think she'd try and maybe make one for you by sewing smth together. but, ultimately, if you just can't find anything, she feels horrible and hates how uncomfortable you are all the time :( she's right there kissing your tears and holding your body as you cry it out, telling you that she's gonna do everything in her power to get you top surgery as soon as possible.

feel like you could tell her that your coworker was being a little weird to you after you came out or something and the next day you work with him, he comes up to you all scared and nervous and apologizes 😭 (jackie paid him a visit during his shift and threatened him)

jackie who keeps records of your transition!! you could be months/years on T before you started dating her, but she likes to take pictures of you each month and likes to tell you how much you changed as a way to hype you up. maybe bc you dont rly notice the changes like everyone else does, and she points out how sharp your jaw has become or how handsomeee you look ^^

jackie x athletic bf!! jackie who's there supporting you during games!! jackie who's there to comfort you when you feel bad about how your school keeps you on the women's team :( she keeps an ear out for any negative talk from ur teammates when she's allowed to sit on the benches with you....ohhh when she hears them mention your name she snaps her head so fast it almost breaks. n they were just saying how good you are 😭 but she loves supporting you soo much. kissing you before games as a good luck charm, shouting the loudest, always showing up with heart balloons 😭 jackie going to the gym with you and making sure all the lousy men in there know you're hers. jackie who makes you feel better about showing your top surgery scars in public :(

Being the “it” couple with Jackie Taylor

warnings ! Way too short I wish I could add more for y’all

Pairing ! Jackie Taylor x gn!reader

• Everybody at the school envy you both, they can’t decide if they want you two or be you two. You two have it all.

• when you first got together, everyone was talking about it, not even really believing the rumors at first until they saw you two together in the halls.

• you two are ALWAYS together, you and Jackie are inseparable, always walking hand in hand and always sitting next to each other in shared classes and the cafeteria.

• you always go to her games and cheer her on and she’s always at your games if you play sports or concerts if your in any music activities!

• your relationship isn’t even for show either. you two generally love each other and want to be together. not to make others jealous or to make yourselves look good. you both have a bond that no one can break :3

• unfortunately being the popular “it” couple has its cons. rumors are constantly being spread, that one or both of you are cheating on eachother, but you both knew they were just stupid talk in the halls and ignored it.

• she’s insanely protective over you, rumors about just you in general. Rumors only about you, not about your relationship, are always immediately shut down by her and her friends.

First Jackie headcannons

Please give more requests because thinking for stuff is insanely hard for me because I don’t have much creativity :(

.

m.list | prev | next

“Cassandra.”

Her name barely carried through the still air, but she didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t acknowledge the voice.

She sat there, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her entire body curled inward like she could somehow shield herself from reality.

From this.

From your name carved into stone.

The graveyard was too peaceful.

The world around her was too bright.

The sky was impossibly blue, the kind of endless, cloudless stretch that belonged to better days. The sun hung high, warm and golden, spilling light over everything as if this were just any other afternoon. A soft breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, and the grass beneath her was still damp with morning dew. The air smelled fresh—too fresh.

It was a beautiful day.

And Cassandra hated it.

It wasn’t right.

Why wasn’t the sky dark? Why weren’t the clouds swollen with grief, heavy and suffocating? Why wasn’t there a storm, wind tearing through the city, rain drenching the ground, filling the cracks in the pavement, turning the earth around your grave to mud?

Why wasn’t the world mourning with her?

It should be.

Because this—this wasn’t just another day.

This was the day Cassandra Cain sat in front of your grave, alone in the silence, mourning the loss of you.

You.

The person who was supposed to be her younger sister.

The person who shouldn’t be here—not like this. Not beneath the ground.

A shadow passed over her. She barely acknowledged it.

Duke.

He stood for a moment, just watching her.

Duke hesitated before he stepped closer.

His movements were slow, careful, like approaching a wounded animal.

And maybe that’s what Cassandra was.

He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You can’t stay here forever,” he murmured, his voice quiet, gentle.

Cassandra didn’t respond. She just nudged his hand away, still staring at your name carved into the stone.

Duke exhaled, long and slow, before lowering himself to the ground beside her.

They sat in silence.

Neither of them wanted to be here.

But neither of them could leave.

Not when this grave was here. Not when it held you.

And it still didn’t feel real.

Duke ran a hand over his face, his fingers pressing into his eyes. He didn’t blame Cassandra for shutting down like this.

Because he was still trying to understand it too.

Duke stared at your name, carved into stone, like if he just looked at it long enough, it would make sense.

But it didn’t.

It wouldn’t.

Your death—

God.

It wasn’t just tragic. It wasn’t just painful.

It was sudden.

It didn’t feel possible.

One day, you were here. And then you weren’t.

And Duke didn’t know how to process that.

He kept thinking—kept replaying everything in his head. The details. The reports. The last time he saw you.

And the same question kept coming back to him, again and again and again.

Why didn’t you call him?

You knew he would have helped you. You knew that.

Right?

You knew he wouldn’t have thought twice.

Right?

Would he have thought twice…?

No, surely not.

Right?

You should have known that.

So why didn’t you?

Why didn’t you tell him what you were doing? Why didn’t you let him back you up? Why did you go after that drug ring alone?

You should have called.

You should have known he wouldn’t hesitate. That he wouldn’t have even thought before coming to help you.

You should have been standing here with him.

Not lying six feet underground.

Duke let out a slow, shuddering breath, staring at the gravestone, his chest tightening like something inside him was caving in.

It wasn’t fair.

None of this was fair.

And the worst part? The part that made him feel sick?

Losing people—he knew what that was like.

He lost his parents.

And now—

Now he had lost you.

And you weren’t just anyone.

You were—

God, you were you.

You weren’t perfect, but you were alive in a way that few people ever truly were.

You had this way of making things feel easier. Not because life actually was easier, but because you had a way of making it manageable. Making it bearable.

And you were stubborn.

God, you were so stubborn.

You never backed down, never walked away, never let things go when they mattered. You fought for people. You fought for him. Fought for yourself.

You weren’t his sister by blood, but blood had never mattered in this family. Not really.

You had been his friend before you were his family.

And now you were gone.

And he was just supposed to accept that you were gone?

That he was supposed to sit here, staring at a piece of stone with your name on it, instead of looking you in the eye and telling you you were a dumbass for going in alone?

No.

No, that didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense that you—the person who had somehow become his sister—was just gone.

And he—

He hated this.

He hated this so much.

“What…. do you think her last words were…?”

Cassandra’s voice broke through the silence, small but steady.

Duke’s throat tightened. He barely held back a flinch.

“I… don’t know,” he admitted.

And he didn’t want to know.

Because the moment he let himself think about it.

The moment he let himself wonder what your last moments were like—

He wouldn’t be able to take it.

Had you been waiting for someone to save you?

Had you been hoping for some kind of miracle?

Or had you known?

Had you known you weren’t going to make it?

Had you realized that help wasn’t coming?

Had you been scared?

Duke clenched his jaw and swallowed hard.

He didn’t want to think about that.

He couldn’t—

He couldn’t think about that.

Cassandra didn’t look at him, but she was still staring at your grave, her expression unreadable.

But he knew what she was thinking.

She was blaming herself.

And she shouldn’t.

She wasn’t even in Gotham when it happened. There was nothing she could have done.

But logic didn’t matter.

Because you were dead.

And she hadn’t been there.

Neither had he.

And he was always going to carry that with him.

Cassandra had learned you quickly.

How you liked your coffee, how you always leaned against walls instead of standing straight, how you tapped your fingers against your thigh when you were thinking.

How you always waited a second longer than necessary before answering a question—like you were testing the weight of your words before letting them go.

You had been sharp, but soft.

Blunt, but kind.

The kindest of them all.

You had been quiet, but so damn loud in the way you existed.

And now—

Now you were gone.

And Cassandra was still here.

And she didn’t know how.

Cassandra didn’t know how to fight that.

Didn’t know how to fight the weight pressing against her chest, the grief that curled around her like a vice. It was strange. Loss was something she should’ve been used to. Death was something she had faced time and time again. It was part of this life. It was part of the job.

So why did this feel so different?

Why did it feel like something was clawing at the edges of her ribs, carving out a hollow space where you used to be?

She had died before. Her heart had stopped beating, her body had given out. But she had been revived, dragged back to life before the darkness could fully claim her. She had cheated death, walked away with a heartbeat that wasn’t supposed to be there anymore.

So why hadn’t that been you?

Why had she gotten to wake up, gasping, with another chance at life—while you had been left to rot in the ground? Why had she been spared while you had been taken?

Cassandra’s hands curled into fists on her lap, her nails biting into her palms as she forced herself to breathe.

It didn’t help.

Her eyes flickered to your name on the gravestone. The letters carved into the stone were so sharp, so permanent. You weren’t coming back. No second chances, no miracles. Just a name, a date, and the suffocating silence of your absence.

She swallowed thickly and let her gaze drop lower.

No flowers.

Cassandra stared at the empty space in front of your grave, and something in her chest twisted. No matter how hard she searched her mind, she couldn’t remember what kind of flowers you liked.

What flowers did you like?

Did you like lilies—soft, gentle, but heavy with the scent of mourning?

Did you like daisies—bright and stubborn, growing even in the cracks of concrete?

Did you like marigolds—bold, striking, impossible to ignore?

She hated that she didn’t know. Hated that she had spent years at your side and still, she didn’t know what flowers to bring you.

It was ridiculous, how something so small—so insignificant in the grand scheme of things—felt like another knife to the ribs.

Cassandra had always been good at reading people. She had always been good at reading you.

And yet—she didn’t know this.

Didn’t know something so simple.

The realization made her stomach twist.

She had memorized the way you carried yourself, the way your fingers twitched when you thought too hard about something, the way you always paused before speaking, like you were testing your words before letting them go.

She knew how you fought, how you moved, how you breathed.

And yet—she didn’t know this.

This was all she knew.

What did you actually like to do?

What did you like to eat?

What was your go-to drink?

Did you drink coffee out of necessity, or was it your favorite?

What music did you listen to when no one was around?

What did you hum under your breath when you thought no one was paying attention?

Did you like the sun or the moon better?

Did you ever have a favorite book? A favorite movie?

Have you ever fallen in love? Fancied a guy or girl from afar?

Everything that a sister should know—she didn’t.

And now, she never would.

Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, hands pressing against her thighs, fingers digging into the fabric of her pants.

To think—to think—of all the times you had tried to stay by her side.

Of all the times you had tried—tried to connect with her, tried to understand her, tried to make her feel like she belonged in this family—and she hadn’t let you.

She had been distant. Subconsciously pushing you aside. Not because she hated you—no, never because of that.

But because you two were so vastly different.

Because she saw you and thought—you weren’t built for this life.

Because she looked at you and thought—you shouldn’t be here.

You weren’t a killer. You weren’t a soldier. You weren’t someone who should have had to claw and scrape your way through the darkness of Gotham.

You should have had a normal life.

You could have had a normal life.

And maybe, maybe—if she had pushed harder, if she had done more, if she had made you see what she saw—maybe you would have left this life.

Maybe if she had pushed harder, you wouldn’t have ended up like this.

You wouldn’t be here, six feet under, with a name carved into stone and a body lost to the dirt.

Maybe she could have been there.

Maybe she could have saved you.

Cassandra clenched her jaw, her fists tightening further.

No.

That wasn’t even it.

That wasn’t even the truth.

It wasn’t about whether you should have been a vigilante. It wasn’t about whether or not you belonged in this life.

It was about her.

It was about the choices she had made.

If she hadn’t thought she knew what was best for you—if she hadn’t dismissed you before even giving you a chance—maybe things would have been different.

If she had helped you instead of discouraging you—if she had guided you instead of pushing you away—maybe you wouldn’t have felt so alone in this.

Maybe you wouldn’t have felt like you had to prove yourself at every turn.

Maybe you wouldn’t have pushed yourself so far—so recklessly, so relentlessly—that your body had begged you to stop, had screamed at you to rest, and yet, you had ignored it anyway.

Because you had something to prove.

To yourself.

To everyone else.

To her.

And why?

Because she had made you feel like you weren’t enough.

Like you weren’t competent enough, weren’t worthy enough, to stand beside them.

Like you had to earn your place in a way that no one else had to.

And that—

That was what crushed her.

That was what made her stomach churn and her chest tighten, what made her fingers twitch at her sides and her jaw clench until it ached.

Because she had done that.

She had made you feel that way.

And it had cost you your life.

If she had just been there—if she had helped you, taught you, stayed by your side as a sister should, instead of leaving you to figure everything out on your own—maybe you wouldn’t have needed to push yourself to the brink just to keep up.

Maybe you wouldn’t have felt like you had to bleed just to prove you deserved to be by their side. By her side.

Maybe—just maybe—

You would still be here.

She didn’t know where the thought came from, only that it settled deep inside her, heavier than stone.

She should be used to loss. It was part of the job, part of the life they all lived. People died. People left. That was just how things were.

But Cassandra Cain didn’t know how to exist in a world that didn’t have you in it.

Why?

Because your presence had been undeniable.

Not in the way that others were loud—not in the way Dick filled a room with laughter, or in the way Jason made his presence known with his sharp words and sharper gaze, or in the way Tim existed like a shadow, quiet but calculating.

No.

You were present in the littlest ways. The kind of ways that most people overlooked.

But she noticed.

She always noticed.

The way you drummed your fingers against your thigh when you were thinking—not impatient, not absentminded, just… rhythmic, like you were keeping time to a song only you could hear.

The way you always lingered in a doorway before stepping inside, as if you were gauging the room, the people, the atmosphere—like you needed to prepare yourself before crossing the threshold.

The way your shoulders stiffened whenever someone called your name unexpectedly, like you were always bracing for something, like you had learned a long time ago that being noticed wasn’t always a good thing.

The way your eyes softened, just barely, whenever you looked at her.

The way you tilted your head when you were confused, the way you bit the inside of your cheek when you were frustrated, the way your fingers twitched whenever you held back from saying something.

The way you carried yourself—quiet, but never unnoticed. Soft, but never weak.

You had been everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

In the way the floorboards creaked in a rhythm only you walked in. In the faint scent of your shampoo that lingered in the halls long after you passed through them. In the way the air felt just a little different when you were around—charged, like something unspoken was always hanging in the space between you and everyone else.

And now—

Now you were gone.

And the world felt wrong.

Her nails bit into her palms as she exhaled sharply.

The weight in her chest grew heavier, suffocating, pressing against her ribs until she could barely breathe.

She wanted to say sorry.

For not being there when it mattered.

For not being the sister you had wanted her to be.

For all the times you had reached for her and she had turned away.

But apologies were meaningless now.

There was no use in apologizing to a grave.

The dead could not hear the apologies of the living.

And she hated—hated—how it seemed like she just wanted to get rid of the guilt, like this was just another weight on her shoulders that she was desperate to shake off.

It wasn’t that.

It wasn’t about making herself feel better.

But to anyone else, it might seem shallow, like she was just trying to justify her regrets.

And that—

That was when she exhaled sharply, her voice quiet, raw, and firm.

“I failed her.”

Duke stiffened beside her.

“Cass…”

“No.”

She finally moved.

Finally stood.

Her knees ached from kneeling too long, but she ignored the feeling, ignored the way the world spun for half a second before steadying again.

She looked down at the grave—at your name, your absence, the proof that you were really, truly, gone.

“There’s a lot of things I regret,” she admitted, her voice steady. “A lot of things I should have done. A lot of things I shouldn’t have done.”

She exhaled.

“But there is no use feeling this way when—”

She stopped.

When what?

When you were already gone?

When nothing she did would change that?

When no amount of guilt, no amount of grief, no amount of anything would ever bring you back?

Duke watched her, silent, waiting.

And finally—she finished.

“There is no use feeling this way when the only person who could have forgiven me isn’t here anymore.”

Duke inhaled sharply. His lips parted—ready to argue, ready to refute, ready to tell her that it wasn’t her fault.

But he didn’t.

Because she was right.

And they both knew it.

There was nothing either of them—or anyone else—could do.

The damage was done.

You were gone.

And Cassandra would have to live with that. He would have to live with that.

She turned to Duke, her expression unreadable, her body language tight.

Her shoulders were stiff, arms curled inwards, fingers twitching ever so slightly at her sides. A silent scream compressed into muscle and bone, into tension that refused to unravel. Her breath was steady, too steady, the kind of control that only came when someone was barely holding themselves together.

And then, after a moment—

He moved first.

Slowly, carefully, as if giving her the chance to pull away, to reject the gesture before it even landed. But she didn’t.

So he pulled her into a hug—strong, firm, grounding.

A weight. A warmth. A presence she didn’t realize she needed until she was sinking into it.

Cassandra didn’t resist.

Didn’t hesitate.

She didn’t go rigid, didn’t pull away out of habit, didn’t keep that careful distance she always did when she wasn’t sure how to accept comfort.

No.

She closed her eyes and let herself feel.

For the first time in hours. In days. In what felt like forever—she let herself be held.

Let herself be comforted.

Even though she didn’t feel like she deserved it.

Because what right did she have to be comforted when you weren’t here?

What right did she have to grieve you when she had been part of the reason you were gone?

But Duke didn’t let go.

He held onto her like he understood. Like he knew that if he let go, she might just disappear, might crumble into something irreparable, something that grief would consume whole.

So she stayed.

And for now—

For now, that would have to be enough.

128 hours, 13 minutes, and 27 seconds.

That’s how long it’s been since Gotham fell into chaos. Since the family fell into shambles.

Since you took your last breath.

Tim’s fingers twitched over the console, knuckles pale, hands locked into position as if frozen mid-action. The blue glow of the Batcomputer flickered against his face, casting long, sharp shadows that made the bags under his eyes seem deeper, his expression more hollow.

He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t moved. Had barely breathed.

Because he couldn’t stop watching.

The footage looped again. And again. And again.

Warehouse. Low light. South Gotham docks. Camera angle, elevated—one of Batman’s hidden surveillance feeds.

You moved like a ghost. A shadow.

A blur of motion cutting through the dark.

Tim rewound the footage. Slowed it down. Watched. Memorized. Analyzed.

His eyes were red from the hours of staring at the screen. The footage ran in a constant loop, a ghostly reminder of everything that had gone wrong. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t look away, even though he knew it wouldn’t change anything. Maybe this time, there’ll be something he missed.

That’s what he told himself.

It was a sickening kind of hope, one born from desperation. He needed something—anything—that would prove this wasn’t just another casualty of the mess they lived in. This wasn’t an accident. He couldn’t let it be an accident. If it was, then what was the point? What was the point of all of this? If it was just an accident, if this was just the way things always were, then what the hell was he even doing here? What was the point of it all?

What was the point of all the fights, the struggles, the years of fighting against the darkness if it could just snuff out a life like that, without any warning? Tim couldn’t accept it.

His heart hammered in his chest as he hit replay again. He didn’t even realize how many times he had watched this same clip. How many times he had gone over it, scrutinizing every frame, searching for something that wasn’t there. There’s something.

There has to be something.

A sign.

A clue.

Anything to prove this was deliberate, something he can blame.

But no matter how many times he watched it, no matter how many hours he spent scrutinizing every damn detail, nothing would change. Nothing could undo what had already been done.

But still, he couldn’t stop himself. He had to watch. He had to know. He had to find the why, the how, the reason behind it.

Why had you gone in alone?

Why hadn’t anyone been there for you?

Why hadn’t he been there?

The rest of the world had moved on, or at least tried to. Gotham was still reeling from the explosion of chaos that followed the takedown of the drug ring you’d infiltrated. The criminals, the ones you’d exposed, some of them were caught, while others were already on the run, their operations disrupted in ways they hadn’t anticipated. The whole damn city had been thrown into disarray because of this.

Tim gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. He felt a knot twist in his stomach, one he couldn’t untangle, no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to blame the criminals. He wanted to blame them for everything. For the sudden rise in crimes. For the sudden disarray in Gotham. But it wasn’t them. He couldn’t make himself believe that. No. It wasn’t their fault. Not exactly.

It was yours. It was yours and no one else’s.

It’s all because of you.

That thought stung, burned in the pit of his stomach, and yet it lingered, demanding to be acknowledged. Tim didn’t want to think that way—he didn’t want to blame you. But how could he ignore it? You had done your job, you’d exposed something they couldn’t ignore, but now it was a nightmare. Gotham was chaos, because of you.

No.

He slammed his fist on the desk, glaring at the footage, refusing to accept that thought. No, this wasn’t your fault. It couldn’t be. It was never supposed to happen like this. You had been right about the drug ring, and you had fought damn hard to stop it, all by yourself. But that’s where it went wrong, wasn’t it? You hadn’t called for backup. You hadn’t reached out. If you had—if you had just asked for someone, anything, anyone—maybe you would still be here.

Tim couldn’t stop the wave of anger that crashed over him. But it wasn’t at the criminals who had shot you, it wasn’t even at the fact that Gotham had spiraled into a warzone. No. It was at you.

Fuck.

Even now, after everything, he was the one left to clean up your mess. The same way he always had. The same way he always would. The same he always did. But this time—

This time, you weren’t there to hear him run through the details, to see the frustration in his eyes when things went sideways. You were gone.

And that was the most fucked up part of it all.

Where had it all gone wrong? When had things shifted from predictable to catastrophic? What had gone wrong between your last breath and his desperate attempts to piece together every detail, every frame of this damn footage? How many more people did he have to lose before he could just accept it?

Tim’s hands tightened around the desk, nails digging into the cool surface, but his thoughts kept spiraling out of control. He should be used to this by now. Loss. Death. People getting torn away from him like everything was just so damn fragile. But no. He wasn’t used to it. No matter how many times he told himself he should be, no matter how many people he’d lost, he wasn’t.

It never got easier.

It was almost too much. Too much to bear, but it wouldn’t stop. The losses he faced just kept looping over and over again. The image of you, falling to the floor of that warehouse, blood pooling beneath you.

Tim exhaled shakily, his nails scraping against the desk as he forced himself to take another breath. His chest was tight, his ribs felt like they were caving in, like his own body was rejecting the sheer weight of everything. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop looking at you, frozen in time, caught in the endless cycle of your last moments.

The footage looped again. And again. And again.

His brain wouldn’t stop dissecting it, wouldn’t stop scrutinizing every movement, every frame, as if the sheer force of his obsession could change something. As if watching it just one more time would suddenly make it all make sense.

But it didn’t. It never did.

He slammed the replay button, forcing the video back to the start, watching as you darted through the shadows, your movements swift and efficient. You had been so sure of yourself. You had to be, because you wouldn’t have done this otherwise, right? You wouldn’t have gone in without backup unless you knew you could handle it. Unless you thought you had no other choice.

Right?

But why?

Why?

Why hadn’t you asked him for help? Or anyone else for the matter.

Tim dug the heel of his palm into his eye, as if he could press the questions out of his skull, force them into submission.

Hah. Who was he fooling?

He knew why.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

This wasn’t the first time you’d come to him with a lead, eyes sharp and voice brimming with certainty. You’d always been like that—so sure, so goddamn convinced that you were right. And most of the time?

You weren’t.

Tim had been the one to prove it almost every time, the one who always had to go back, retrace your steps, find the gaps in your logic, the flaws in your deductions. He’d been the one who had to clean up after you when things didn’t go the way you expected.

And this time—

This time, you had been right.

The realization hit him like a knife to the gut, twisting, tearing.

You had been right. You had exposed something big, something that should have been on their radar, something that had been festering in Gotham for longer than any of them had realized.

And it had cost you.

Tim’s hands trembled over the keyboard, his fingers curling into fists. That’s why he can’t blame you. That’s why he can’t let himself be angry at you.

Not really.

Because if it hadn’t been for you, this whole operation would have gone unnoticed. Would have slipped through the cracks, just like so many things before it.

You had forced them to see it.

And now Gotham was paying the price.

Now you had paid the price.

Tim gritted his teeth, his breath unsteady.

If you had just—

If you had just waited.

If you had just asked for help.

If you had just asked him for help.

His vision blurred for a moment, but he wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion or frustration or something worse. He swiped at his face, barely noticing the wetness on his fingers before his hand hovered over the keyboard again. He had to—

“Tim.”

The voice cut through the haze of his spiraling thoughts like a gunshot.

He barely reacted. His shoulders tensed, his gaze stayed locked on the screen, his fingers frozen above the keys.

“Tim.”

He heard her footsteps approaching, the sharpness in her tone laced with something else—exasperation, frustration. Concern.

He ignored it.

The footage replayed.

Again.

And again.

“Tim.”

He didn’t turn. Didn’t blink.

And then there was a hand on his shoulder, yanking him away from the screen, forcing him to look up, to register the anger, the exhaustion, the raw frustration carved into her expression.

Stephanie.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Tim blinked at her, dazed, uncomprehending.

Stephanie’s jaw clenched, her grip tightening. “Are you even aware of what’s happening out there? Gotham is a fucking mess. And you’re down here—what? Watching the same damn footage on repeat? Watching (Name) die over and over again?? Like it’s going to change something?”

Tim’s fingers twitched. His throat felt dry, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “I have to—”

“No, you don’t.” Her voice cracked, just slightly, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by something harsher. “You don’t, Tim. You’re just—” She exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. “Jesus Christ, do you even know where Damian is?”

That made Tim hesitate.

Stephanie’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Tim swallowed, his jaw locking. “I’m—”

“You’re what?” she cut in, voice sharp and furious. “Busy? Too busy staring at a screen, trying to—what? Bring her back? Figure out some convoluted explanation that makes this make sense?”

Tim flinched.

And Stephanie didn’t stop.

“Because guess what, Tim? It doesn’t make sense. It never makes sense. And you just sitting here, watching her die on repeat? Analysing her every move, every breath, every mistake? It’s not going to fix anything.”

Tim exhaled, slow and shaky, his gaze dropping for a fraction of a second.

“Bruce, Jason and Damian are god knows where. Dick’s gone on a rampage. Cass and Duke are off on their own, trying to keep shit from burning down completely. Helena and Kate are out there trying to contain the damage—we had to call Dinah in because there aren’t enough of us—”

Her breath hitched, her voice shaking now, but she pushed forward, because Stephanie Brown didn’t stop when things got hard.

“And you? You’re here. Acting like this is going to change anything.”

Tim’s fingers curled into fists.

Stephanie shook her head, anger flashing in her eyes. “She’s gone, Tim.”

“She’s not gone.”

Tim’s breath was coming in quick, ragged bursts. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, but he wasn’t sure if it was from frustration or the way Stephanie was looking at him right now—like she couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“She’s not dead…!” His voice cracked, but he barely noticed. His hands slammed against the desk, gripping the edges so hard his knuckles went white. “She can’t be dead—she just—”

“Tim, do you even hear yourself right now?!” Stephanie snapped, stepping closer. “(Name) is dead! Dead, Tim! And you need to start—”

“No.” He shook his head, refusing to let her finish. “No, because what about all the other people we thought were dead? Superman. Bruce. Conner. Bart.” His voice was climbing now, chest heaving as his mind raced faster than his words. “And you—you, Stephanie. Every single one of you somehow came back to life, whether it was because you weren’t actually dead, or you were brought back by—”

“That’s not the same thing!” Stephanie’s voice was sharp, but Tim didn’t stop.

“It is the same thing!” His eyes were wide now, wild with something he didn’t know how to name. “Superman was literally killed, and what happened? He came back. Bruce—we buried him, and guess what? He wasn’t even dead! Conner—he died during Infinite Crisis and came back! Bart sacrificed himself during —” His breath hitched, and he barely held it together. “And you.” His voice was shaking now. “You faked your death, Steph. You let me and everyone think you were dead for months...! And yet—”

Stephanie exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. “But this is different, Tim! She’s different!”

“How?! How is this different?”

“Because she was shot, Tim!” Stephanie practically shouted, frustration burning in her chest. “She wasn’t resurrected by some Kryptonian regeneration matrix, or caught in some bullshit time displacement! She wasn’t lost in the timestream like Bruce, or cloned by some insane scientist, or mysteriously revived by the Speed Force! She was shot! Bullets went through her, Tim! There’s no coming back from that!”

Tim’s breath stuttered, but he clenched his jaw, shaking his head rapidly.

“No,” he muttered, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “No, that doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense. Her suit was reinforced—there’s no way a bullet could have—”

“Because we weren’t prepared, Tim!” Stephanie cut in, her voice cracking. “She wasn’t prepared! Those bullets weren’t normal—those weren’t some cheap rounds from street dealers—they were made of promethium, Tim. Promethium. Her suit wasn’t designed to withstand that kind of impact.”

Tim faltered for half a second.

But it wasn’t enough.

“No.” His voice was flat, empty. “No, because if that’s true, then that means—” His breath hitched again, his fingers twitching over the keyboard. “That means she wasn’t supposed to die.” His voice grew distant, his mind racing through every scenario. “That means there was a way we could have stopped this. That means there was a way I could have—”

Stephanie’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

“You always do this,” she seethed, voice shaking. “You always think it’s on you to fix everything—to stop everything before it happens.” Her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms. “Well, guess what, Tim? Not everything is your fault.”

Tim let out a humorless laugh, sharp and bitter. “Oh yeah? Because it sure as hell feels like it is.”

Stephanie inhaled sharply, rage flaring in her chest.

“She’s gone, Tim,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “And you’re sitting here acting like you’re the only one who lost her.”

Tim flinched at that.

She’s right.

How could she not be?

“You think you’re the only one hurting?” Her voice cracked, but she pushed through. “You think you’re the only one who can’t believe she’s actually gone?” She shook her head, frustration bleeding into every word. “Newsflash, Tim—I can’t believe it either. None of us can.” Her breathing was uneven now, the weight of the past few days pressing down on her like a vice. “But you—” She exhaled sharply. “You and (Name)? You weren’t even close.”

Stephanie saw Tim stiffen, and she felt her throat tightened, but she didn’t stop. Even though she knew she didn’t have any right to say the next few words.

“I mean, I can’t even talk, right? Because it’s not like she and I were friends or anything. But whatever we had was at least something—more than whatever the hell was going on between you two.” She swallowed, voice thick with something she refused to name. “So why, Tim? Why are you acting like this? Like you’re the only one who lost her?”

Tim opened his mouth—then closed it.

Because she was right.

And he hated that she was right.

Because he didn’t know why.

Didn’t know why this loss felt different.

Didn’t know why it felt like he was suffocating on it.

Maybe because he had never taken loss well.

Maybe because every time he lost someone, it felt like another piece of him was being ripped away.

Maybe because he still wasn’t convinced.

Maybe because he still felt like there was a way to fix this.

Before he could say anything—before either of them could keep unraveling—a sharp, piercing alert rang through the cave, slicing through the air like a blade.

Stephanie jerked her head up, eyes narrowing. “What the hell was that?”

Tim’s entire body went rigid.

He turned to the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard. His heart pounded against his ribs, his stomach twisting. His eyes scanned the system logs—

And then he froze.

Stephanie immediately stepped closer. “Tim?”

Tim didn’t move.

“Tim.”

Nothing.

Then, slowly—so slowly—he turned to look at her. His expression was unreadable.

“…That’s the alert Bruce installed at the graveyards.”

Stephanie felt her stomach drop.

“What?”

Tim swallowed, his throat dry, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s an alert that goes off whenever someone is digging up the graves.”

Stephanie’s breath caught in her throat.

And then—

Tim clenched his jaw.

“The alert that just sounded… was for (Name)’s grave.”

The Batcave was silent.

Not the kind of silence that came with solitude, nor the kind that settled between brief moments of stillness.

No—this silence was suffocating.

Not in the literal sense—there was no smoke, no lack of oxygen, no pressing physical force keeping them in place. But the weight in the air, the way it clung to their skin and settled in their bones, made it impossible to ignore.

It was the kind of silence that pressed against their ribs like iron bars, the kind that wrapped itself around their throats and made it hard to breathe. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t truly silent at all—because beneath it, there was tension, rage, a storm waiting to break.

The only sounds were the quiet hum of the Batcomputer and the occasional distant drip of water echoing through the cavernous walls. Even the bats that lurked in the high crevices seemed to hold their breath.

It had been silent since they got back.

Not the comfortable silence of routine, not the practiced quiet of soldiers working in tandem, but a silence teetering—on the edge of something irreversible, something that could snap at any second.

Bruce had yet to turn around.

His back remained to them, shoulders squared, posture impossibly still, and yet—somehow, in some unnatural way, he still managed to command the entire room. Still made every breath feel like it had to be earned, like speaking out of turn might shatter something fragile and irreparable.

But the silence couldn’t last forever.

Bruce’s voice, when it finally came, was low and sharp as a blade.

“Damian.”

His name cut through the air like a blade.

Damian inhaled sharply, but he did not falter.

His shoulders squared, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw locked in a way that made his teeth ache, and he forced himself to meet Bruce’s gaze when his father finally turned around.

“Why did you do it?” Bruce’s hands had curled into fists at his sides.

“I had to take a chance.”

The words left him before he could second-guess them, before he could even consider any other way to phrase it. As if putting it any other way would make a difference. As if making it sound more reasonable, more calculated, more understandable would change anything.

Bruce’s stare didn’t waver.

His response was immediate.

“No.” His voice was harsher now, dangerously close to breaking. “This isn’t the way.”

The words were spoken like a fact. As if there was no arguing it, as if the conversation should have ended right there, as if Damian had already lost.

But he hadn’t.

Because this wasn’t about right or wrong.

This wasn’t about rules.

This was about you.

“Why not?”

His voice came sharper this time, cracking through the space between them, pushing against the weight of Bruce’s certainty, forcing something else into the silence. Something raw. Something desperate.

“I had to take a chance.”

He had to.

He had to.

Bruce inhaled, slow and measured, before exhaling just as steadily.

When he spoke again, his voice was still calm.

Unshaken.

And somehow, that only made it worse.

“(Name) is dead, Damian.”

A sharp breath.

His stomach twisted violently.

His body tensed, his nails pressing so hard into his palms that the sting barely even registered. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs, but outwardly, he refused to react.

He refused.

“She’s not—”

“Damian.”

Bruce’s voice cut through his own, and the finality in it sent something cold shooting down his spine.

But he shoved it down.

He wouldn’t accept this.

He couldn’t.

Damian’s hands curled into fists. “Then I should have gotten her to the pit sooner.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Then how does it work, Father?” Damian snapped, his voice cutting through the cave like a whip. “Tell me—tell me how it makes any sense that Jason could be revived but not—” His voice caught for half a second, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. “Not her.”

Bruce didn’t answer immediately.

And that silence—it was almost worse than anything he could have said.

“That was different.”

Damian’s fists clenched.

“How?”

Bruce inhaled again, and something in the way he did it—something so controlled, so deliberate—made Damian’s stomach twist even further.

“Jason wasn’t brought back to life by the Lazarus Pit.” His voice was firm, but there was something almost reluctant in the way he spoke, like he didn’t want to explain this. Like saying it out loud would make something real. “The pit only restored his mind. It erased the damage. That’s different from what you tried to do.”

The words felt like they didn’t make sense.

Like they didn’t fit.

Like they shouldn’t exist.

Like they should be impossible.

But Bruce—

His father was saying them like they were true.

Something shifted.

Something small.

But Damian noticed.

Bruce stopped speaking, his sentence left unfinished, hanging in the air like a rope about to snap.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

His jaw tightened—just slightly, just barely.

His mind raced—whirring, unraveling, dissecting—because it should have worked.

He had done everything right.

He dug you out of your grave, broke through the dirt with his own two hands. He had brought you to the only Lazarus Pit in Gotham, he dragged your lifeless form across the damp cavern floors. He had submerged you into the emerald waters, the same way his mother had shown him, the same way it had worked before.

But nothing happened.

The pit remained still.

The water glowed, but it did not churn, did not surge with life.

It removed the scars you’ve gotten over the years. But that was it.

You—

you did not wake up.

You remained still. Cold. Gone.

Why?

Why didn’t it work?

It should have worked.

Unless—

A voice rang in his ears.

His mother’s voice.

“The Lazarus Pit restores the body to its perfect condition—before death.”

Before death.

Is that why?

Is that why the Lazarus Pit didn’t work?

Jason was barely alive—barely sane—when he was thrown into the pit.

But he was alive.

And you—

You weren’t.

Damian couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t bear to say it.

No.

No, he refused to accept that.

You couldn’t be gone. Not like this. Not this easily. Not this pathetically.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke again.

Something inside him cracked.

“You knew.”

The words felt like an accusation.

Bruce didn’t deny it.

Damian’s hands shook.

“You knew it wouldn’t work, didn’t you?” His voice was quiet, but it carried through the cave like a gunshot.

Bruce still didn’t deny it.

“You knew, and you still let me—”

Damian felt himself faltering. He felt the words get caught in his throat.

“You still let me dig her up.”

His throat tightened, and he felt something press down on his chest, something suffocating, something that refused to let him breathe properly.

“You let me take her to the Lazarus Pit. You let me think it would work—”

Bruce inhaled, slow and even. “You needed to see for yourself.”

Damian’s vision blurred for half a second.

Then he snapped.

“That’s bullshit.”

Bruce remained still.

“You wanted me to fail.”

Bruce remained silent.

“You wanted me to see—” His breath hitched. “That she was really—”

He couldn’t say it.

Because if he said it—if he let himself even breathe those words—

It would be real.

Damian couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t accept it.

Because how could he?

When you had died such a meaningless death?

When you had gone out like that?

He hadn’t gone to your funeral.

Hadn’t watched them lower you into the ground.

Hadn’t stood beside the rest of them, listening to empty condolences and meaningless words.

No.

Because he couldn’t.

Because he refused to accept that you were really gone.

Because you had always been so stubborn.

So reckless.

Because you shouldn’t have died like that.

Because you should have let them help you.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But who was he to say that?

When he was just like you.

Stubborn. Reckless in his own way.

Just as self-destructive.

And it was eating him alive.

“She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

Damian’s eyes snapped toward Tim.

Tim, who had been standing quietly until now.

Tim, who looked like he was barely holding himself together.

Tim, who had alerted Bruce—who had found Damian at the Lazarus Pit, alongside Stephanie.

Damian let out a sharp scoff. “Huh.” He tilted his head, voice dripping with something venomous. “And what would you know?”

Tim’s expression flickered—just for a second.

“More than you think.”

Damian scoffed, shaking his head. “No. You wouldn’t.”

Tim exhaled sharply. “You think you knew her.” His voice was low, measured, but it wavered slightly. “But you didn’t.”

Damian’s chest tightened. “And you did?”

Tim’s hands curled into fists.

Damian let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You hated her.”

Tim stiffened. His jaw clenched.

“No, I didn’t.”

The words were immediate. Unshaken.

And somehow, they hit harder than anything else so far.

“You never even acknowledged her.”

“Yes I did—“

“Well I suppose it wasn’t enough apparently.”

Tim’s breath stilled, his shoulders locking, his throat bobbing in a way that Damian almost wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it.

“Well you pushed her away every chance you got,” Tim shot back, voice sharp, words cutting. “So don’t act like you actually cared.”

Damian’s fingers twitched.

“I did care.”

Tim exhaled, bitter.

“Yeah? She definitely knew that for sure.”

Damian froze.

His breath hitched.

You knew.

You had to know.

Didn’t you?

Even when he had insulted you, even when he had been a complete bastard—

Even when he was cruel, even when he acted like you were nothing but a nuisance, even when he never said anything—

You had to have known.

Didn’t you?

Didn’t you?

“I had to take this chance,” Damian said, quieter, breath uneven, hands shaking. “Because she was my sister.”

Tim’s expression flickered.

And then—

“She was my sister too.”

The words left Tim before he could stop them.

Before he could even think.

Everything stopped. The words lingered in the air, sinking into the silence like a blade buried deep into flesh.

She was my sister, too.

Tim hadn’t meant to say it.

Hadn’t planned it.

Hadn’t even thought about it before the words just left his mouth, before they hit the space between them, before they cut into something raw, something real, something he hadn’t even let himself acknowledge until it was already too late.

His own breath caught, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his pulse hammering against his skull as if his own body was trying to reject what he’d just said.

Because why now?

Why was he only saying it now?

Why was he only acknowledging it when you were already—

His throat locked up.

Damian’s fingers twitched.

His mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, as if to say something, but no words came out.

The air between them was thick, suffocating, the weight of everything pressing down on Tim’s ribs so hard that he felt like he could barely breathe. His heartbeat was uneven, erratic, like his own body didn’t know how to process what had just happened.

“You don’t get to say that.”

Damian’s voice was quiet.

Too quiet.

Tim exhaled sharply, his jaw locking. “What?”

Damian’s shoulders squared, his arms stiff at his sides, his fingers still shaking even as he clenched them into fists. His breathing had turned uneven, almost unsteady, but his voice—his voice was sharp.

“You don’t get to say that.”

Tim scoffed, shaking his head, but he felt something tightening in his chest.

“I don’t get to say that?” His voice came out bitter, biting, but his own hands were trembling slightly now. “(Name) was my sister too, Damian. That’s just a fact.”

Damian’s breath stilled.

For a split second, his body went completely still.

“Then why did you treat her like she wasn’t?”

Tim’s chest clenched. His breath hitched.

Damian took a step closer, voice cutting deeper, something sharp in his expression, something broken in his stare.

“Why did you act like she didn’t matter? Like she wasn’t even worth your time? Why did you act like she—”

His breath stuttered for half a second, something cracking through his voice before he forced it back down.

“You pushed her away.”

Tim clenched his teeth. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Damian’s hands twitched.

“I never pushed her away.”

“You shut her out,” Tim snapped, voice cracking under the weight of it. “You resented her.”

Damian’s stomach twisted.

“I did not.”

“You didn’t care about her when she was alive.”

“I did.”

“You barely even acknowledged her—”

“I did not hate her.”

“But now you suddenly care?” Tim let out a bitter laugh. “Now, suddenly, she’s your sister?”

“She is my sister,” Damian snapped. “And you don’t get to say otherwise.”

Tim’s breath hitched.

His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.

Because that—

That wasn’t the same thing.

That wasn’t—

“That’s not what I said.”

Damian’s nails dug into his palms.

“Yeah, but it’s what you meant.”

Tim inhaled sharply, his hands twitching at his sides, something thick in his throat that he didn’t want to name.

He shook his head, exhaling, his breath uneven. “You think I—”

“You think I hated her?” Damian cut in, voice sharp, voice dangerous. “You think I would have wannted her to die? You really think that’s what I wanted all this time??”

Tim clenched his jaw, shaking his head. “That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Really?”

Damian took another step forward, his body tense, his posture unreadable, his fingers curled into fists like he was trying so hard to keep himself steady, to keep himself from doing anything other than this.

“Then what are you saying?”

Tim exhaled sharply, shaking his head again, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop back to his side, something tight inside of him, something that was pressing too hard against his ribs, something that felt like it was clawing at his chest from the inside out.

“She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

Damian stilled.

“You keep saying that,” Damian said, voice tight, voice low, voice lined with something Tim couldn’t fully decipher. “Like you actually know what she wanted.”

Tim’s throat tightened.

“You didn’t know her, Drake.”

A beat of silence.

“You don’t get to say that,” Tim said, voice shaking with something raw. “You don’t get to act like you gave a damn about her when it actually mattered.”

Damian’s eyes burned.

“You don’t get to act like you knew her, either,” he shot back, his voice venomous. “You don’t get to tell me what she would have wanted—”

Tim let out a breathless laugh. “And you do?” His voice was rising now, sharp with frustration. “You think you had the right to drag her out of her grave and throw her into the Lazarus Pit because you couldn’t deal with it?”

Damian’s stomach churned. “Shut up.”

Tim stepped forward. “You think she would’ve wanted this?”

Damian’s nails dug into his palms.

And at that moment, Stephanie, who’d be silently listening to the entire argument, stepped forward. “Okay, that’s enough, guys—”

“You think she would’ve wanted to wake up in that pit—if she even could?” Tim’s voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t stop. “To wake up wrong?”

“No,” Tim interrupted, his voice raw. He stepped closer, his fists trembling at his sides. “You think you’re the only one who wanted her back?” His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through. “You think you’re the only one who couldn’t accept it?”

Damian exhaled sharply, looking away.

“You thiink you’re the only one who’s thought of dumping her in a Lazarus Pit, hoping that somehow—”

Tim’s breath caught.

He stopped.

Because he couldn’t say it either.

Because saying it out loud would make it real.

Would make it final.

That there really was no way of bringing you back to life.

And for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Neither of them moved.

“That’s enough.”

Bruce’s voice cut through the air, sharp, commanding, absolute.

Tim sucked in a breath.

Damian’s hands shook.

Silence.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Heavy. Almost unbearable.

Tim felt his pulse pounding in his ears, his breath still uneven, his body still tense from the argument—no, from the fight. Because that’s what this was.

Damian wasn’t even looking at him anymore.

His hands were curled into fists so tight that his knuckles had turned white, his shoulders were stiff, his breath was shallow, and his entire posture was wound so tightly that Tim thought he might just snap.

But he wouldn’t.

Not in front of Bruce.

Bruce, who had spoken with finality, whose voice had cut through the air like a blade, sharp enough to make even Damian shut up.

Tim swallowed, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling sharply, trying—failing—to let go of the tension clawing at his chest. His other hand clenched at his side, nails digging into his palm, grounding him, steadying him, because if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

Damian still wasn’t looking at him.

He wasn’t looking at Bruce either.

He was staring straight ahead, at the cave floor, at something that wasn’t even there, his entire body locked up, unreadable, unreadable, unreadable—

And then his gaze shifted.

Just barely.

Tim saw the exact moment his eyes landed on your body.

—or, at least, where your body should have been.

You were still there.

Your body was still there.

They had laid you down. Covered you up with a white sheet. Tim hadn’t been the one to do it—he didn’t even know who had done it, if it was Bruce, or Stephanie, or if they had both done it together, but he knew it hadn’t been him.

He hadn’t looked.

Not really.

He hadn’t let himself.

Damian’s fingers twitched.

His breathing hitched.

And then, before anyone could say anything—before Bruce could look at him, before Tim could process anything, before Stephanie could even move—

Damian turned and stormed out of the cave.

His boots struck the floor hard, fast, and then he was gone.

Stephanie opened her mouth, but nothing came out of it.

Bruce was already turning back toward the Batcomputer, already refocusing, already shutting down, because that was what he did. That was how he functioned.

Tim exhaled sharply.

The tension in his chest was still there.

Still suffocating.

Still unbearable.

He thought back to what he’d said. Thought back to what Damian did.

And Tim hated how he would’ve done the exact same thing Damian did if he were given the chance to.

Hated he was just like Damian in that sense.

Without a word, without a look, without a second thought—

Tim turned and left, too.

The alley reeked of rain-soaked asphalt and cigarette smoke, the kind that clung to the air long after the ember had burned out. A flickering streetlamp cast jagged shadows against the crumbling brick, the light barely reaching past the fog curling along the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed—short-lived, swallowed by the city’s restless hum.

Then came the scratch of a lighter, a brief glow illuminating a worn trench coat, a sharp inhale followed by a slow exhale, smoke drifting through the damp air.

“Well, ain’t this a bloody mess.”

woops… 😬 heyyy guys…!! 🫣 did y’all miss me HAHA. this was definitely long overdue… i think i probably gave yall trust issues 😭 actual chapter 7 will be out at utc+8 12am on 14 Feb 🥰

taglist is closed ‼️(i’ll think about opening it again soon 🤫)

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I’ve got you Batfam x Batsis

request for @aestheticllylosers my power just went out the other day at my house so i was wondering if i could have batfamily, plus maybe Selina Kyle trying to entertain a scared little bat baby (age three) through a blackout and storm. very fluffly….  _____________

The whole family was gathered in the living room preparing ways to entertain themselves in an attempt to drown out the storm, sadly living with tech geniuses and a billionaire father does not help keep the power on, in fact you’ve all been sitting in the dark for about an hour whilst Alfred went around lighting candles, that being said their attempts of having fun during a thunderstorm only did the bare minimum when it came to distracting you and due to the loud crashes outside you had your head buried in your dad’s chest for half of it anyways so you couldn’t even pay attention to it. 

Your family were at a loss, they didn’t know how to make this situation any more comfortable for you, even your mother Selina attempted to take you upstairs and distract you with your toys but you ran down the stairs screaming as soon as you saw a flash of lightning outside your window. Bruce was thinking about calling Diana to see if she could tell you an old story about the Gods because you always enjoyed those but given the situation the cell towers were down so he had no way of getting through to her, but he figured he could help you all on his own, almost on his own, your brothers were also in panic mode trying to find ways to calm their little sister down. 

Dick attempted books, cooking and even some old board games he found in his room but nothing seemed to keep your attention for too long before you were back whimpering in your dad’s arms. Tim thought hide and seek was a good idea but it was ruled out because he joked about the manor ghosts finding you first and you started bawling your eyes out, Damian attempted to fight the lightning as a way to make you laugh but he slipped in the mud outside and that made you think that the lightning was attacking people so that took a whole 2 hour conversation from your dad to try to explain to you that lightning can’t push people over and Damian is just clumsy, he scoffed at that but a pointed look from his father got him to play along with the story. Jason, well he tried but ultimately gave up and tagged Alfred in, it’s not that he didn’t want you to feel safe it’s just he had one idea since the fighting lightning joke was taken by the demon spawn as he likes to call him, he’s also came to the conclusion that Damian can read his mind when in actuality he just found the piece of paper that Jason used to write his two ideas down with.

____________

“what are we gonna do?” Dick asked looking around the kitchen at all the baffled faces of his family, Selina was laying with you in the other room trying to put you down for a nap but from the sound of your little cries it wasn’t working.

“well we could-” “no” Jason said cutting Damian off “tt you didn’t even let me say it Todd” “we already know it’s sh*t stop wasting time” “Jason” Bruce said in a warning tone, “there’s a generator in the cave if we go down there and get it working we can put a movie on for y/n to help her” Bruce said and looked up to everyone staring at him in disbelief,”wait so your telling me we could have had power this WHOLE TIME” Tim yelled , Bruce sighed, “I just wanted to spend time with you all, your sister has been asking for you and with your jobs you hardly get to see her, I just thought that if i forced us all together with no technology to distract you that you’d end up enjoying it a bit” when he finished talking Alfred smiled to himself, when the storm alert first hit the news his master told him to turn the generator off and tell everyone to come home, he knew Bruce missed them but would never admit it out loud so he just went along with it, the truth is he needed this time with his family just as much as the rest of them and secretly didn’t want the generator on but if it helped miss y/n he was open to trying. “wow, I didn’t think i’d ever hear you admit to wanting us here out loud, like i’ve heard you say it in so many dreams but real life? i’m shocked” Jason said jokingly “ you know that’s all you needed to say right? keep it off” Dick said smiling “but-” Tim tried to object but got a warning nudge from Damian who would never admit it but this has been one of the best days of his life.

____________

Once they got back into the living room Selina looked up at Alfred and the two smiled knowingly at each other, and you slowly lifted your head up to look at your family walking back in “the storms calmed down sweetie do you want to try play a game again?” your mother asked you and you tilted your head to look up at her and then to your dad again “okway” you said sniffling as you crawled off your mom’s lap and down to the floor with your brothers.

Bruce sat with Selina and put his arm around her pulling her close to him and watched his kids actually get along to play a game of monopoly, and slyly wished for more storms in the future.

____________

i’m in a batfam mood so send in requests! 

Your male reader gave me ideas. 👀👀👀

Sooo how about a soul painter make reader. Soul painter are like people who can see one’s soul and their painting is creation itself. They give their paintings life, a soul. You can hear what they draw, if they drew the forest, you can hear birdsongs and such.

So why a male? Because I feel it would hit harder. Captain America reader? Well the batfam disliked him cause he was weak right? So I thought soul painter reader would be disliked because he was unmanly. And him painting doesn’t help. (This was before Damian. They never held affection for reader so they won’t be loved like Damian)

Well maybe this reader seemed out their affection as a child but as they grew older (14 or something) they decide money is more important and start stealing a little every day. (Who would notice $100 disappear every day from a billionaires house?)

Well $100 every day would be a crazy amount in like a year or two. ($36 500 a year). They would run off with a scholarship to an art school in Paris with the money and flourish. (of course he’s the main character)

Well Damian arrives at the mansion and he likes art so they mention reader likes art and he can talk to them about it. Damian would have already spent some time w the batfam and mellowed out so tries to find reader to talk about his fav artist (reader of course lol). He doesn’t find reader and asks the batfam about it.

Panic. MUAHAHAHAHHA anyways as they try to find reader, Damian mentions his fav artist (reader) and they go- oh my god so this is where he went???

They called him soft.

Delicate. Too emotional. Too quiet. A boy who painted when he should’ve trained. A dreamer in a world of soldiers.

He was born into the Batfamily, adopted with distant nods and cold shoulders. Bruce took him in, but never really saw him—saw the paint under his fingernails and thought waste of potential. Dick was busy, Jason didn’t care, Tim thought he was weird, and the girls? Distant. Dismissive. Not cruel, but not kind either.

So he tried to earn it—their affection. Little scribbles left on their desks, small paintings he poured his soul into. They were beautiful, too. Breathtaking. Magical. You could hear the laughter in the park scenes, feel the warmth of the sun in his golden brushstrokes. He thought maybe they’d see the beauty in him.

They didn’t.

So, at fourteen, he stopped trying.

He started stealing instead.

$100 a day. Nothing too noticeable, not in a mansion where money leaked from the walls. He found a scholarship—an elite art school in Paris. And with his stolen savings and heart packed in a sketchbook, he left Gotham behind.

No goodbyes.

Years pass.

Damian Wayne arrives at the manor, blade-sharp and broken in all the ways a child assassin is. The family braces for impact—but then he picks up a paintbrush.

He loves art. Finds peace in it. And one day, over tea, Alfred mentions, “You know… you might’ve liked the boy who used to live here.”

Damian pauses. “Used to?”

“Your brother. He was an artist too.”

“…Was?”

The family stiffens.

Damian, curious and persistent as always, asks more questions. He’s been mellowed by the manor, by Alfred’s warmth and Dick’s guidance. And now he’s hunting down an artist he’s obsessed with—the anonymous painter whose work is taking the Parisian underground by storm. His name? Just one word.

Réalité.

His paintings aren’t just seen—they’re experienced. Forests where you can hear birdsong, oceans with crashing waves, lullabies captured on canvas. They don’t just evoke emotion—they are emotion. Damian wants to meet him. Wants to learn from him.

And then—he shows them the painting.

And Bruce goes still.

The Batfamily stares at the canvas, the way the golden light bleeds through the leaves, how the laughter echoes from unseen mouths. A childhood. A home. Something warm, distant, aching. Familiar.

Tim whispers, “That’s… the treehouse from the manor…”

Jason mutters, “That’s our old living room. The crack in the fireplace tile—he painted that.”

Dick’s face crumples.

Damian just blinks. “You know him?”

And Bruce finally says it.

“…That’s him.”

The one they left behind.

Meanwhile, in Paris…

He’s twenty now. Sharp jaw, quiet eyes, and a presence that hums with power. They call him a genius. A visionary. His soul paintings hang in hidden galleries, and people travel continents just to weep beneath them.

He doesn’t talk much. But he paints constantly.

And lately?

He’s been painting Gotham.

Not the skyline. Not the grime.

But memories. A treehouse in summer. A boy with black hair holding a sword. A father figure watching from the shadows. A cold manor that’s started to look a little warmer in the colors he uses.

He paints them not as they were, but as he wished they’d been.

Because maybe, just maybe, part of him still wants to be found.

And the Batfamily? Oh, they’re running. A/N: Tbh this b my typa man bc I know his fingers are goood hehehe

Yandere BatFam x other dimension Reader.

SYPNOSIS: In another world they did love you.

IMP: Reader did get neglected in her dimension.

You've never been a figure or anything important, not something worth the light. Even in picture everybody looked so good and you're just there, even just from a glance it's hard to notice you.

You've tried to shine to take that light everybody else have in their grip but the light was purposefully avoiding you.

No amount of grade, beauty or perfection would make you their baby. Someone they cared for.

You weren't some star like them just the black sheep, everybody else have a life they can call theirs but your life was already written out for you, every possible things already carved out by everyone else but yourself.

Unlike Dick you weren't charming or good looking everything about him was amazing and admirable... The first Robin and the first to become their own person. Not even Bruce get to curve his story...

He treat his siblings equally, that was what he preached... It was true. You weren't a family to him, you didn't matter enough to be apart of his family.

Even when Jason decided to started killing you stayed by his side, brought him food and even tried to build an actual relationship but it was no use.

Everybody called you desperate for crawling to him when he needed somebody and the moment he healed(kind of) he throw you away. Ignoring how you were the only one who stood up for him, took all the insult and humiliation for his sake yet he took you for granted.

You took the word, hit and almost got disowned, for somebody who doesn't even care. You almost died for somebody you thought was your brother yet he didn't do shit when the family almost disowned you for staying by his side... Didn't offer home or solace. Just ignored your suffering for his sake.

Tim was smart everything you adore in a brother, stayed by his side spent sleepless nights just to watch over him when he was in the hospital, trying your best to support your brother who you fear might die.

Yes, everyone didn't get enough sleep but you didn't even sleep stayed by his side to make sure no harm could happened to him. Took your time to read book's knowing he can't even hear you, doing everything.

Yet when he opened his eyes he hugged the family and not you, even have the audacity to ask you to go out while they had some 'family' catch up...

Damian was one hell of a monster, yet you never gave up on him. He was just a kid and you wanted to be the admirable older siblings you never had.

It wasn't easy it never was, the constant lie about you to everyone and yes nobody in this world pity you enough to hear your side... Yout life was already hell and it wad just unfair how everybody else got what they wished for and you never get anything... Not even a family.

To the eyes of the media you were the black sheep often left out even in family portraits or any major Wayne gala, just some avarage citizen that was living the life...

Bruce couldn't remember your name's at times blaming it on old age, Alfred only saw you as an extra mouth nothing more nothing less.

Even when The joker kidnapped you and made Bruce choose between you and Catwoman he almost hesitate, you were never the first or second, you weren't an option to everybody... Just some extras living with them to make them look better.

Being you was painful itself, when your family who were supposed to be the hero rejected your presence.

So, when you accidentally step into another dimension you became attached.

Your false family loved you to no ends, you were dead in that universe... Dying a gruesome death.

Yet when they saw you alive even tho you weren't their family they cherished you and most importantly treat you like a family.

There was no more I no more threats just a loving family.

Who will do whatever to make you stay.

"I like this" You told them, you couldn't help but smile.

You've never played games with your actual family before, to them you were an actual bot with nothing interesting.

"Oh, you won't like it for long... I'll beat you"

Tim said as he aggressively nudge at you to make you lose control.

"Hey! That's cheating, someone take him out!"

Barbara stood up for you.

"Everything is fair in games... As long as you're the winner"

Damian speak up as he instinctively grab Tim hoodie and cover his eyes with it. To let you win.

"That's cheating! I should have won"

"Everything is fair in games... Just gotta have the right support"

You couldn't help it, everybody were together. You were finally in the picture, you didn't have to fit in they just have to accept you and they absolutely did.

You couldn't help but tear up, your heart aching slightly.

"Little wing are you okay? Should w-"

Dick spoke before he was cut off by Damian.

"Let's beat up Tim, he made them cry"

"Huh?! Im the one that lost... Your violence towards me make them scared!"

Before anyone else could argue on who made you cry Jason who was just there because of you spoke up.

"Don't be so obnoxious and loud... They're obviously emotional for a good reason. Bunch of wannabe adult in this room"

With that said he would gave you this handkerchief which was very unusual of him.

Taking a seat next to you on the ground as he pick up the extra controller, not even weirded out by your suddenly burst of tears just pure understanding.

Your Jason was the one who kick you aside the moment he felt healed but this one... He was trying his best to comfort you, he didn't like to be so upfront yet he was doing this to save you from embarassment and a little comfort.

Looking at the Handkerchief you couldn't help but smile, the same one you gave to your Jason when he came back but the one you made was burned into crispy by the very person you made for. He took it and throw it inside the crumbling building that was ignited into flames by him.

Called it a waste of fabric and time, not worth his precious time or life even tho you spend weeks stitching everything by hand... You just wanted to encourage him to be better you didn't knew he would take offence to your kindness.

There was some holes on the handkerchief yet it was extremely clean and ironed... He seems to cherish it alot.

"Took it everywhere and I ruined it, it was my lucky charm but you're here now so you'll be a good replacement"

"I don't think being compared to a literal fabric is fulfilling"

Duke commented.

"It's not just a fabric it's made by our beloved sibling here, shame on you Duke, shame on you"

Stephanie tease him with a fake offended look.

"They only made it for Jaybird... Im abit upse- Very upset"

Dick decided to bring another reason to start a full on war again.

"Hey! I want one but with our special logo!"

"This is childish, but I need one for a good purpose"

"Im the oldest so I should be first"

"Want one"

"Enough!"

Bruce spoke up, seems like all the arguing had finally went into his brain.

"As your Father... I am first priority"

"Master Bruce, as your somewhat father I must be the first I insist"

This was what family should be, united and happy. One that are willing to be by yourside even at your worst, willing to take the hit with you and just be ourselves to eachother without shame.

While you were finally getting the life you deserved your actual family were crumbling. Trying to find you, turning every nook and crook up side down.

Gotham was turning into literal hell, they were acting like dog hound pounding onto anyone who they assume have information on your whereabouts.

It seems like they have finally realised your worth. But you've already replaced them.

You were slowly healing but too bad they won't tolerate being replaced.

Watch me flop.

I HATE SPIDER LILLES

angst . gore . wip

summary : a lonesome child dies while a neglectful father loses himself to guilt and grief.

My body bleeds black as it eagerly gushes out my chest . The blade glistens in the faint moonlight - it looks so angelic , so beautiful as it lodges itself deeper into my chest . I want to cry - cry out to the world , cry out to everyone , cry out to them . There are so many questions, yet no answers . Why doesn't Daddy love me like he does to everyone else ? Why did my mummy have to leave me behind ? Why did my brothers have to ignore me ? Why does everyone hate me ?

It's unfair - so unfair that I have to die all alone in this cold , bleak night while they are wrapped in Daddy's warm arms - shielded from Gotham unwavering doom. My eyes strain as they stare out into the darkness- hopeful and naive searching for someone to save me from myself . Tears stream begin to stream down my cheeks as it dawns on me that no one was coming , that daddy and older brothers don't want to save me .

" I'm sorry daddy - I'll do better - I'll be better daddy , I'm sorry I disappoint you alot , I'm sorry I'm not strong enough daddy but - I can do it - I can be strong like jayjay - I can be smart like tim papa I promise - just gimme a chance daddy I can be like them - I can be fast like dick and I could be perfect like damian daddy please - please save me daddy please it - it hurts so much please ". I cry out but no one responds to me .

I let out a pathetic cry - was it too much ? Too selfish to plead for my daddy to save me from this cruelness ? Was I too weak ? Too imperfect for his perfect world ? Was I so forgetful , so useless to him that I deserved to die a painful , agonizing death ? Had I wronged my daddy by simply breathing ? Another painful cry leaves my trembling mouth - yet again questions left unanswered .

A spider lily blooms from the inside of my chest - practically weaving itself around the blade . My bloody , swollen hands reach to cup it like a desperate man would for water on a scorching desert. The petals are soft to touch - almost feather like . Is this what mummy's touch was supposed to feel like ? Soft? Warm ? Comforting? Its pungent scent invaded my senses - my body high on its vanilla like scent -

How sick , how cruel can death be ? How can it be so cold , so painful yet so warm and welcoming at the same time ? Was I always doomed to succumb to my own failure? Had my own brother predicted my downfall when he called me a failure and a waste of Wayne resources ?

Was I always doomed to die ? Did God hate me so much that he blessed my brother with a person to mourn him but left me without ? Another question left unanswered . More red spider lilies begin to bloom around me , swallowing me whole and for once - I give in - I embrace it for what does a child whom has experienced nothing from her own family left to embrace ?

I swallow another choked hiccup back - even now when certain death is about to consume me - I still bottle my feelings in fear of burdening others, even monstrous death himself. Spider lillies began to sprout from my own flesh .

Blood coating its red petals - like a wet blanket, its ire iron smell masks the once sweet vanilla scent . The flowers practically tear through my flesh , lovingly discarding my tissue about like confetti. It's painful, mummy , so painful, daddy - please save me - anyone please save me . I'm sorry for being me daddy - I promise to be better - I promise I'll be someone else anyone, Daddy, just make it stop .

My mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out - nothing but another spider, lily - this time it's pure white . It sways it the wind like an enchanted being , a pure - untouched angel , an ethereal being spreading its soft love for all . The wind proudly ruffles through its prestine petals - a silent kiss of farewell from God , a kiss coaxing them to a far away land promising of a sweet , quiet , painless life. My dull eyes stare back into the abyss , this time, it's glassy , detached - its owner no longer belongs here , in fact they never had .

My eyes slowly closed in on themselves for the last time . Such a slow, pitiful death for a little girl . Left the world all alone and cold with no mummy and daddy to mourn her - no one to cry for her , no one to remember her . Such a sad faith for a little girl .

Bruce stares at name's dead body - guilt eats him alive as before him, his daughter's corpse lays on a plastic cover , cold and unmoving. He can feel bile crawling up his stomach as his mind digests how beyond mauled his daughter body looks .

His poor , innocent daughter lays there , and her once olive tone complexion turned into a sick ghostly pale . His shaky hands reach out towards her, unsure - how shameful is it that this was the first time he's embraced her in ten years ? He embraces her like a lifeline - like a drowning man would to a drifting raft in a vast ocean.

His worn hands traced the black , jaggered blade lodged in her chest - his eyes then dart to the spiraling spider lilly that wraps around it - as if this was some gift . How could such brutality present itself to be beautiful? How can it try to mask to horror of her heart torn into half with faux beauty ? He feels so angry - angry with the world , angry with himself - angry at her because how could she leave him - how dare she leave him in this cruel world with nothing but her cold corpse?

.

He tries to rattle his brain of any fond memories of you both to mourn over and nothing come up - his brain is blank and a delusional part of him wants to blame the fact he's in shock but the little rational part of him left picks at him for the lack of time and love he gave to you.

He wants to desperately go back in time - eight hours ago to stop you and Tim from a bitter argument , to go back and stop Damian from utter harsh words , to go back in time to simply love you like he should of , to go back in time to comfort himself when he got the call from Gordon telling him they found your dead body in an back ally thanks to the neighbors complaining about a disgusting smell.

He desperately wants to go back and fix everything but he knows he can't- what's done is done and now he has to live with the brutality of your death engraved in him forever , live with the reality he's failed you and you won't come back.

He looks down at the red spider lilies that sprout from around and from you - he feels them mocking him - laughing at him because they got to surround you , in your final moments , got to cherish you like a loving family, - got to be with you. Something he can only dream of.

He grips your dead corpse closer , practically encasing you with his entire being . Hot tears flow down his cheek, and he begins mumbling. Sorry, and I love you's, but what good is it talking and apologizing to a corpse when you had the real living thing all your life ? From that moment on - Bruce hates himself for what's happen , blames himself for your death- for your neglect and most of all he's grown to hate spider lilies because he blames them for taking you away from him and his family.

Bruce dislodges the blade from your chest , your inky , black blood coats it like a fountain pen . He grips onto the blade' handle , knuckles going white and strained the more he stares at it . He carefully places it in a plastic container and pockets it immediately - he doesn't trust the GGPD with finding out what happened with you , doesn't trust them handling your corpse with the utmost care and live that you deserved to have .

His face hovers over your open chest , he cringes at the scent of your corpse rottening, and the iron smell of your spilled blood . He rests his face on your wound carefully - scared he hurts you even more than he already did . His cheek collides with your cold flesh and dried blood, and it's there he mourns you over your broken heart - it is here he allows himself to be vulnerable with you - allows himself to shed hot tears . He pulls you in closer , hands embracing you for the first and last time .

He wants to say so many things, but nothing pours out of his mouth . How utterly pathetic , how cruel , how unfair - why , why must even in his last moment with you - he can not express himself , cannot express the fatherly love he feels for you . Angry hot tears cascade down his face - so angry , so blatantly disappointed in himself that he's failed you again and again .

He holds you like that the entire night into the early , wee hours of the mourning until a tired Alfred had to pry him off you.

" Master Bruce, please," Alfred pleads as he holds onto Bruce's crumbling figure . Alfred feels a wave of de ja vulnerable in case he looks at your corpse and back at Bruce - everything is the same way it was the night Martha and Thomas died - just this time Bruce is distraught beyond repair and instead of delicate pearls scattered about , it's your own flesh , blood and spider lillies .

He swallows back as he takes in your corpse - he feels so guilty - he knows he could of done more - knows that he could prevent you from feeling more alone and hurt than you already did but instead of prevention he was the enabler.

" She's gone Alfred - gone - she's not - she's never coming back home." Bruce cries out, pained and strained as he looks back at Alfred - pain clearly etched into his features .

Alfred is left speechless when he watches the police put away your corpse into a plastic baggy and transfers in the into the back of a van . He eyes Gordon, closing the door shut and entering the vehicle - barking orders to his officers .

" She - she deserves better," Alfred finally murmurs . Silence drafts between them as they watched the van and other police cars take off - their sirens echoing down the quiet mouring of Gotham .

Bruce's eyes follow them until they're out of his eyesight before looking Alfred in his eyes , " I am going to find whoever did this to her and break them," he says with finality. Alfred looks at him - realky looks at him and a part of him wants to agree with him - that you deserve justice- another part of him screams at him that they were the true cause of your despair - that it was hypocrite of Bruce and himself to feel this way when they caused this.

Alfred nods, and both men walk to the parked limo - determined to fix things - to bring you back home - to shower you with love and warmth - to hold you like the precious flower that you are .

Don't worry, beloved name , daddy would fix things - daddy will bring you back, sweet girl.

Why doesn't anyone see me?

Warnings before you start There are disturbing elements, self-harm, eating disorders, and implicit mentions of harassment.

The grand hallways of Wayne Manor looked magnificent from the outside, but to you, they were nothing more than cold stone. You were sixteen, and in this house, in this family, you had always been just a shadow. The man you called your father — Bruce Wayne — had left you to drown in his darkness. The marks on your body, on your arms, back, legs... each was a silent scream. Each one reminded you how a world you once trusted had torn you apart. And the worst part? The one who did this wasn’t a stranger. It was someone who had existed in the background of your life, like a ghost.

You tried to speak up once. That night, you opened the door to his study. Bruce sat at his desk, surrounded by files and glowing monitors. His Batman suit hung in the corner — as if that costume was his real face.

“Dad,” you said, your voice trembling. “I need to talk.”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired, distant. “What is it?” he asked, but there was no real curiosity in his tone.

You took a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in your chest. “I... Something happened. A while ago. And it still…” The words got stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to show him the scars — but maybe, just maybe, he would understand. Maybe he’d see you.

But Bruce lowered his head back to his files. “Now’s not the time,” he said, voice flat. “A lot’s going on in the city. We’ll talk later.”

Later. Always later.

You closed the door behind you, and tears began to slide down your cheeks. Batman could save Gotham — but he didn’t even try to save you.

The next day, you turned to Jason. The rebel of the family, a soul forged in his own pain. Maybe he’d understand.

You found him in the garage, working on his motorcycle.

“Jason,” you said, stepping closer. “I need to ask you something.”

He looked at you, wiping his hands with a grease-stained rag. “What do you want, princess?” he said with a mocking lilt.

You swallowed hard, gathering your courage. “Something happened to me. Something bad. And no one’s listening. I have scars—here,” you said, pulling up your sleeve slightly to show a faded mark.

Jason fell silent for a moment — then laughed.

“Everyone’s got issues, little lady. Go outside, see what I’ve seen. Then come back and cry.”

His words hit like a blade.

“But this is serious!” you cried, your voice cracking.

“Serious?” he snapped, standing and getting close. “You mean your little princess trauma? Grow up.”

Under his sneer, you felt yourself shrink. He didn’t see you either. He left you, too.

You decided to try Damian. Despite his young age, he had a sharp mind. Maybe he had noticed something.

You found him in the training room, practicing with a sword.

“Damian,” you said from the doorway. “Do you have a minute?”

He turned to you, green eyes cold and calculating.

“What do you want?” he asked, stabbing the blade into the floor.

“I… Something happened to me. And it’s hard to carry,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

He frowned, then smirked. “You’re weak,” he said, flatly.

“What?” was all you could manage.

“If you can’t carry it, then you don’t belong in this family. I know pain — but all you do is complain.”

His words were poison. His scorn felt worse than Jason’s mockery. Because Damian saw you as a burden. And in that moment, you felt the final thread tying you to this family snap.

You found Tim in the library, headphones in, eyes on his laptop.

“Tim,” you said, sitting beside him.

He pulled out one earbud. “Yeah?” he replied, eyes still on the screen.

“I need to ask you something. It’s important.”

“One sec, let me finish this line of code,” he mumbled.

Minutes passed. You sat there, waiting.

Eventually, he said, “Just tell me later,” and put his headphones back in.

He hadn’t even heard you.

Dick seemed different — or so you thought.

You found him in the lounge, laughing, mid-conversation.

“Dick, can we talk?” you asked, voice faint.

He turned to you with his bright smile. “Of course, little one! What’s up?”

But before you could say more than “I…” his phone rang.

“Hold that thought — I gotta take this,” he said, walking away.

He never came back.

That night, in your room, you stood before the mirror. You looked at the scars — each one a story no one wanted to hear. Tears wouldn’t stop. This house, this family, was a prison. Bruce didn’t see you. Jason mocked you. Damian belittled you. Tim and Dick didn’t even notice you were there. You might have been Batman’s daughter, but in this place, you were nothing.

You walked to the window and looked out at the lights of Gotham. Maybe it was time to leave. Maybe you couldn’t escape your family, but you could escape this silence. You packed a small bag — a hoodie, some money, a long-sleeve shirt to cover the marks. At the door, you paused. Maybe someone would notice. Maybe someone would stop you.

But the hallway was quiet. No one came.

As you stepped into the street, the cold air slapped your face. Were you free? Or just stepping into a different kind of shadow? You didn’t know. But at least now… now, you were trying to find your own voice.

Gotham’s streets swallowed you whole. You had escaped Wayne Manor, but the darkness inside you came along for the ride. What you thought was freedom was just another kind of prison — this time, one built within your own mind. With your bag slung over your shoulder, you walked under the flickering streetlights. The cold concrete beneath your feet was a warning: No one here is coming to save you. But you weren’t expecting to be saved anyway. Your family had never seen you; maybe you really were invisible.

Days passed. You holed up in a cheap motel, using the credit card your father once gave you. You knew the money would run out — but you didn’t care. Under the dim lights of the room, you stared into the mirror. The scars were still there — on your arms, your back, your legs. Each one whispered that you were something filthy, something ruined. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms.

“Why me?” you murmured.

No answer.

The reflection staring back filled you with disgust. This body, these scars… it was all your fault, wasn’t it? If you had been stronger, if you had spoken louder, maybe your family would have heard you. But you hadn’t. You were weak. Damian was right.

---________________________________________---

Days blurred into weeks. Gotham’s gray sky felt like a mirror to your soul. In the motel’s small bathroom, you sat with a cheap razor in your hand. You stared at your scars… and added new ones. Thin lines of blood appeared — but they didn’t bring relief. Pain couldn’t fill the emptiness. Every cut echoed the rejection you’d endured. Bruce’s cold “Not now.” Jason’s mocking laugh. Damian’s “You’re weak.” Tim and Dick’s silence. It all etched itself into your skin.

Every time you looked in the mirror, the hate grew.

“This is my fault,” you whispered.

Your eyes were swollen. Hair tangled. You’d stopped eating — your stomach turned at the thought of food. Sleep brought nightmares. Again and again, you relived the trauma — shadows, hands, the silence of your unheard screams.

When you woke, clutching your pillow, all you felt was emptiness.

Your family hadn’t called. Maybe they didn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t care.

Batman saved Gotham.

But not his own daughter.

Depression wrapped itself around you like a blanket — cold and heavy. Hurting yourself became a routine. Your arms were covered in cuts, but even that wasn’t enough.

“I’m worthless,” you said one night, your voice breaking.

“No one wants me. Not even me.”

You punched the mirror. Glass cracked. Your knuckles bled.

Still, you felt nothing.

Then, one day, everything stopped.

You lay on the stained motel bed, razor in hand again. Sirens wailed outside, but your world was quiet. You looked at your scars one last time.

“It’s over,” you said.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Tears slid down your cheeks as you thought of your family — Bruce buried in files, Jason fixing his bike, Damian swinging a sword, Tim staring into his screen, Dick laughing…

None of them had seen you.

None of them had heard you.

This time, you used the blade one last time.

There would be no coming back.

The blood soaked the sheets — slow and silent.

You stared at the ceiling. Through the window, Gotham’s gray sky watched over you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure to whom.

Your breathing slowed.

Darkness closed in.

The sirens faded.

Bruce Wayne’s daughter vanished into the shadows.

---________________________________________---

The next day, the motel worker knocked, but there was no answer.

They opened the door — and found you.

The police report was brief:

“Female, aged …, suicide.”

When the call reached Wayne Manor, Bruce finally put his files down.

Jason went quiet.

Damian dropped his sword.

Tim turned off his screen.

Dick’s smile faded.

But it was too late.

They hadn’t seen you.

They hadn’t heard you.

And now… they never would.

---________________________________________---

can i be 🦦 anon? also i have a request. transmasc jock!jack(ie) or transmasc jock! shaun(a) x cheerleader!fem where r teases them as she does cheer practice since their practice is at the same time

tmasc!jock!jack w/ fem!cheerleader reader thoughts

a/n: of course, welcome 🦦 anon! i wasn’t sure if you wanted both or either or but i figured on writing more thoughts on tmasc!jack(ie) since there isn’t much of him :) (sfw / a bit suggestive)

jack who’s on the football team at wiskayok. he’s honestly scared to join because he was barely transitioning - but shaun follows, along with van and nat as they join in support and are the top players on the team and he finds comfort in that. 

now, this guy cannot keep it hidden when he has a crush. maybe he’s been doting on you since sophomore year ever since you joined the cheer squad (maybe did or did not join fb because of you). the kind that day dreams whenever you’re not looking but snaps back into reality to not be seen as a creep. 

you catch him though, and it just furthers your interest. 

him thinking that you don’t actually know that he likes you but you do!

maybe the two of you aren’t close, yet, but that doesn’t stop you from making attempts to talk to him - with it just being casual talk. you’re smiling, probably asking about football and what he thought about that math quiz you both took but he’s just standing there making goo-goo eyes with you. 

admiring how your hair is tied up with a bow for cheer or how your eyes are so pretty or just the way the corners of your lips curve upwards. it’d be the littlest thing that gets him stuttering at first before he has to remind himself to stop acting like an idiot in front of you. 

when jack is on the field, he’s putting his all into every game, practice, or scrimmage - doesn’t matter which or how small it may seem. he’s a determined player who likes giving moral support to have everyone be on their a-game. BUT, ever since the gym got flooded with a bursted pipe - your squad had to start practicing outside on the field. and was he a mess. 

all of that focus was gone the moment the cheerleaders began warming up on the sidelines, and you made sure to position yourself directly in jack’s line of sight. stretching just a bit provocatively but with the full intention of grabbing jack’s attention - bending down to touch your toes which causes your uniform skirt to rise up and show your spandex shorts underneath. which you accomplished as he would trample over his feet or his catches for the ball would falter. 

“what the fuck jack?” nat would call out whenever jack would miss the ball for like the fifth time, almost hitting his face. 

walking up to him during breaks and you’re standing in front of him smirking whilst twirling a strand of your hair around your finger. “liked the show, taylor?” voice dripping with teasing sweetness. 

jack fumbled with his water bottle, “what, no- wait, i mean-” he stammered as he cleared his throat but you just giggled. “awh c’mon. our practice wasn’t that bad.” knowing full well you weren’t talking about the whole performance, but rather yourself.

oh but before games. you always make sure to catch up to him first before he gets on the field. wishing him luck and even winking at him that gets him blushing for the rest of the game. but when you wear his number for spirit days? he is over the moon.