#he didn’t say a fucking word lmao just loaded it in the truck gave a check and left

[floodlight-bridge]

This one took some doing and is one of the more unique gates I’ve ever made

[drabbles-mc]

Never Been Us

Angel Reyes x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, mentions of character death

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: the way i've been so blocked up and unable to finish fics and somehow i finished 2 in the last 2 days. no idea where it came from but I'm not questioning it. i started and finished this tonight. throwing it out there before i can second-guess myself lmao

When Angel rolled into your driveway and saw your front door open, the first thing that went through him was panic. You’d never been the type that was stupid or reckless enough to leave your front door open. And with the way that things had been going in Santo Padre, what with the club and the cartels and Border Patrol moving in, you were less likely than ever to leave yourself so vulnerable. Hell, lately whenever Angel showed up your door had not only been closed, but also locked.

Putting the stand down on his bike, he left his helmet hanging off the handlebar and started making his way towards your front door. He’d pulled his gun from his kutte before he even had one foot on your front step. He kept his breath trapped in the back of his throat as he clutched his gun tight. He kept it pointed down towards the ground for now, but he was ready for that to change.

He stepped through the threshold, one boot hitting the paper-thin throw rug just inside your door. It hardly muffled the sound. Before he could bring the other half of his body into your house, though, you popped up, quickly coming around the corner.

The sudden nature of both your appearances had you both cursing in surprise. You hugged the box in your hands tighter to your chest as your half-yell turned into a sigh of relief mixed with exhaustion. All of the emotions that just shot through you were evident as ever as you said, “What the fuck, Angel?”

His eyebrows were still practically in his hairline as he tucked his gun back away again. “The fuck you got your door open for? Had me thinkin’ someone fuckin’ broke—” He cut his own sentence off as he really took in the sight of you, the box in your hands that was hastily labeled BEDROOM. “What…?”

The confusion on his face made you unable to keep meeting his eyes. Your gaze dropped to the box you were holding, the seams of cardboard and tape suddenly more interesting than you would’ve ever imagined they’d be.  Even though you weren’t looking directly at him, you heard the way he was shifting in the doorway, looking back at your pickup truck. You knew he’d see the other boxes you’d already stacked in the bed of it. You weren’t quite done loading up yet, but you were getting there.

He waited for you to look at him again before asking, “What’s going on?”

There was only one answer to his question, and it was an obvious one. But you knew that if the shoe was on the other foot you’d be doing the same thing—you’d need to hear him say it. Clearing your throat, you gave a shrug that accomplished nothing in terms of softening the blow of, “I’m leaving.”

His frown deepened, confusion transforming into hurt that almost had you rethinking your decision to get the hell out of Santo Padre. “L-leaving? You can’t…you can’t just leave.”

“Angel—”

“Nah,” he shook his head, “nah you don’t get to do that. You can’t just leave. You didn’t even—were you even gonna tell me?”

The lump in the back of your throat felt like it was on the brink of choking you. “Yeah.”

“Before you crossed fuckin’ county lines?”

Tears stung your eyes. “Angel, please.”

He backpedaled out your doorway and back onto your front step. “Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that, like I fuckin’ matter to you.”

“You do—”

“You’re leaving me. You can’t stand there with your shit all boxed up,” he gestured to you and the bed of your truck, “and try to tell me I fuckin’ matter to you.”

There was no getting out of this argument now. It was an argument you’d been planning to have over the phone, an argument you were hoping would happen when there were more than a few area codes between you. You didn’t want it to be like this—not because he didn’t matter, but because he mattered too much. And you knew that if you had to look into those sad, puppy-dog eyes and tell him that you were leaving, and if you had to tell him why, you just might hang it all up and not leave at all. You couldn’t afford that.

There was no avoiding the argument but you didn’t want to do it while standing there holding a box that had books and trinkets from your bookshelf packed inside it.  You slipped past him without a word and walked down to your truck. Angel didn’t follow, hanging back and watching as you set the box on the tailgate and gave it a strong push to send it sliding and landing right alongside the others.

When you walked back past him and into your house, that was when he decided to follow you. He shut the door behind the two of you, following you through your now essentially empty home. It was strange for him to walk through your living room and not see all of your picture frames and plants, the art prints that had covered your walls. You stopped in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and facing him. You watched him look around, take in the fridge that was no longer covered in magnets and photographs and takeout menus. No more dishes in the sink or drainboard, no more succulents on the windowsill. Seeing it all empty made him remember that you were just renting this place anyway, that you could pack up and leave whenever you wanted. And now you were. Then the hurt and anger swelled up in his chest again.

“Why?” he asked.

You let out a hollow laugh, raking your fingernails along your scalp before letting your arms fall back to your sides again. “You’re really asking me that? This…this town is fucked, Angel. You know that. I know you’ve been waist-deep in your shit with the club but…but that’s the exact type of shit I’m talking about.”

“This town’s always been fucked, querida,” he tried to argue, tried to pepper in a pet name like it would change anything. “What’s so different now?”

The answer to that question made bile creep up your throat. You didn’t think that you could say it to him. Not the real answer, the raw unedited cut of it. “Everything,” you answered, a shake to your voice that was never there when you talked to him.

“C’mon,” he said, tone softer than it had been this entire time as he stepped in towards you. “Don’t leave me like this. Don’t do this to me.”

“This isn’t just about you.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. He put his hands on your hips, pulling himself closer to you. His voice dropped to something just above a whisper. “After all the shit we—”

“We?” you cut him off, not yelling but your tone cutting nonetheless. “We? You’re choosing now to start throwing that word around?”

His brows came together, offended and confused. “What’re you talkin’ about? It’s always been us.”

You laughed, a cruel sound as tears prickled along your waterline again. “Oh, has it? It’s always been us?”

“Yeah, what’re you—”

“It’s never been us, Angel. Never. It’s been you, chasing around every girl who stumbles into that clubhouse and then running back to me when you get bored of them. It’s been you going out being reckless with the club and then coming to me when you need someone to patch you up, someone to tell you that you’re right and they’re all wrong. It’s been you coming to me whenever it’s fucking convenient for you.” You pushed him away, a half-hearted shove. “And it’s been me fucking letting you.”

“I—”

“And I would’ve been fine still doing that. You know that? Fucking sad, but I would’ve done it. Would’ve just kept right on pretending that it was enough, or that it was going to change. But then—” you stopped short, still not able to spit the words out. “I just can’t do it anymore, Angel.”

Despite Angel’s lack of ability to really commit, to really let himself be with you in the way that you really wanted, he’d always done his best with what little he had for you. Over the years he’d been your shoulder to cry on, his flannels becoming tissues for you. He’d set you loose in the scrapyard when your anger bubbled up so much that you needed to break something because it was the only alternative you had to hurting yourself or someone else—even gave you the gloves and safety glasses to do it the right way. He’d kept the other side of your bed warm when you were both feeling lonely, making the lines defining what you two were really start to blur.

He’d been there with you through all of that and yet he hadn’t ever seen the emotion saturating your expression now. He’d never seen you so afraid. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, fists clenched as tightly as you could manage. Your leg bounced no matter how much you tried to will it to stop. He’d never seen you like this. How had it gotten so bad?

He stepped in close to you again. Placing his hands on the outsides of your arms, he gave you a light, reassuring squeeze. “What’s got you so scared?”

You shook your head, staring down at the floor because you couldn’t make yourself look at him. “I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t stay here. I can’t be comfortable here. I’m not…I’m not safe here.”

He brought one hand up to cup the side of your face. His thumb traced gently along your cheek in a way that made your bottom lip tremble. “I’ll always keep you safe, querida. You know that.”

He sounded so earnest but you knew too much now to be able to believe it. You’d tried. God, you had tried so hard to buy into that the last few weeks but you just couldn’t fool yourself. “I don’t.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Tears finally made their way to your cheeks, racing along the lines of Angel’s hand as it remained holding your face. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t even want to think about it, but it’s all that was playing through your mind. Truthfully, it was the thing that had been playing through your mind every day since it had happened.

You could still hear it so vividly, the sound of him pounding on the door to your house. It hadn’t been his bike engine that woke you up, it was his aggressively frantic knocking on your front door. Looking back you were surprised that he hadn’t slammed it clean off its hinges. You were also surprised that you hadn’t tripped and fallen half a dozen times on your way to the front door from your bedroom because your eyes weren’t fully open and you weren’t anywhere close to fully awake.

“Alright, alright!” you half-shouted from your side of the door. You dumbly fiddled with the locks until they came undone.

Angel practically threw himself through the door. He was haphazardly grabbing for you, leaving for you to try and untangle yourself from his long limbs just to be able to close and lock the door again. You’d hardly heard the click of the lock and he was pulling you tight to him. He had his arms wrapped around you in such a way that you couldn’t even effectively hug him back. You just pressed your cheek against his hoodie, helpless to do anything else.

“Talk to me,” you said, managing to free one of your arms so that you could do your best to return his embrace.

He mumbled something into your shoulder, words that you couldn’t make out. He finally pulled back away from you, far enough so that you could see his face, the smears of blood that disappeared into the coarse hairs of his beard.

“It’s all my fault,” the words fell from his lips, raspy and choked as he repeated the sentence over and over again. “It’s all my fault. I, it’s all my fuckin’ fault.”

“What’s your fault, Angel?”

The sound of you saying his name got him to look at you, tears in his eyes and worry creasing his brow deeper than you thought was possible. His stare was so sad, so intense it had you pinned to the spot. Even when he pulled away from you, you felt like you couldn’t step in close to him again, feet glued to the floor. That was when you saw it, though, all the blood standing his palms and fingers.

You swallowed hard, what little exhaustion had still been clinging to you completely froze away. “Angel, talk to me. What happened?”

He looked down at his hands and then back at you. he knew what you were seeing, could only imagine what you were thinking. “I didn’t—it wasn’t supposed to go down like that. I tried to save her but I couldn’t…”

You finally forced yourself to move. You collapsed the distance he’d put between you. “Who?”

“Gaby,” he forced out, shaking his head in disbelief as he did.

Fear shot down your spine. “What?”

“It’s all my fault,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have—I tried to—fuck,” his voice cracked and he gave up on trying to say anything else.

You had wanted more answers in the moment, but back then you hadn’t been able to ask for them. Instead you cleaned him up. You threw his clothes in the wash. You let him slip underneath the covers next to you and keep you wrapped up so tightly for what little was left of the night that you couldn’t even fall back to sleep. The next morning he was still there, eyes hollow as he made a pot of coffee in your kitchen. That morning he was standing almost exactly where he was standing right in front of you now.

Forcing yourself to stay in the present, you finally said, “You know what happened.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Everyone’s fuckin’ dying, Angel. I, I don’t wanna be next.”

“Hey, come on now. You know I’d never let that shit happen to you.”

You scoffed, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “I’m sure that’s what EZ told Gaby, too.”

Angel flinched at that, immediately deflating. You had never brought it up again after that night. Neither did he. Weeks went by and the two of you seemingly went back to normal, like that entire night had never happened. But it did happen. Gaby was dead—that part you knew. What you didn’t know, what Angel hadn’t told you, was that EZ was the one who had killed her. Angel blamed himself, especially after EZ had told him what his final conversation with Gaby had been, why he had decided it was the only thing to do. Angel was carrying around all that guilt but he hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger. That was all EZ. That was all the guy who had promised to keep Gaby safe.

His voice was a whisper as he spoke, like he didn’t even fully believe himself. “This ain’t like that, though.”

“But it is,” you said, voice shaking. “Or it will be. That’s what this town, this world,” you rested your hand on the flash stitched into his kutte as you said it, “does. I can’t keep feeling like I’m on borrowed time.”

He sniffled, trying to stuff his emotions back down where he used to keep them so comfortably. “So you’re just gonna leave, then? Run away?”

You knew he wanted an argument. Being angry was so fucking easy. You didn’t want to give into it. “If it keeps me alive, then yes. I lo—” you stopped and switched course, “I care about you, Angel. But I’m not looking to die for anyone. I’m not…I’m not made for this.”

He was holding your face with both hands now, palms that just a few weeks before had been coated with blood. “Don’t leave me like this. Please.”

“Come with me.” It was your final offer, one you hadn’t planned on extending until the words were tumbling out.

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Come with me.” You rested your hands on top of his. “Get out and away from all this shit. We’ll start over.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

You threaded your fingers with his. “It is. Pack up your shit and throw it in my truck. And we’ll leave. That simple.”

He pulled his hands away from yours, stepping back from you again. Shaking his head, he brushed his hand quickly across his eyes—erasing any hint of tears and emotion that had been there until then. “I’m not running just ‘cause you are.”

“Maybe you should. Or maybe,” you shrugged helplessly, “maybe it was never about me—not for you, anyway.”

That gave him pause. He tried to get his expression to harden, give that tough, neutral gaze, but he couldn’t get it quite right. “I shouldn’t’a come here.” He shook his head. “Should’a let you run off with no goodbye the way you wanted.”

“Angel—”

He took another step back, getting himself closer and closer to your front door one stride at a time. “Go ahead, then. Get the fuck out—away from this town, away from me. Fuckin’…fuckin’ go.”

He turned on his heel and kept walking. It took a few seconds to will your feet to move, to go after him. Even with his long strides you were able to catch up before he reached the door.

“Angel.” You stepped in front of him. “Stop.”

You saw the mist in his eyes. Still, he tried to keep his voice sharp. “You’re leaving. No point in me staying here to watch you pack up the rest of your shit.”

You opened your mouth to try and say something else, try to conjure up something that would get him to change his mind. He didn’t let you. Pushing past you, he ripped open your door and stormed out of the house. Maybe it was just as well—it wasn’t as though you were going to come up with a magical string of words to get him to leave with you. Still, the impact of his shoulder slamming against yours hurt far more on an emotional level than it did on a physical one.

Turning, you went out onto the step. Your lip began to quiver as you watched him throw his leg over his bike and get ready to peel off. The sound of the engine seemed deafening, and you wonder how it hadn’t woken you on that night weeks ago. Then it got quieter the farther he rode. Then it was silent again. And all you could do was walk back inside to get the next box, leaving the door open behind you.

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[lovedeluxe92]

okay so i started working at jimmy johns in early febuary of this year. i needed a job rlly bad and money desperately, just something to keep me afloat and to afford food. what i experienced...i was not at all prepared for lmao. i was sexually harassed, verbally harassed, had my hours fucked with, had management and even the owners of the company who could give a fuck less about their employees, had to deal with my fellow coworkers AND managers being on k2 and other drugs, and the final fucking straw which was getting my tip money stolen from me OUT OF THE SAFE BY A MANAGER. i started working as a delivery driver. which was INCREDIBLY stress inducing at first bc i worked at the one right downtown. i had to deal with

i started working as a delivery driver. which was INCREDIBLY stress inducing at first bc i worked at the one right downtown. i had to deal with

traffic, pedestrians NOT LOOKING WHERE THE FUCK THEY WERE GOING DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PPL I ALMOST KILLED CAUSE /THEY/ DID NOT LOOK, we have ‘parking police’ and i legit got about 15-20 tickets during my time there bc that asshole was out for blood and anytime he saw my car, even if i wasnt parked illegally (oh did i mention we had like 3 parking spots all on the street and all with a 2 hour limit (: ) or hadnt been parked in a spot for the full 2 hours. so there was that. 

see when i first started everything was fine. we had good employees who worked hard and did what they had to do. they were all stoners, but whatever i could care less about that. SO. our assistant manager, he was a mess. racist, homophobic, rude, loud. the worst. we would do dabs out in his car (yeah i know but i worked at a fucking jimmy johns) and he would just say the most questionable shit. i remember this one time he saw my phone background was a pic of me and my bf and was like ‘oh you like black guys? what’s your sex like? i bet it’s really good’ and im not gonna go into too much detail here, bc it upset me and its racist,  but he kept going and said some REALLY creepy shit i was like wtf and told him to never speak to me like that again or i would report him for sexual harassment (side note: one time he thought i did report him for sexual harassment and was like “who are you gonna buy weed from now?” LITERALLY ANYONE YOU PIECE OF SHIT.) he would always be like “DAMN THICK’ whenever i would bend over and do everything. I TOLD MY MANAGER AT THE TIME. she  didn’t do anything. AND the owners of the franchise definitely knew bc like...there’s cameras and they can hear everything we say? but no one did fucking anything. and i needed the money bad so i had to stay. of course i told him off constantly. he was white and always saying the n word. just a piece of fucking shit. 

i think the happiest day of my life was when he FINALLY got fired. my manager had to go to another city for a week and help out that jimmy johns bc i guess ALL the employees and managers did a walk out (yeah this happens at all the jimmy johns owned locally in my area i wish i was kidding) and left his inept ass in charge. it took him 5 mins to make sandwiches (FREAKY FAST hello????) he was just a poor manager. but THEN he started using k2 again. and he was a zombie. there was no point of him even being there bc like he would just go to the back of the store and just stand in front of the freezer door staring for like 10-15 mins at a time.i was a driver and didnt know how to make sandwiches yet and this bitch seriously was just standing there cracked out of his mind on k2 in FRONT of customers (and i will say our customers were SO nice at least) takking phone calls slurring his words. it was embarrassing. i rememeber i had 2 customers who had waited almost a HALF HOUR for ONE sandwich bc i was having a panic attack and losing my fucking mind trying to make their sandwiches while he was in his truck getting high and refusing to come in. one of the customers actually gave me a tip and told me i was doing great and the other one was like ‘im so sorry this is happening to you, that guy is  fucked up’. anyway, he passed out on k2 in his truck one night and got the cops called on him and got banned from the property :) i still saw him from time to time and he looked disgusting & miserable and it made me so happy. 

mostly we just had grown ass employees, fucking 30 year olds, just acting like children. always on drugs. i had one coworker pretend to slap my ass and i called him out and he was like ‘it’s a joke im not apologizing’. people would try to take deliveries from me. AND LET ME JUST SAY, not even to fucking brag even slighly but i was the best worker there my entire time there bc regardless of where im working i am giving my 100% every day and no one else there would. but ppl always tried to step over me and did not respect me. we had one coworker who had 3 felonies and one day like 4-5 cops came to our store to tell us to call the cops the next time he showed up for work (surprise surprise he fled bc they took an hour to get to the store despite the fact we were literally like not even 4 blocks from the police station) and he was always high on k2. forever late. day after day no call no show. he had his friend get hired on who would go down to subway and talk shit about subway in his uniform??? lmao and subway called us one day and was like ‘can yall not?’ he also threatened to burn down the store and then my manager (who was always on a power trip if we’re being honest) purposefully withheld his paycheck to fuck with him, because he was fucking with her, so we dealt with him WAY longer than we should have? 

then this one bitch that became manager, SOMEHOW, we were seriously always that desperate for staff and we hire anyone bc the managers are overworked af and just want to take the load off. anyway, SHE was always high on k2 as well. and she would always overshare rlly traumatic personal things from her life to me and all the customers and its like....girl we dont wanna hear that pls try and get some help. she was not currently being abused, i wanna specify. she was talking about things from her past. i sympathized with her but like im a victim of dv too lmao i dont wanna see your bruises without being asked first. and then i remember one day i left my money bag there (i kept my tips in it and had like $37 in there or something) and this bitch who was making MORE MONEY THAN ME seriously fucking went into the safe (we caught her on camera lmao) and stole that money out of my bag and left a few bills to make it seem less suspicious i guess??? lied about it to my face? then quit bc she ‘wasnt gonna sit there and be accused of something i didnt do’ like ok lmao

then to top it all off at one point my old manager just stopped giving a fuck and the store went to shit and we got complaint after complaint and she started being so rude to all of her staff, including myself (and we were like besties so i was devastated) and she cut my hours when she was submitting our work times for the checks because i would clock in early to help out....LIKE SHE ASKED? and it was just everything i said to her...her response was just the most rude and hateful voice and just....it was so rude. i cried every single day after work. she eventually got replaced and then quit 

but then this new manager, whom i loved, was very depressed and just had a lot wrong with him mentally but he was still very....drama starting and attention seeking. he would talk about suicide nonstop 24/7 and not to be callous but it just made me so uncomfortable and triggered me so much? they did overwork him and i will attest and agree to that and he had a lot on his shoulders but he couldve gone to mcdonalds literally any day and gotten a job with better hours, better pay, and better benefits. i kept telling him over and over to leave bc he had so much managerial experience he couldve been hired anywhere! all resteraunts down here are perpetually hiring, especially for managers! i would know bc i was looking for another job lmao. but he’d text me every night saying things like ‘well lets hope i drink myself to death’ ‘suicide is painless’ etc. and it was just......VERY uncomfortable for me, as someone who has attempted suicide and still struggles with ideation from time to time lmao it was just the most triggering environment ever 

like idk how i lasted that long but i worked my ass off, saved up my money, have a good paying job and im trying my best to forget this entire experience (honestly i did have some good times) but i really dont....think i can lmao 

ON A POSTIVE NOTE: we had some of the kindest and most caring customers ive ever had in my life. i was shocked. but the amount of times i had a shitty customer in my entire time there i can count on one hand lmao like....even when they were shitty they were like ‘im sorry i know yall work hard and everything’ like i miss my customers SO MUCH because we actually had relationships with them and shit and ugh god. if the customers were shitty tho i would never have kept this job lmfao 

i stayed at this job simply bc i made enough money for rent and my bills perfectly and it was one of the few jobs where i was paid an hourly wage + tips. and i wanted my next job to be a job in my field. that’s why i stuck around so long, it took some time to do that.

so yeah theres my mess i love anyone who read this and you can have my first born and be the beneficiary to my life insurance when i die

[le-sejour]

Assumptions

Words: 1,530+

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, cheesy/bad flirting, kinda sexual thoughts lmao, my writing AHAHA

A/N: Just wanted to do a funny little TJeffs imagine bc I can’t seem to have enough of the imagines out there. So I decided to add my own prompt based one to the mix. :>

The prompts I used:

45 - Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

171 - “I’m sorry, what were you saying? I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

And

208 -  “It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.”

I hope you guys like it! c’:

Being a Hamilton was a lot of work.

More specifically, being the younger sister of a protective, overachieving Hamilton was a lot of work.

The words on your book seemed to swirl together into an incoherent mess, your eyes straining to make sense of the chaos. Groaning, you shut your notebook dejectedly and reclined in your seat.

None of this made sense to you, at all, but of course you have to keep trying.

It’s what Hamiltons do.

Or at least, you did. Your brother didn’t have to try, he probably would have been done learning this chapter weeks ago. You felt the familiar pull of anxiety pressuring you into becoming at par with your older brother but you desperately pushed it down before it could come up.

Leaning further back against your seat earned you a satisfying crack. How long have you been hunched over this dumb book anyway? Checking your phone, your eyes widened at your notifications and the time.

“Christ…” You muttered, miserably staring at the “8 missed calls” seeming to taunt you. It was nearing midnight and you’ve been chilling in the coffee shop by your campus for more than 12 hours now. Alex was going to be pissed.

Not that he even had a reason to, anyway. Your apartment was just down the road from where you were. But that doesn’t deter his innate need to become both your mother and father all at once; fussing over you before scolding you for being out so late. You sighed, stuffing your things into your bag leisurely.

Well, you were already in for a treat at this rate. Might as well take your time. You just hoped the boys were there with him to somehow soften the blow, knowing only they could reign in your brother when he gets like that.

Why oh why did you even insist on taking this elective this semester, anyway? You were already juggling a full courseload and a part time gig at a campus food truck, you didn’t need any more reason to go bald. And yet, here you were.

Absentmindedly, you tossed your half empty coffee cup into your bag before the realization dawned on you that you should not have done that.

“Shit!” You quickly fished out the now empty cup from your bag, letting out another long string of expletives as you yanked your things from the now slightly damp bag in panic.

“Do you mind?”

“Go suck a fat dick, asshole.” You replied almost instantly, wiping down your laptop with already soggy tissues before groaning. Letting out a whispered “duh”, you sprinted to the counter to grab some dry ones this time.

“What are you doing?” When you returned to your table, this mass of curls and rudeness was holding your precious baby in his hands as if he owned the damn thing. With your brain already in a tizzy with just seeing a stranger holding the lifeblood of your education, all that came out of your mouth was a “That’s not yours.”

“Your welcome, darlin’.” He teased with a smirk on his face as he handed you your now dry laptop. “I suggest using whatever lives inside the space between your ears next time. Would be a shame if this happened again and the guy you told to eat a dick didn’t help you out.”

That seemed to kickstart your brain into functioning again.

“Yeah well I didn’t ask you to come here and try to play hero, did I?” You glared at the man you now recognized as Thomas Jefferson, the bane of your brother’s existence. Or so he says, anyway. You’ve had two classes with the guy, and you can kinda see what your brother was talking about. “Why are you even here, Jefferson? Shouldn’t you be off kicking puppies and making babies cry or something?”

“Now whatever gave you the idea that I spent my leisure time doing something so… unsavory?” He asked, his brows furrowing in confusion for a split second before a smug look replaced it. It had happened so fast, you weren’t sure if it even happened. “Besides, the only babe I want to hear crying tonight would be you, doll.”

“I-“ You felt your cheeks heat up from his comment, naively not expecting the man to make any lewd comments at your expense. You decided to busy yourself with wiping your bag down instead of standing there, looking like a blushing fool. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. Besides, shouldn’t you be more… I dunno, ‘I’m not talking to the peasants’ kind of guy?”

“You seem to be making quite the assumptions about me and yet, I haven’t even had the pleasure of getting your name.” He pointed out in a charming little drawl that had your stomach flipping pancakes.

Fuck.

Okay, hey, you weren’t going to lie. The man was attractive as fuck, from the head of curls to his dark, commandeering eyes, carefully trimmed facial hair, and that body. God. Let’s not forget that voice, though, a honeyed baritone that sent your stomach postively churning with desire, and good Lord his accent just amplifyed it all. (MY VOICE KINK IS SHOWING I’M SORRY) His attitude, however, could use a little (okay a LOT of) polishing.

But what’s the harm in indulging yourself a little bit? You know you could never fall for the man, his personality alone repels your heart from that very notion (aka he’s an asshole and you’d rather not get involved with all that). Enjoying the attention, however, doesn’t necessarily involve that certain part of you.

“[Name]” You praised yourself for not stuttering, wadding up the soiled tissues into a ball before once again loading your stuff into your now coffee stained bag. “And I suppose you’re right, I am boxing you into my assumptions. Can you blame me though? Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy on campus, and your actions don’t exactly redeem you, either.”

A meticulously groomed eyebrow rose at your words, a smirk still on his lips as he leaned against the table, “You’ve been watching me? Why Miss [Name], I must say, I didn’t expect that from you. Though I can’t say it’s entirely unwelcomed. You’re free to watch me as long as you’d like, darlin’.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Jefferson,” You rolled your eyes, slinging your coffee stained bag onto your shoulders now. “We have a couple of classes together. And really, that’s enough to see what everyone’s always going on about.”

“Oh?” Thomas looked like he was mildly interested to hear your thoughts of him. He’s never really noticed you during classes, as he opted to sit with his friend James Madison up front, but hearing you talk so candidly about who you think he is both amused him and intrigued him. If you had been anyone else, especially Alexander, he would have already put you in your place yesterday.

“You’re arrogant, abrasive, and you seem to think so little of everyone who isn’t you. You constantly intentionally get into fights with Alexander, you have this habit, or should I say hobby?, of using people like pawns on a chessboard, and-”

Now, there were a few things you need to know about Thomas. One of which is that he prides himself in always coming to classes, meetings, dates, and what have yous, in the perfect state of mind and on time. But as he stared at you going off about how he was practically one with the scum of the earth, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to focus on anything you were saying.

Instead, he noticed the way your lips moved as you formed the words that sullied his good name. He etched into memory the way your eyes blazed with passion as you continued your tirade on him, and the way your eyebrows furrowed when you-

“-ot listening anymore, are you?”

“I’m sorry, what were you saying? I keep getting lost in your eyes.” He silently applauded himself at the smooth recovery, throwing in a wink for good measure. He couldn’t seem to help it though, he’s never seen anyone talk shit about him while looking so beautiful. Not to mention, you hardly sounded like you had some personal vendetta against him. That meant you were about as much threat to him as a baby rabbit.

Aaaand there goes the pancakes in your stomach again.

Fuck.

You bit your lip, willing the flames in your cheeks to die down before they blossomed on them once more. Feeling that you were going to lose that battle, you hurried to move past him, heading for the door.

“Y’know, Jefferson? It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line. It’s sad, really. And to think I believed the rumors about your skills.”

Oh ho! He felt his smirk stretch into a very smug, very self-satisfied grin. If that wasn’t an invitation to prove you wrong.

“Back here on Wednesday at 4pm. I’ll show you exactly why those rumors came about.”

Without answering, you walked out the door knowing one Thomas Jefferson was still lounging on that table with the most conceited, wolfish smile he could muster because he knew. Oh he knew very well that you were coming back. The bastard.

You felt your heart flutter at the thought.

F u c k.

FIN

[shigironki]

What time do I have for this. - I’ve finally seen the new Batman: telltale series and gosh, I just couldn’t hold back from writing him! Of course, this is ocXcannon, so bewared. And I’ve made him just a tad emotional. Spoilers!  - characters: Edward Nigma, Hallie Wilkerson (batman oc) Words: 9,610 (i never write this much lmao) warnings: none -

Work. A word most people would fear, hell, even cringed when said. But to Hallie, it was a safe haven surprisingly, just sitting down and writing down the interviews most of the doctors did in Arkham. It was interesting, to say. Reading what most inmates say and what had happened to make them the person they are today, almost most lead to abuse and drugs, some even did the outrageous crime to get money. It reminds her of what she used to be at times. Griffin. A name most people thinking of a golden and fiery dress, who stood by the Riddler. A goddess some would say. Even some of the staff brings her up, saying how they’d killed to fit a dress like that, and how she got away with most things. It made her blush a bit, and quite grateful. It’s been years now since then. The night she hid the dress in her apartment, never to see it again.Too many memories to bring up, nights that her and Edward would spend, dancing and loving. As much as she wished to forget him, thinking about the dress brought memories of him. It stung horribly, more horrible than any bullet wound she had gotten, or even scratches. But it’s done for now. She has upgraded in Arkham, recovered from croc, still has her stable mental, and a life of no more crimes. She doesn’t need him… Even if it hurts to say, or lie to herself. It was nearly one when she had a knock at her door, as Gordon went towards her desk as he opened the office. “Ms. Wilkerson.” He said with a sturdy tone. “Mr. Gordon, what do I owe for this meeting?” She sat back on her chair, taking off her reading glasses and looking up at him with a smile, twirling a pen between her robotic hands. She was 38, birthday close to date. She grew, hair turning grey due to heavy loads of work, and bags starting to form more under eyes. “We got some bad news, and we might need your help” He stated. She raised an eyebrow by this, never having most GCPD officers enter her office, nor having some say they need help. Gordon sighed, hands in his pockets, “Riddler’s back. Crashed one of the casinos in downtown,” He said. “I need you to give me the interviews you had with him, maybe a lead as to why he returned to Gotham.” Her eyes widened, a pen dropping from her hand as her expression looked shocked. “He’s already killed one person from that, and tried to kill an arms dealer, but Batman took care of that, thank god.” “Y-yeah.. Thank god..” Her voice went soft, “Wait, how do we even know if he’s back? Are you sure it’s.. Him?” She scooted up close to her desk, her voice stern. “It was him, no one else has the energy to learn riddles and kill people when they don’t get it.” He looked at her heavy. She took in everything he had said, it was all so sudden. It felt like bricks hit her chest. She gulped, sighed in, “Yes, Mr. Gordon, I can help you with this case. I can drop off the tapes by the GCPD by noon tomorrow - or well, today.” She looked at the clock. He nodded, “Thank you, Hallie. I know it isn’t right to throw this onto you all so sudden, but we have to figure this out.” He said. She nodded. Before heading out, he looked at her, “Hallie, I know this whole thing will burden you. But you’ve become better without him, and I’m proud of you.” A click from the door, and her thoughts went haywire. Her eyes were still widen, her mind trying to take in everything at once. Part of her is pure pissed, what fucking right does he have to come back to Gotham? The rest is.. Thankful. He’s not dead, he hasn’t gotten killed. Both of the feelings were at war with each other. That begs the question; why. Why DID he come back? She knew well he couldn’t have gotten on parole so easily, or even hide out and suddenly pop out like nothing happened. Hallie sighed, she knew she couldn’t get any work done due to this, and had no energy to even put in anymore criminal records, or tapes. But she still sat there, trying her damn hardest to take in everything like a sponge. Only if that sponge didn’t have a gaping hole in it.. Taking in one more sigh, she got up, looking around if anything needed to be brought home, but nothing came to mind. Going through her hair lightly, her eyes went heavy quick. Every damn memory was back with him. Worse, she kept those damn tapes in the same box with the dress. This is gonna be hard, she thought. It was minutes, maybe ten, after she started to push her chair in, logging off her computer, and soon heading towards the door, when a knock on the door came. Light knocks, three knuckles on the wooden door. Hallie’s head popped up from her desk, her hands hovering from her keyboards, eyebrows raised. Did Gordon forget something? “Come in?” She said in a questionable tone, standing tall, as she walked towards the door, her hand twisting the doorknob, walking back. Nothing. No one was in the doorway, or hallway either. Confused, she closed the door, muttering to herself as she turned around, as she saw a hooded figure in her office, a shriek from her echoed. Falling back abit, she grabbed the doorknob and looked at the man with fear and anger. How the hell did he come in here? Was.. No, no one was in the hallway, she thought. The man smirked, “What do you say when you meet a ghost in your room..?” His voice was calm, snarky.. She regained herself, her eyes curious, “Who.. Are you..?” The man giggled, “No.. I do believe what the answer to it was; How you do you boo? For someone who teamed up with the Riddler, I’d expect you to be.. Smart?” He cracked a small laugh. A punch to the gut it felt, to hear him say that.. “Edward..” She said quietly.. Her eyes widen, her voice cracking abit. “Who else would tell you those riddles..?” He walked towards her, his cane hitting the floor lightly, his footsteps reaching hers as she now stood inform of her. “Aging hasn’t been so nice to you, it seems.” He said, as he took down his hood lightly, grey strands on the side of his hair, blood from his nose went all over his face as he gave a gentle smile. She couldn’t speak, her throat stung as she felt tears came to her, her hands shaking horribly as she stepped with caution, seeing him. She didn’t want to believe this, she couldn’t. He’s been gone.. Her Riddler’s been gone for so long.. “I-i.. Eddie..” She went close to him, her hands wrapping his face as she took in everything, tears going down her face. She guessed he noticed when his facial expression went worriedsom. “Where.. The hell..” Her expression went fury, gripping his face hard as she choked back tears. Anger arose from her like a fire, she was hurt by this man. How the hell could he leave without telling her? “Woah-” “Did you GO!” She screamed, “I’ve been fucking waiting for you. I’ve been fucking LOOKING FOR YOU!” He went expressionless, taking in the words she said. He honestly would’ve liked a “Hello” instead of this. “I’ve been knee deep in fucking depression, thinking it was all my fault! Thinking that I wasn’t good enough for you!” She threw her fist to the ground, eyes red at this point, “I thought you died for godsake! I’ve been numb for all these damn years, and to never get a damn heads up from what, my damn significant other?!” Still silent. “SAY SOMETHING!” She screamed, her voice cracking once more. “Hallie.” Edward said, “I..” Her face went annoyed, everything was shaking, she couldn’t control herself at this point. It was a mixture of a panic attack and pure anger. “I want a damn answer.” “You get none.” She looked surprised, “What the hell does that mean?!” Edward stroked his hand gently on her face, feeling the heat and shivers that came. “I needed to show you that I wasn’t harmed, nor dead. I know this is late - very late, but still.” Her expression didn’t change one bit. “But,” He stated, “Let me fix this.” “Why would I let you? You’re just gonna leave me for years on end until im on my death bed.” He sighed, “Let me show you atleast, and if you still feel anger towards me, I’ll leave you be.” She looked away abit, her eyes going soft, breathing going back to normal step by step. The tears never stopped, the pain he caused for so long finally hit her full on, like a truck. Should she even believe him? After a minute of silence, she sighed heavily, sniffling, she looked at him stern and heavily. “.. Fine. You have 34 hours to prove yourself.” He smiled, and before he could give her a hug, she pushed him back. “But here’s a riddle, my dear beloved; what is it that you ought to keep after you have given it to someone else?” She said, eyes sharp as she looked at him. This was easy; “Trust.” He said. “That’s what I’m giving you. Break it, as in leaving me once more, and I’ll make sure to ruin everything.” A sharp pain went through him, “You wouldn’t do that, Hallie.” She smirked, “You changed me, don’t you know? I’m not a softie, I’m not gonna have my love torn apart. So that’s the deal, got it?” He thought for a moment, was she even worth it? Edward sighed, “Yes.” He held out his hand, only to be greeted with a warm hug by her, arms wrapped around his neck. Surprised, he shook off the shock, running his hands through her hair gently as he took in everything. He knew running away wasn’t good, nor was it for her. Edward knew she should’ve known, but how could you tell the love of your life that you’re in a security jail and never know if you’re getting out, and revenge flowing you? He closed his eyes, as he hugged her hard, gentle love was in the room. He had 34 hours to prove his worth to the girl who loved him, for a girl who he had changed.