#smile though your heart is aching (harley)

[twistedtangledfate]

New muses being added following poll results;

Aphrodite - beauty in foam and form (aphrodite)

Arobynn - the cunning master (arobynn)

Harley Quinn - smile though your heart is aching (harley)

[laurfilijames]

Pick Me Up

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Unprotected intercourse. Hair pulling.

Summary: After being apart for over a week due to his obligations to the club, Jax surprises you by picking you up from work and taking you for a ride.

A/N: I wanna ride with Jax on his bike and then get absolutely destroyed by him, okay?

(Reader is not described other than having hair long enough to blow in the wind and be pulled)

---

The word terrible didn’t touch how your week had been so far.

You said goodnight to your coworker who lingered behind, your exhaustion and irritation unable to be hidden from your voice even though it was only a few words, and you slung your bag over your shoulder as your heavy feet carried you down the hallway and out the back door.

The sun was still hot, and you paused and closed your eyes for a minute, taking a deep breath as you let its warmth shine on you, having arrived at work before it had even risen and not stepped foot outside the building all day.

It felt rejuvenating, and you felt the tension in your neck and shoulders fall away as you reopened your eyes and took a step forward again, walking around the corner to where your car was parked while wondering if you should treat yourself to some take out for dinner tonight. Then you remembered the chicken and salad you had in the fridge, feeling guilty if you let it go to waste, and sighed, thinking how you just wanted this week to be over, having not gotten any of the things you wanted anyway.

You flipped your keys around the ring that you held in your hand, the one for your car now secured between your thumb and index finger, ready to unlock it and start your drive home.

That’s when you noticed him.

Part of the contributing factor to your sour mood was leaning against his Harley, smoking the last of his cigarette while his blond hair glowed like a halo on his head, his crooked smile greeting you as he squinted in the sunlight and stood.

It had been nine days since you last laid eyes on Jax.

Nine agonizing days that had you questioning everything you had with the gorgeous outlaw, and despite how much you wanted to give him hell, everything in you felt relieved to see him.

He strutted over to you, flicking the butt of his cigarette on the pavement as he made his approach, his cocky swagger never ceasing to make heat rise up through your body.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“Well, this is a surprise,” you quipped, tilting your head as you watched him deflate slightly and look down at his pristine white sneakers, kicking a pebble before looking back at you with a shrug.

“I’m sorry.”

You nodded, not trusting your words to come out like ice.

“I miss you,” he added softly, closing the space between you where he gently grabbed your elbow and rested his forehead against yours, the contact making your stomach burst with butterflies while your heart ached in your chest.

“I miss you too,” you admitted, unable to deny it or keep it in despite telling yourself countless times that you wouldn’t give in so easily this time.

He smiled again, the rise of the corner of his mouth pulling out the crease on his cheek you missed so much, bringing your finger up to trace it before he pulled you into a hug and swayed on the spot with you.

You found yourself relaxing in his embrace, essentially melting into him as you always did, letting your cheek rest against the soft flannel shirt that he wore under his kutte, and you nuzzled yourself further into him, inhaling his scent of smoke, fresh laundry and cologne, your hands slipping beneath his shirt to card up his back.

“So, what are you doing here, Jax?” you asked, parting from him enough to see his face.

“I wanted to pick my girl up from work…make up for lost time…”

You smiled, watching his cheeks blush as his blue eyes moved down to look at your lips.

“Don’t think I was happy being away from you for that long either,” he explained, moving in close to you again while grabbing your ass at the same time.

“Jax!” You squirmed, checking behind you to make sure there was no one around who could be looking.

His chuckle sang to you, and when he angled his face down to capture your lips, you forgot about caring if anyone saw.

He pressed his hips into you as he deepened your kiss, claiming your mouth in a way that made you dizzy, his hands moving to hold either side of your face as he indulged in what he was clearly genuine in having missed.

“Come on,” he spoke in a lazy drawl, pulling away ever so slightly so that his lips still hovered on yours. “I’m taking you for a ride.”

You bit your lower lip, excited for your adventure while hoping he meant that in more ways than one, following him over to his bike with your hand secured in his.

Jax unclipped the spare helmet you always wore from the back and placed it on your head, gently feeding the strap through the loops to fasten it, the simple touch of his fingers on your chin making you yearn for him even though he was so close.

“There,” he said, smiling at you again when he had finished securing your helmet with the snap at the end of the strap, leaning in to kiss you softly. “You ready?”

You hummed and nodded, returning his smile as he winked at you and reached for his own helmet.

He sat on his bike, adjusting himself on the seat while he turned the key in the ignition and flicked the switch to the fuel pump, the loud, powerful rumble of the engine vibrating through you when it started up.

Jax looked over his shoulder at you and titled his head for you to hop on, gripping the handlebars with both hands as you positioned yourself behind him and he lifted the kickstand with his foot. You scooched forward until you were flush with his body, the sensation of your core pressing against him something you had been missing desperately, and you had no shame in tucking your hands up under his layers of shirts so they splayed out on his bare skin, feeling the trail of coarse hairs that disappeared in his jeans with your fingertips.

Riding with Jax was equally calming and exhilarating, feeling safe as you rested your cheek on his shoulder, but also free with how the wind made your hair fly, the gusts pressing against your body with powerful force as you traveled against it. He was no different; a risk, dangerous, but providing all you needed to feel like you were actually living, each moment spent with him making you come alive while simultaneously enveloping you in the safety of his arms, the proximity to his circumstance another thing that had your life walking the line between threatened and protected.

Despite it all, you would always choose him, knowing he would, and always had, chosen you over everything else, nothing able to stand in your way.

His hand dropped to rest on your thigh as he cruised, and you held him closer to you even though you had the freedom to ease up on your grip around his waist at this speed, feeling his stomach move as he chuckled.

Pulling up to a stop sign, Jax placed his foot down on the road, pausing even though no other vehicles were around to wait for. He twisted as much as he could, his head turning to look over his shoulder at you, his smile warming your soul as it always did.

“You okay back there?”

“Perfect,” you replied, seeing his grin grow wider, his eyes scrunching up at the sides.

“Hey,” he said, tapping his cheek with his finger and puckering his lips, requesting a kiss from you.

You happily did, pressing your lips into the blond scruff on his rosy cheek, feeling him hum against you.

It obviously wasn’t enough to satisfy him though, angling his face even more so he could reach your lips with his, his tongue dancing briefly in your mouth that sparked even more want and longing in you.

A car honked, annoyed and impatient with your obliviousness to the rules of the road, making you break your kiss earlier than you both wanted.

Jax scoffed and gave the driver the finger, earning another blare of the horn that made you laugh and bury your face in the crook of his neck, your lips gently pressing against his heated skin.

“Just fucking go then!” he yelled at the driver. “Jesus Christ…” he chuckled, shaking his head as he patted your thigh. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Where are we going?”

He smirked, a bit of mischief sparkling in his blue eyes, “I’m taking you home, baby.”

You bit your lip in anticipation of the promises held in his voice and his eyes, readjusting your hold around his torso as he pushed off the pavement and rolled through the intersection, turning left to head back into town and in the direction of home.

Golden rays still cast down on you as you rumbled along, the glow of the setting sun even more of a glorious view from the open air of his motorcycle, but nothing ever compared to him.

You squealed when Jax opened it up, twisting the throttle to add more speed, the bike easing forward smoothly but still a noticeable enough change to make your stomach jump. His laugh sounded out over the noise of the bike and the roar of the wind in your ears, making you giggle in response and smile harder, your hair catching on your parted lips as it blew around your face when he pushed his bike to go even faster.

“Hold on, darlin’!”

Those exact words were said again now, only his tone was completely different.

He was out of breath and panting, each word slow to come out and decorated by his efforts, his low grunts of pleasure a contrast to how bright and playful his warning had been earlier.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised from behind you, watching as you took hold of the headboard in front of you for support.

Jax gripped your hips and pulled you back, forcing your bum up and against his groin while your back sank into an exaggerated dip, seating himself even deeper inside your cunt that he had already been buried in for the better part of an hour now.

Resuming his pace, he thrusted in and out of you, dragging his thick cock slowly out before slamming it back in again, each blow making you whine and moan louder than before.

Having edged you the entire time, you were close, each movement a threat to unravel you completely, the longer he fucked you the further you came from being able to hold back your imminent orgasm.

Your bodies were wet, sweat and sex covering every inch of skin, your hair a mess and hanging in your face, sticking to your swollen, moist lips just as it had when you were on the back of his bike.

Long fingers raked through your tangled tresses, collecting it all into one of his hands with a twist and tugging on it enough it pulled at your scalp and made you shiver, angling your head back toward him where he leaned forward and kissed your neck.

“Fuck, you feel so good, darlin’,” he murmured, still thrusting into you at a forceful, precise pace. “You stay right here for me.”

He kept a tight grip on your hair, knowing it was wrapped around his fingers just like his rings were, keeping yourself where he’d positioned you out of fear that if you faltered and fell forward it would sting more than it already did.

Your hands secured their hold on the headboard, bracing yourself for what you hoped would be your demise, a lazy smile creeping on your parted lips when he continued to kiss and nip at your neck, his tongue swiping long strokes up to your ear where his breath followed to dance on the patch of wet skin he created.

“I love you,” he breathed, his voice soft as his mouth lingered on the shell of your ear, making your smile grow larger and tears spring out the corners of your eyes right before he upped his tempo and started fucking you with all he had, a gasp blowing out of your lungs that changed into wimpers and cries that filled the room.

“Jax - fuck! - I love you too,” you moaned, your head tipping to the side slightly only to be righted by him repositioning you by your hair.

“I know you do, darlin’,” he said through a smile you could hear playing on his voice, another unhinged sound spilling off your lips when he reached his other hand around your body to land on your cunt, two of his fingers roughly massaging your clit. “Now you be a good girl and cum for me,” he added, his words making you crumble and obey as soon as they were spoken.

The headboard shook and slapped against the wall as he pounded you harder, the secure clasp you still managed to have on it making it move violently to the sway of your body, and you wailed as you felt yourself gush around his cock that slammed in and out of you mercilessly.

The tension that ripped through your limbs eventually subsided into a relaxed, almost numb feeling, every part of you tingling and awoken, allowing you to focus on him, hearing his feral grunts as he finally unloaded himself inside you with a stuttering push of his hips.

As his cock pulsed and twitched inside your walls, he pulled on your hair more, bringing you closer to him as he met you halfway, his body collapsing over yours heavily, his mouth sucking and marking your neck with sloppy kisses.

A blissed-out chuckle came out of him as he fell onto the bed on his side, taking you with him while remaining buried in you, his arms enveloping you in a warm, lazy embrace that displayed all the addicting feelings that followed sex. Your legs tangled together, a soft hum passing your lips as you felt his stomach rise and fall against your back as he worked to catch his breath, his hand languidly running up and down your arm appreciatively.

Jax nuzzled his face in your hair, inhaling deeply like he was trying to consume every bit of you, his warm exhale ghosting over the sensitive skin that he had made raw with his scruff.

“I really did miss you,” he admitted, and the tone of his voice solidified that you couldn’t doubt that it was true for a second.

You smiled, reaching for his hand and bringing it up to your lips, pressing a kiss on each bruised knuckle and then over the rings that adorned them.

When he eventually slipped out of you, he rolled you over to face him, pulling you onto his body so you half-covered his, your leg hooking to rest high on his waist.

His hand ran over your hair, smoothing it down as he stared at you lovingly, the light in his eyes matching his smile.

He was the sun itself in your world, and like the moon, you'd chase him into each day to rid yourself of the shadows, unashamed to love him for everything he was.

Your heart swelled as he smiled bigger at you, the creases beside his mouth coming out, and you traced along the one with your finger, looking at him beam as if he hadn't committed heinous crimes in the name of the patch worn so proudly on his back and inked into the skin you so fiercely loved.

“Thank you,” you whispered, bringing your face closer to his so you were able to rub your nose back and forth on his.

A small laugh that turned into a hum blew out of him, his arms pulling you closer to his warmth.

“Anything for you, darlin',” he drawled, his exhaustion showing in his words.

He met your lips with his, softly brushing a kiss on them before capturing them fully, moving so you were guided onto your back and he laid his body over yours, proving that no matter how much energy he'd already expended in loving you, he wasn't nearly done yet.

---

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Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls

@littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90

@paintlavillered @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989 @justreblogginfics

[twistedtangledfate]

Harley cursed herself inwardly for her stupidity. So much for having a bit of fun. She jumped out of the way of the vines, barely resisting the urge to slap at one instinctively as it brushed against her hip. It was still sore from the last tumble she'd taken.

"Jeez Red, you gotta loosen up a little. Now you gonna let me in or am I gonna have to shimmy up the drain pipe and through the back window again?"

"Oh, darling, you should know better than to sneak up on a woman," she purred, sending a group of vines to block the person from entering her domain further.

[pandorascripts]

Maddening Love

summary: harley never meant to become what she was afraid of. it seems she did though.

pairing: harley quinn x gn!reader (can be read as fem)

warnings: murder, gun violence, making out.

note: this has been in my drafts for a while, and I fricking love harley. thought she deserved some love, so please send in requests for her!!! <333

-🃏-

Harley turns on her heel, huffing a hot breath into the cold winter air. “You don’t love me no more.”

You rush up to Harley, reaching out, but retract your hand at the last moment. “Harls, no, no, I do.” Frowning, you timidly place a hand on her cold shoulder. 

With a fury you’ve never seen before in her eyes, Harley glares at you. “I don’t appreciate liars, cupcake.”

The venom in her words knocks you off guard, but you know Harley. You know she has her jealousies, when someone got too frisky with you, or when she herself was battling her own insecurities. You shake your head, knowing she needs comfort. It was something she’d always lacked in her relationship with him, so you were determined to give it to her. 

“I’m no liar. I love you, Harley. Only you.” You wrap your arms around her, burying your head into her neck. Even if the position is uncomfortable, considering Harley is taller than you, and you need to be on your tip-toes, you hold out for as long as you can. 

When your ankles are hurting, and your feet are aching, you lean away of her. You still keep yours arms wrapped around her neck, your left thumb brushing against her skin. Looking into her eyes, you see anger and hurt, but underneath there, there’s a look you’ve seen so many times. Insecurity. 

“What’s got you upset, Harley?”

She shakes her head, softly biting her lip as she looks away from you. “Nothin’, it’s stupid.”

“Harley,” you pause, gently guiding her head back to you, “your feelings aren’t stupid. Please.”

Your eyebrows ease up and you try to dump all your emotions into your eyes. You pour all your love for her, your own insecurities, everything you hold, but you know that it’s useless. You felt too much for her, there’s was no possible way you could measure it to size, much less show all of it. 

Harley caves, leaning down into you as her hands wrap around your sides. “You promise you love me?”

“Always.”

A small sniffle comes from Harley, and you feel your heart shatter. The shards from your heart pierce your lungs, making your breathing turn jagged. Tears of your own form and you don’t bother hiding them. “I will always love you, Harls.”

A minute of silence passes and you think you’ve reminded her, but her troubles overpower her, again. 

“Prove it.”

Desperately, you nod your head. 

“How?”

Harley’s head retreats from your neck and she meets your eyes. Her hand comes up to your face, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. 

“I’d kill for you, Harls.”

She shakes her head, a beautifully crazed smile gracing her lips. “No, that’s too easy, sweetheart. The question is, would’ja love me if I killed?”

You nod your head hastily. “You cant scare me.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Harley takes your hand, the other one pulling out a handgun as she retreats back into the nightclub you’d just left. “What if I shot up this joint, huh? What ‘bout then?”

“I’d take the blame.”

You quicken your pace, longing to be at her side. 

“Would’ja?” she questions, back turned to the door. With a nod of your head, she kicks it open. 

The once muffled music cuts through the December night, loud lights blind you as you trail after her inwards. Harley’s grip on your hand only tightens as she walks forward, handgun pressed to her side.  Sweaty bodies collide against yours, and you’re reminded why you hate clubs. The bodies pushing and pulling at you make you sick, but when Harley’s hand is in yours, it drowns out anything else. 

When she reaches dead center, she pulls you close to her. Harley leans down to your ear, practically yelling over the music. 

“Would’ja be my New Years kiss?” she asks, giggling mischievously. 

The crowd counts down, and as they reach two, you pull Harley downwards by her collar. Her lips meet yours on the last number, and her gun fires. People run around you and Harley, all desperate to escape their deaths. Bodies bump into you; but her lips planted firmly on yours ground you against them. Harley’s free hand grips the back on your neck, the other causing chaos. Screams fill your ears as Harley empties her clip, bullets flying in all directions, and you bring her back down to you again. Softly, Harley bites your lip, releasing it with a pop as she backs away. 

You take a moment to look around. Bodies surround you two, and in a comical way, you make out a heart. Harley steps forward again, holding your chin back as you share air. 

“Still love me now, honey?”

You nod, not bothering to address the cold barrel pointed at your head. 

“What if I pulled the trigga?”

“Yes,” you husk out, not hesitating in the slightest. “You emptied your mag already, it wouldn’t do anything.”

“What if I had a bullet?”

You scan her eyes, her cold ones piercing through yours. It doesn’t bother you though, you have enough warmth and love to fill up hers. You’d gladly share it. 

“Same answer, Harls. You can’t scare me away.” 

Slowly, you bring her back down to you. Her warm lips greet yours, and you know you’ve smudged her lipstick. Harley pulls back, kissing the corner of your mouth and then your jaw. 

“You don’ care that imma killa?”

You shake your head slightly, still wanting her lips on your skin. “No.”

“No?” she asks, planting another kiss below your ear. 

A shiver runs down your spine, one of your hands holds Harley’s head as the other holds her lower back. “Not at all.”

Sirens blare around you, but you don’t mind. Harley whispers something incoherent, her hands on your hips having your full attention. You nod, mumbling yes, and her warm body is pulled out of yours. Your eyes snap open, desperately searching for pink and blue, but you can’t find it. As the doors bust open, and swarms of yells surround you, you drop to your knees. Cold metal clicks around your wrist as rough hands pull you up. 

The shocking realization that Harley had left you hits like a brick, and you blink several times, with each one wishing this wasn’t true. 

“Harls!” you yell, trashing against the cops. 

A sob racks through your body as a hard object slams against your stomach. You gasp, heart shattered once again, the evidence burrowing itself deep in your lungs. You cry and plead, but when they toss you in a room, you don’t say a thing. Harley may have betrayed you, but you’d never fathom of doing the same. If she needed her reassurance for your love, this had to be it, right? The more you suffer, the more it shows you care. Harley would see you suffering, and she know you’d truly care for her. She’d get you out, she had to. The thought brought a smile to your lips, a giggle cracking them apart. 

“You killed nine people, this isn’t a laughing matter.”

You look up to the detective, seeing his disappointed face. “I think it is.”

Another crazed smile paints itself on your lips. 

“Who was with you?” he demands, hands slamming against the steel table. 

You don’t flinch, not even moving a muscle as you stare at him. “Just me…”

“Those red lips on your neck say otherwise.”

“Can you blame a girl for having fun? Saw this cute blonde girl, made out with her for New Years, and then,” you pause, trying to build up dramatic suspense, “then I pumped her full of lead, ‘long with those eight other people.”

He nods his head. “Thanks for the confession. With that, you won’t be getting a trial,” he walks away, mumbling the last part of his sentence,”not like you crazies deserve one.”

You mock a salute to him on his way out. 

Harley’d get you, she’d kill all these mediocre officers. A laugh surges through your broken lungs, wheezing out and shattering the silence. 

[josephseedismyfather]

2 in 1 uquizzes

I was tagged by @inafieldofdaisies and @socially-awkward-skeleton for these 2 quizzes, sorry about the delay! I still haven't gotten all the tags figured out apparently!

What is your ocs true role in the story?

The "Oh" quiz

Harley Jane ❤️

the fallen prodigy

hello old friend, it's been a while hasn't it? I remember when you were just a child, gape-smiled and beaming like the sun. where have you laid your youth to rest my love? is it buried beside your heart perhaps? I know how deeply life has wounded you, it took away everything, didn't it? oh poor soul, you held onto happiness with bloody, shaking hands but still fate ripped even that away from you. your past lovers are dead or did some betray you? turning away in fear of what they once admired. your comrades have been slain, or their priorities shifted. I've heard you too have changed your way of thought. the people fear you know, do they normally cower at the sound of your name? ah don't fret, that makes two of us. the masses tend to despise the things they do not have the will to comprehend. the villain finds sympathy for you don't they, well I could have seen that from a mile away. you two are the oldest friends, you made a deal with them correct? to save your late love, they tried to hold their end of the bargain, really, but I fear you are cursed to forever be despondent. oh what a sad and miserable life without love. is that why you chase loneliness? for is it truly a life of sorrow if you yourself has chosen it? but don't become bitter from the pain. trust when I say I have seen wounds unfold a man, turning the gentlest spirits into seething beasts. please, keep seeking love, even if it seems you are forbidden from it. you are the master of your own fate, I see how tired you are. the scars never healed, they twist and wrap around your entire person. your eyes are dark and lifeless, rest. but keep fighting, not with the sword you have forsaken so long ago, but with your heart. I'll be rooting for you my friend.

the late-night talk

Oh. you figure it out when you realize just how vulnerable they are willing to be with you. it isn't everybody who could or would stay up talking into the night with you, not with such affection or easy familiarity. it isn't everybody who is so understanding of you. it isn't everybody who could bare their soul to you in return. that kind of intimacy... it means deep foundations. it means comfort. it means trust. maybe it's a secret, maybe it's a story, maybe it's something you just never thought of before -- but they say something, late at night, and you realize all at once how remarkable they are, and how special it is to exist in the same time and space as them. "oh" indeed.

Why do both of these fit her so well?! 🥹

Evangeline Rose 💛

the supporter

oh gentle comrade, you know what it takes to make others shine. you live your life assisting others to reach their goals, but many say you are lackluster and unnecessary. but alas, do we need the stars any less for their dim light helps the moon glow brighter! you are warm inside and out, perhaps made of sunshine one might ask? but I can see you are as weary and worn as the hero you so desperately cling to. your purpose is to serve? Is it not? it's those moments of undying loyalty that make your bones ring true with honor. "I am right beside you," you whisper, for unlike the ones who lie through their teeth you will be with your ally through joy, through heart ache, through death. it is a difficult thing to gain your trust back if one has shattered it though, you are forgiving yes? you give many chances, but alas, one can only look away from a wrong doing so long. you can't exactly turn your other cheek as once wrings a blade through your middle. you are made of a steadfast heartbeat and a tired, knowing smile. you bring solace to the aching, and comfort to the wronged. but what happens when your protagonist loses? what happens when your valiant heroes fail you? will you pick up a sword and vanquish their enemy or will you wait patiently for yet another savior to appear and save the day? one must live long enough to see their heroes die. but are you brave enough to take their place? the only strings that bind you to your oaths of subservience are your own doubts. "am I good enough?" they whisper in your ears. you answer that yourself love. for the only difference between the paladin and the stable boy are mettle. it is not the question of can you be a hero. it is simply, will you be?

the unrelated moment

you tend to be more preoccupied with practical things, to the point where you've been blinded to matters of the heart. sure, you're close with this person. you like to be close with people. it is rewarding to know and be known in return. you leave realization no choice but to sneak up on you. they're not even in the room when it happens. someone or something else spells it out for you, an observant friend's passing comment or a particular sentence you were reading in a book, and suddenly it hits you, what it all means. the person your feelings have been building themselves around. Oh. it's them. it's time. it's them and you, here and now, and you have to decide what to do at this crossroads. luckily, you're practically-minded.

Okayyyy but these ones are perfect, too. Especially "the unrelated moment"...iykyk 😏

Tagging my usual peeps because honestly I can't remember who did this and who didn't. So, SUPER apologies for doubles and no pressure!!! @wrathfulrook, @trench-rot, @jacobsneed, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @ladyoriza, @cassietrn, @redreart, @hotmessteaparty, @g0dspeeed, @silenthqll, @the-silver-chronicles, @malefiquinn, @strangefable, @psyren-psyrpent, @noodlecupcakes, @neverthesameneveranother and anyone else who wants to play 🥰

[drakenology]

the yakuza wife - yakuzaboss!bakugo x housewife reader - inspired by @hanji-is-life ‘s sexy ass. 

yakuza au

tw: violence, sadism, mentions of blood, smut, cum, cussing, daddy/ddlg kinks undertones, mentions of guns, very much harley quinn and joker only joker actually loves harley in this ya know?

“where the fuck is my money?” bakugo asks this bludgeoned man tied up to a metal chair in some god forsaken warehouse god only knows where. 

“please sir, i’ll get it to you as soon as I can! please stop!” the man pleads, flinching when bakugo raises his fist to land a mean left hook into his jaw with a dark chuckle. 

“you know you shouldn’t borrow from people if you have no intentions in payin’ em back. it’s fuckin’..” he pauses before taking a crowbar and bashing the man in both his knees, blood curdling screams filling the empty space. “rude!”

bakugo smirks as the man begs for mercy, pulling a set of pliers of his pocket and holding them up to the man’s face to tease him, grabbing by his neck to make him meet his intimidating gaze. 

“shoulda thought of that before trying to playing me for a fuckin’ fool.. hey, I wonder how many teeth I can pull outta ya before your weak ass passes out.” he grunts, waving the plier in his face until the sound of his phone ringing stops him from doing anything.

“you’re lucky I gotta take this.” he mumbles, taking a piece of dirty cloth and shoving it into his mouth to keep him quiet.

bakugo turns away and rolls up his sleeve, setting up his tools for torture as he answers the phone. 

“hi baby!” you chime, at the mall having the time of your life with his credit card. 

“hey. ‘m workin’ whaddaya want?” he says, holding up his pliers and sitting them down on the table as his hostage screams in the background. 

“just checking on you, dummy! whatcha want for dinner, hm? i know you haven’t eaten yet.” you say, holding up different dresses to your frame to imagine yourself in them. “hey, pink or powder blue?”

“pink. and ‘m not hungry. you’ve got security with you, right baby?” he asks, kicking the man onto the floor with a loud thud. 

“of course. you won’t let me leave the house without them.” you respond, not even paying attention to the muffled screams you hear in the background. you’ve learned not to ask too many questions when it comes to being a yakuza wife. 

“gotta keep my baby safe, right? listen, princess I gotta go. i’ll be home before 9 okay?” 

you suck your teeth and roll your eyes, “fine. be careful okay?”

“always am. love you baby.” as he hangs up and returns to his task. 

the difference between you and katsuki was night and day. everyone knew you to be so sweet and kind; unbeknownst to them all how you ended up with a cretin like Bakugo. even though Katsuki was immoral in many ways, he knew marrying you was the right thing to do. who else would want to dress his wounds and pick out his suits for the day?

katsuki demanded you quit your job. in fact he came with you to put in your two weeks notice, tough scowl staining his features as your boss signed the approval with shaking hands.

from that day on he ensured you were well taken care of and that marrying him and becoming his housewife came with many perks.

for starters, your husband was loaded. all those years of extorting and money laundering paid off every time you come home with a couple shopping bags from the mall.

katsuki loved lavishing you in the finest of everything, adoring how you look in designer. so much so, he fucks you by the bay window of your luxury penthouse, the Chanel dress he just bought you hiked up over your ass as his calloused fingers make way into your mouth. you’re pinned to the glass, bare breasts pressed against the window as he railed you from behind. and he wonders why you turned out to be a spoiled brat.

your gifts always made you stand out above the rest. many men fawn over you and he knows this. just a small price to pay for having a fine ass wife. but if anyone ever forgot their place, if anyone ever got to close. well. that’d be the last time you’d ever see them. course you have no idea why. but even though katsuki loved you with all his heart, you could be a real pain in the ass. you were so bratty, especially when he was busy. 

one day you came trotting into his office in the middle of some business deal. whatever. your jimmy choos popped and you needed a new pair before the yacht party you were attending started. 

“daddy’s taking care of business right now, okay? go wait outside.”

“no! you promised we’d go shopping! I need new shoes what the fuck am I supposed to do with these?” you whine, pouting like usual to get your way. bakugo’s brow raised, walking towards you and gesturing for the meeting to continue without him. his hand rested on your lower back as he escorted you out.  

he fucked your brains in in the next room for disobeying him, panties around your ankles, your charm anklet jingling as he picked up your legs. 

“spoiled fuckin’ brat. told you to wait didn’t I? hm? or did you make a scene ‘cause you wanted my dick?” your head hangs back as your hips are held down by him, thrusts brutal as you cry for him to slow down, face turned away from his. he grabs your chin and turns you around harshly with his scarred and calloused hands, bruised knuckles turning white with a tight grip. 

“look at me when i’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you.” 

he came inside you when he was done, pulling your panties up for you as it dripped down your leg. 

“now.. back to what I was doin’. tell the driver to take your ass home.” he huffs with a zip of his pants and a shake in his sleeves to fix them. bakugo leaves you on the desk, leaving the door cracked for you to leave when you got yourself together. and when you did you could hardly hold yourself up, holding your high heels in your hand as you limp to the car waiting outside for you. 

having a yakuza boss as a husband was always exciting. something in you liked the danger; the thrill.

you tell this tale to your other socialite girlfriends and they almost never believe you.

you were out with bakugo on a date when work called. to your dismay, he had to get up and leave. you insisted on being brought along, hating being left alone in that big house that was often empty without him. he agreed but only if you promised to be quiet like a good little girl. 

when you arrive at some warehouse (the same one mentioned earlier), a man was already hog tied on the ground, muffled screams behind a piece of duck tape as bakugo ripped it off. you sat by a table, legs folded in annoyance. this interrupted date night? you scoff and fold your arms. 

“ah. good seeing you old friend. remember me?” he asks, taunting him a little with a gun in his hand pressing it against his jaw as the man let out muffled pleas for him not to shoot. 

“you tried stealing from me. fuckin’ idiot. my boys caught you in some hotel with your little girlfriend. did you think you were gonna have a victory fuck after you made off with my money, hm?” bakugo asks, hitting him upside the head with the butt of his pistol.

you jump at the sound of the blow, a small part of you turned on watching your husband beat the crap out of a complete stranger. your pussy starts to ache when you peer over at bakugo’s strong tattooed arms as he flung his jacket aside, rolling his white sleeves up to ensure his expensive suit doesn’t get soiled. 

“oh fuck, where are my manners? this is my lovely wife, y/n. say hi baby.” he coos at you, a switch from rough to gentle when he spoke to you. you smile and wave, the hostage sobbing out a weak greeting when bakugo demands him to. 

“anyways. what’d you do with the money, asswipe? gonna tell me or are you gonna make me fuck you up in front of my pretty wife. god, look at ‘er, ain’t she gorgeous? you know I was about 30 minutes from railing her before you had to go along and ruin our night. I should kill you right here.” bakugo turns his head towards you with a sick look in his eye. 

“whaddaya think, princess? what should I do to this motherfucker, huh?” he asks. 

“smack him again. he ruined date night.” you grumble, folding your arms. 

“he sure did, baby.” bakugo says, punching the hostage in his jaw. he gestured for his men to crowd around him, all of them taking turns kicking and beating him with metal bars. katsuki walks towards you and pulls you into a passionate kiss, a bit of blood on his knuckles as he pulled your hair. god, this whole situation was sick. but why was it so hot?

bakugo carries you away to the car, tells the driver to fuck off somewhere while he rails you in the back seat, knowing his men will take care of the rest of what he started inside the warehouse. you straddle his lap, bouncing up and down on his stiff cock as the car rocked back and forth. the car windows fog up as your body heat commingled throughout the space, your hands pressing against the glass to gain to balance as you rode his fat cock. 

“fuck, daddy. you’re so hot when you’re handling business. ooh, you’re dick’s so hard.” you purr, bakugo’s hand pinching and playing with your breast as his hips thrust upwards. He smirks at you, almost a bit shocked you got as turned on as he did from the pain he inflicted.

“hmm, I know baby. god, you’re sick. getting this wet from watching me beat up some punk. dirty fuckin’ girl.” he huffed into your hair, leaving sloppy kisses on your neck followed by harsh nibbles.

truth is even though you were so sweet and caring, you had a dark side no one knew about. I mean why else would you marry into the yakuza? 

you were both fucking insane. 

[prince-septimus]

the mission

pairing : mention of captain boomerang x (former) FBI agent!reader

summary : everything comes to an end at some point, although this is not how you expected your ending to go.

word count : 1.2k

warnings : major the suicide squad spoilers

static hearts series 

It was supposed to be easy. That was what he had promised you.

“Just like any other mission,” he had whispered to you the night before, “it’s easy.”

You should’ve known, though, that everything you chose to do came with a price. It had been like that ever since you met Amanda Waller. Nothing was plain and simple and everything cost something. 

And with a nickname like the Suicide Squad, you should have thought about the implications a little more. 

Losing Digger felt like losing everything, and in a way, you had lost everything. 

After you had been found by Amanda Waller, this time forced to join her team as a criminal and not an ally, the only thing you had left was him. He had become everything for you because nothing else was promised, nothing else belonged to you. This wasn’t like your years as an FBI agent where you still had some semblance of a normal life. Things had changed the moment you joined Task Force X, and Amanda made well on her promises to strip you of everything except the skin on your body that held you together if you disobeyed. 

But she couldn’t take him.

Even in the crowded confines of Belle Reve, you had peace in knowing that at the end of each day, he was yours, and you didn’t need anything else. You didn’t have anything else and that was fine. 

Harley reaches for your hand and you jump. She pulls her hand back quickly, her eyes softening. “You still thinkin’ about him?”

You frown. You hadn’t cried yet, you realized. You didn’t know if you could. “Yes.”

The rest of what is left of the team sits quietly in the helicopter as it carries you back to the United States. You’re all grimy and smelly and so sleep deprived that you’re sure the moment your adrenaline fades away you’ll sleep for three days.

The mission is over - the actual mission, not the one that you had been aware of when you first dropped on the island. 

“He’d be happy you’re okay,” Harley tells you gently, cautiously reaching for your hand once more and squeezing when you take it. 

But were you okay? You’re covered in blood and gore, very aware of the fact that you need a shower. Your body aches, but your mind?

It’s eerily calm.

“I like to think Boomer and Flag are both looking down on us--” There’s the Harley you know, grinning like a maniac and looking at the roof of the helicopter to accentuate her point. “--they’d be proud. Proud of us. Proud of the fact we’re goin’ home.”

Home.

Your mind briefly runs through your catalog of messy memories you had gathered the past few days. You had followed Flag into the trees when everything broke out, but had lost him only moments later. Where he found the rebels, you found the other half of Task Force X. Faces you didn’t recognize, but somehow knew your name.

Amanda hadn’t seemed happy upon the realization you lived, but you trudged on with the team, finding Flag and then Harley and beginning to unravel what you had actually been thrown onto the island for.

The entire time, you thought about Digger - of his torn apart body and the boomerangs you now held strapped to your chest after you managed to snatch them up before running off.

(Flag had looked at them when you found him, a tinge of sadness in his voice as he apologized. You didn’t blame him.)

The rest of what happened was a blur - the city falling apart as you attempted to save it. You had been running on autopilot the entire time in order to keep yourself together. That’s why you barely blink an eye when you learn that Flag had died, subconsciously cataloguing those feelings away with the rest to deal with later.

And now it was all beginning to hit you. 

You had lost your home. 

A choked sob spills from your lips. All at once, the rush of emotions you had managed to contain the past few days rushes forward and you’re falling against Harley with a cry. The others startle at the sound, but at the sight of Harley cradling you in her arms and a well-placed side eyed glare, they all turn away.

You didn’t have a home anymore. Your home died on that beach moments after you touched ground. You had given him one last look, a wink that promised you would see him later, when the mission was over and you’d be heading back together with grins etched across your faces. That never happened. You had watched, a stunned silence keeping you from screaming out like Harley had. 

In just a few short seconds, everything you had left was gone. 

Harley holds you as you cry. Your mind is racing with everything you’ve held in - that Digger is gone, and that you now get to live the freedom promised to you without him by your side. 

You weren’t sure if it was really freedom or just an illusion of what you could never have.

“He didn’t deserve it,” you speak softly against Harley’s shoulder as you press yourself against her minutes later, after you’ve caught your breath and can breathe easily again. “None of them did,” you add on.

You didn’t know the others long enough to have any sort of friendship formed, but that didn’t change anything. They had all been people fighting for their freedom, and none of them made it. 

And Flag. In the end, he had reminded you so much of your old partner that the loss of him physically made you ache. You were angry over his death - a proper hero’s death that could have been prevented if only Amanda Waller was a better person.

You remember what Digger had told you, that it would be easy, and oh, how wrong he had been. Nothing about anything you had suffered through the past few days had been easy, and you have a feeling that nothing will ever be easy again.

Later, when the tears have dried in streaks down your cheeks and you’ve stopped clinging to Harley’s arm, you speak again, your voice clear and settled this time.

“Don’t die on me, Harley,” you tell her, your hand squeezing hers, the question of a promise in the gesture. “I’ve lost everything. I need you to not die on me. Okay?”

Harley knows the weight of your words - that the pain that has filled your heart might never go away. She knows that you’re asking her to not die because she’s all you know, all you have left. 

You lost your home when Digger died, and you lost your hope for humanity and a sense of friendship with the death of Flag. 

All of you have left is the little bit of sanity that Amanda Waller had managed to leave behind, and you’re trusting a woman who is known for her lack of sanity with it. 

Harley smiles at you, a promise. “I won’t.”

[imagineredwood]

“Are you up?”

Summary: You and Angel have broken up and while it was somewhat mutual, you miss each other desperately. He does his best to stay away, feeling that you deserve better, but when you send him a needy late night text, he’s on his way to remind you what you’re missing.

Pairing: Angel Reyes x reader

Warnings: Sexual content, Oral sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, dirty talk mild praise kink,  you name it honestly lol 

Word count: 3k

***Here’s another story that I decided to write from an idea that’s plagued me for literal months lmao. Not requested.***

You sighed as you laid in bed, filthy thoughts consuming your mind. You were needy, not having been touched in over a month. You and Angel had broken up and you had been trying to move on from that. It had been somewhat mutual, though it fell more on your side for both the idea and the execution. He had gotten more and more busy with the club, which meant less and less time for you. As a result, you had become more needy, and Angel had become more frustrated. It had come to a head when you had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to get back from his run, only to find out the next day that he gone straight to the clubhouse with the boys and gotten drunk without even thinking to send you a text or call.

You had made up your mind then, deciding that even though it was going to hurt to throw away the last year of your life with the man that you so desperately loved, you needed to split. And Angel had agreed, though it had torn his heart out to do so. Truth was, he was scared. He was falling more and more in love with you each passing day and he had gotten scared. What if he wasn’t good enough for you to stay? What if you found someone better? What if you came to the realization that you deserved better? And so, he had tried to protect himself. To shield himself from the pain o rejection and abandonment which he had become so familiar with. At the time he had felt that the best way to do that was to put distance. To create a wedge where at least he was the one in control. He had pushed you to the edge and when you had finally had enough, he tried to convince himself that he was better off.

Slowly it dawned on him that not only was that not true, he had sabotaged probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. He had found someone that loved him, supported him, looked after, and took care of him. Yet he threw it all away in the name of misguided self-preservation.

And it did not take long for the realization to kick in.

He had been a ghost since. He wasn’t as bright as he was when he was with you. He had bags under his eyes, surviving off of booze and cigarettes. It had taken a scolding from Taza and Bishop for him to finally sit down and have a balanced meal.  

You hadn’t been much better. Angel had at least been able to shed some his pain in the arms of the club girls though, while you had not been with anyone. You wanted to; to go out and receive some attention and affection even if it was only for the night. Yet you could never manage. Angel had been your first. He was the only man you had ever known intimately. So you had chickened out at last minute on taking home the tattooed man you had been flirting with tonight.

But now you were alone, aching for the touch of a man. For the feeling of being covered by a body as they did what they wanted with you. The feeling of being filled and loved on.

You were aching for the feeling of Angel.

How his lips felt on your neck. How his ringed fingers felt when they pumped inside of you. How heavy his cock felt when it was filling you to the point of seeing stars. How far he stretched you. How empty you felt when he finally pulled out to go to sleep. You were aching for that.

Plainly, you were aching for Angel.

With a sigh, you sat up grabbing your phone. It was late, but not late enough for him to be asleep. Typing swiftly, you sent him a quick text.

‘Are you up?’

You were honestly not even expecting a response. Yet not only did he respond, his answer came back before you could even put the phone down.

‘Yeah. You ok?’

At the clubhouse, Angel was quickly sitting up straighter, his heart picking up speed as he worried something had happened to you. He stared at the screen for a few more agonizing seconds, waiting to see your response.

‘I’m fine. You busy?’

‘Nope.’

‘Do you wanna come over?’

Angel sat still in disbelief. Was this a test? Angel had thought that he had ruined his chance with you forever. That there was no way you would ever settle for him again. Yet you were inviting him over? He wasn’t sure what for, but he was not about to complain. The phone buzzed in his hand and he read your newest message five times over.

‘I need you’

He was up and out of his seat then, rushing out of the clubhouse in a hurry, the others looking at him in confusion.

“Where you going, homie?”

He didn’t answer them, typing his reply out.

‘On my way.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The sound of Angel’s Harley pulling up into your driveway was something you thought you would never hear again. It made butterflies take flight in your tummy, your heart starting to speed up, your thighs rubbing together in anticipation.

Unlocking the door and pulling it open, you watched as Angel walked up to you, his eyes glued to yours. He stopped when he was in front of you, his hands holding onto the sides of his kutte. Little did you know it was because he was trying desperately not to reach out and touch you.

“Hey, querida.”

“Hey.”

You pulled the door open further for him to walk inside. Locking up behind him, you turned to find him standing there, eyes on you. Neither of you spoke as you walked up to him slowly. Angel looked you over, his throat bobbing as he looked at your attire of a shirt and panties. He looked closer, feeling his heart clench as he saw at what shirt you wore. It was the old one you’d had for years that he had sprayed with his cologne for you to have while he was on a run. After you had broken up, he figured you would have thrown it away, burned it maybe. Yet there you were wearing it. You caught his gaze and then looked down to follow it.

“I…I was missing you.”

Angel had planned to keep his hands to himself, let you initiate, but your words broke his self-restraint. He took another step forward, sliding his right arm around your waist while his left hand came up to hold your chin softly. His voice was soft and quiet, yet husky.

“I’m right here.”

You nodded, your own hands coming up to hold his waist. Leaning toward him, you pressed your lips against his, both of you closing your eyes as you relished in the familiar act. Your hands slid up his body, coming to rest on his chest. Angel placed his hands over yours, growling at how they engulfed yours. You continued to kiss, both your mouths and hands growing more and more needy. You clutched at his kutte, missing the sound of the leather as it rubbed in your grasp. Angel on the other hand was grasping at your ass, his hands running over your hips, lower back, and thighs.

He had been with club girls after the breakup, and while they were all gorgeous and worthwhile, they just weren’t you. They didn’t rile him up the way you did, and he knew now that it was because of the love he had for you. Love that went deeper than just having a girl on his arm. That knowledge had scared him at first, but now it only made him hard.

He let you pull his kutte off his shoulders, tossing it over onto your couch. His hands continued to roam over you, both of you making out as you stumbled to your bedroom, shedding clothing along the way. By the time you were standing at your bed, you were entirely naked, Angel finally shedding his boxers. You both stood there bare, chests heaving from the lack of air. He was reaching to cradle your face then, his eyes honest as they look at you.

“What do you want me to do? I’ll do whatever you want.”

You nodded gently, reaching up to his face as well. You dragged your index finger along his bottom lip, watching as it pulled down before bouncing back into place. He always did have a sinfully good mouth.

“I want your mouth on me. Please.”

The please was not really necessary. Angel would have done it no matter how you asked him. He nodded and placed his hands on your hips, turning you. You assumed the position you had been in so many times before, crawling onto the bed on your hands and knees, letting your cheek rest against the sheets with your ass propped up high. Angel did not skip a beat, climbing up behind you, his mouth kissing along the backs of your thighs. His hands came up, grasping your ass and massaging it. Part of him wanted to tease, but the majority of him just wanted to give you everything. To give you his all until you were a wet, trembling mess. He wanted to make you feel how sorry he was for letting you go and hopefully get you back.

Angel slid his hands down, his thumbs pressing to either side of your pussy before pulling outward and spreading you. He cursed as he looked at your opening, your wetness sticky and slick as it coated you.

“You always did have such a pretty little hole.”

Your breathing was already picking up speed before he had really even touched you and it made Angel feel good to know that you needed him as much as he needed you. He kept you spread open, leaning closer to lick into you. He groaned at the taste of you, not realizing just how much he had missed it.

“You taste so good mami, fuck.”

Your whimper paired with feeling your pussy clench around his tongue made him smile. You always did like him giving you dirty praise. Scooting even closer to you, he reached up and placed his thumb on your clit, rubbing it gently as he kept working his mouth on you. His beard added to the sensation as he buried his face into you. Your hips began to swivel on their own, pushing back onto his face and earning a moan from him that made a shiver run through you.

“There you go, good girl. Use my mouth, baby.”

And so you did, softly pushing back on him, your eyes closed, and your bottom lip caught between your teeth and you rubbed yourself against his mouth. He kept doing his own thing though, strengthening his tongue so he could bury it in you. It did not take long for your thighs to begin shaking, your moans low and drawn out as you called his name.

“God, Angel, don’t stop. Please.”

Angel kept at it, slipping two thick ringed fingers into you until you were clenching and squeezing, slowly collapsing flat onto the bed. Angel kissed along your back and sides, working his way up your body slowly, letting you catch your breath. He stopped at your shoulders, speaking into your ear.

“You still on the pill?”

“Mhmm.”

Angel nodded and then sat up some, looking down at you.

“Do you want it like this?”

Turning your head, you laid it sideways so you could look at him over your shoulder, giving a nod. That was all Angel needed, sitting back up to kneel behind you. He grabbed himself and ran the tip through your lips, gathering your wetness before he placed himself at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, placing his hands down onto the mattress beside your head, holding himself up as he sunk into you. He shuddered as he stayed still, trying not to cum right there from how warm you were. You felt like home and he wanted to make sure you knew that.

“You feel so fucking good, mi dulce. So perfect.”

He began thrusting then, slow deep strokes. He pulled out nearly all the way before sinking back into you fully once again. The slow pace was not was you needed though.

“I need you to fuck me hard, Angel.”

“Ok, baby.”

With that, he sat back up, staying on his knees, and grabbing your hips to arch you. He tugged you back, your body at an angle as he had your pelvis on his lap. He pushed back into you then and started a bruising pace, your ass jiggling from the force. He looked down between your bodies where you were connected, watching as your pussy gripped him. How his thickness stretched you. How you lifted off just a little whenever he bottomed out, that last inch just a little too deep. Your whines and pants were music to his ears and his mouth started on a roll.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, mi vida. You always look so good taking my cock.”

Angel’s hips slapped against your ass as he pounded you, your brows knitted in pure ecstasy. Reaching underneath you, your fingers danced on your clit, Angel growling as you got tighter around him from the added stimulation. He reached down and pulled you up, not wanting you to have to do anything. He wanted you to just enjoy it while he ruined you, making it a point to remind you of what you were missing in hopes that you would forgive him for his stupidity and take him back.

With you both kneeling straight up now, Angel wrapped his left arm around your shoulders, holding you upright to him while his right slid down between your legs. He rubbed at your clit firmly, his mouth on your neck as he stroked the sensitive little pearl. You whimpered, the metal from his rings cold and shocking on the sensitive flesh. He could fill you at a different angle this way and fucked you hard, staring at your face with adoration as your mouth dropped open, feeling another orgasm approaching fast.

“There you go. There’s my baby. Come on me again. I know you can, mami. Let me feel you. Good girl.”

Your moans devolved into a sob as you came for the second time, Angel hissing as your pussy squeezed around him almost as tightly as your hands squeezed his forearm. He slowed his thrusts, pushing into you languidly as he let you come down some. Your whimpers were high pitched and whiny, signs that you were already feeling slightly overstimulated. Angel was not done with you just yet though. He slowed his pace down some but kept the depth, his mouth to your ear as he continued to fill you, his hand leaving your clit and coming up to press against your abdomen.

“You feel me? Right here deep in your tummy, mi amor? That’s where I belong. Right here.”

He caressed the soft flesh above your mound as you reached behind you to hold the back of his head. You didn’t respond verbally, too fucked out to put together a sentence. You simply nodded and whispered his name like a prayer, your eyes full of love and longing as you looked at him. He went for you clit one last time, rubbing you softly not to hurt you. You came once more without much effort, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes when you did. It did not take much more of that to make him cum as well, his warmth spreading through you as he filled you up to the brim.

He laid you down then, falling to lay spooning behind you as you both tried to catch your breath. You were both spent, your skin covered in a sheen of sweat. Angel groaned quietly as he felt the small aftershocks run through your walls, milking him for everything he had.

You both stayed laying there until your breathing had returned to normal, Angel starting to pull out slowly. The sensation forced a hiss from him, his cock sensitive. Your tiny whimper told him that you were in the same boat. He took a deep breath, brushing back the hair that had fallen into his face from the exertion. He sat up, looking down at your body, seeing the white streak of his cum dripping out of you and he reached over to run his fingers down your spine.

“Let me help you get cleaned up.”

Sitting up yourself, Angel looked at you, swallowing nervously.

“I uh, I know this is really not the best time but I just gotta get this shit off my chest.”

Your nod was unsure as you looked at him.

“I know I fucked us up. I got scared and I ruined something good. I don’t deserve you and I get scared that you’re gonna realize that one day, so I pushed you away. You deserve someone better than my ass, but I really want you back, if you want me.”

Locking your eyes with his, you saw all the emotions he had worked so hard to keep you from seeing in your relationship.

The fear.

The worry.

The insecurity.  

He was being open with you. Letting down his walls and being vulnerable, which was all that you had really ever wanted. With a sigh, you stood on shaky legs, Angel standing with you quickly to steady you. You traced his tattooed chest with your finger before looking up at him, finding his face looking like that of a scared child.

“I have to know that you’re not gonna run when shit gets bad.”

The Mayan nodded quickly, grabbing your hand, and bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your fingers.

“I swear I’ll never do it again.”

You continued to look at him for a few seconds more before nodding.

“Okay.”

Angel’s head nodded as well, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.

“Okay.”

General taglist @piccasoe​ @ateliefloresdaprimavera​ @gemini0410​ @woahitslucyylu​ @my-rosegold-soul​ @that-chick212​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @glimmerglittergirl​​ @elcococruz​ @fanaticfangurl21​ @ifoundmyhappythought​ @encounterthepast​ @iambabyharry​ @svintsandghosts​

Mayans taglist @dazzledamazon​  @abunnykisses @briana-mishell24​ @angelreyesgirl​ @wrcn9fvlcver​

[razrbladekiss]

TYRANTS | Chapter Ten - Misunderstood

WORD COUNT: 7k (sorry...kinda)

WARNINGS: strong language, gemma again, zobelle and his tribe make their appearance here, and just the usual SOA sorta shit. enjoy <3

MASTERLIST

It was freezing in the clubhouse, now. So cold, in fact, Isla swore that she could feel her bones ailing beneath the bitter chill in the air, aching amidst the cool, uncomfortable breeze that swept through the building.

At some point during the night, Tig had mindlessly bundled her up in an orange and black Harley Davidson throw, too. Yet, despite the thick fleece blanketing her frame, she had still roused at an ungodly hour, completely gelid to touch.

She was convinced that a window, or perhaps a door, had been left open last night. The draft flitting through the dorm room was heinous, and Isla had started to break out into goosebumps.

Desperate for comfort—or, maybe, desperate to feel Tig’s arms wind lovingly around her torso—Isla grumbled and rolled over, hoping to bump into his bare frame.

But an unsavory coolness met her fingertips before she even managed to process that Tig was nowhere to be seen, and two blue eyes flicked open to heed an empty space.

An unkempt, vacant spot beside her where he should’ve been. Isla’s heart sank to the chasms of her chest, suddenly feeling deserted.

It still smelled like him, too.

Tig had fled the scene before she’d even had the chance to come around, and that hurt. Her chest was tightening at the thought of him potentially regretting last night, and she couldn’t surmise what she should’ve done next.

If there was anything that she could’ve done, really.

Though, sitting and stewing in her crippling loneliness wasn’t an option, this morning. Not when she had donuts to buy, coffee to drink, and one certain old lady’s advice to attain.

As much as she hated the thought of the “I told you so” lecture from Gemma, Isla understood that she had to confide in somebody, now. Or else it would’ve eaten away at her, festered so deeply inside until she fucking exploded.

And she didn’t want that. She felt as though she had kept too much from that woman, lately, and Gemma deserved a little bit of insight.

“Mornin’!” Half-Sack called out to her as she padded through the bar, still trying to secure both hoops in her ears. “You, uh, you want a ride home?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “I’m gonna take a walk, go grab a coffee and a couple dozen donuts. I need some fresh air.”

“Oh, yeah. Don’t blame you.” He walked out from behind the bar—not particularly caring that she looked like hell after barely sleeping last night—and handed Isla the purse she’d left there.

With a simple nod, she thanked him.

“Did you want any? I can get you those vegan ones, again.”

“Please.” He smiled, about to grab his wallet but Isla snorted a laugh and put a hand out. “What?”

“Don’t you dare give me any money.” A little stern, though completely lovely, she stated. “I’m not gonna take your money, so don’t even try. It’s my treat, you know that.”

“I know, I know.” Awkwardly, Kip ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I just feel bad.”

Isla quirked a brow, motioning for him to walk with her—to get out of that stuffy fucking bar.

“Why do you feel bad?”

“‘Cuz you’re always spending money on us.”

“Okay, and?” She laughed a little, stepping out of the clubhouse. “I want to buy you guys donuts, because I’m pretty sure that none of you bother with eating whilst you’re at work.”

He just blinked at her, quirking his lips upward a little bit. Isla knew.

“See. You, my dad, Jax, Tig—you’re all the damn same.” Isla’s heart thumped as she said his name, feeling it hasten in tempo when she heeded his bike alongside Clay’s.

He was still there.

“I know that it’s hardly a substantial enough meal, but it’ll line your stomach a little. And that’s what you need, right?”

“Right.”

“And it also gets Gemma off your back, ‘cuz she has the same thought. She gets mad when nobody eats ‘round here—she gets mad at me, too.”

“She does?” He asked, pacing beside her. “I thought you were always in her good books?”

“I am, usually.” Confidently, she told him. “But sometimes, she wants to strangle me. I can just sense it.”

“Well, she’s like your mom. Ain’t that normal?”

“Totally normal.” She confirmed, mindlessly sifting through her bag to ensure that those damn pills were still there.

They were.

“Speaking of,” Isla looked upward to view the sparse lot, “it’s almost nine, and she’s not here? She’s normally in by, like, eight-thirty.”

“Juice isn’t here, either.”

“Oh.” She grimaced, wondering where they’d all gotten to. “What about my dad?”

“He’s still here—dunno where his bike is, though.”

“Okay…And, what about Jax?”

“Left with Tara last night.”

“Sick.” Isla grunted, hoping to get a moment alone with her favorite doctor, but realizing that she wouldn’t be free, now. “And you have no clue where Gemma is?”

“Absolutely none.” With a bit of empathy, he smiled.

She was clearly lost without the matriarch, today.

“Want me to tell her that you’ve been lookin’ for her when she gets here, though?”

“Please.” Isla smiled, pulling her sunglasses from the taught leather bag. “And, if my dad asks whether you’ve seen me, tell him that you haven’t.”

Kip nodded, though he was desperate to ask why she’d want that. Presumably, Isla didn’t want Chibs to know that she’d spent the night at the clubhouse, but that wasn’t any of his business.

He just let her get along with her day, however she wanted to.

“I’ll be back in, like, an hour.” She raised her voice, walking backward toward the lot entrance. “Don’t forget to tell Gemma that I need to talk to her!”

“I won’t!” He yelled straight back, chuckling to himself as she waved and he reciprocated her gesture.

Isla was such a great girl, he thought.

Even if she was visibly struggling lately—very clearly crumbling underneath the heel of all that had been presented to herself, and to SAMCRO.

Because, it was like some sick fucking domino effect.

Charming belonged to the club, essentially. So, whenever something that threatened the town had transpired, SAMCRO was, too, hit.

When the club was hit, it’s members were hit. Their old ladies were hit. Their wives, girlfriends, sons, daughters—their entire families—were hit.

And whenever something struck Isla—in spite of her hellishly prevalent perseverance—she was knocked for six, unable to get a firm grip on anything, really. Because it dominated her thoughts.

Always.

This—Donna’s death—was no different, either. It was the one thought stuck inside of her twisted brain, and she simply wished that she possessed the answers to such a gruesome attack.

But she didn’t. And she feared that she never would, actually.

Isla also wondered if she’d receive an explanation from Tig, today. Learn his true intentions. Why he had claimed her crow, but ran from her before she’d even had the chance to bid him a good morning.

It flustered her, more than anything.

There was this pang of embarrassment—of shame—floating through her, coercing the most shameful of blushes to stipple over the apples of her cheeks as she stepped into her favorite coffee shop.

Her heart sank further, too, when she heeded that her favorite barista was nowhere to be seen. Though, that hadn’t put her off getting her caffeine fix for the day.

“Hey, blondie.”

“Hey, Nancy.” Isla smiled and shut the door, pacing toward the counter. She held her purse close to her side. “No Sierra this morning?”

“Nope, not today.” The older woman shook her head, tapping her lilac nails atop the glass cabinet. “She’s got a family thing over in Utah—should be back Thursday. ‘Til then, my love, it’s me ‘n Shelley.”

“Oh, I hope all is well with her.” Isla offered, twirling Diane’s crucifix between her fingers. “And it’s lovely to see you, today. I never see you too often behind the counter.”

Nancy chuckled, already making a start on the blonde’s usual latte with an abundance of sugar. She grinned up at Isla, gesturing to the case of sweet treats.

“Am I that transparent?”

“Absolutely, honey.” She chuckled. “I’m just kiddin’ ‘ya. Sierra told me that you’ve been comin’ in pretty often for some donuts, and I just thought I’d put a few extras out for you.”

Isla hummed, fishing the wallet from the bottom of her purse. “Thank you. That’s exactly why I’m here.”

“How many did you want?” Nancy asked, dangling the serving tongs off her pointer finger.

“Not as many as the other day.” She snorted, looking upward. She noticed the different colors in the icing, today, smiling a little bit at the change. “I’ll take two dozen, but could I get—“

“Two of the vegan ones?”

She nodded. “Please.”

“Comin’ right up.” Nancy told her, pulling two boxes from beneath the counter. “Any specific ones? Or did ‘ya just want a mixture?”

“A mixture, please.” She responded, producing her debit card from her wallet.

Twenty-two regular donuts—adorned with icing, jams, sprinkles, and powdered sugar—were placed in those cartons, and Nancy popped the two treats for Kip in a separate box.

Recognizing that Isla had probably walked there, she ripped a bag from the plastic holster and placed everything inside.

“Latte is done, too.”

“Oh, brilliant. Thank you.”

The younger woman took the handles, about to push her card into the reader before she felt the presence of another person—another man—behind her.

“I’ll get that coffee, Nancy.”

She eyed Isla with a raised brow, watching the irritation flit over those soft, uncharacteristically piqued, features.

“It’s okay, David.” Finally, she spoke. “You don’t need to do that—“

“I know.” Hale nodded, producing a few dollars. “But I want to, and I’m going to.”

Isla strived to suppress her eye roll at the mere idea of that cop trying to get on her good side, trying to buy her alliance with a $2.50 coffee.

If he really wanted to impress her, he would’ve paid for it all, she thought.

“Alright.” She conceded, still punching in her pin number for the donuts. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled—a little awkwardly—and gestured for her to follow him out.

Nancy thanked them both, still opting to assume that pessimistic outlook on the interaction. Because a cop—that wasn’t an ally—and the outlaw’s daughter, wasn’t exactly the sight one would’ve expected to witness.

“You’re not getting anything for yourself?” Isla asked, pushing her sunglasses back on. “Did you want a donut?”

“No, it’s alright. I just saw you in there, and wondered if everything was okay? Y’know, after the funeral?”

“I think so.” Honestly, she told him.

Though, she wasn’t exactly “okay”. But that was her own issue, and only one man had the ability to resolve whatever convoluted thoughts she harbored.

“I haven’t really seen anybody today, actually. But everyone seemed to be good last night, at least.”

“And Opie?” He quizzed, his face dropping a little bit.

She swallowed thickly, noticing the way he appeared to be more remorseful. And not remorseful in the sense that he felt bad for Ope, but remorseful in the sense that he felt guilty for what had happened.

“I haven’t spoken to him.” Isla admitted. “I only really talked with Tig and Gemma, yesterday. But I think Jax is heading over to see him today, and maybe I’ll tag along, too.”

Hale squinted beneath the sunshine, hearing the crackle of his radio as they stood completely stationary outside of that coffee shop.

“That Unser?”

“Always.” His eyes rolled, earning a chuckle from her while she concurrently sipped on her coffee. “I’ve gotta go—take care of yourself, Isla.”

She nodded to him, smiling. “You too, David. I’ll see you around.”

He padded toward his squad car, shaking his head disdainfully—further confirming her initial disjointed suspicion.

It wasn’t a question of what Hale knew at this point, because he knew a lot. Perhaps, he knew too much.

He wasn’t giving anything away, though. Especially to her.

Because no matter how much he wanted to trust Isla—to elucidate all that he had retained regarding the death of her friend—she was still a SAMCRO relation.

She still had that loyalty—that commitment to the members of her father’s club—and she wouldn’t hesitate to spill her guts to Jax fucking Teller.

But, still. Hale couldn’t possibly bear the thought of getting himself into trouble with Stahl—or, even Unser—and so he kept his mouth shut, and his pockets open.

Plus, Isla got a free coffee out of it. She wasn’t going to complain, really.

What she would complain about, however, was the grueling trek back to her house that she always underestimated.

With a hangover, too, walking fifteen blocks wasn’t exactly Isla’s idea of a fun morning. But she had to do it.

As she stepped up to her front door, she curated a mental note to drive herself places more often, and to stop depending on Tig. Because, as made clear to her, he was unpredictable and she had been left stranded.

But she was home, now. And Isla made a beeline for her bathroom where she stripped out of her funeral clothes, pulled the scrunchie from her hair, and stood beneath the boiling water in an attempt to completely cleanse herself of yesterday.

And last night, the more she thought about it.

Because she was far too fragile a woman to just be used by Tig. Especially when she had spent two evenings confiding in him, taking care of him in the one way that no woman had ever dared to before, and elucidating thoughts she’d seldom spoken to another person.

She was hurting on a whole other level. She had sworn her crow to Tig fucking Trager, and he didn’t have so much as a morsel of respect for her—a morsel of decency—because he didn’t even stay.

He didn’t even know if she made it home safe, did he?

Everybody was so concerned about her safety, but Isla wasn’t convinced that was anything more than just uttering the line “be careful.” Because they didn’t truly care.

If they all cared as much as they let on, then perhaps she would’ve gotten a call, by now.

But she was blow-drying her hair—completely docile to her thoughts and believing almost every inconceivable detail—and hadn’t heard the front door opening.

She halted at the faint sound of heels clicking along the hardwood floor, and put her comb atop the dresser alongside the heated appliance.

Isla rummaged around her purse, hastily yanking her trusty—though remarkably burdensome—Colt Pony from the leather pocket.

“Gemma?!” Her throat hitched as she called out, holding the weapon between pale pink fingertips.

It looked quite pretty, actually. The sight of her nails coiled around that deadly object was something she could’ve gotten used to.

Satisfied, she hummed, getting to her feet and readjusting the skirt of her dress when she realized it had risen to the tops of her thighs.

“Gem—“

“Jesus fucking Christ, Isla, put the goddamn gun down!” The brunette yelled, glaring askance from the doorway as Isla grinned bashfully.

“Sorry.” She waved it around a little, before throwing it onto her bed. “Just get a little excited with it, sometimes.”

“Yeah, I see that.” Gemma murmured, but stepped into her bedroom regardless. “Thought you hated the thing?”

“Well, I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get a kick outta holding it every once in a while.”

“Right.” She snorted a laugh, putting her purse on the floor. “I’m glad you’re happy with it now, but for the love of God, don’t point it at me again.”

Isla made a cross over her chest.

“Good.” Gemma stretched out a bit, sighing.

She looked up at Isla whose eyebrows knitted together, totally confused as to why her demeanor had changed so suddenly.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’.” Olive hues surveyed her form, cracking a small smile. “Sack told me you wanted to talk with me, and I was gonna call ‘round, make sure you were doing good, anyway. Which, I assume that you are?”

“I am.” Pleased that somebody—aside from Hale, of course—veritably ensured that she was stable, she stated. “And I’m sorry for last night. Disappointing you, and all that.”

“You didn’t disappoint me. I was just…”

“Mad?” Isla completed her sentence, cringing at the thought.

“No. I wasn’t mad, either.” Gemma sent her that unbelievably habitual knowing look she’d been known to host.

“Gem…If this is about what you walked in on—“

“Look, that ain’t any of my business, and I don’t care what you do in your own time—you’re almost thirty, for Christ’s sake.”

“You just don’t think that Tig and I are a good idea.” Again, she finished what the older woman was trying to say, but with a perpetual frown that broke Gemma’s heart.

“It’s not you, baby. It’s him.” She sighed, watching Isla chew into her lower lip. “He’s a whore. He wants as much pussy as he can get his hands on, and I don’t want you to get caught up in all of that.”

Isla swallowed thickly, striving to downplay how much that little proclamation hurt her. Because it did hurt. A lot.

So much so, she couldn’t quite grasp the words with which to illuminate the crippling pain that had ensued—that had struck her chest, and forced an uncomfortable stipple within her heart.

“I don’t think he’s that bad.” She defended, feeling a pinch of embarrassment. Her crow was blazing, too.

“He is that bad.”

“Is he, though?” Isla challenged, lifting an eyebrow as she pushed hair from her face. “He’s just a man, Gem. He wants good sex with no strings attached, and he probably lets that define his outlook a little too much, but he definitely has the potential to care about more than just getting his dick wet—“

“You slept with him, didn’t you?”

Her cheeks flushed red. Again.

Frankly, lying to Gemma was impossible. Isla was horrific when it came to fabricating the truth, especially when she was faced with the woman that understood her every quirk.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ—“

“It’s fine, though!” Isla upheld, completely frantic. “It was good, and I had a great night, but we’re just gonna leave it at that and go back to sleeping with other people.”

While simultaneously fucking one another. But, Gemma was not going to know that.

“Were you safe?” Gemma quizzed, ignoring her pitiful naivety.

“I’ve been taking Nordette for years.”

“I don’t give a damn if you’re using birth control, Isla. I’m asking if Tig used a condom.”

Isla sneered, uncapping her lipstick. “Why do you even care?”

“Why do I even care?” Irked, she repeated. Isla nodded. “Because Tig fucks anything with a pulse—“ Gemma cut herself off, grimacing, “actually, scratch that. Tig fucks anything. Period.”

“And?”

“And he could’ve given you something!”

“Gem.” Isla snorted a laugh, shaking her head. “It’s okay. I trust that he’s clean—“

“You trust that he’s clean? Since when did trust save you from chlamydia?!”

“Well, it doesn’t. But I trust Tig, and I also believe that he wouldn’t have slept with me if he knew that he was riddled with all of these STDs that you think he is.”

Irritated, Gemma hummed her disapproval.

Isla was so innocent, so credulous when it came to the men in her life and that was a huge worry, for the matriarch.

She put her trust in anybody, in anything, and Gemma feared that she’d never learn from the horrible mistakes that she had also made during her younger years.

“And he was different with me, last night.” Finally, Isla declared. She had decided to spill the beans, now.

“Different how?”

She shrugged, puttering with the lipstick before putting it back atop the dresser. “He wanted more than just sex, I think.”

Gemma caught sight of those glittering, crystalline eyes of hers, and shook her head. She pointed a finger accusingly at Isla, getting up to stand directly in front of her.

“No.”

“What?”

“Don’t start thinking things, Isla. Not about Tig.” She strived to empathize, though her tone was as brash as always. “Don’t start feelin’ special, and catching feelings, ‘cuz he’ll break your heart.”

“But—“

“Isla.”

“Gem, listen to me. Please.”

She watched those painfully beautiful blue hues glass over at the mention of Tig, sighing when she realized that being hard on the blonde wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

“He left me, this morning.” Isla admitted, sitting at the foot of her bed. “He sweet talked me, screwed me into that fucking mattress, and walked out before I woke up.”

“And…?” She sensed that there was more, heeding her despondency.

“And, I’m not even mad at him for it.” Deflated, she blurted. “I love him so much, and I really don’t want this to be the end of our friendship. But I’m worried that he hates me now—“

“Oh, honey.” Gemma crooned, perching beside her. She pushed hair over her shoulder, frowning a little bit. “He could never hate you. Tig loves you too much to hate you, and you know that.”

Isla hummed.

“He probably wanted to save you the embarrassment of waking up next to him, realizing what you did last night.”

“But I’m not embarrassed?”

“I know, baby.” Tight-lipped, Gemma smiled. “I just think that Tiggy felt that he’s gotten in too deep. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“He wouldn’t have.” Completely void, she mumbled. “If anything, not knowing where he’d gotten to this morning made me uncomfortable. It made me feel like I did something wrong, Gem.”

“You didn’t.” Instantaneously, and slightly harsh, she told Isla. “It’s just sleepin’ with your friend is a difficult thing to overcome, sometimes. Things change.”

She supposed that Gemma was right.

Though, the older woman had other suspicions as to why Tig ran from her this morning. And it definitely had something to do with her, and what she might’ve said had she heeded the duo.

Still, she couldn’t let Isla believe that she was the reason why she’d been left naked and alone.

Tig had his own issues with commitment, with confronting his feelings. And Isla knew that, but she couldn’t quite understand how he had decidedly treated her the same way he would have a crow.

She was different, she thought.

“Nothing changed after I slept with Juice.”

“True.” Gemma mused. “But you and Juice were never as close as you and Tig. The nature of your relationship was always bound to complicate things, sweetheart.”

“But nothing is complicated.” Isla upheld, hoping to convince herself more so Gemma. “I think we just need to talk to one another tonight, and figure out where we stand now.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I am.” She confirmed, grabbing her purse. “I always feel better once I’ve talked things through with somebody, and Tig really is no different.”

Dubiously , Gemma murmured. Completely Unconvinced.

But this—whatever it might’ve been—was absolutely none of her business, and giving her unwanted two cents would’ve riled Isla up to an improbable degree.

She just smiled a little bit, getting to her feet. She grabbed her purse—gun enclosed—and her boxes of donuts.

Isla was old—and cognizant—enough to make her own decisions.

Whatever she did from here on out, was her business and her business alone.

7:40 PM

“Did you drive here?”

Isla confirmed with a nod, tipping back the remainder of her Budweiser. She ran her hand over her lips, smacking them together.

“Are you leaving the car in the lot and hitching a ride with somebody?”

“Nope.” She waved Tara off, smiling. “This was my one and only drink, tonight. I’m gonna drive back later.”

“Is that a good idea?” Concerned as always, the doctor asked. Isla smiled at her skepticism, grateful that she cared.

And, truthfully, it wasn’t the best thought that woman had ever conjured up, but she wasn’t led astray too easily when it came to alcohol.

If she said that she’d only have one, then she’d only have one.

“I drank way too much yesterday, so I’m taking it easy now.” Isla told her, pushing and pulling the ring around her thumb. “Plus, I cannot be stranded at this fucking place for another night. It was freezing when I woke up this morning.”

“Oh, I bet.” Tara noted, understanding her pain.

Too many mornings had she found herself tangled within the sheets, trying to keep herself bundled up whilst Jax had left the dorm to start with his day.

Too many fucking times.

“Did you stay alone?”

“No.” Isla responded completely mindlessly, but caught herself before she had the opportunity to slip up completely. “Gemma stayed with me, for a little while.”

The lie was foolproof, she thought. Because if confronted with it, Gemma would not hesitate to continue with the sick charade.

Anything to keep Isla out of trouble.

“And my dad stayed the night. So did Tig, I think. So I wasn’t entirely alone, but I slept in the dorm by myself.”

Which, that, wasn’t essentially a fabrication of the truth. Isla wasn’t sure what time he’d left her, so she might’ve been alone the entire time she was sleeping, the more she pondered.

“If I knew that you were by yourself, I would’ve made Jax stay with you.” She offered, smiling sincerely. “I would’ve, but I got called in last night.”

“No, it’s honestly fine. I like being solitary sometimes.”

Tara’s smile faltered, a bit. She knew that her friend seldom spent time alone, because she couldn’t bear the thought of her own company for too long, so she was wary.

“Plus, I think I was dead to the damn world the second my head hit the pillow.” She chuckled, noticing Tara checking the clock behind the bar.

It was a persistent thing tonight, she’d noticed.

“Did you have someplace you need to be?” She asked, noticing Tig and Clay nearing the bar from her peripheral vision.

Isla swallowed thickly.

“Yeah, I do actually.” Tara nodded, finally focusing her attention back to the woman before her. “I told Jax that I’d take care of Abel tonight.”

“Oh, you’re not staying?”

“No, I have to work pretty early tomorrow.” She heeded the pang of misery sailing over Isla. “But I’ll be free at, like, two if you wanna hang out?”

Stunned that her company was actually wanted, Isla couldn’t seem to help the grin tugging at her lips. She loved the idea of filtering her way back into Tara’s life.

“Of course! I don’t work until Thursday, so I’m totally up for whatever you want to do.”

“Okay, great.” Again, Tara smiled. The two girls were full of beams today, it seemed.

The brunette pulled her purse over her shoulder as she got up, resting a hand on Isla’s arm for a few moments.

“I’ll call you?

“Did you get my number from Jax?” Lifting an eyebrow, she asked. Tara blushed, and she took that as a straight yes. “I’ll be waiting for that call, doc.”

Tara just smirked, saying her prompt goodbyes before fleeing the building. Leaving Isla completely alone.

Again.

But she was feeling better about this one, however. She was feeling a lot better about her friend leaving to take care of her other friend’s baby, and not abandoning her because she was too pussy to confront her feelings.

Or, lack thereof.

Whichever it was, Isla was coming to the hasty conclusion that Tig was just avoiding her completely, now.

She hopped off her bar stool when the party had started to move outside, following the sea of people to the front of the lot.

Despite knowing each and every man and woman that adorned that place, Isla was lost. She felt completely and utterly out of her depth at the clubhouse, for some reason, and she fucking hated that.

She hated how difficult she was finding it to slip in and out of conversation with people, now. How she didn’t particularly want to speak with Clay, or Juice, or even her father.

How she grabbed a beer—despite vowing to herself that she’d remain abstinent, tonight—and stood beside a crow that had waved her over after recognizing her obvious need for human interaction.

Amanda was a great girl, though. Isla liked her a lot.

“Look at that ass!”

Completely blithe, Isla chuckled. “Look at those tits!”

“We’re really the whole package, ain’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely.” The blonde retorted, watching Amanda grin. Though, her attention had swiftly focused on the silver Merc that’d sped onto the lot.

Her interests were piqued almost immediately.

“Who’s that?” Isla asked, watching all four doors open.

“Haven’t gotten a fuckin’ clue, doll.” Amanda shrugged, huffing out cigarette smoke. “But it looks like we’re gonna find out real soon.”

She grimaced, heeding Tig and Clay making their way from the office. Her heart jutted against her chest at the sight of him looking so fucking stern.

“Garage is closed.” Clay called out, stalking toward the mysterious conclave that’d began to emerge one by one.

A sharp-dressed—much too chipper—man challenged the president and sergeant, stepping further into the lot.

“We’re not here for, uh, car repairs.” He leered. “I understand you’re a Camacho fan.”

The man produced a small wooden box with that same obnoxious grin, handing it over to Clay. He just glared at him, holding his beer.

Isla’s eyes were glued to Tig as he stood to attention beside his superior, glaring noxiously at the gift-wielding man and his posse.

One of which looked painfully familiar.

“Who are you?” Clay asked lowly.

The stand-off had attracted the rest of the club, now. The rest of the Sons had surrounded the small circle, metaphorically and physically backing each unfamiliar individual into a corner.

But they didn’t seem to mind all that much.

Tig stood with his hands planted against his hips as the other, rather pathetic looking, man handed a business card to Clay.

“Just dropping by to give you a little friendly advice.”

The president looked at the credentials for all of two seconds, and flicked his eyes right back upward.

“And what advice would that be?” He asked with a little sneer.

“We feel it would be best for all concerned if you stopped dealing arms to the One-Niners and the Mayans.” With a stoic expression, the supposed leader of the party retorted.

His riposte earned the heartiest response from the club, however. Each member—Tig, especially—couldn’t help but snicker, laughing malevolently at the fucking ridiculous proposition.

Though, Isla was worried. She hadn’t a single clue who these men were and, frankly, she didn’t even want to know.

They could’ve been capable of anything, and she was worried.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Clay continued to chuckle, raising his arms. “We’re just mechanics and Harley lovers.”

Tig leaned into his side. “That’s one of Darby’s guys back there.”

“Mr. Darby is one of our supporters.” Matter of fact, the man told Tig.

And Isla watched as he snarled—the way that he always knew would instill some fear into the enemy.

“Expensive car.” Clay mused, rounding the vehicle.

The panic had set in for her, now.

“Hell of a suit. All your teeth.”

She blinked, feeling the presence of Amanda beside her slowly dwindle as she backed away and made a beeline straight for the bar.

Isla simply sighed, watching Happy sport his signature menacing gaze.

“Must be the top of the Aryan food chain, huh?”

She gasped to herself, quickly realizing why one of Darby’s guys had appeared. White fucking supremacists.

Irked, the most vocal of the group sucked in a deep breath. “What you do for a living is between you and your maker. I’m not here to adjust your moral compass.”

Which, considering the nature of his livelihood, Isla found almost painfully ironic. If he, too, was a heathen, then how could he think about rectifying Clay and his club?

“This is just a reality check. You’re a criminal and you’re done selling guns to color—“

Isla’s eyes widened at that proclamation—the sheer fucking boldness of it—and the immediate cocking of Tig’s gun.

She took a few steps forward, hoping that the clicking of her heels against the gravel would draw his focus away from the zealous friction, and onto something else. Her.

It did not, however.

“Are you gonna shoot me, Mr. Trager? With all these witnesses?” Completely condescending, he asked as Tig held tightly onto his gun—ready to fire at any given moment.

Isla couldn’t lie and say that seeing him with such a deadly weapon—a deadly look on his face—wasn’t one of the most attractive things she had ever seen a man sport.

But, for the sake of her sanity, she strived to focus on finishing her drink and praying to the high heavens that there wouldn’t be any blood shed tonight.

Clay exhaled, averting his focus to the ground. “Look, uh, I don’t know what Darby told ‘ya and, uh, I don’t know what your angle is,” he shrugged, finally looking upward.

Totally unbothered by his presence too, it seemed.

“But let me be real clear. Nobody threatens Sam Crow.”

The almost off-putting monotony in the expression of the unknown man—the sheer lack of interest behind his lifeless hues—coerced a sharp chill to shoot down Isla’s spine.

“And nobody tells us what we can and can’t do. So why don’t you just climb back into your little German clown car, and drive back to Nazi town?”

The man chucked. But Clay wasn’t done with the, strangely subdued, verbal beat-down.

“‘Cause the next time you piss all over my shoes, he will kill you.” Tig grinned sadistically, completely in his element. “And I don’t give a shit how many witnesses there are.”

Whoever had dared to provoke Clay Morrow, however, had some serious balls. And Isla had to hand it to the man for managing to compose himself for so long.

If she had been spoken to like that—in front of that large a party—she would’ve lost her goddamn mind.

The man capitulated with a sigh.

“My shop opens in a few weeks. Until then…” He placed the box to the ground, nodding to Clay with a tight-lipped smile. “Enjoy.”

He backed away, gesturing for his associates to follow him back to the vehicle.

One of which, however, bumped into Isla as she had appeared much too close to the epicenter.

“Sorry, ma’am.” Sheepishly, he apologized to her. She smiled, though, watching him pad over to the car.

“I wanna know everything.” Clay handed Juice the business card, standing directly in front of the Mercedes to ensure that they were actually going to leave.

“You got it.”

Juice nodded as he slid past Isla, hastening toward the clubhouse. No doubt so that he could track down his laptop, and get straight to work.

Isla, however, had begun to feel a bubbling resentment toward Tig, now. She wanted nothing more than to slap the nauseating smugness off of his stupid fucking face.

He traipsed toward the car as it backed out of the lot, following the driver until he’d sped onto the street.

About to stalk back to Clay, Tig turned on his heels. But his intentions were hastily tampered with when she cleared her throat, and he caught sight of her sumptuous form from the corner of his eye.

Isla’s stomach was in knots.

“Hey.” He greeted with a smile, about to pull her in for a hug but she stepped away. “What?”

“Where the hell did you go today?”

His eyebrows scrunched upward, trying to piece together the events of his day.

“Well, we had this meet with Hayes ‘n his son, and Jax got us a real good deal with our guns—twenty-eight percent, and the Russian stock—“

“Why’re you telling me this?” Galled, she snapped. “I don’t give a fuck about the damn guns, Tig.”

“But you asked.” Confused, he responded. “Isla, I’m just tellin’ you where I went.”

“I meant this morning.”

“That’s where I was this morning.” Tig softened. “And then me, Jax, Ope, and your old man…we, uh, we went—“

“I don’t wanna hear it.” Isla shut him down, folding both arms over her chest, feeling a breeze waft over her. “I just wanna know why you left me in bed this morning.”

Suddenly, her irritation made so much more sense to him.

Really, Tig hadn’t seen very much harm in slipping out of the dorm room and to the garage before Isla roused, today. Especially when he really did have the best intentions at heart.

Mindlessly, he put his arm over her shoulder when he was sure that nobody had continued to linger. Tig kissed the side of her head and she, reluctantly, melted into his hold.

“I can actually explain this one.”

“I’m waiting.” She looked up at him through those long, black lashes, and pouted.

He sighed, nodding toward one of the empty picnic tables, letting her know that he was wanting to head over that way.

“It’s nothing that you did, firstly. Last night was so, so, fucking good, Isla, and I meant it when I said that I really didn’t want that to just be a one time thing.”

“But you left without even waking me up.” Bitterly, she snorted. Isla took a seat atop the table, letting her feet rest against the bench as Tig stood in front of her.

“I know, I know.” Mad at himself, he shook his head. “But I did that ‘cuz I had this feeling that Gemma was gonna burst through the door, y’know, after she made a point of chastising us last night…”

“And you didn’t want her to do it again.” She finished his sentence, feeling a twinge of adoration strike her heart, slicing through tendons as she thought about how sweet that gesture was.

He wanted to protect her.

“Oh, Tig, I’m sorry—“

“Don’t apologize.” He silenced her, reaching for her hand. “Don’t give yourself a hard time, baby, this is on me for not telling you where I was going.”

“But I just jumped down your damn throat before I even gave you the chance to explain.” Just as irritated with herself, she told him. “And I should’ve known that it was to just spare me from Gemma, ‘cuz the look she gave me this morning—“

“You told Gem?” He tilted his head a little bit when he asked, trying to decide whether he was relieved that Isla did that, or irked that she did that. “Why?”

“Because I tell her everything, Tig.” Weakly, she defended. “And I think that she knew.”

“You think?”

“We were all over one another, last night.” Isla felt that familiar fluttering sensation within the chasms of her stomach when he smiled at her. “I think she knew.”

“She probably did.” He confirmed, sliding his thumb over the top of her hand. “And if she did, then she probably told Clay—“

“God, no, don’t even start with that.” She feigned a grunt, cringing at the fucking thought. “I just had to get it off my chest.”

Tig understood what she meant, by that. Because he felt the exact same, though he didn’t really have anybody that he could’ve confided in.

Or, at least, he didn’t have anybody that wouldn’t have taunted him for it. Gemma wouldn’t ridicule him for it the same way that Clay would, or even Jax, for that matter.

“You tell her how good it was?” Smugly, he asked. Isla’s cheeks burned crimson.

“I did. I didn’t spare her all of the details, but I said it was great and that I had a real good fuckin’ time with you.”

“Yeah?”

Isla hummed her response, hopping off the picnic table.

If the party hadn’t—almost completely—migrated indoors, she wouldn’t have thrown her arms over his shoulders and let him pull her closer to his body by her ass.

But only a handful of crows seemed to scatter the lot, now. And neither particularly cared about being seen.

“I had such a great time.” She confirmed, lifting a hand to the back of his neck where she twisted a few fingers into his hair. “I really wanna fuck you again, Tig.”

He groaned at the way her nails ghosted over his head as she played with his curls, lauding the idea of being the only woman allowed to do such a thing.

“I need you—“

The man felt as though all he’d been doing lately was shutting her up, but he just couldn’t listen to her sultry requests anymore.

Tig wound one arm around her waist, holding the back of her neck with his left hand, and lowered his head to meet her height.

She stood a little straighter, snaking both arms over his shoulders when he pressed his lips to hers. Isla couldn’t help the smile pulling at each corner of her mouth when she could almost taste the hunger—the sheer tangible appetency—he had for her.

It gave her butterflies, actually.

And it was nothing like their first kiss, last night.

Isla didn’t feel like he was about to take it easy on her, or soothe her through the embrace. He was fucking ravenous, and she wanted nothing more than to satiate that hunger.

“Bathroom.” She mumbled against his lips, whining when he squeezed the base of her neck. “Now.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” She pulled away, pushing the creases out of her dress. “I’m gonna walk in there and head to the bathroom and, in like five minutes, you’re gonna follow me in. Think you can do that?”

“Absolutely.” Instantly, he promised.

Tig watched Isla smirk at him before sneaking away, back into the party. He set himself down, for a second. To catch his breath, mainly.

Because she might’ve been a soft, sweet character, but Isla Telford was a goddamn whirlwind. She knocked the air right out of his lungs whilst simultaneously filling his heart with the purest, happiest of feelings.

The love he held for her would never cease. Ever. And he supposed that worried him, at times, but it was something he told himself that he was able to ignore.

Maybe.

“Hey, you!” Gemma shouted to him as she headed toward her car, heeding the shit-eating grin he was sporting. “Take care of my baby.”

Tig nodded, loosening up when he saw the worry wash over her.

She adored that girl like she was her own.

“Yes, ma’am.” He called right back, waving when she got into the vehicle and slammed the door. “Always have, always will.”

[blue-fidelity]

~ “Smile In The Face of Tragedy”

Chapter One: Beer Run

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x Henderson!reader, Steve Harrington x best friend! reader

Chapter Summary:

(Y/N) reminisces the events of the summer before senior year. It’s her last year of High School, and she wants to start fresh, the pretty newcomer with shiny blue eyes is willing to help with that.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, abuse (could be trigger warning, reader has a hard past)

The year of 1984 had come into full swing, and (Y/N) had tried to make the rest of her junior year somewhat enjoyable. After the incident with the demogorgon around Christmas, she wanted to focus on the lighter side of life. Which was mainly dicking around with her best friend, and crush, Steve Harrington. Things were going great, till the summer. 

‘Summer of ‘84. She dubbed it, “The Summer of Steve & Nancy”. Months usually consisted of Steve and Nancy trying to fix the shattered fragment of what their relationship was, whilst (Y/N) and Jonathan watched on the sidelines. Steve would come to (Y/N)’s house at ungodly hours of the night, usually sneaking through her window. 

She’s just been so distant, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong- he’d whimper, laying his head on her lap. She tried to contain her tears, for him. If only she could tell Steve that there was someone better for him, someone that could make him happy. There was one problem with that, though. Steve loved Nancy. It’s not like (Y/N) could change that, and it killed her. Seeing her best friend in this state though, it was another level. She wanted to scream at Nancy, scream at her for stringing Steve on a loose thread that she could’ve easily cut. Instead Nancy hid her feelings for Jonathan and carried on this dance with Steve. 

It just wasn’t fair, though, nothing really seemed fair at this point. Everything would eventually come crashing down and it’d leave a trail of broken hearts in the process, but atlast, (Y/N) would keep her head up high. She’d try her best not to fall into the deep end of emotions she wasn’t able to handle. If anything turned down hill, she knew she’d have one thing. Her brother, Dustin. 

Dustin was the ray of happiness that (Y/N) projected off of, to his charismatic personality and bright smile, she was like him in many ways. Moments spent with her brother we’re always great, they had a surprisingly better relationship then most siblings did. It was probably because (Y/N) was secretly a nerd, and even though she wouldn’t admit it, she probably liked D&D even more than her brother did. That’s why she absolutely loved joining Dustin and his friends on their sessions. 

This made the party worship her in a way, and she couldn’t help but find it adorable. It’s not everyday you get a bunch of middle schoolers fawn after you. So despite the never ending months of trying to mend Steve’s broken heart, the summer wasn’t a total bust. In fact, she loved the days she spent with those boys (even though it was a little hard to carpool when she drove a Harley Davidson, Mike was always willing to lend his family’s station wagon). 

Now, she was nearly two months into her senior year, and she decided to make it count. After all, it was her last year of high school before college. It was the day before Halloween, and she couldn’t be more excited. Dustin and the rest of the party were pretty hyped about spending their first night trick or treating unchaperoned, if  (Y/N) remembered correctly he stated, “(Y/N)! We are 13, practically men! As men we fetch our own candy”. To this she giggled, ruffling her brother’s curls, “Well young man, you must save your sister some Kit-Kats”.

- 

(Y/N) knew Tina, the only popular girl that really tolerated her was going to throw a party at her place. She had called her last night all excited about her, “Halloween Bash”, and how she wanted (Y/N) to help plan it. “The guys at the liquor store won’t say no to a hot chic on a motorcycle!”, of course Tina wanted her to get the beer. (Y/N) didn’t even drink that much! Only on occasions, but Tina was her friend. So after school today, she was going to head to ‘Hawkins local liquor store, and PRAY TO GOD she could hide the kegs from her mother. It was moments like these she wished she had a car to stash things in.

She pulled up into Hawkins High’s parking lot, “Toys in The Attic”  by Aerosmith playing loudly on her stereo. Spending a whole summer with middle schooler’s kind of made her forget about her social status. If it made sense, (Y/N) wasn’t in the “popular clique”, being Steve’s best friend just gave her a title. Those who didn’t like her called her, “Steve’s Wannabe Queen”, which was partially true, whilst others who liked her didn’t name her anything. She was just, “(Y/N) Henderson”. A face that simply stood out in the crowd because of sheer confidence, kindness, and a vibe that screamed cool. Guys wanted to fuck her, girls wanted to be her. It was a classic High School cliché.

Tina waved at her as she parked her ‘Harley beside her car. She was with Carol and another girl who she couldn’t name. “Hey (Y/N/N), I was just telling the ladies you’ll be supplying the beer for tomorrow?”, she said, to which (Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Only because you know the creeps down there won’t turn me down, come on Tina I feel used”, she fake pouted. The girls all laughed, continuing to talk about the party. 

As the girls continued their conversation, (Y/N)’s Aerosmith seemed to be drowned out by the familiar sound of The Scorpions, “Rock You Like A Hurricane”. A fellow metal head such as herself in Hawkins Indiana? ‘This couldn’t be possible. About everyone in this town had shitty taste in music, besides her and Jonathan. She turned down her stereo and directed her view to the sound, eyes being met with an ocean blue Camaro, with a California license plate. How fitting. Whoever the driver was, had sped into the parking spot beside hers. 

The group of girls behind her stared eagerly to see who this suspicious newcomer was, and if (Y/N) was being honest, she was kind of curious as well. The driver door swung open, and the driver’s combat boots grounded him to the concrete. That’s when she saw him, and he saw her, too. 

Something radiated off him, almost a confidence higher than hers. It was cockiness, and at first glance, she could see right through him. Denim jacket, cuffed jeans, and a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. That was her first impression, and damn was he definitely good looking. For a moment, Steve had been wiped from her brain. Replaced with blonde curls and pretty blue eyes that bore into hers. “Whatcha looking at, princess?”, he smirked- eyeing her up and down like an animal staring down its prey. (Y/N) tried to contain herself, she wasn’t about to be wooed by the new playboy. 

“I’m simply looking at your car, 1979 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, right?”, her car knowledge would get her out of this one. “Right you are sweetheart, pleasure to see one of the girls in this town has common sense”, he grinned, showing his pearly whites. “Well if you're ‘lookin for that trait in the rest of the girls here, I think you’d sadly be disappointed”, she smiled, gesturing to her “friends”. Tina and the other’s let out gasps. The newcomer shook his head, plucking his cigarette from his lips. “Well I guess I’ll see you and your senseless friends around then, huh?”, “I guess so”. He strutted to the school. 

“You whore! Way to throw us under the bus like that”, Tina scowled, slapping (Y/N) on the shoulder. She only laughed, “Well, couldn’t lie to the guy now could I?”. Well wasn’t (Y/N) feeling pretty proud about herself right now? She could really be a sarcastic fuck sometimes, huh? 

-

In a way, (Y/N) loved school. Her place made her feel validated, and she got pretty good grades. What was there not to love? As she was at her locker, her peachy attitude soon turned to discomfort. The happy squeals of Nancy could be heard from a few lockers away as Steve spun her around. She smiled at the couple, yet it still made her heart ache. (Y/N) couldn’t help but notice Jonathan awkwardly walking away from them, passing by her. Steve looked at his girlfriend with sparkles in his eyes. He genuinely seemed joyful, and in a way she was happy for him. Still, that aching feeling was there, and at this point it seemed nothing could replace it. 

Later that day, during art class (which was last period), she found out the new guy's name was Billy Hargrove.  Fresh out from sunny California a week ago. She questioned why someone like him would choose art out of all things for his creative credit, but, maybe he’d surprise her. The class was filled with a very “out of the box”, group of people. They might’ve been (Y/N)’s favorite out of the student body. The art room was a space for open opinions, and creativity. Everyone was interesting in their own individual way, but somehow, Billy managed to stand out. 

When he entered the class, everyone was already working on their current pieces. Mr. Axworthy, who insisted everyone called him “Mr. Ax”, had assigned a new project about a week ago. Every year he gave students an assignment to represent themselves, this year it was painting your favorite album cover. Though (Y/N) had many favorites, she chose The Clash’s “London Calling”, and was currently working on the shading. She was calmly sitting at her easel when she heard the teacher speak, “Mr. Hargrove! Pleasure to have you in our art class, there’s a free spot beside Mrs. Henderson, she’ll explain the current project to you!”. (Y/N) gave “Mr. Hargrove” a slight smile as he walked towards her.

“So, Henderson, huh? Got a first name?”, he questioned, showing that cocky smirk. “It’s, (Y/N), yours?”, “Billy. Billy Hargrove”.  Now she knew his name- and it somehow added to his intoxicating aura. Call it fascination- but, Billy’s presence overwhelmed her in a way, and she didn’t even know him that well! It’s not like her feelings for Steve disappeared, just anytime those shimmering blue eyes glanced her way, her heart raced. Maybe Billy was the void waiting to fill that aching feeling, and she just hadn’t realized it yet. Everyone was telling her to move on, that it wasn’t worth it, but- to her, Steve was worth it. The one thing that wasn’t worth it though, was chasing a dream that wasn’t going to come true. 

As (Y/N) was explaining the project to Billy, she was surprised by how attentive he was. If he could get excited about one thing, it was music. “So how are your art skills?”, she asked, “A little rusty, but nothing you can’t show me”, he grinned, taking one of his paint brushes and dipping it into some red paint. (Y/N) thought he’d go for the canvas, but he surprisingly smeared the paint onto her cheeks. She stared at him in shock- “Wha-what the hell did you do that for?!”, she exclaimed. “Just thought I could add to the flush on your cheeks!”, he laughed, of course he’d notice her blushing.  Two could play at this game. “Well, you know what I think your face could use?”, “Oh yeah? What’s that?”, “Some green!”, she shouted, painting a big green line on his face. Before their paint war could continue, Mr. Axworthy had noticed.

“I hate to interrupt, but shouldn’t the paint go on your canvas?”, he motioned to our easels. “Well of course Mr. Ax, but when it comes to the concept of art, isn’t everything a canvas?” she giggled, leaving Mr. Axworthy speechless. “Well, yes- but I’d prefer you’d not interrupt the class and actually help Billy start his project”, he states. “Definitely, he had just finished telling me he wanted to do Metallica’s ‘Kill ‘em All, isn’t that correct, Mr. Hargrove?”, “Yes that is correct!”. “Well then, carry on, you can wash the paint off your faces at the end of class”. 

By the time class finished, Billy had at least finished the base coat of his painting whilst (Y/N) had time to finish her shading. Now, they needed to step into the halls with paint all over their faces-how embarrassing. It was as if Mr. Axworthy wanted them to be publicly humiliated! In a way, (Y/N) didn’t blame him, it was a good form of punishment. When the pair walked the halls, they received awkward glances. Billy simply rolled his eyes, who were they to judge him? He wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, giving her a reassuring smile, “Let them stare, I know you got rep around this joint, they have no reason to give you dirty looks, aight?”. It was nice to have reassurance from Billy, but from getting to know him, he generally had that ‘don’t give a fuck attitude’. She wasn’t worried about the paint. She was worried what people would think if they saw her, the girl who had been pining for Steve forever, under another guy's arms. The new hotshot nonetheless. 

Luckily Billy was called over by Tommy, of course he had already been recruited by that group. Despite her very much fun art class with him, she was feeling uneasy with all the looks she was getting from people, and to make matters worse, Steve was standing at her locker. He waved her over with a smile, to which she headed over to him. 

“Hey Stevie”, she beamed at him. Damn she still couldn’t resist that adorable face. “Hiya (Y/N/N), saw you walking with ‘Hargrove”, he smirked. “Oh yeah, that- we just have art together, nothing big”, she blushed, I guess Billy really was getting to her. “That explains the paint on your cheeks?”, he pointed at the red coated on her face. “Just a small mishap I guess���, she chuckled. “So what brings Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington to my locker?” she inquired. “Just wanted to see my bestie, it’s been a while”, he smiled softly, poking her side. It really had been a while, (Y/N) really couldn’t remember the last time Steve looked at her happily. It gave her a sense of comfort to see him so cheerful. “It really has- I’d hate to cut this short, but I really have to get some errands done, but I’ll see you at the party tomorrow?”, “Definitely! I’ll see you then”, he bid her goodbye, kissing her on the cheek. Her hands grazed her cheek, touching where he just kissed. “Oh and Henderson! Let’s hangout sometime, yeah?”, he shouted to her, “That’d be great!”. 

Before heading to the parking lot, she stopped at the bathroom to wash the paint off. She checked to see if anyone was there, luckily there wasn’t. The girl really didn’t need anymore dirty looks. She grabbed some paper towels, running them under warm water. While she whipped the paper towel over her face, she took the time to look at herself. What was she doing? Was she really going to let Steve slip away that easily?  Billy had just entered her life, and had obviously taken an interest in her. What was the risk of jumping into things too quickly? She couldn’t wait forever. That’s when she decided. (Y/N) was going to allow herself to get lost in the new overwhelming feeling of Billy Hargrove. 

-

(Y/N) drove down the quiet back roads of Hawkins, making her way to the liquor store. If the town wasn’t sketchy enough, having the liquor store away from civilization made it even sketchier. She really didn’t like coming here, the last time (Y/N) came here was for another one of Tina’s parties. It was for the end of the summer, at Lover’s Lake. It was quite the blowout, till Hopper came to shut it down. Fortunately she didn’t get caught that night, her mother would’ve killed her, and she wasn’t about to spend the night in jail. 

Now, (Y/N) wanted to give the cashier an offer he couldn’t refuse. The process was simple, bat her eyelashes, show plenty of cleavage, talk innocently, and then figure out how to put two fucking kegs in the side car of her motorcycle! She glanced down at the outfit she was wearing, a simple low-cut red t-shirt with some high rise acid wash jeans, and a leather jacket. The leather jacket could go. She strutted to the counter of the store, knowing they held the kegs in the back storage, it was time to turn on the charm. Borris, the regular cashier, was in his late 60’s, and she absolutely hated the way he looked at her. It made her feel grose, but she wasn’t about to let Tina down. 

Boris contentedly stared her down, obviously checking her out. On the inside, she shivered, but she kept on a smile. “Anything I can do for you pretty lady?”, he asked, grinning. “Yes, I was wondering if you can hook me up with a few kegs? ‘You see I got this party tomorrow, up in Indianapolis! It’s a big college thing, ‘can’t have a good time without alcohol”, that oughta convince him. “Sure thing sweets, I’ll grab some for you, how many shall it be?”. He didn’t even ask her for her ID! “Two will be just fine! Thank you so much!”. He brought them up to the counter, shit those look heavy, she thought. “How much does it come to?”, (Y/N) asked. “Oh, on the house, anything for a pretty girl looking to have a good time”, score! He almost offered to help bring them out- till a familiar voice cut in. 

“It’s no problem Boris, I’ll help her out, just grab me a pack of cigs mhm?”, Billy Hargrove, of course. “Your usual William?”, questioned Boris. “That’ll be just fine”. (Y/N) was stunned. Did it just happen to be a coincidence that he walked through the door? More like a sign. He took hold of one of the kegs, while she grabbed the other. They both headed outside. 

“Stalking me, Hargrove?”, she smirked. “Absolutely not! I just happened to need more cigarettes, and I noticed a familiar Harley Davidson, don’t flatter yourself”, he placed the keg down, lighting a cigarette. “Sure...and you deliberately wanted to help me with the kegs?”, “The guys a creep! I’m sure you didn’t want to be around him any longer”, he huffed, blowing smoke from his lips. “Aww, you protecting me Hargrove? That’s cute!”, she giggled.

Even though Billy hated to admit it, he loved when she laughed. She ignited this glow that was hard to describe- though, it made him feel warm. It made him feel good. When he arrived here, his goal was to sleep with nearly every girl who made eyes at him, he’d make a list, and then he’d check it off one by one. That all changed when he saw her. She was different, she had this spark that came with her quick wit that left him wanting more. Was he going to tell her that? No, not yet, but it seems his “friendship” with her was growing quicker than he expected. 

“I’m not protecting you..just-shut up”, why was he getting so flustered? This was so unlike him. “Whatever Hargrove, just help me load these into my sidecar will yah?”, she struggled to hold the keg. “Sweetheart, are you sure those will fit in there?’, he questions, looking at her struggling. “You got any better ideas?”,  she groaned impatiently. In fact- Hargrove did have an idea, whether she’d agree, he really didn’t know. 

“Here me out- you and I both know those aren’t going to hold in there, and I know why you need them, so why don’t I stash them in the Camaro, and you and I can go to the party together?”, he offered, waiting eagerly for her response. She hesitantly looked down at the kegs, and then back up at him. “Billy- are you sure? I don’t want you going through all that trouble, what if your parent’s found them?”, she questioned worriedly, biting her lip. “My parents won’t notice a damn thing, if they even touch my car- it’s their dead body on my hands”, he laughed, though she could see his shoulders tense up, the question had obviously bothered him. “Well alright then...let’s load them into your trunk”. 

Once the kegs were in, Billy closed his car trunk tightly. Smiling at (Y/N) he took another puff of his cigarette, leaning against the back of his car. “So what are you going as?”, he wondered, staring at her. (Y/N) had spaced out, not really getting what he meant. “What do you mean?”, she asked. “For the Halloween party, what’s your costume?”, “Oh! I'm going as Sarah Connor from the new Terminator movie?”, she explained, wondering if he’d heard of it. “Nice, I was told that movie was supposed to be good”. Why did this conversation feel so awkward? “It really was, I went to go see it with my little brother”, she grinned. 

“You got a little sibling- me too, well step sister, but that doesn’t matter”, he muttered the last bit, inhaling more of his cigarette. “Do you two get along?”, she questioned, “No-not really-just, can we change the subject?!”, he raised his voice slightly, startling her a bit. He really didn’t want to talk about his family. ‘I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to pry- I should go-”, she whispered, heading back to her motorcycle. (Y/N) turned on her heel, flinching when she felt Billy take a slight hold on her wrist. “Wait- I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean to startle you”, his words were shaky, as he kept his grip on her wrist. She slipped his hand off her wrist, staring at him blankly. (Y/N) wasn’t exactly sure what she was supposed to say at this moment. “It’s just- when I moved here, I wanted to start fresh and the idea of my family just-it makes it hard”, he says sharply. “I just don’t like talking about it”. 

(Y/N) nodded her head slightly, she didn’t really know what Billy went through when he moved to Hawkins, and whatever it was, seemed to trigger him. In a way, (Y/N) knew what it felt like. She and her family moved to Indiana in 1979, when she just started middle school. It was hard to adjust, and Hawkins was a lot different from her last home. They left because her father had walked out on them. Though it was traumatic, it wasn’t like he was a very good dad. He’d come home late from work, usually drunk and angry. (Y/N) still had scars from when he beat her. It made her insides twitch, shivering at the thought of the still present stitches on her back. The night she got them, her father had been particularly cheesed off,  luckily her mom and Dustin weren’t home. Her mother was having a well deserved ‘ladies night’ while her brother was at a sleepover. 

The night started off calmly, (Y/N) had been contently listening to records in her room while her father was watching football down the hall. She knew he had been drinking, she never saw him without alcohol in his hands. That’s why she didn’t drink that much, she’d hate to turn out like him. Her door was locked, to make sure he wouldn’t come in. She cringed when she heard glass shatter in the other room, footsteps slowly approaching her door. She hopped out of her bed, muttering ‘fuck-fuck-fuck’, under her breath. At this point she had gotten scared. Her dad knocked harshly on her door, “(Y/N), you better fucking open this door, or I’ll knock it down myself”- he yelled, voice booming. That’s when she realized. I’ll go out the window. (Y/N) quietly opened the window latch, slipping through the frame. Luckily her house was only one story, so there was no risk of falling. 

She thought she had been safe, till her father noticed she escaped from the window. (Y/N) barely had a chance to leave the driveway till her father spotted her, tackling her to the ground. Her chest hit the cold pavement, groaning in pain as her father pinned her wrists to the asphalt. Not getting a chance to notice the kitchen knife in his left hand, he unexpectedly slashed the blade against her back. She wailed as the knife dented her skin, begging for her dad to stop as tears filled her eyes. By chance her mother had entered the driveway before her father could do anymore damage.  (Y/N) never understood why her mom didn’t call 9-1-1, just simply drove her to the hospital to get stitches. It was probably out of fear, and it was only a few nights after the incident that he disappeared. When Dustin found out what happened, even with only being eight years old at the time, she swore he was ready to kill him. 

- 

When she stared back at him, she had a sympathetic look in her eyes.  “It’s okay B, just- if you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here”.  He smiled slightly at the small nickname, looking at her softly, “Thanks, no one’s really offered that before”. He scratched his neck nervously, lighting out his cigarette. “Hug it out?”, she extended her arms out cheekily. Hug it out? Billy Hargrove didn’t hug it out- but she seemed so sincere-  he pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead. He couldn’t resist smelling her hair, it smelled almost tropical- like the salty scent of the ocean breeze that reminded him of home. For the first time, Billy felt at peace in this new town. He knew that if she stocked around, he could bring himself to be happy, and as luck would have it, she was planning to. 

Next Chapter: smile-in-the-face-of-tragedy

Authors Note: The time has come and the first chapter is here! I hope you guys enjoyed, feedback is greatly appreciated 😊! If anyone else wants to be in the tag-list, feel free to comment below!

Tag-list: @holychocopie

[jonogueirawrites]

Ipê Branco.

AO3

Tags: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff, Jealousy, Slow Burn (ish), Smut, Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, Rick Flag Lives, Peacemaker dies, Happy Ending.

Chapter 1.

Chapter 3 - To hopeful hearts.

Summary: They face many troubles and problems in their way to kill Enchantress. Joker, Waller’s helicopter being taken down, June’s fate and Prim’s whereabouts.

If looks could kill, Amanda Waller would be dead as soon as she left the room she had been hiding in waiting to be rescued. It wasn’t only the group of criminals who were imagining every possible way they could kill her but also Prim. She didn’t wanted to kill Waller, she wanted to make her suffer… a lot.

They headed to the rooftop. The murmurs of discontent floated in the air, but the boss didn’t seem fazed in the least, which only infuriated Prim more.

With aching bodies and tired souls, they waited on the windy rooftop. The packaged air conditioning units around didn’t shield them from the cold wind. A draft blew Prim’s dress and sent shivers all over her skin. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned on the wall. Her eyes trained on the floor. The thought they were high in the sky made her tremble. Being far from the ground was one of her biggest fears.

“You okay?” Chato asked, leaning on the wall beside her.

“Sure.” She tried to smile.

“Afraid of heights?”

She chuckled and rubbed her arms, trying to get warmer. “A little, yes. You?”

“Not really. So…” He lit his hands to warm her. “What’s up with you and birds?”

“Thanks.” She pointed at the flames. “I just like birds.” She avoided answering.

He gave her a good side look. “I bet you do. What I–” The sound of the helicopter approaching cut their conversation short.

Prim could hear GQ contacting the helicopter, and after a few unsuccessful tries, Rick warned everyone it had been hijacked. She immediately hid behind one of the ac units.

In all his glory and madness, Joker shot wildly at everyone. His maniac laughter echoed in the place even though gunfire rained upon them.

Prim saw Deadshot shaking his head to Harley who looked at her. A question written on Harley’s eyes after she glanced from the helicopter to Prim.

“Can you make it?” Prim mouthed to Harley, who smiled back at her. “Go for it!” Prim winked at the end of her words.

Harley was an angel walking down a runway on her way to the helicopter. Her face adorned with a blissful smile, and Prim could only wonder how she could be so confident with bullets flying past her.

“Kill her!” Waller yelled at Rick.

“Her nanite’s disarmed!” He answered.

When she blew kisses at them, Prim chuckled.

“Deadshot, shoot that woman right now!”

“She ain’t do shit to me,” he calmly answered Waller.

“You’re a hitman, right? I got a contract. Kill Harley Quinn. Do it for your freedom and your kid.”

“Now she dead.”

“No!” Prim yelled, standing in front of him. “Please, Deadshot.”

“Move!”

Prim looked at Waller and at him again, “Please!” She begged, placing her hand on his gun.

“Kill her, Flag,” Waller said without batting an eye towards Prim.

Prim gave Rick a sweet smile before she started coughing hard. Her hand reached her chest, trying and failing to calm down, and soon after, she spat the nanite bomb.

“Flag!” Waller touched his arm, but before he could do anything, Prim threw the bomb over the edge of the building turning to Deadshot once again.

“Who the fuck are you?” Deadshot examined her up and down.

“I’m Prim.” She winked at him.

“Deadshot!” The hitman walked around Prim, who pleaded once again. He aimed, and she rested her hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. When he fired his gun, she simply closed her eyes defeated.

Harley rolled down the fabric she had been suspended from the helicopter like a corpse dangling on a web but soon waved back at them.

“I missed,” Deadshot declared to Waller, who watched him walk away.

Prim never felt prouder to be part of a team. Her eyes sought Rick’s, who smiled and nodded in approval.

“It’s Waller. Savior 1-0’s been hijacked. Shoot it down.”

They did the only thing they could. They watched. When the helicopter went down, Prim felt a tear rolling down her skin, getting lost among the first droplets of rain. “Deadshot,” she said after cleaning her face, “thank you.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.

When Waller boarded another helicopter and left, Prim approached Rick. “Mr. Colonel Flag?” He rolled his eyes.

“What is it now?” 

“I saw it.” She nudged his foot, and he raised his brow, still not looking at her. His eyes on the leaving helo. “You are warming up to us.” She smiled. Her eyes directed to the helicopter but she noticed he turned his head her way. “Fireworks!” She exclaimed excitedly when flares shot out of the helicopter.

Rick scoffed, adjusting his gun. “It’s just for show, Sunshine. That way no one can shoot missiles at it.”

“It’s still pretty.”

“How old are you again?” He stared at her.

“I think the time to play innocent is over, isn’t it?” Deadshot approached them.

“Yeah… I agree.” She sighed, running her fingers on her hair. “It’s still pretty, though.” She smiled at them, who rolled their eyes.

GQ received news Waller’s helicopter had been shot down and Rick once again ordered everyone to move.

On their way to rescue Waller, they found Harley waiting for them on the roof of a car. Deadshot helped her down, and Prim immediately hugged her tightly. “Don’t scare me like that!” She pulled her hand up and laced their pinkies. Harley didn’t say anything but the genuine smile on her face was worth a thousand words.

The helicopter was a no-go. Waller had been taken, and the group once more found themselves heading to rescue her. Deadshot threw a folder with top-secret documents on a car near Rick, getting the soldier’s attention and making them stop their march.

“Tell everybody everything, or me and you gonna go right now.” They stared at each other.

“Three days ago, a non-human entity appeared in the subway station. So Waller sent me with a bomb and a woman with incredible abilities.”

“The witch,” Prim stated.

“How did you know that?” Rick questioned, intrigued, but she didn’t answer. “Nobody could get near this other entity, but the witch could. I set the bomb but the witch betrayed us. She almost blew us before escaping. Now you know. The whole the truth.”

After his explanation, the group of misfits headed to a nearby bar. At the same time, the SEALs went somewhere else, leaving Prim and Rick alone in the rain.

“She is gorgeous.” Prim lifted her eyes from the picture of June and Rick on one of the documents to look at him. “It suits you.”

“What?”

“Smiling.” She walked away from him, and Rick sighed, rubbing his forehead.

With the rain soaking her soul, she decided to take shelter under an ancient tree. She sat on its roots and dug her toes and fingers on the mud, leaning her back on its trunk. The sound of thunder and the lightning striking the sky didn’t bother her.

Some time later, their voices were loud enough for her to hear over the rain, and she smiled when they approached her.

“I’m glad everything is settled.” She didn’t move nor open her eyes. She stood still, enjoying the sensation of the rain on her skin.

“Not really. We still hate Flag,” Captain Boomerang explained, and most of them agreed, chuckling.

“For now…” Prim opened her eyes and stared at the soldier in front of her. “He’s not as bad as he seems.” She giggled. “A jerk who could learn some manners, but again, I think you all should.” After a pause, she added, “Not Croc, though.” And the man smiled at her.

“Shall we go?” Rick asked her with a slight bow, and she joined them.

After walking around the city to reach their destination, they arrived at the building, and the SEALs were getting ready to go down the flooded subway line to set off the bomb Rick had left when Prim stopped them.

“Before activating the bomb, you need to squeeze these, okay?” She addressed GQ and the others. They nodded confused, and she asked them to repeat what she had said. After they repeated it, she hugged GQ. “We’ve lost too many people already.” She returned to Rick and the group, and they got ready to enter through the other side of the station.

While they crossed the free subway line, Prim heard Deadshot and Rick talking about June and couldn’t help feeling a pang of jealousy. Not because Rick was with June but because she wanted a similar connection. Someone to call her own.

As soon as they entered Midway City Train Terminal, where everything would come to an end, Prim was in awe by the amount of magic present. They sneaked around the left side and were coming up with a plan when Enchantress addressed them.

“I’ve been waiting for you all night. Step out of the shadows. I won’t bite.” She said, in front of the weapon her magic was finishing to create.

Harley walked in her direction, but Deadshot stopped her, and Prim shook her head exasperated.

The witch gave her speech, promising them what their heart desired the most and soon Prim walked in an ancient forest. The tall trees’ leaves shook on the breeze, and the birds sang their melodious music, making her feel at peace, at home. In the distance, her mother smiled for the first time in ages, and her heart filled with hope.

As much as she tried to reach her mother, something stopped her. The woman looked at Prim, and her voice sounded as cold and sweet as death, “Is this how you want to show me they are worth it? Is this how much you are worth it?” Her mother grabbed her face with her cold, cold fingers, and Prim opened her eyes. The sounds of yelling and fighting reached her ears, and she stood up to join the fray.

Chato, in his Diablo form, fought Enchantress’s brother Incubus. Feeling the urge to help, she threw more of her grenades, much to Captain Boomerang’s surprise. Its vines tied the enemy to the ground, and Diablo took the opportunity to shout at Rick, “Blow it.” The soldier lowered his eyes, and Deadshot told him to do it. 

Harley and Prim screamed at the same time.

Rick’s voice as saddened as his expression, “Now, GQ. Now.” 

Prim closed her eyes and lifted her hands. Vines sneaked up through the cracks on the floor and walls, enveloping Diablo in a cocoon before the place exploded. His body was nowhere to be seen, and Prim fell on the ground, her eyes staring at her greenish fingers.

Enchantress screamed when her brother died. “You’re next,” Deadshot said with anger lacing his words. The woman activated her finished weapon and became her true self. The real witch stared at them.

Prim stood up from her place and walked to stand by the Squad’s side before facing her, “Not my home, Witch.” The other woman laughed and soon teleported behind them.

The fight was brutal. Short but felt like forever. The group panted and groaned. They could barely touch her.

“Enough!” Enchantress said. “Of all who have faced me, you have earned mercy. For the last time, join me, or die.”

“I’m not much of a joiner,” Harley told them, “but maybe we should.”

Deadshot argued with her, but soon after, Harley knelt in front of the witch. Without warning, Harley took the katana lying on the ground at her feet and cut Enchantress’ chest, pulling her heart out, weakening their opponent.

The group dispersed, and Rick gave Croc a bomb to throw at the weapon. Harley threw Deadshot her gun, but before he could shoot, Deadshot was hypnotized again. In his mind, his daughter spoke to him, but in his absolute anger, his lungs answered instead of his voice. 

Enchantress tried to prevent the bomb from reaching its destination, but Prim yelled, “No you won’t!” Without thinking twice, she ran and grabbed the witch, stopping her from reaching the bomb and seconds later it exploded.

Nobody noticed, too busy protecting themselves, but Prim’s eyes sought the group before her face lit in happiness and then darkness.

The weapon was destroyed, and only silence sounded in the place. Soon, everything that had been suspended by the energy ring started falling from the sky.

Rick walked to a weakened Enchantress and demanded she bring back June, but she refused, leading him to squeeze the heart in his hands. The tears on his face reflected how everyone felt.

Enchantress screamed and fell to the ground. Vines surrounded her body, shielding her from their view. Rick, desolate, walked away without glancing at anyone.

“Hey, Flag,” Deadshot called him when the cocoon the witch was in started to bloom flowers, and the vines withdrew. June inhaled loudly and lifted her head for everyone to see.

“June!” Rick ran to her.

Harley sighed relieved with tears in her eyes. The group got ready to leave when Waller, to everyone’s surprise,  walked into the room. The nanites’ control in her hands.

“How are you not dead?” Deadshot asked.

“We just saved the world,” Harley exclaimed. “A thank you would be nice.”

“Thank you,” Waller said in her ‘I don’t give a fuck’ tone.

“You’re welcome.” Harley nodded, smiling.

Waller and the group were discussing their rewards when Harley asked, “Where’s Prim?” Everybody searched around, but she was nowhere they could see. They only saw Chato coming up from the hole in the ground. His Diablo form gone.

From one of the cracks in the wall, the call of a cuckoo echoed, and the flowers from the cocoon flew into the wind. One of them went in Deadshot’s direction, and he caught it with utmost care. He chuckled before saying, “Hoya.”

“Excuse me?” Harley asked.

“It’s a flower.” Deadshot showed them the small thing.

“A flower?” Waller asked without missing a beat.

Deadshot looked at the big hole in the building. His hand high in the sky to let the wind blow the flower away. “See you around, crazy girl,” he said with a small smile.

The cuckoo called again and flew into the peaceful skies.

Thank you for reading!

Next chapter.

[fruityutas]

strike to the heart

taglist ~ @puppywritings , @xiaojours , @svchengss , @prettyjaems​

part of @du0tine​ ‘s 21 ways to kill your lover collab

unstable!yangyang x psychologist!reader

not proofread

wc ~ 5k

genre ~ angst, ttiiinnnyyy fluff, thriller

warnings ~ the following writing is FICTION and has very heavy and unsettling themes like murder, suicide, and toxic relationships. if these themes are triggering or otherwise uncomfortable to you, do NOT read this story. there are also themes of religion.

synopsis ~ you were the best of the best, no one could bring an end to your golden career until he came along

note ~ i based yangyang’s personality in this off of his turn back time persona, making him very obviously mentally unstable. the plotline is based loosely off of harley quinn’s origin story, except of course, the reader dies. i also used the concept of purgatory in this story.

i realize that purgatory is apart of various religions, and i hope i made use of it in this story in the way it is intended to be portrayed as. i am not familiar with the subject, as i am non religious and have been for many years, so if i wrote anything that was disrespectful, please let me know and i will educate myself more on the topic. please note that if i do write something disrespectful, i will not be changing the writing in any way, unless necessary, because i feel that changing/erasing the mistake prevents anyone from seeing my growth as a person. 

here is the link to the website i used to read up on purgatory -> https://historylists.org/art/9-levels-of-purgatory-dantes-purgatorio.html

your parents always told you to aim for first. probably why you’re here now. you sit in the chair, watching your life play on what seems to be a screen. you can’t tell either way, everything is stark white and blends into one. the scenes are the only thing providing color to your eyes. are you dreaming? no, no that can’t be. the last thing you remember is…pain. and betrayal. how could he do this?

he was a fucking criminal. he had no true love for you, you were his final act. how could you have been so naive? every thought came too fast, it made your head hurt. a noise brought you out of your thoughts. a tall man stood off to the side of the screen. his features were sharp, and he looked angelic. “you must be y/n. you must also be wondering where you are.” you struggle to find your voice, so you nod at the man. he gives a sympathetic smile and strolls over to you. 

“you’re in purgatory. well, this is the judgment room. here your memories are played and the most influential ones are used to go to their corresponding terraces.”

“do i pick them out?” he shakes his head. 

“no, the council does that. you just sit and watch.” you shift in your chair, the hard material uncomfortable against your skin. “don’t worry, i’ll be here while it happens. you can call me sicheng.” his voice was hypnotizing, calming your mind. you turned back to the screen, and what you assumed to be the first memory started to play.

a burst of yelling snaps you from your thoughts. looks like we have a new patient. it was like this everytime a new patient arrived. yelling, taunting, sometimes as far as physical assault. it was like the right of passage for ‘newbies’ as the currents like to call them. you leave your office to peek downstairs. this one is surrounded by four guards. that’s unusual. two guards was standard, why does this patient need four? a danger to himself and others i assume. i should ask joy if i can take him. you hadn’t had a new patient in months, and all your others were making such progress they moved to a new unit. one of your patients, named chittaphon, had been released back into society. you were one of the best, even at such a young age. 

“joy! have you assigned the new patient to anyone yet? i’d like to have him.” you plopped yourself onto the couch in her office. her soft laugh brought you comfort. 

“of course you can have him, i was probably going to ask you anyway. you haven’t been busy with any others lately. yukhei is moving to a new unit next week you know. you did good with him, he asked me to tell you thank you.” your heart aches at the thought of yukhei missing you, the boy had become important to you. you would sit and let him talk about his family, his friends, and even his - what he called - soulmate. he would always gush about them and their relationship. you never suspected he could have killed them in such the way he did, or that his ill brain would rewire itself into thinking they were waiting for him to get better and be released from the hospital. the day he found that out was burned in your memory, chairs being thrown and yelling from the entire floor. it broke your heart to see him in such a state, even more when they had to lock him in isolation for a week.

but things change and he got better, and now he’s moving up a unit. more yelling snaps you out of your little thinking session. you and joy peek out her office door to see the new inmate arguing with the guards. you sigh and head down the stairs, as much as joy protests it. one of the guards notices you and tells you to stay back, and that this inmate is dangerous. you shake your head at him and push through to get closer. the inmate didn’t look much older than you, albeit a bit taller than you. he was still yelling at the guards when you came up to him and cleared your throat. he rolls his eyes and turns to you to start yelling, but you shut him down with a stern look at a shake of your head. 

“now, now, you don’t want to come in and be the hardass on the first day do you?” he says nothing, but the lack of arguing from him tells you he is agreeing. you tell one of the guards to follow you to his cell. it comes to no one’s surprise that his cell is in the lower level, it’s where all the worst patients stay. the guard that accompanied you stood directly outside the door of the cell, ready for any assistance. the inmate sat down on the cot provided but faced away from you. “are you going to speak to me?” he spares you a small glance, unwavering in intimidation, but it didn’t phase you. his face was young, yet it somehow seemed to be worn and exhausted. you wanted to open him up and see what his troubles came from, to fix him into a model member of society.

“wouldn’t you want me too huh?” his tone was annoyed and sarcastic. you stay collected and just nod at him. “why don’t we start with your name?” he stays silent. “if you don’t want to cooperate that’s perfectly fine but just know i’m the only one you can talk to if you want out of here.” you stand up and leave the cell, knowing that even though it didn’t look like it, progress was made. your last statement would sit with him until the next time you visit him, and he would talk eventually.

the screen fades away and into a new image. the only thing on the screen is the word ‘stubborn.’ you are confused as to what it means. sicheng makes his way over to you, his long legs making the distance short. “it corresponds to the first level of purgatory, stubbornness. although it wasn’t you who was being the most stubborn, it seems.” he snaps his fingers and a seat appears for him to sit. the screen lights up again and another memory begins to play.

“what do you mean he wants to see me? i just spoke to him this morning and he refused to say anything?” joy shrugs her shoulders exasperatedly. you sigh and make your way towards the lower level. the guard at the security door greets you with a nod of the head before letting you in. the inmate’s cell was at the end of the hall, dimly lit and dingey, with a slight smell of mildew. the underground location made for cold air and small windows, so there was never enough light in the place. as you made your way to your patient’s cell, a few of the other inmates down there whistled at you. they whooped and hollered to your dismay, bringing unwanted attention. you recognized one of them, guanheng was his name. he had been a patient of joy’s before she was promoted to her managerial position. no one else wanted to take him on, so they sent him down here to rot. you had expressed the idea of taking him, but joy wouldn’t have it. she simply said he was too unstable for anyone, and deserved to be down there. you disagree with her to this day, but she is still your superior and you can’t just go breaking rules just for your liking.

you knocked on the door to the cell, and a gruff “come in” came from the other side. entering the cell, you saw everything in disarray. “now, why is the cell in this condition?” he huffs and crosses his arms, almost in a cute way. you shake your head and continue in, shutting the door behind you. “are you going to tell me your name? i think it would help me connect better with you.” he looks at you with a blank stare. you don’t change your facial expression, remaining stoney faced. he sighs and starts muttering to himself, as if he was arguing with someone, before looking back up at you and finally speaking. “yangyang. at least thats what i’ve been told.” you hum lightly before asking him a few more questions.

“is it alright if i call you yangyang?” “yes” “alrightly then, do you remember anything from yesterday?” he ponders for a moment, his face going through a group of different expressions before he looks back to you. “i only know that i woke up and felt like hurting someone. but i can’t remember who or why. do you have any pens?” the last question catches you off guard. you hand him an extra pen from your coat pocket. he takes it eagerly and looks to your clipboard with expectant eyes. you tear a blank piece of paper from the back and hand it over. he immediately draws nonsense doodles, the paper quickly being filled. when he fills it, he flips it over to do the other side. “you can keep asking me things, you know. i like to draw, though i don’t know what. the other voice tells me to just make lines and things.” you’re jotting down notes when all of a sudden he throws the pen at you. it hits you square in the head, and you look up at him in surprise. he starts giggling and throws the crumpled paper at you. you remain calm as this can be a common occurrence among patients. his giggles become… unsettling very quickly, the tone and manner of them turning to a deeper octave. you slowly reach into your pocket to grab the help button, but you don’t press it just yet. yangyang stops his giggling and it becomes muttering. his words are difficult to make out, but you pick out a few, ‘kill’, ‘why’, and ‘forget’. you jot them down along with a note stating he was mumbling them in sentences that were not understood. “yangyang, are you hearing anything? do you know the other voice’s name if they have one?” he peeks out of his arms at you nodding. “they tell me that i shouldn’t have forgotten why i killed her.” you had notes on him that his previous institution gave to you, but you wanted to earn his trust by asking various questions. “who did you kill?” you knew he killed his mother, left her body hanging from the porch for everyone to see. the question cause him to tear up a bit. “i, i killed my mother. she just wouldn’t shut up, always nagging me about the house and bills, as if i could help it. she was a bitch.” “mmm, yes. but you loved her still, no?” he nods shakily as if he was unsure. “and did you forget why you killed her that morning?” another nod is sent to you. you keep taking notes on his behaviors.

you end the session on a positive note, telling yangyang that he did good today and that you’d be back tomorrow, but if he needed you to ask.

the screen once again went dark before the word ‘repentance’ appears. sicheng whips a pen-like object from nothing, grabbing your arm harshly to turn you towards him. “now, you might not like this next part but it has to be done. i have to carve five p’s into you somewhere. they aren’t permanent but it still hurts.” you panic slightly, trying to get away from his grasp.

“why?!” his face is stoic and cold, the seriousness setting in. you continue to struggle until he grips your face with vigor, causing you to stop moving. “stop. moving. it has to be done. now, where do you want me to do it?” you just point to your arm and look away as he does it. the pain is searing but bearable. “what is this for?” he makes the pen disappear before clearing his throat to speak. “for each of the sins that lead to your death, there is a ‘p’. the council shows a memory that corresponds to a sin, and you must figure out which one. if you get it right, you move one to the next one until the end, where you are allowed into heaven. if you get them wrong, you have another chance with a different memory. you only get two chances for each sin, though, and if you lose both of them a ‘p’ stays and it’s harder to get the next one correct. if you get more than two sins wrong, you spend 100 years here and then you are banished to hell. so please, be careful and choose wisely.” and with that he turns his attention back to the screen, as do you.

your appointments with yangyang were productive and you got to know him a lot better within the past few days. he hated dogs, they were too noisy and energetic for him. he really wanted to paint and draw all the time, so you gave him a few paint markers to decorate his cell with. when you had your next appointment, the walls were pretty full. he liked the texture of orange peels, he hated the taste. a lot of the things you learned intrigued you, why was his brain wired this way? you needed to dig deeper, and you knew you could. you had many awards and praises from seniors, your ego was swollen from it all. you took pride in your work, and you weren’t exactly humble about it. you would always brag to others about your accomplishments, and sometimes you made it a competition between you and your coworkers. joy was the only one that didn’t pay attention to it, she always let you go on rants about how you accomplished so many things this young.

the door to yangyang’s cell was the same grey color as usual, though on the inside, the room was filled with markings and random drawings the boy did. “yangie? what’s up?” he excitedly jumps from his spot on the bed over to the corner that the sessions took place in. two small chairs and a table were tucked in it, but it was cozy to you. a warm smile took place on your face as you sat in front of him. “well, today i really tried my best to not get angry with anyone like you said, and it worked! all i did was think about what you said to me and it helped so much. no one messed with me either.” there it is, the rush of pride in yourself. your ego is boosted, refilled for the day. you knew he could do it, with your help of course. you were the best in the field. “that is really good to hear, yangyang. i’m glad you remembered what i told you so you could control your emotions.” his hair bounced with each energized nod he gave you. you opened your clipboard and handed him a small stack of blank paper. “this is for you. now you have something clean to draw on again.” he took the papers excitedly. 

the rest of the session was yangyang rambling on about how you were the only one helping him and how he really liked seeing you. you observed him and from time to time you’d write notes down on his info sheet. every time he caught you staring, he’d blush and look back at his drawings. a smirk carved into your face, and a wink was all it took for him to turn into a stuttering mess. you left the session that day glowing in confidence and pride.

the screen fades away, and you feel a tingling on your arm where one of the Ps is. sicheng’s voice whispers into your ear, “figure out what sin you just witnessed.” it makes you jump a little, but you quickly regain your composure. all you could think about was yangyang. but deep inside your inner conscious, you knew the sin here wasn’t about him. it was about you. “i have my answer.” sicheng gives you a small nod and when you turn back around, a dark and windy figure stands in front of you. a voice not belonging to you enters your mind. “which sin is it, y/n?” with a shaky voice, and sweating palms, you manage to garble out your answer. “it’s pride. i was prideful in my ways, never backing down from challenges that weren’t meant for me.” the dark figure nods before wisping away. the tingling returns to your arm, and as you look down at it a P swiftly disappears. sicheng’s footsteps bring you back up to the screen, which begins to play a new memory.

 the continuous sessions with yangyang proved to be well. his condition was getting better, and he seemed to be taking well to the exercises you gave him. you were on your way to an appointment when joy came up beside you. “have you met with the new doctor yet?” you shake your head. “no, what’s their name? where are they located?” she tries to hide a mischievous smirk, grabbing your arm to stop your walking. “he is absolutely gorgeous! his name is kunhang and he’s actually gonna be on your unit, which means you’re training him since you are the best.” you chuckle at her enthusiasm, she’d always been trying to hook you up with people. she winks at you and runs off, probably to her next appointment. she’d conveniently stopped you in front of yangyang’s cell. you walk inside and see him on his bed pouting.

“what is wrong with you?” his eyes look up at you and shine with the beginnings of tears, worrying you. had the guards or an inmate said something to him? while you’re lost in thought he jumps up and pulls you on the bed with him, his arms wrapped tightly around you. you snap out of it and sit frozen in his arms. the feeling of butterflies in your stomach erupt and you know it’s because of the man in your arms. he lets you go and you stand up to fix your uniform. “what had gotten into you, yangs?” his pouting doesn’t go away and he speaks softly. “who is kunhang?” so that’s what he’s being clingy for. he’s jealous. “he’s a new psychiatrist here. i have to train him.” yangyang didn’t get rid of the pout on his face, and he didn’t let your hand go for the entire session. the jealousy he had even after you told him that nothing was going to happen between you and kunhang was noteworthy, though you didn’t specify why he was jealous on his chart. 

the surrounding air had become cold, and you shiver harshly. sicheng sits beside you, tapping impatiently on the table. the shadow figure returns, and before it can speak you do. “the sin was envy. but why did you show me a memory of someone else being envious? i thought this was about my sins.” the figure doesn’t move from its spot. sicheng sighs and throws a stick at the figure, causing it to grunt. “that was unnecessary, sicheng. you are the reason for this sin. you let yangyang get attached to you, causing him to become jealous and protective of you. you may not have committed this sin, but you had the first hand in causing it.” you nod in agreeance, you had let him get close with you. too close, in your opinion, because if you hadn’t you wouldn’t be in this whole situation. it’s a bit ironic, you always told your coworkers to be wary of patients, yet here you are, stuck in purgatory because of one.

in the days leading up to your death, yangyang requested to see you nonstop, and he would ask so many questions about the outside world. what was surrounding the building, how many people were in the city. in hindsight, you should have suspected him to be trying to escape, but your mind was apparently on other things.

the last day you were alive, yangyang requested you only once. it was around eight in the evening, and this was going to be your last trip to his cell, quite literally. “are you ok, yangyang?” he nods and makes his way over to you. he might be younger, but his height is not small. “i’m just fine. but i wanna ask you something.” you nod to let him continue. “i’m planning to leave, and i want you to come with me.” the words come out of him in a hurry, but you catch them. a pit forms in your chest after hearing them. what in the world was he thinking? your job was important, and he still needed the therapy sessions you were giving him. “no, absolutely not. yangyang you can’t leave without proper check out from me and my superior. you know this.” he sighs in annoyance, grabbing your hand and dragging you to sit. “that’s not the type of leaving i meant. i mean we sneak out and never look back. we leave here and head north to my good friend ten’s house. he has this bigass mansion in the middle of nowhere, and we can lie low there for a while before going somewhere else and starting new!” you can’t bring yourself to say anything, the shock of how much he’d thought out this plan sitting heavy on your shoulders. the courage to say something before he thinks you’re agreeing with him bubbles up. “yangyang, under all circumstances, you and i cannot do that. do you know how many force tasks they’d send out for us? how much trouble we’d be in when they caught us? plus, you still need these sessions that i’m doing. the real world is harsh, and doesn’t take kindly to you. i wouldn’t want you or anyone else getting hurt.” his face contorts into sadness at your statement. he pulls you in for a bone-crushing hug, not letting go. “but i thought you loved me, don’t you want us to be happy together?” your blood runs cold at his confession. love was never on the table, the flirting you’d been doing was just to open him up to make it easier to talk. you knew you were taking a risk doing that, but never had you anticipated him to fall in love with you and think it was mutual. you separate yourself from him and walk to the door. “yangyang, are you being serious? you- you don’t actually think i’m in love with you, right?” his face falls, going completely straight. no movement comes from either of you for a good minute, the situation at hand causing hesitance. “you’re not? i just thought… you were.” you scoff at the boy sitting in front of you. “y/n, i don’t think you realize that i’ve already planned for this. we’re gonna have to leave.” you start to argue with him but a flurry of gunshots and screams ring out from all around you. you turn and pull the door open to see patients and guards frantically running about, a breach in the facility causing this. “jesus fucking- yangyang why in the hell would you do this!?” you turn to see him getting up from the bed and gathering a few items. “yangyang!” he doesn’t respond, only grabbing your arm and pulling you along with him. you’re too much in shock to resist the boy, and on top of that he’s definitely stronger than you. the run towards whatever exit he’s taking you to seems surreal. the amount of trouble you’re going to be in for this is astronomical. you can hear the words “you’re fired” repeating in your mind. outside the door is an alleyway that connects the facility to a power plant. it seemed like they’d had a breach too. yangyang really wasn’t lying when he said you’d have to leave to someplace far away. he drags you into the plant and heads for the large vats of chemicals. “yangyang where the hell are you taking us? what are you doing?” he glances over his shoulder at you, a deathly look on his face. “this wouldn’t have been in the plan if you had just done what i needed you to do. now you have to pay the price.” what in the fuck did he mean. 

the vats were in sight, glowing and hot from the chemicals in them. your surroundings loud from combat, you’d assumed from runaway patients attacking. yangyang stopped in front of the largest one, looking down in it and smirking. he turns to a very shaken you, giggling like a madman. “i think you know what’s in store for you my love. you betrayed me! you gave me all the signs, and carelessly flirted, acting like you liked me.” tears were pouring down both of your faces, but for different reasons. the end of your life was staring at you, loud and proud, and you knew this. you had many goals in your life, and to see none of them get achieved hurt you. you take one last look at yangyang, who is inching closer. “i’m sorry for making you feel like that. i just hope that in the next life, you’ll be a normal person and get to experience life in a positive perspective.” he doesn’t seem to care, because as soon as he gets close enough to you, he grips your face and leans in. “and now, my love, you leave me with a kiss.” his lips lock with yours for a brief second before he shoves you hard, taking the breath out of you. you fall backwards into the vat, the acidic chemicals eating you. yangyang stares at you as you perish, the smile slowly dropping from his face.

one would think this whole tragedy could be easily resolved, but this was not a villain origin story, it was real life, and you were dead. yangyang knew what he had done was fatal, but make no mistake, you knew it was what he wanted. he did love you, but his brain was not the same as a normal person’s. the wiring was simply not supportive of any form of morals, no right or wrong could be detected. all he knew was that you were in the way of him getting out, and he needed you removed. so he did.

and as reality set in for him, yangyang realized that you were the only one who understood him. you were the one to listen to his problems and not look at him like he was crazy, to help him through the intrusive thoughts, and you did that all while loving him. 

he breaks down, dropping to his knees at the harsh reality that you were gone forever, and no longer able to make him happy. the salty tears running down his face provided a blunt sting to the cuts and scrapes adorning his face. his shoulders shook with sorrow and his sobs were melancholic. yangyang can’t even think straight, all his mind is screaming is you. your name, face, your soft hair, warm skin, and the way you laughed at all his stupid jokes. he wants an escape from the voices in his head. the grate walkways that line the perimeter of the vats are loud with yangyang’s manic running. all he wants is freedom from his personal hell, he’s had to deal with people looking down on him all his life, saying that he was never going to be able to be normal, berating him for all the fucked up things he’s done, but never helping him to be a better person, always leaving him to rot in different psych ward cells.

gun. there’s one somewhere.

the one voice in his head that wasn’t screaming made him worry no less than before, but he knew to heed his own advice. it was the only coherent thought at the moment so what’s the harm. yangyang finds himself lost, and begins to get angry until he sees a guard coming his way. attacking him, he easily finds a gun and wrings it from the man’s grip before shooting him dead. the body slumps over and yangyang decides that he’d rather not die next to it. he is far too lost to try and get back to where he pushed you to your timely death, so he just runs until he finds a room. unlocked and unoccupied, he slips in and locks the door behind him. 

the leather chair that he sits in is worn and comfortable. the desk has various papers scattered around, and the computer is off. yangyang takes one good look at himself in the reflection of the screen before pulling the trigger.

the judgement room is even colder than before. you sit in the uncomfortable chair, tears streaming down your face and sobs ripping through your chest. sicheng sits, unaffected by your pain. the shadowy figure appears in front of you, so close you can hear whispers of a large multitude floating out of it. “y/n, you must finish the trial. what was the last sin?” you try your damndest to compose yourself, wiping the tears and hiccuping. “i- he was…” “no, y/n. no excuses. what is the sin displayed here?” you didn’t need this figure up your ass about it, the answer was obvious. sighing, you look up at it, seeing it slightly resembles a man. “wrath.” the figure hums in response, moving over to show the screen again. in large font and bold letters, the word “repentance” is shown. “you have passed judgement, and you shall be going to heaven. are there any questions?” 

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Blackout (Edward Nygma x Reader)

WARNING: Mental Illness themes and mentions are strong throughout. Death!

"(Y/N)?" A nurse with a shrill voice said making you flinch and turn to face her. She was smiling, one that was rather malicious. That made you nervous as to what was her next words would be. "Doctor Strange wants to see you. I believe he has a new treatment for you." Your blood ran cold before draining from your face. 

Just about every patient at Arkham has figured out that those who catch Dr Strange's attention either never returned or were never the same. You felt pairs of eyes on you, some over hearing, just by the very mention of his name got everyone's attention. It was like being in a slaughter house and you had no doubt that such an environment wasn't helping your mental state. 

"No..." You said quietly, curling into yourself slightly as though it would change her mind.  "Come now, (Y/N), you've been so good this past week. Don't you want to get better?" The nurse moved a hand to your shoulders, her grip tight but not painful. "It won't be long. By the time you're done, it'll be time for dinner. That's very soon." You still didn't budge. The nurse's demeanor changed ever so slightly, a bit of aggravation tugging at her. "(Y/N), do you really want to undo all of the hard work you've done and lose day time privileges? You'll risk solitary confinement and things will be a lot more difficult for you. This treatment is happening whether you like it or not!" You knew you couldn't push any further and so slowly you stood up and the nurses attitude changed to the once again pleasant nurse who gently guided you. Before she could nudge you out the door, you halted turning back to look at the other inmates within the cafeteria. "They're not going anywhere." The nurse assured you with another soft tug. You complied. 

 "What's with that one again?" Edward raised an eyebrow watching just like everyone else had as you left the room. "Well they don’t know, they have many theories but there's always something else that’s unexplained." Jonathan said smoothly. "Something else?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "They are aware of everyone's surroundings, better than ordinary." Jonathan explained. "What?" Two-Face furrowed his brow and Jonathan sighed. "Think of Arkham as a doll house and every person is a doll, (Y/N) knows what everyone is doing, what's happening even when they aren't there, a spectator to real life." "How can someone know what's happening when they aren't there?" Harvey pressed. "Well...security cameras if they had access but that's the point, how can someone know what's happening if they aren't there?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Oh I get it!" Harley suddenly spoke up. "They don't! They imagine it!" Jonathan gestured to Harley sending a pointed look to Two-Face. "So they daydream? That's it?" Two-Face said gruffly. "No, Harv! They stare at everyone, watching us all day long so they predict what we would do and where we'd go!" Harley continued. Two-face shook his head. "They say I'm crazy." "Crazy... or smart, smarter than many of the crazies in here." Jonathan responded. "I personally would say they're in a better position than most of these meat heads." Edward said. "Wow, complimenting someone other than yourself Edward? Looks like your treatment is working." Jonathan smirked. Edward scoffed. "Hardly! It's not difficult to outsmart these dimwitted goons. It's not even a challenge! If anything they've barely proven that they've got more than one braincell!" Jonathan sighed in response but Edward continued. "Besides, I would know, I'm the smartest man in Gotham! If not the whole world." "Oh clam it, bozo!" Harley rolled her eyes. "Now, now Harley...the clown many be in solitary but keep your cool." Jonathan said smoothly. "So I can sit here I listen to the cucumber spout Riddles and call me a dumb broad!?" "No one is calling you such things Harley." Jonathan responded all the whilst Edward gawked. "Cucumber!? Seriously!?" "Hey! Check the facts yourself, you wear green, your green with jealousy half the time when Batman is around and you’re made of mostly water! Now who's the dumb broad!?" "Harley, again, no one is calling you that. No one doubts your intelligence, we only doubt how willing you are to use it." Jonathan finished. Harley huffed. 

You hurriedly looked around the room to find nothing out of place, the walls dirty and barely resembling the white painted walls. They hadn't been cleaned in at least a decade, grime filling every corner as well the random stains that likely had a grotesque story behind each one. No doubt the asylum blamed all of this on a lack of funding rather than admitting to Gotham city that the asylum isn't fit for purpose and hasn't been for years. 

Dr Strange sat at a steel table in the middle of the room that was big enough for two people to work at either side. A bulb hung down from the ceiling which no doubt would explode any given moment just to add to the worn down Arkham aesthetic. "Ah, finally we meet at last." Strange's voice gave you the chills. You didn't look in his eyes, keeping them on your now seated lap. "Your name is (Y/N) (L/N), yes?" You nodded. "I'm told you have been very well behaved over the week. You've been working on social boundaries of sorts, yes?" "Do you mean not spying on people?" You asked. "Is that what you'd call it?" "No. It's what the nurses call it." You retorted. "I understand you were in some trouble when you broke in-" Dr Strange began but didn’t get to finish. "I didn't break in." You interrupted. "The door was open and I didn't break anything." "Yes, you left everything untouched, but nevertheless, you know you can't be in the security room. What were you looking for?" Dr Strange asked. "You know that." You retorted. "I need to hear it from you." Strange pressed. " I wanted to see the security cameras." "Why?" "So I could see what people were doing." You said flatly. "Do you know why you care so much?" Slowly, you shook your head. "That's your job though, right? Your job is to help me figure that out and move on?" You replied. He seemed to think about this statement momentarily. "Indeed. For now though, we are working towards really understanding your mind to get an idea of a diagnosis. I see in your file that there is mentions of multiple possible disorders?" You shrugged slightly. "Although this wasn't confirmed due to your...obsession." Dr Strange finished. "Is that what they call it?" You asked lightly. "No." Doctor Strange said flatly. "That's what I call it."  Finally you lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. "Dr Arkham missed the 'g' in 'diagnosis'." Strange looked at the file in his hand to realise there was that typo but wasn't certain how you could have seen it at such an angle. "Now, let's see about these blackouts." He began. 

Dinner had come and gone and you hadn't returned, not that it surprised anyone at all. The expectation was that if you did return, you were lucky. Even if you had completely lost your mind. 

 At ten thirty, the lights were always out, other than the very dim ceiling lights that were solely for staff to maneuver in and out of the corridors without disturbing the patients. Despite lights going out at ten every week night (and at ten thirty on weekends), patients didn't actually go to sleep at that time. The staff didn't seem to care, as long as they were in their cells. That made the routine rather redundant in terms of creating a daily routine for the patients. So ten thirty rolled around and a nurse was pushing a patient on a wheelchair, seemingly back to their cell. 

Harley wanted to have a look and recognised the patient. It was you, slumped over yourself and unmoving. Harley kept quiet, watching intently as you were wheeled past her cell. You were a lucky one. You had made it back here in the end. 

You woke up the next morning with a very bad headache. It reminded you of your blackouts but judging by your 'treatment' that was likely the cause. Your limbs felt heavy, your brain working on empty. There was many times that you stumbled over yourself on the way to the cafeteria. The same nurse from yesterday was in charge and awaiting your arrival as she moved her attention from Harvey Dent to you. She immediately tugged you to sit next to Jervis Tetch. Across from you sat Jonathan Crane and Harvey Dent. You jumped slightly when Harleen Quinzell no so gracefully sat beside you. However the nurse kept your attention in her with a wide almost menacing grin. "Good morning, (Y/N)!" She said brightly. "How are you feeling today?" She was too happy and by far too loud. Her voice grated against your ears, making you wince though the pain if your pounding headache. "My brain has exploded and my heart is racing like a train." You grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut. "Oh is that so? Well, I'll get you some painkillers for that head whilst you have breakfast. How does that sound?" You grumbled with a nod, anything to get her to stop talking. 

As she walked away, you rubbed your aching temples, eager for some kind of relief. "Oatmeal and toast, it seems to be today...as usual." Harvey grumbled. "My puddin' still ain't here!" Harley scowled, making you wince slightly. "Hey, do that one a favour and don't make such a fuss." Harvey gestured to you, sending Harley a look. "Give it a rest for today won't you?" Harley rolled her eyes. "Fine!" She turned to look at you with a sweet smile. "Sorry, dollface!" You nodded. "Don't worry about it, Harley." You groaned, putting your head on the cold table. "That bad, hm?" Two-Face asked. "I don't even remember what happened." You grumbled against the table. "My hands hurt. My head hurts...everything hurts." The nurse caught Jonathan's eye, she was briskly approaching that sadistic grin still on her face. "Well, your saviour and your hell is approaching. Someone actually did get you something after all." Jonathan nudged your side. You groaned. "Maybe it's rat poison." "It's pills by the look of it." "Arsenic then." "Here you are, (Y/N) dear. For all of your cooperation last night and as well as your behaviour." You picked up the glass of water in front of you as she handed you two pills. You cast a quick glance at Jonathan who was also looking back at you. "C'mon arsenic." You mumbled, popping them in your mouth. Jonathan smirked. He understood, you weren't the only one who thought Arkham Asylum was worse than death and hell combined. The nurse grabbed your jaw, opening your mouth and making sure the pills were gone before she left you alone. "Why wouldn't I take the painkillers if I'm in agony?" You asked dumbfounded. Jonathan shrugged. "Probably checking you still have that initiative." Two-Face smirked. 

As trays of oatmeal were given out, you couldn't help but notice that whilst you had been sat with this particular group, one of them were missing. "Where's Edward?" You asked. "He's usually one of the firsts to get here." "He was put in solitary confinement." Jonathan said, making a look of disgust at the greyish, blob on his plate. "Solitary confinement? Why?" You asked. Two-Face shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe riddled one of the docs to death." He snickered. "He was taken for his own treatment, going crazy!" Harley grinned at the fond memory. "After some time, you were brought back to your cell and minutes later he was covered in blood and being almost dragged to Solitary Confinement." Harley explained. 

You couldn't help but notice that during this time, Jervis hadn't looked up from his lap, not even so much as glanced at his food. Although you had been around long enough to know that Jervis had some days like this. Perhaps running around in wonderland in his mind. You turned back to Harley. "Blood?" "Yeah, news has it that two guards were killed a few rooms down. I say good on him. No idea he had it in him! " Two-face responded. "Damn...and I missed it." You said eyes wide. "You were out like a light when I saw ya!" Harley giggled. "You could have been that bozo's puppet and never had a clue!" "Who's?" You frowned. "The-The puppet guy! Y'know, talks through that puppet. Scar-face? Damn what's his name!?" "Arnold Wesker." Jonathan replied. "Yeah, him!" Harley said excitedly. You turned to the other side of the room. 

You'd seen Arnold Wesker a couple of times but never actually spoken to him. Across from him was someone you were had spoken to many times. Peter Merkel Jr. Also known as Rag Doll. He was mostly known for being triple jointed, a contortionist. Well...rumour had it that being triple jointed ran in his family. A trait he didn't inherit and in the end, he supposedly had many life-threatening surgeries to allow his joints to move in inhuman ways. He could actually be a decent funny guy...once you got past his creepy communication skills. You turned back to the group around you. 

"Group therapy today, shit I forgot." Two-Face said suddenly. "How could you ever forget such a momentous occasion?" Jonathan said sarcastically. "It's you, me and (Y/N) in this one. If Edward is there, who knows. Don't know about who the others will be though." 

As each patient was situated in a seat within the circle of chairs, a guard approached you. "Hands out." He commanded gruffly as he took out hand cuffs. "Are you kidding me? For what?" You nodded to the cuffs as Dr Vern approached. He was one of the more patient and less brutal doctors who seemed to actually somewhat want to help patients, rather than torture them. Since observing that many times, you learned to somewhat trust him. Especially since he had treated you a couple of times and actually considered you a person. "It's just a precaution due to your therapy last night, (Y/N). I can assure you, it's nothing to worry about, they'll be off as soon as the session is over." He put a hand on your shoulder and you looked uncertain before showing your hands and wrists. You noticed Edward was getting the same treatment, looks like he made it out of isolation after all, even if it's only for a brief time. Although he was cuffed because he was in isolation and therefore deemed just as unpredictable. 

Dr Vern sat on the opposite side of you and at the top of the circle. "Alright..." He hummed to himself as other inmates began to settle, whilst he looked at his clipboard. "...we have Arnold Wesker, Peter Merkel Jr, Edward Nygma, Harvey Dent, (Y/N) (L/N), Jonathan Crane, Victor Zsasz ...Jane Doe and last but not least, Roman Sionis." He looked over everyone with a small smile. "How is everyone today?" "Is that a legitimate question?" Edward huffed. "Of course, it is. It's the whole point of these sessions." Dr Vern responded. "Honesty is encouraged, there is no wrong answers." "Well then, I've felt like crap all day and to top it off, I'm now handcuffed." You grumbled. "I know, (Y/N). As I said, it's only a precaution whilst we wait to see if your treatment worked. Please don't take this as a punishment, you've been doing so well as of lately." Dr Vern turned to his right. "Roman, how are we doing today?" "Everyone is wearing their masks today." Roman responded quietly, as though distracted, not entirely present in the room. "You've been keeping to yourself, more frequently lately. Are you feeling okay?" Dr Vern pressed. "Yes, doc. In truth there is nothing new with me. Although that shouldn't be a surprise when it's clear that I am not insane." "Yes, so you've said but unfortunately your results say otherwise. Psychosis, remember?" Dr Vern responded. Roman grumbled. "Whatever." "Forgive me, Doctor but I can't help but notice Jane is here." Edward narrowed his gaze on the masked woman across from him. "We all know she doesn't respond as herself and hasn't said a word since she's got here. So pray tell, why exactly is she in a group therapy session where the whole point is to talk?" Jane continued to look down at her lap as though she hadn't heard anything. Her mask covered her entire head. She had two, that were known, this one was Arkham's 'finest'- hardly of her collection. Accommodations were made for her after discovering she tended to become violent and otherwise catatonic without a mask. So whilst she was usually in a straight jacket, they kept the mask on, she was more cooperative with it. Arkham figures it would be a process that eventually shed no longer need the mask. You begged to differ. You were willing to bet that it's simply Arkham giving her exactly what she wants. She was good like that, you admired it. "Jane is more than welcome to these sessions, Edward." Dr Vern responded, almost scolding in his tone. "She is more than welcome to break her silence at any time and if being here encourages her then she'll have overcome a great milestone. Leave her be." Edward rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. Dr Vern looked towards Peter Merkel Jr, who wore a ghost of a smile on his face, all the while, his eyes wide. "Hello Peter, I haven't seen you in a while. How are you doing today?" Peters head flopped to Dr Verbs direction. "Hello, Dr Vern. I am doing just fine." His tone dripped in sarcasm. "I assume you are still in a lot of pain. Have you received those ointments today?" Peter hummed, rolling his shoulders further back than should be humanly possible. Then again, Merkel went through a lot of surgeries to make sure of that. "Yes, but only recently." "Ah, I see. Well, I'm certain you'll begin to feel better soon. What have you been doing since I last saw you?" Dr Vern asked. Peter hummed again. "Nothing. Staying in my cell. If not there-" Peters head snapped to look at you with his wide eyed smile. "- I've spent most of my time with (Y/N)." "I see. Are you two friends?" Dr Vern asked looking between you both. You shrugged. Peter responded. "Sure. Something like that. They are very intriguing." Dr Vern nodded as he scribbled on the clipboard, immediately you tried to see what he was writing, the cuffs making a clang. 

It was like an impulse, you had to know what he had written. Whilst you were excellent at keeping secrets, things went south if you were kept in the dark about anything, even the tiniest of details. Peter's grin widened in amusement and Dr Vern looked up at you. "It's alright, (Y/N). I'm just noting down what Peter has said. It's good progress for the both of you. If you two don't mind, might I ask Peter a question about this new friendship?" Your eyes narrowed but sat back on your chair whilst Peter agreed. "Peter, I hope you're encouraging (Y/N) to continue this good behaviour and not reduce it." Peter cackled. "That is your job, Doctor! I neither encourage one or the other. They appreciate my talents and I appreciate theirs." Doctor Vern didn't seem to like that answer much but continued. "(Y/N), why don't we move on to you? We have a lot to talk about." Dr Vern leaned forward in his chair. "You say you weren't feeling well this morning?" "Yes." You responded simply, shifting your wrists in the cuffs. "Describe it to me." Your face contorted as though remembering something suddenly. "What time is it?" Dr Vern caught on immediately. "I'll tell you after today's session, (Y/N). That's not important right now." "Yes, it is. I need to know." You insisted with slight panic. "No, you don't." Doctor Vern responded. "There's no need to be anxious, (Y/N). It's not necessary." "It is to me. You-you know that." You said shakily, fidgeting. "I'll strike you a deal, hold off for as long as you can, I guarantee by the end of the session you will know the time." Dr Vern responded. The distress was sudden upon your face, as you shifted against your cuffs. "Looks like the doc is gonna make them cry." Two-Face smirked. Dr Vern ignored him as your knees bounced with anxiety, looking almost uncontrollable. "(Y/N), focus of me." Dr Vern said soothingly. "I know why you want to know. The treatment has had you a little foggy and you've remembered about others outside of this room. You're trying to pin point where they are what they could possibly be doing. That's why you want to know the time. I promise you, you're stronger than the urge to know. You've not known all morning and everything is fine. Push through this urge." "Oh, now I get it." Jonathan thought aloud. "Put some volts in them and who knows what else you did to them last night and then torture them now. Very helpful indeed, doctor." "Jonathan, that's enough." Dr Vern looked at Jonathan. "You're agitating them." "Of course, they're agitated!" Edward said loudly with a roll of his eyes. "You'd think you'd take it easy on them after all that but no let's push them and wonder why they lash out! Morons!" "Both of you. Enough." Dr Vern said sternly. "You're encouraging them whilst I am trying to reason with them." 

Suddenly, your shaking stopped. You leaned back into your chair once more, oddly stoic. The shift was most definitely noticed by everyone in the room. "What's going on!?" Scar-Face snapped. "This'll be good." Two-Face smirked whilst Peter giggled with glee, eyes wide and unblinking. "It's between eleven and twelve. We haven't had lunch yet. Group therapy always happens at that time." You said quickly, answering your previous question. Dr Vern blinked with unease. "Alright, good. You've got your answer, now lets-" Suddenly, you spoke again, staring at nothing whilst your words came out rapidly."If it's eleven fifteen- the nurses will be going for their coffee break. Nurse Jill will be sneaking away with William Dean, the guard for the other ward probably for a quickie in the closet. If it's eleven thirty, Nurse Gillian will be preparing the next round of meds and wondering just where the hell Nurse Jill went." "Stop it." Dr Vern said quickly. Jonathan and Edward couldn't help but smirk at you but you didn't seem to notice anyone, lost in your own head. “If it's eleven forty-five, Nurse Jill will be hurrying back to her post before Doctor Strange leaves his office to head for the staff room for his own coffee. No milk, no sugar. Then he'll take a detour for the cameras, have a look at what we're all doing whilst Dr Vern rounds up today's group session, before Edward and I get the cuffs removed, we'll all be led to the cafeteria. Then Dr Vern will call his wife, and not get an answer, especially when his erratic patient reveals that his precious Sandra has been sleeping with the neighbour, fourteen blocks away. No doubt he'll rush home because he can't ignore what his patient said-" "(Y/N), enough!" Dr Vern snapped in anger whilst you finished your sentence "-even though he'll lose his temper at his patient." You finished in unison with Dr Vern's outburst. 

After a moment of silence, Dr Vern finally spoke. "You know where I live?" You smiled simply. "Of course. The security room isn't the only place I can get into. Dr Arkham's files are more than interesting to read. Although I'm certain he has just as many mental issues as the rest of us." "You've been sneaking in there too? Where the Asylum's files are kept?" Dr Vern asked. "Would you like to know the combinations for the locks?" You asked lightly. "You're asking for isolation, (Y/N)." He earned in response. "Am I? It says on your clipboard that I only get isolation if I black out." You shrugged. "I am perfectly conscious. Whilst I'm at it, that is not how you spell my last name." You said flatly. "See? Fun." Peter grinned at Victor Zsasz. "Now how about you don't put a recommendation in for another one of those nasty therapy you wrote down next to my name. My head is foggy as it is and I don't want to be a vegetable." You wagered. "So you can see what I've written?" Dr Vern stared you down. You smiled. "First, you can spell my name right, then you can score out that recommendation and then you can stop pressing me about every little thing I do or else I will do a lot more than prove how much I know. I'll also prove how I can use all of that really screw up your life."  Dr Vern's eyes narrowed on you. "What is that supposed to mean?" "It means, your life wouldn't be the first persons I've ruined. My family tries to keep that quiet, pay off anyone who will speak out but not even they weren't safe in the end." Dr Vern was quiet for a moment. "You were doing so well, (Y/N). We had really really hoped you wouldn't ruin all this good behaviour. So is this what you were doing last night? Spying with the security camera's again when you were supposed to be in bed?" Your face changed to confusion. "What?" "You were found out of bed with Mr Nygma last night. Have you been pretending all this time?" "I wasn't out of bed." You glared. "Ignore him, (Y/N)." Edward spoke up. "What do you mean I was out of bed!?" You glowered. "(Y/N), leave it." Jonathan said quieter. "No!" You said sharply. "You've already asked me about the incident and I told you what happened!" Edward glared at Dr Vern, ignoring your protest. "What happened!?" You snapped. "You and Nygma were found covered in blood last night." Dr Vern responded looking between the two of you, his pleasant demeanor long gone. "Two staff members were killed in that very room you were found in." "They deserved it!" Edward snapped. "They were hurting them!" "You expect anyone to believe that you defended (Y/N) and effectively killed those two people when you've shown almost no interest in (Y/N) before?" Dr Vern asked lightly. To his surprise, Jonathan responded. "I do. Your staff members are deplorable. I speak through experience on both ends. I think (Y/N) to be very lucky Edward was there." "Too right!" Harvey agreed. "The shit that goes down in this place is downright evil and that's coming from us!" Edward's jaw clenched. "Besides, (Y/N) was in an absolute state after that so-called ‘therapy’. They were wandering around and those two guards were going to take advantage of that. I would know since they were supposed to take me to my 'treatment' and suddenly (Y/N) wanders by and the things those men were saying... disgusting! I intervened the moment I saw that (Y/N) was beyond confused and dazed and instead growing distressed!" "Forgive me, doctor." Roman spoke up. "Isn't it Arkham's finest of staff's job to ensure the safety of all patients?" "Of course, it simply adds to the poor reputation of this place that they simply do not. So much so that other patients have to step in." Jonathan responded with a smirk. Your gaze was locked into Edward as you struggled to believe the story. 

He was narcissistic at the very least and didn't spent much time on you. Edward Nygma just didn't strike you as the saving type and you would have known if that was the case. 

You were waiting for Edward at this point to come out of isolation. You had asked almost every one Edward spoke to in the asylum. No one seemed to know anything and even confirmed your suspicions, Edward wouldn't just jump in to save an inmate but for whatever reason Edward had to lie, they'd support it. 

When Edward got out of isolation it was like a tease, you barely saw him, Arkham staff doing it's best to keep you apart. However whilst this was irritating, it got to a whole new level when Edward’s associates seemed to know exactly what had happened and weren't willing to share. Just the thought made you tremble, that Edward and his friends knew what really happened that night...and you didn't have a clue. 

You usually had taken satisfaction when Dr Vern handed in his resignation, he had to now that he knew how much you knew about his life. However, you noticed how disheveled he was and it dawned on you he must have confronted his wife. Dr Vern couldn't ignore such accusations, you knew that. It would have chewed away at him but you didn't get to enjoy the satisfaction. Not even when he glanced at you with unease when quitting. You couldn't enjoy it because your own thoughts were chewing away at you. You needed to know what happened that night and the longer you didn't get answers, the more drastic measures you'd take. 

By Saturday morning, you couldn't take it anymore. Perhaps it was a lack of sleep, or indigestion...or it was the question that had been tearing you apart for days. You knew you'd have to force Edward to talk. He was incredibly intelligent, he didn't slip up or give things away like the others did and in that moment, it simply drove you mad. 

When Edward locked eyes with you, his stomach dropped. To put it simply, you didn't look well. Clearly you hadn't been sleeping, there were dark circles under your eyes and you slightly curled into yourself, as though barely having the strength to hold your body up. Edward also couldn't help but wonder if you had been eating. From what he had seen you were in a foul mood, nearly getting yourself isolation multiple times. Each time Edward, Jonathan and Two-Face got you out of it. 

"Alright (Y/N), you can calm down now. Jervis picked up your book by mistake." Edward had said once, sliding the book towards you before you could get into serious trouble with the nurses. It seemed to distract the nurse more than it did you and his action, yet again caught you off guard. 

The second time he set off Harley, distracting the nurses, all because he insulted the joker who had still not gotten out of isolation. 

Your piercing stare could have surely killed him if he hadn't been across the room. He knew immediately that you were hitting your breaking point and so when you stormed off, he followed. 

You led him to an empty lab. A lab with no camera. That left Edward on edge but held onto the fact that you were still very much coherent. The empty glazed over look in your eyes like that night was far away. "Do you know that I killed two people in a blackout once?" You asked, your back still towards him. "Yes." Edward responded. 

Many Arkham patients had murdered. So much so that two was virtually nothing in comparison to the number that many inmates had, Edward included. "Do you remember when I first got here?" You asked. "Yes. You weren't responsive for four days. The one that got you to break your silence was Dr Vern." You were impressed although not so surprised that Edward knew so much. Of course he knew. "I couldn't believe what I had done. When they told me my father and stepmother were..." You looked over your shoulder. "They put me in here, undiagnosed as well as not knowing a motive as to why I'd ever murder my father and the one woman who had been the closest thing to a mother I had ever had." You blinked back a memory. "I don't know why they painted such a picture that those two were so wonderful. They weren't." "Reporters and the justice system love their innocents." Edward replied in disdain. "My parents weren't innocent. If the GCPD looked a little further. They'd have known the motive." You finally turned to face him. "Why?" Edward asked. "Because they deserved each other." You responded icily. "They were committing fraud, wanting the extra money and expected me to play along regardless of how nice they were to me. They began to put their problems on me, expecting me to fix them. They never thought about what that could to do their kid." You swallowed. "Every mistake they made, I was blamed. To the GCPD I was a difficult child, it wasn't that my step-mother was trying to steal multiple bottles of alcohol and convinced me to carry them in my bag. Every single time, my parents chose each other, every time it was at my expense and I never got even as much of an apology. That's what I was there for. To hide their mistakes, I was to play the problem. So I accepted that. I accepted this is what they wanted, what they deserved. It hadn't been the first black out I had but it was the most brutal. Their bodies were side by side." Your gaze met Edwards eyes. "I couldn't forgive myself when I found out what I had done. I didn't speak a word after that, not until that day after some time here. Dr Vern was the first, as you said. Look where that got him." You couldn't help but smirk. "I actually liked the guy but, I knew where his loyalties lie." Your smirk vanished, your brow creasing. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I don't know what happened that night Edward but you do and you lied to Vern, you lied to Strange and you're lying to me. You're getting your friends to do it too." "(Y/N)-" You cut Edward off. "No!" You said sharply. "I want the truth. I need it. You're going to give me the truth." 

Edward stayed silent. "Damn it, Edward!" You snapped, digging into a drawer behind you before pulling out a very large syringe. "Don't do this." Edward said lowly. His hands raising slightly to calm you. "You know something I don't!" You snapped. He thought this over. "I know many things you don't." "You know what I mean!" You yelled. "You didn't care before. Why now? What changed? Are you using me?" "No...no, I'm not." Edward said. "Then what is it!?" You cried. "Put that down and I'll tell you." Ed nodded to the syringe in your hand. You looked at the syringe before back at him as he hesitantly took a step closer. "Give me the syringe and I'll tell you." "You won't lie?" Edward shook his head. "I have no reason to." 

After a couple of seconds you dropped the syringe and it clattered to the floor. Edward immediately lunged, taking your hands and pulling you into his arms. You gasped, panic setting in. The Riddler was one of the most dangerous people in Gotham and he could kill you in a heartbeat. Although it took you a moment to realise that he was simply holding you to him, almost like an embrace. A quiet voice, almost a whimper escaped him. "They were hurting me." He began and you heard a slight quiver in his voice. "They were hurting me and you helped me. I know you don't remember that night but I do." 

Edwards plans for the night didn't include electric shock therapy. Regardless if it was Arkham's so he kicked and screamed creating a fuss along the way. The more he struggled, the more assistance was needed. He had even caused a few other patients to cry out from their cells, a minor but pestering bother for Arkham staff. 

By the time they reached the room with the chair, the guards had enough and immediately surrounded him for a beat down. Edward curled into a ball, covering his head and ribs as much as he could as doctors and nurses hurried away from the room. Typical. 

Suddenly there was a yelp that didn’t come from Edward, everyone seemed to freeze, Edward looking up to see what had happened. One of the guards were stunned, frozen in shock, staring at the other guard who looked horrified. In his neck was a syringe of what was previously a sedative for Edward. The thumb pressed down, plunge the contents into his neck. A laboured breath escaped the guard before he fell to the ground before Edward, who was slightly alarmed and wondering just how strong that sedative was, if it even was that. The hand had been yours, eyes glazed over and very still. 

Without warning, as soon as your eyes locked on the other guard, you lunged towards him. He had no time to process what had happened or even prepare himself for the attack. He fell to the ground, you on top as you ferociously beat his face with your hands. Your strength was astounding and it was the clearly why you were such a threat. You were like an deranged animal, it wasn’t enough even when he was out cold. Edward wasn’t even sure if the guard was still alive. However, you moved onto the next guard just as quickly. Perhaps you hadn't noticed him. 

He stood corrected when you halted your attack and turned your sights on him. Slowly he stood up, wincing at the pain in his ribs. You followed suit, your eyes still wide and empty. Slowly you moved forward. Edward went to move back but something blocked his path. He felt panic run through him but did his best not to show it. Something he often did with the Bat. Although you didn't lunge, as a matter of fact you were incredibly slow.

You seemed to notice his pain. Edward stiffened as you slowly wrapped your arms around him. You were so gentle he didn’t even entirely feel the hug. He looked down at you, your head resting against his chest. You were looking at the ground as though feeling guilt. In that moment, Edward took charge. ”Give me your hands.” He said quickly. He did his best to wipe the blood from your hands and onto his own as well as his arms. Edward always did have a soft spot for you. He never allowed it to show but he couldn't deny it to himself that it was there. So in the moment you had saved his life, he knew he had to protect you. No one had ever helped him yet you had, whether it was consciously or not didn't matter. If he didn't do something you'd wake up in isolation with possibly even more deaths. 

Edward knew you better than you thought, killing wasn't something you were proud of. You didn't want to add more to the list. So maybe in this way, he was protecting you just as you had protected him. Edward also noticed something that seemed to trigger your violent tendencies. It was violence itself. If you witnessed it, it seemed to drive you to be violent to the point of deadly. So he took the fall for it and eventually, they seemed to buy his story and take you back to your room. Throughout all that time, you didn't speak a word and the next morning you didn't remember a thing. Just as suspected. 

"I couldn't tell you." He said, looking into your eyes. You had never seen him so vulnerable. "I couldn't risk Strange finding out. It was better for you if everyone thought it was me." "Why? Why protect me?" You asked. "Because you protected me...such a thing is very hard to find in Gotham." "I...I killed those people." You whispered and Edward nodded. "You saved my life." He corrected.

[lyssismagical]

22 and 4 for physical affection prompts?

a hug after not seeing someone for a long time

kissing someone’s cuts/bruises/scratches

 Being the guy in the chair meant that Ned had to deal with a lot of the fallout Peter left behind him. He’d been doing it for all of five years, now bringing his skills to Massachusetts and to a much bigger scale.

This is a little outside of his paygrade, though.

Peter had been MIA for three months.

At the beginning, it was just a matter of giving people the hope to push through another day. It was telling people that Peter would be fine, he was Spider-Man and he had all of the avengers looking out for him. Nothing would happen. It wouldn’t take long for everything to go back to normal.

But days kept passing with no word from the Avengers. He knew they were all on it, but they hadn’t found even a trace of what happened to their beloved hero.

May was handling it, spending her days down at the cabin with the Starks to keep her mind off things, and to keep Tony sane. He couldn’t help, not when he’d been hurt so badly fighting Thanos.

It was Ned’s job, though, to take care of everyone else. MJ, Flash, Harry, Gwen, the rest of Peter’s friends. And Harley.

Harley was losing his mind every moment that went by without his boyfriend.

“Hey, c’mon, dude,” Ned says, knocking on Harley’s door. To save money from living in dorm rooms, and to keep Peter’s identity a secret, the six of them got a three-bedroom apartment in the city. “You’re going to be late for class.”

“Not going,” Harley grumbles.

Ned sighs, looking over at where Harry’s sitting at the kitchen table. “You wanna try today?”

Through a bite of cereal, Harry goes, “Nah, you get to deal with him.”

Sighing, he pushes his way into Harley’s bedroom, heart aching at the sight.

Harley’s curled up in the bed, wearing one of Peter’s very old Midtown High sweatshirts, tight across Harley’s wider shoulders. Lights dimmed above, a video on his laptop playing next to him. Upon further inspection, it’s the video compilation from their last week of high school. Prom clips, graduation clips, senior skip day, the homework bonfire, the huge party. MJ filmed a lot of it, but there’s plenty of shots with her as well, camera being passed around. Peter and Harley are hand in hand through most of the shots, never once leaving each other’s sides.

“Harley, this isn’t healthy,” Ned says, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Peter and Harley have been together since their Junior year, three years now, living together for a year. They won for best relationship in the yearbook, and they’re known to be attached at the hip. The local Starbucks employees know them as Harley-and-Peter because they never go to Starbucks separately. Their room is entirely catered to the both of them. They have an entire life together planned out.

It’s scary to think of just how irreparably broken Harley would be if he lost Peter.

“Anything?” Harley asks monotonously.

“Sorry.”

Ned pauses the video and for a moment, they both stare at the screen, where Peter is shown, arms in the air, smile bright on his face, eyes peacefully shut, fire glowing behind him. Harley reaches out and gently strokes a finger over the screen.

“God, I miss him,” Harley says, voice breaking.

“I know.” Ned feels the grief hitting him now more than ever. He’s been trying so hard to hold everything together that he hasn’t really had the time to think about it. “I mean, I’ve been through him going missing before, I know you have too, but never this long. Never without any leads. Never with this little hope.”

Harley sniffles, looking unbelievably young and hurt, eyes red and hair long and messy. He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

“I know you don’t want to think about it, but you can’t destroy your life just in case,” Ned says. “You have to keep going to class and doing your homework and taking care of yourself. You can’t put everything on hold until he comes back.”

“If he comes back.” Harley’s voice comes out dripping with venom. “After my dad left, everyone told me he’d come back eventually. That it was a when, not an if. That it wasn’t a question whether or not I’d see him again. It’s been ten years and nothing.”

Ned feels his chest tighten at the thought of Peter never coming back. “He’s Peter fucking Parker. It’s not an If.”

Harley doesn’t reply.

Eventually, Ned has to give up. He’s going to be late for his own classes if he doesn’t head out. “Harry’s home all day, so ask him if you need anything.”

He makes it all the way to campus, driving a car gifted to him by Tony because Peter never got his licence and somebody needed to be able to take him places. He got all of the roommates some kind of crazy expensive gift when they moved out of state like paying for Harley’s entire tuition.

He’s about to get out of his car, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat when his phone lights up with a text from Sam Wilson.

Immediately, he fumbles for his phone and his keys, restarting the car and swerving to get back on the road.

“What.”

“Get up. Quick shower, get dressed, pack a little bag with extra clothes and the quilt that’s in the bottom dresser of your dresser. Meet me outside, I’ll be there in twenty,” Ned rushes out, feeling a little bad about talking on the phone while driving.

Harley pauses for a long moment. “Please don’t tell me this is just you wanting to get me to class.”

“Sam texted,” Ned says, speeding up to just over the speed limit. “They found him. We’ll meet him at the compound.”

Harley lets out a brokenly relieved sob, gasping out, “Oh god, thank you, oh my god, I’ll be ready. Focus on driving, I’ll see you there.”

Ned tosses the phone onto the passenger seat as soon as Harley hangs up, jittery with excitement.

Peter was okay.

Ned hangs back while Harley goes racing ahead of him into the compound. And right there, standing in the lobby, right in front of the elevators, is Peter.

He’s roughed up, that’s for sure, bruised and bloody, thinner than ever, hair longer than he’s ever kept it and greasy too. He’s wearing a pair of loose sweats, stained beyond recognition, and a thick sweatshirt that definitely belongs to Natasha. But despite everything, despite being missing for three months, Peter’s grinning.

Harley lets out a teary laugh and pushes into a sprint across the lobby.

If not for Peter’s stickiness and super strength, Harley would’ve tackled him right to the floor.

But Peter catches him, straightening them out, laughing softly.

Harley lifts Peter right off his feet, spinning him a circle, arms so tight around his waist. They’re both laughing like they can’t help themselves, just so ecstatic over finally being in each other’s arms again.

“Oh my god, I love you,” Harley breathes out, kissing Peter hard.

Peter smiles too big for them to keep kissing, pressing their foreheads together.

“Could you put me down, babe, you’re kind of pressing on my broken ribs?” Peter says it as a joke, but Harley immediately sets him down, eyes going wide.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay? What happened? Are you okay?”

Nodding, Peter gently kisses Harley again. “I’m just fine, sweetheart. I’ll heal up in no time.”

So carefully, like Peter’s made entirely of glass, Harley presses a gentle kiss to every bruise, scrape, and wound he sees. Hands, arms, head. He even falls to his knees to press extra kisses to his stomach and ribs.

“I’m all better, thank you,” Peter grins, pulling Harley up and into his arms again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” And then, pulling back and face going stony, he says, “Don’t you ever do that to me again, you jerk, if you ever even get lost at the mall, I’ll have a heart attack and die.”

Peter kisses his cheek. “I’ll be extra careful. I won’t ever leave your side, okay?”

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @spideyspeaches  @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @sdottkrames  @you-did-it-sir {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

I am looking forward to reading the continuation of the alternative ending of satisfied! Can’t wait! 😜

Happy Easter lmao here’s your monthly dose of depression ig

Though this one is slightly more lighthearted than usual

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@solangelo252

The life of a captive of Bruce Wayne was surprisingly posh.

Maybe her standards were just really low because the last place she’d been held had been a lab where fear gas was tested on her almost daily(? her concept of time was fuzzy)... or maybe the Waynes just knew how to treat a kidnapee. Who knew.

But, hey, she’d been given a phone!

It was hacked, of course. Anything on the internet that even vaguely mentioned Bruce Wayne, the bats, or the Rogues was impossible to access. This had been a little annoying, but not necessarily unexpected. She was more surprised that they were giving her a phone at all.

She sat on the end of the bed, legs swinging like a toddler’s as she looked through twitter.

Gotham twitter just wasn’t the same, though. Where were the people joking about how they’d been praying for a Scarecrow attack so they wouldn’t have to take their finals? The underpaid cafe workers talking about how Batman had come in at 5am for coffee to get through the last leg of patrols and they had to turn him down because they weren’t open yet? Even the usual jokes about the Next Wayne(TM) were hidden from her! No, the internet almost seemed empty.

This left her with very few things to do. It wasn’t like she could request people to talk to her -- not that she’d wanted to, she didn’t want to bother them -- so… she was pretty much always working out or sleeping.

Working out was nice. She hadn’t been allowed to do it much while with Harley and it felt weird to be so out of shape. Who knew it could happen so fast? Certainly not her, and she was going to rectify her newfound lack of athletic ability. Dick even came by daily to help, so she was quickly getting back into the swing of things.

But as for sleeping...

Kwami, she missed caffeine.

Her subconscious was apparently determined to torture her.

(She supposed someone had to do it, since Joker hadn’t followed through on his intentions.)

Most dreams were haunted with memories of the stupid fear gas-induced hallucinations. The bats, now accompanied by Harley, would tell her exactly how much of a screw up she was. They’d give her disgusted looks and admit that they regretted ever talking to her or taking her in. And then they’d leave her, alone, surrounded by the corpses of she hadn’t been able to help.

She’d wake up crying and alone. She’d put on a random podcast and then wrap herself up in her blankets to try and trick her mind into thinking someone was with her.

And, when it wasn’t that dream, she found herself drowning in acid again. For such a short part of a series of unfortunate events, it sure did have an effect on her. She’d scream as the acid touched her skin, burned her lungs, tried to seep into her ear canals… and then she’d get pulled out to look at Joker’s smug face and she’d almost want to be pushed back under because she hated to see him looking so satisfied.

Those ones hurt. She’d wake up, her throat screamed raw, her lungs aching. Even hours later, she’d find herself running her hands over every bit of exposed skin to try and get rid of the feeling of the acid gnawing away at her.

The worst dreams, though, were the ones where she’d be visited by Bruce. Everything would go to plan. She’d stab him in the jugular and then pull the pen out, watching as blood spurted from the wound. He’d fall to the ground at her feet, unable to speak above the blood gurgling in his throat, and she’d just watch him. He didn’t even look betrayed, he just looked… he looked like he accepted it, like he accepted her and what she’d done and that he still cared for her after all that she’d done.

And then she’d wake up, but she never really felt awake when those dreams came. She felt like she was still half asleep, her body more limp than Bruce’s had been at the end of her dream, and any emotion she should have seemed impossible.

She hated the numb. At least she could do something with the screaming and the crying, at least she could bring herself down from those. How do you bring yourself down when you aren’t up in the first place?

But, maybe it was a good thing she was numb. It boded well for her. At least she wouldn’t be hurting if -- WHEN -- she managed to do it for real.

~

She turned off her phone, disappointed as always by how little content interested her, and almost cringed when she caught her appearance in the black screen.

Her skin was bleached from her time in the chemicals. The blood vessels under her eyes had burst when she’d been forced to go without coffee for too long. One of her cheeks were sucked in seemingly permanently from how often she’d been biting it. Her lips were stained cherry-red and stretched thinner than she remembered. Where her ears should have been were large holes in the sides of her head...

But nevermind that! The door slid open with a metallic hiss.

She didn’t know why she’d hoped it would be Bruce, she’d known perfectly well that that wouldn’t be happening for quite some time -- if ever -- but there she was, hoping it would be him. That this would end quickly.

Nope.

She looked up at Cass and Duke and her heart twinged painfully when she saw them.

She had missed them. So much.

(She’d almost been disappointed when she’d found out that they wouldn’t be home when she was going to try and kill Bruce, but then again she wanted them to continue liking her so maybe it was for the best she didn’t attempt to kill their father right in front of them...)

It was nice to see them again. Honestly, she’d missed them more than anyone else. They were her favorites.

(She couldn’t bring herself to feel bad about that. They were pretty much everyone’s favorites.)

She practically threw herself into Duke’s arms. He laughed and, though he struggled a little, he managed to catch her. She buried her face in his chest.

“Wow. I see how it is,” Cass said, but Marinette could hear the smile in her voice so she didn’t bother pulling away. Instead, she reached an arm in the direction of her voice and, once she’d managed to catch the sleeve of her shirt, dragged her into the hug.

The three Diversity Adoptees stayed like that for a long time.

And then she pulled back. “You guys better not have gone ahead in the show without me.”

Duke’s face twitched into a frown momentarily before he smiled again, ruffling her hair. “We didn’t. Scout’s honor.”

“You were a scout?”

He snorted. “God no.”

“Then --?”

“Shhhhhh,” he said, using the hand already in her hair to pull her into a noogie.

“Fuck offfffff,” she whined, trying to peel his knuckles away from her scalp.

Cass pulled her away from Duke. Strong arms wrapped her in a new hug and she blinked before returning it.

“Little sister. Leave her alone,” said Cass.

Marinette shot him a nasty grin from between her arms and Duke sputtered. “But I --.”

“Little sister,” she said again, like that explained anything. Maybe it did. Marinette didn’t particularly care because Cass was smoothing out her hair and it really did feel much better than the noogie she’d been getting…

She closed her eyes and leaned into her, relaxing.

Or, at least, she’d tried to relax. Until Duke sighed dramatically and said “Oh well, I guess I have five months of episodes to go through alone…”

“Wait --!”

~

She barely managed to lift her head up when she heard the door slide open, and then she bolted upright when she saw who it was.

Jason.

Her hand slid into her pocket, to the pen resting there, and she slowly pulled off the cap.

No. She couldn’t do that. If she tried to kill him then her pen would be confiscated and she couldn’t even imagine being able to kill Bruce with her bare hands.

(Granted, she didn’t really think she had a good chance of killing him with a pen -- it was a PEN -- but it the chances were more than 0% so it was overall way better than just trying to choke him out or something.)

She closed the pen and settled for glaring at him.

This fucker was the reason that she was there in the first place, and he hadn’t even given her an honorable battle that would have felt satisfying, what a --!

He held out a cup of coffee as a peace offering.

What an amazing person. Literally an angel. She loved him. Her favorite member of the batfamily.

If she’d had any less pride, she would have ran to get the coffee. As it was, she still speedwalked to take it off his hands.

The moment the drink touched her tongue, tension she hadn’t even noticed seemed to dissipate. The calm was quickly taken over by desperation, though. She had to fight herself not to chug it down.

(She also had to fight a wave of nausea, her body was not at all used to taking in any food or drinks anymore, but damn it she was going to get this coffee down if it killed her... again.)

Even with her super amazing self-restraint, the drink was gone within seconds. She swirled the remaining dregs, considering the pros and cons of trying to drink it because she remembered someone telling her that the last sip of drinks are always backwash…

But it was backwash that might have had caffeine in it, so she drank it.

She smiled brightly at him. Kwami, she’d missed caffeine so much. The only person who had given her coffee was Riddler the few times he had come to visit. Apparently Harley didn’t approve of it, though, because he had only brought her coffee three times before he’d suddenly stopped appearing.

… she hoped Riddler was still alive. She’d liked Riddler.

But she knew that asking about any of the Rogues would make the bats think that she wasn’t ‘healing’ up properly. So, instead of asking about him, she said “You know, B is gonna kill you for giving me coffee. I just got unaddicted.”

Jason groaned. “Great. Thanks for telling me AFTER you drank it all.”

“Of course. I wasn’t going to let you take it away from me,” she chirped.

He rolled his eyes. “Rude. Fine, I guess you won’t be addicted since it was only one cup. Can’t get in much trouble if I don’t give you more.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait --.”

“Yeah. I’d really prefer if the bats weren’t annoyed at me, so I guess that’s all you’re going to be getting.”

“Jay, wait, I didn’t mean it --.”

“Oh well,” he sighed. He brought a hand to his forehead like he was feeling faint. “If only I had an amazing little sister who would give me a hug --.”

She was wrapped around him before he’d even finished his sentence. Sure, it was blatant manipulation, but there was no way in hell that she was losing her one chance at caffeine.

(Besides, it was a hug. Hugs were nice.)

She’d spent the rest of the day with him, exchanging jokes about death.

The others didn’t really like them. Even Dick, who always liked a good pun, would only get sad when she joked about how she wasn’t alive anymore.

Jason, though… Jason understood.

And his death had been years ago. So he had a lot more jokes than she did.

“Ohohoh one time someone tried to flirt with me by saying they were a necrophiliac and I said ‘deadass?’ and…” He snickered. “And they said ‘yeah, exactly’.”

She brought a hand to her mouth, trying to hide her smile. “Oh my kwami, really?”

“I’m dead serious.”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean, I’d say they were going to hell, but they’d probably like it there.”

He laughed a little, shaking his head.

“It’s nice having someone to make jokes with. Damian doesn’t like joking about it.”

“I know. He’s always all…” He screwed up his face and raised his voice to a whine “‘It is not a joking matter, Todd’.”

She gasped. “It’s almost like he’s here with us.”

“Uncanny, right?”

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax.

“... I missed you. We all did,” he said quietly.

She didn’t know what to say to that. Not really. She ended up just giving a tiny laugh and shrugging her shoulders.

His phone beeped in his pocket and she heard him shift to check it. He groaned. “Sorry, kid, I’ve got patrols.”

She nodded slightly and fell back on the bed with a yawn. “You’re coming back tomorrow, right?”

There was a beat.

She cracked her eyes open to see him considering the idea.

“Please?” She tried.

Another beat.

He broke into a grin. “You just want more coffee.”

“Guilty as charged,” she said, not even a little sheepish. “But I don’t mind the fact that you’re coming either.”

“I feel so loved.”

“You are,” she said, with a little pout thrown in for good measure.

He ended up agreeing to bring her coffee daily. She smirked after him. He wasn’t the only one that could manipulate people for things he wants.

Her smirk dropped the moment her hand slipped into her pockets and she realized he’d taken the pen from her when she’d given him a hug.

Bastard.

~

Her eyes flicked past her visitor briefly and she was met with a nondescript, white wall. She was pretty sure that this wasn’t Wayne manor, with it’s dark reds and browns, but she was almost willing to ignore that logic so she could believe that it was. At least if it was Wayne manor she might have been able to guess her coordinates by making portals appear in rooms at random until she found it. But if she was just… in a place then how was she supposed to ever get out?

She didn’t let this show on her face, because of all of them Dick was the most emotionally intelligent and would definitely notice. Instead, she beamed at him.

“Ready for our workout session?”

It was kinda weird, because it was so much like their old routine. They would stretch and talk and practice new moves… but it didn’t feel at all the same. Before everything had happened they had talked about meaningful things; list off their emotions and talk shit about the other bats (they loved them, sure, but they were a handful).

Now, though, neither of them were actually talking much. There was very little going on in her life, so she didn’t know what to say and he… he seemed to think she was weak or something, like she couldn’t take it. One time he’d almost slipped up and told her about how Tim was worrying him because he was getting borderline obsessive and then, when she’d politely pressed for more, he’d clammed up and told her that she didn’t need to worry about that.

She kind of didn’t like the sessions with Dick. They felt wrong.

But she really missed him and his octopus hugs that she could melt into. So she never told him and they kept doing them.

“Jason gave you coffee,” said Dick instead of greeting her.

“... I managed to do a triple backflip!”

He raised his eyebrows at her and she chose to interpret this as him being disbelieving of her ability to do a triple backflip from the ground (which was fair, she’d taken ages to manage it even once and she had nothing but free time) and not him noticing her feeble attempt at changing the subject.

“I did! Look!”

She tried and landed flat on her face. She could hear his strained breathing as he tried his hardest not to laugh. She wished the floor would just swallow her whole.

At least he wasn’t concerned about the coffee thing anymore?

He took a seat in front of her and she slowly raised her head to look at him despite the fact that she very much wanted to burrow into the floor and never emerge ever again.

“We have footage of it, so I’ve seen it, don’t worry. Tim was pretty proud of you so he showed everyone… and I’m proud of you, too, obviously. That took me years.”

She smiled brightly. Tim was apparently proud of her. She didn’t see much of him, so it was kind of nice to know that he was watching over her... even if it was a little creepy that there were people watching her pretty much every moment of every day to make sure she didn’t escape or kill herself.

“Seriously, though, I’m not letting Jason back if he keeps bringing you coffee.”

The smile on her face dropped and she bit the inside of her cheek. Part of her was kind of mad that Jason had taken the pen from her -- really, she should have figured out that that was what was going on, though, he was never the most cuddly -- and the other part was desperate for coffee.

The coffee addiction won out.

“But…” She sniffled a little and pulled tears to her eyes. She tried not to think about how easily they came. “But I need…”

Dick groaned quietly and she felt arms hook under hers and pull her into a hug.

“This isn’t going to work.”

She buried her face in his shoulder and let the tears fall.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered. “Please. I can’t. Please.”

Ah. That was a little more genuinely vulnerable than she’d intended on being.

But, hey, it was working. She heard Dick’s breath catch at the admission.

“Why not?” He said softly, running a hand up and down her back.

Why he even bothered to ask, she didn’t know. The bats knew about her nightmares. They knew about everything she did, why would they stop when she fell asleep? But she hadn’t mentioned it up until that point and they hadn’t brought it up either.

Still, she mumbled “Nightmares.” She hesitated only slightly before adding that it was “Ironic that NightMare has nightmares, but...”

Dick gave a laugh and she felt herself smile at the sound. He always did like bad puns. Her smile dropped a little when he told her “You still need sleep.”

She laughed bitterly. “It’s not like I’m getting much of it when I wake up every ten minutes anyways.”

He sighed and she felt his head rest on top of hers. “I guess one cup a day isn’t that bad…”

She gave a halfhearted cheer.

“Would you like to talk about your dreams? Sometimes that helps...”

She didn’t even hesitate to shake her head no. She did, however, hesitate to pull away from the hug. She liked Dick’s hugs far more than she’d ever admit, and ever since she’d come back she’d liked them even more. He was just about the right size and just squishy enough for her to pretend she was getting a hug from Harley.

But, eventually, she managed to pull herself together and she pushed him off as gently as she could.

“Ready to workout?”

Dick was wearing a particularly sad look that she decided didn’t look right on his face.

But then he brought a smile to his face and nodded. “Bet you I’m still more flexible.”

“Probably, but don’t get used to it. Your days as the world’s best gymnast are numbered.”

“Hm. We’ll see.”

~

 Damian.

She blinked at him. She really hadn’t expected him to… come by at all, honestly. Sure, they’d been getting along better than they’d used to and they were partners before she’d disappeared, but they weren’t partners anymore. He had no reason to come talk to her.

She smiled at him nonetheless. Company was company, and she wasn’t about to be picky when she was locked in a room for the foreseeable future.

“Dami!” She said brightly, crossing her legs criss-cross applesauce and then -- after thinking about it for a moment -- smoothed her dress out to make sure everything was hidden. (Damian was only a few months younger than her, she knew that logically, but some dumb part of her kept saying ‘child’.)

He regarded her for a moment before taking a seat beside her.

“Marinette,” he greeted carefully.

“Are you here for something?” She asked.

He hesitated, just slightly, and then nodded.

Ah. She wasn’t sure how she could be of help, compromised as she was, but she was certainly ready to try.

“I would like to know about my miraculous. Plagg has been… behaving oddly recently.”

Her smile slipped off her face at that. “Oddly how?” She said, eyeing his pockets like she believed the kwami would pop out at any moment and show her himself (which, granted, was entirely possible, but apparently not going to happen).

“He’s been more energetic. Less hungry. It doesn’t make sense.”

She thought about this for a few minutes, resting her head on her hand. Damian was right, that didn’t make sense… if anything, Plagg had been getting more laidback and mellow as time has stretched on...

Unless…

“Have you been using him?”

“... no. Is he just hyper from not being used, then?”

She stared at him, her head tipping to the side slightly as she considered him. Why wasn’t he using the miraculous? She would understand if it was a tactical decision to keep Catw -- was she called something else now that she was using the ladybug miraculous? -- Selina from using the miraculous as often, but it seemed he didn’t really know about that… so why…?

She pushed the thought from her mind. Maybe Damian just didn’t like the smell of Camambert. She wouldn’t blame him.

“It’s a balance thing. If the ladybug is used without the cat, the ladybug gets weaker and the cat gets stronger. Opposite thing happens when you use the cat without the ladybug. They’re meant to be used as a pair.” She clicked her tongue. “It probably doesn’t help that you’re on different sides.”

He nodded his understanding.

There was a beat as they just stood there (well, technically they were sitting, but whatever). She was kind of wondering why he was still there when he apparently didn’t need anything else from her, but what was she going to do? Tell him to leave? No. She was kind of desperate for the company of someone that wasn’t Jason or Dick (Cass and Duke only came by weekly so she didn’t mind them as much… also, they were Cass and Duke, so...).

He cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Drake has informed me of your state.”

“I’m dead, yeah,” she confirmed.

He winced and his eyes fell to his lap. “I have also died before, if you would like to talk about it.”

She stared at him. She really hadn’t taken him for the kind of person who would offer moral support…

She pulled a smile to her face and leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. Her smile became a little more real as she watched him scowl and wipe away the kiss.

“Thanks for the offer, Dami, but I’m fine.”

He gave her a skeptical look.

“Really. I’ll tell you guys as much as I need to for you to believe it: nothing much happened while I was there. Honestly, it was more boring than scary. So relax, I’m fine. I’ll live.”

And then, because she couldn’t help it, she added: “Well, that ship sailed long ago, but you know what I mean.”

He clicked his tongue. “Now I have to deal with terrible death jokes from you AND Todd? I wish I were dead.”

“You wish you were STILL dead, you mean?” She teased, reaching out to pinch his cheeks and breaking out into laughter when he swatted her hands away.

He rolled his eyes at her and then, with a short ‘Goodbye’, he left. She watched him leave, and the smile slid from her face in time with the door sliding shut behind him.

She fell back on the bed and closed her eyes. She didn’t get why people were so concerned about her. They’d faced worse. Hell, even SHE’D faced worse. Why were they making such a big deal about it?

Nothing had happened! Did they believe her when she told them that? She’d had no reason to lie, and she hadn’t been lying... and even if they’d thought she had they had Cass to prove she wasn’t. Hell, that was probably why Cass had come by at all, to check on her mental state! So why were they all so worried? They should know it was fine!

And even if she wasn’t fine (which she was!) it wasn’t like she didn’t have the same training as them. She could spot the victim questions from a mile away and she could even ask them to herself. She knew the answers, and she knew which ones she should be avoiding because she knew that they sounded way worse than they actually were.

Some vague part of her whispered that if anything sounded at all bad to the victim questions then she was, in fact, a victim. She buried her face in her pillow and gave a strangled scream of frustration. Now she had their stupid voices in her head telling her something was wrong, too.

~

She didn’t even look up from her phone when she heard the door slide open. Partially because she was kind of addicted to Geometry Dash and she wouldn’t win if she was looking up and partially because she could smell coffee so she knew who it was anyways.

“Thank fuck you’re here, Jay, I was --.”

“Sorry, but you’re going to have to wait a little longer for him, bean.”

Her eyes snapped to the door and her little box thingy on her screen died but she could hardly bring herself to care.

Tim!

Her face lit up. She hadn’t seen him in a while and she had really been missing him. Also, she noted vaguely, he was apparently healed from all of his injuries. Nice!

Except, as she scrutinized his face, she noticed he looked even more tired than usual. His skin was deathly pale, the bags under his eyes made him look like a raccoon, his hair hung limply around his face…

“Damn, and I thought I looked dead on my feet,” she teased softly to hide her concern.

He managed a smile and she waved him over to lay down with her. He hesitated before coming to sit beside her on the bed.

“When’s the last time you got some proper sleep?” She asked, tugging on the sleeve of his turtleneck to try and get him to lay down and cuddle with her. If she could get him to he might accidentally drift off.

He must have known what she was trying, because he resisted her attempts. “I’m fine. It’s been a while, but it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

She crossed her arms. “Fine. What’s wrong?”

He stared at her confusedly.

“You only get this bad when something is going on. What is it?”

He just kept staring at her and she shifted awkwardly.

“... bean…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s you. I’m worried about you.”

She groaned. “Not you, too.”

“Obviously I’m --.” He cut himself off and then mulled over his words for a bit. He decided on: “I don’t want to keep you here forever. I don’t want you to get ‘better’ because we Stockholm syndrome-ed you. Or re-Stockholm syndrome-ed you, since Harley already did it.”

“She didn’t --,” Marinette started, but she gave up on that. She knew they all didn’t understand it and arguing would probably only solidify their belief that Harley had messed her up in some way. Instead, she settled to address the rest of the statement:  “I mean… I already liked you all beforehand so… it’s not like caring about you would be exactly NEW...”

“It’s still wrong.”

She gave a tiny shrug. “It’s not like you have any other options. I’d probably be doing the same thing if everything was reversed.”

“That doesn’t really make me feel better,” said Tim with a tiny shake of his head.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the frown off of her face. “Then I don’t know what you want from me, Tim.”

He sighed. “I want you to get better.”

“Hard to do when I’m already fine.”

“But you’re not! You’re literally dead! How is that at all fine?!”

She rolled her eyes. She was getting a headache, though she wasn’t sure whether or not it was because of caffeine withdrawal (she was pretty sure Jason was supposed to have come in a few hours ago) or annoyance at repeating herself so many times. She pressed her cold hand to her forehead to try and alleviate it somewhat.

“It’s not even that bad, honestly. I can still drink coffee and sleep and that’s all I really care about. I can even feel pain! It’s pretty much the same except I don’t have to go to the bathroom and I can’t change clothes!”

Tim stared at her for a few moments before slamming his palm against his forehead. “That’s what it is!”

“Huh?”

“I thought something was weird about you being dead,” he explained, though it didn’t really explain anything. “Give me a minute, I’ll be back.”

She watched him practically run out the door and frowned confusedly. Sure, it was a little weird that she could still do most stuff, but that didn’t really warrant getting up in such a rush. Maybe the dead thing creeped him out more than he let on and he needed a breather?

So she picked up her phone and started playing Geometry Dash again while she waited for him to come back.

About an hour later she heard the door slide open and she raised her eyebrows at the sight of Tim holding a thermos and a plastic tray of food from Red Robin (the restaurant; anything he cooked was straight poison and if she tried it she might just die for real).

She watched him sit down with them. “You hungry?”

He shook his head and shoved them towards her. “They’re for you.”

Her confusion only seemed to grow.

“Sweetie, I don’t eat,” she reminded him, though she did take the thermos in case… nice! Coffee!

“Except you can if you want to, which is weird, right?”

She shrugged a little, not bothering to tear her lips away from her drink to give him a proper ‘I guess’.

“But where’s it going? Because you don’t go to the bathroom so it has to be used up in some way otherwise you would have probably exploded by now.”

She finished the drink and then set down the empty thermos beside herself. “Magic, probably…”

“Maybe,” he gave her, but that didn’t seem to put him out. “But then there’s the pain thing. Sure, it’s muted, but it’s definitely still there. Why should a dead person feel pain?”

“Because I’m not fully dead…?”

“Exactly!”

She shrugged again. “I really don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“What if you just need food or something to come back? Because you clearly had a headache, and it seems like it’s caffeine-related because you’ve relaxed a little since you had your coffee, which means we know that your digestive, nervous, and circulatory system are still working on some level...”

She stared at the food he’d given her.

“You think that if I eat enough I can come back.”

He nodded. “I know it’s a longshot, but we should at least try it, right?”

[ajokeformur-ray]

Runaway // Patrick Verona x Reader // comfort.

Dedicated to @loveletterstoledger​. Short, I was just randomly inspired by our DMs so it’s only right I dedicate it to you, darling! Haven’t written for Pat for a while so might be a bit shit idk lmao enjoy!💗

Summary: It’s a... bad day. You need your gentle koala. He’s there.

Warnings for swearing. General reader. We all need this right now.

Word count: 1,015. (I know, it’s so short. But.)

Today was... a bad day. 

That was all that you had told Pat an hour ago and you had left it there. 

You didn't want to talk about it. You didn't want to worry about it. You didn't even want to feel it. You just wanted to be left alone by everyone and everything. Fuck it. Fuck all of it. Everything was just too much and you needed to breathe and you couldn't and -

"Whoa, Y/N. Breathe, love."  As if he had sensed your distress was Pat in the room. He looked so relaxed to all who didn’t know him. But you did. You knew him and you could see the way that his jaw had set, the way that his chocolate eyes were fixed firmly on your face, the way that his fists flexed by his sides... he saw you and you watched him looking back at you.

So closely was Pat paying attention to you that he saw the exact second that your carefully maintained ceramic mask, the face which you put on every day, slid off your face and shattered all over the floor, never again to be put back together. But you would be. You would be reassembled as Pat would, with a gentle touch and reverent words, cradle your broken pieces. His love would be the gold which glued the cracks of your heart back together. He would patient with you and, oh, so lovingly would he nurture you back into yourself.

Never did Pat ask for you to be more than you most naturally were in any given moment. He never wanted you to be anything but your own self, whomever they looked like, and in your relationship was there a very real element of authenticity. You both said “I love you” and other such sweet but true things as often as you felt the need to. You both hugged and kissed each other, or not, as often as you wanted to. You were both yourselves and during moments like this, when you were aching to be anywhere else, to be anyone else, Pat was able to reach into the murky and uncharted depths of your psyche and help you to break through the surface of the water. You couldn’t speak, brought were you to the moment where words run dry. So instead could you only look at Pat, all the pain and every other emotion you were feeling right at the forefront and laid bare were you to be seen and accepted by him. 

Pat cooed in love and in understanding and he was by your side in seconds, his strong and warm arms reaching out for you even before he was fully beside you. He didn’t ask you if you were okay. He could see that you weren’t. He didn’t ask you to talk to him. He didn’t ask anything of you in this moment. Pat only stood there with you in his arms, your face pressed into his body as your mask well and truly disintegrated with little hope of it even being replaced for a good few hours. Tears sprung unbidden to your eyes and they fell upon Pat’s shirt like rain. He felt them fall, he felt you crumble, and he only stepped closer into you. He only held you tighter, as if his firm grip upon you could hold your scattered remains together long enough for all of the love which he held for you in his impossibly big heart to fuse those same pieces together, leaving nothing in its wake but gold as evidence of your hardship. 

Pat stayed with you, he stayed, and that meant more to you than anything else he could have done in your hour of need.

As your tears slowed, though they did not stop, Pat pulled back from you just enough so that he could cup your face in his hands. The calloused pads of his thumbs wiped away your tears and the look of empathy and of love on his face threatened to make you break all over again. Indeed did your breath hitch and Pat’s hands tightened on your face in response. He ducked his head so that he could look at you. “You’re not fine, are you?” It was obvious but Pat still felt the need to speak. He knew that you loved his deep and rich voice. WIthout waiting for you to respond, he continued, “C’mon, I think you need some cuddles, don’t you?”

You smiled. How well he knew you. 

Pat’s eyes lightened as he took in the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. “There’s my Y/N. C’mon, koala time.” His hands trailed down your face, down the column on your neck, down the curve of your shoulders, down... with a pointed tug on your hand and your body on fire, Pat walked with you to the bedroom with only one thing on his mind: being there for you, his Y/N, the one person who accepted him wholly without question or hesitation. No matter how dark things became, no matter how rough everything was, no matter how much you wanted to run away from yourself and from your current situation despite how literally impossible it was to do so, Pat would never leave your side. He would be there for you through the good, the bad and the ugly, and never would he stray from your side, from his home. For home is not a place, sometimes it is a person and they happen to be you, his Y/N. You weren’t okay and you probably wouldn’t be for a while, but that was okay; you had Patrick and he had you and together was there nothing you couldn’t overcome. Love is the greatest weapon of them all and the two of you keep yours fully locked and loaded at all times.

True to his nickname, once Pat had you in bed comfortable and cosy, surrounded were you by blankets and your favourite things and your Patrick, he clung to you like you were the last tree in the forest.

Patrick Verona @jokersspookyhyena​​  @itsthejoker @royaleclownx    @tsukiakarinobara    @arianatheangelworld  @antonija89 @hotpacino  @call-me-harley-quinn