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redhoodieone · 3 years

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Fucking Perfect

A/N: Hey, y’all!!! Here’s another fic that was actually a request from @jasontoddslut. I hope you all enjoy!

WARNINGS: Language, violence, and smut!

It wasn’t that late. With a DVD and a large free pepperoni pizza in hand (the pizza was actually a “thank you” from a local pizza owner after Jason saved his life), Jason couldn’t help but keep smiling underneath his red helmet as he drove to his and Danielle’s home. They were supposed to have a night in; no distractions, no interruptions, and no patrolling, for him at least.

But Bruce had called him for help last minute around 9:00 because Joker decided to break out of Arkham Asylum with every other inmate, from Harley Quinn to Scarecrow. To say the mission was bizarre as hell wouldn’t be exaggerating. Jason and Dick laughed their asses off the entire night because it was like a high school reunion for all of Gotham’s villains. Even Bruce couldn’t help but grin a little when he saw the Riddler and Penguin link arms and skip down the street behind Bane, Two Face, Mr. Freeze, and Killer Croc.

It was one hilarious but memorable sight.

But now all Jason could think about was getting back home to Danielle as he speeds down the streets on his bike from Arkham while holding the box of pizza and DVD. Just thinking about a hot shower, cuddling with Danielle on the couch under a fluffy blanket, and just falling asleep in the comfort of their home makes him consider giving up the vigilante life sometimes.

He wondered what his life would be like not being everyone’s hero.

No more subtle or dangerous injuries. Staying in bed the entire night. Having the ability to go here and there and do everything normal like others. Maybe even settling down somewhere in the countryside, where he can finally retain his own property, perhaps build himself his own auto salvage business where he’ll specialize in fixing and rebuilding expensive, fast cars and bikes.

Having something to call his own has always been a secret dream of his. Only Y/N knows all that.

Jason could just see it now: waking up early to see the beautiful sunrise from the safety on the ground, arm wrapped protectively around his wife, who would be pregnant with their child...

He initially tenses up at that particular thought. Jason has never even spoken about his desire to have kids. Hell, he has always boasted about hating kids; often complaining about them being bratty, loud, and just being unbearable little shits.

Jason even pretends to despise Dick and Barbara’s five-year-old son, Tommy, just because he enjoys pissing them off. But in all honesty, Jason loves his nephew and knows damn well that if anything were to happen to Tommy...Jason would fucking kill them in a heartbeat.

Fuck, even Barbara gets on Jason’s ass about when he’s finally going to settle down and have kids of his own. She and Dick make the normal, perfect life look easy. They were brave and strong enough to walk away from the vigilante life, only promising Bruce that they’ll help him every now and then and only for big emergencies.

Jason couldn’t believe it at first. Dick and Barbara just happily moved to a safe, typical suburban but luxurious home far away from Gotham. They made it look so effortless and picture-perfect.

With Dick and Barbara gone, all Jason has is Tim and Damian around. Which isn’t much considering they have their own lives.

And Jason used to have Y/N, his best friend.

Before Jason’s thoughts could consume him more, he pulls up to the private parking garage at his penthouse. After he parks his bike, he climbs off and removes his red helmet; quickly inhaling air after sweating so much. Holding the helmet underneath his left arm, he carries the pizza and DVD and heads to the elevator.

He sighs heavily; his back hurts like fuck after being thrown around a lot from Killer Croc. He wonders if it would be completely sexist or just entirely fucked up if he asks Danielle for a backrub.

We’ve been together for two years. She knows my line of work, and if she really loves me, she’ll give me an all-body massage...and besides...this is the first time I’m asking for one anyways, he thinks to himself.

The elevator dings and opens for him; revealing the private floor that is his, courtesy of Bruce. If it weren’t for Bruce, Jason wouldn’t have the luxury of such a private and quiet place to call home. Bruce owns the entire building, mostly business associates and employees live and stay here anyways.

Jason walks to the door and opens it; is actually quite stunned that it’s unlocked. Mostly because he’s OCD about that, even if this floor and this entire building is private, Jason still likes to take precaution.

The guy fucking grew up on the streets and has seen and done bad things. Really bad. But he’s not like that anymore. Oh, no he’s not. Now, Jason lives by his new principles, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a badass anymore or is violent by nature. He is still Jason Todd.

Stepping inside his penthouse, Jason kicks the front door shut with his heavy boot and sets the pizza and DVD on the entryway table. He puts his helmet back on and quickly pulls a gun from his thigh holster. Jason takes this seriously, just as with any mission or recon.

He quietly goes down the hallway, immediately notices their bedroom door is cracked open and a light is on. He raises his gun and says...

Fuck it. I’m going in with my gun. Hope this all ends well with no blood.

Jason kicks open the bedroom door and has the most fucked up, perfect view of his girlfriend, Danielle, in bed with another man; a man who is on top of her, fucking her underneath the covers, IN THEIR BED!!!!!

Danielle gasps in surprise. “Jason! What-what are you doing home so early?!” she panics. She sits up and pushes the man off of her. Her tits are on display, after the blanket falls from her chest.

The male brunette is shocked at seeing Jason. The naked man uses the sheet to hide his lower body. Jason thinks this guy is a fucking tool. He’s shaking badly, and he’s sputtering like an idiot.

“Oh, oh God! This is Jason? You’re with fucking Red Hood? Oh, my God...OH, MY GOD! This guy is gonna kill me, Dani! He-he has a fucking gun in his hand! I’m gonna fucking die!” the man cries out.

“SHUT YOUR GODDAMN FUCKING MOUTH, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Jason yells from underneath his helmet. The voice changer that’s built into his helmet makes him sound more dark...even demonic. But Jason could care less about anything and everything right now. All he can think about is beating the shit out of this guy. “WHO THE FUCK IS THIS?!”

Danielle runs a hand through her messy long red hair, and sniffles. She’s actually...crying?

“This is Paul-”

“Don’t fucking tell him my name! Jesus Christ! Are you trying to get me killed?!”

Jason aims his gun and shoots near Paul’s head. The loud, piercing sound fills the room. The bullet hits the wall, but nonetheless scares the shit out of Paul.

Paul covers his eyes and cries. “Of fuck...please don’t kill me. Oh God, please don’t...”

Jason removes his helmet in anger and throws it down. His green eyes are already red-rimmed. He won’t admit he’s crying...God no...his allergies must be acting up.

“So, what the fuck, Dani? You’re seriously sleeping with someone else?” Jason asks, rhetorically of course. “In our house...underneath our covers...in our bed?!”

“Jason, please. I-I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Dani says.

“But you wanted me to find out?” Jason snaps, suddenly moves closer to the bed. Paul moves backwards away from him. “You wanted me to find out, but just not this way? JESUS CHRIST, DANI! What the fuck were you thinking?! Why the hell would you do this to me, after everything we’ve fucking been through!”

“Because you weren’t here! You weren’t here tonight!” Dani yells.

“What the hell does that mean? You decided to cheat on me because I WASN’T HERE TONIGHT?!”

Paul slowly stands up with the sheet. “Maybe I should leave...” he mumbles.

“How about I show you the way out, BUDDY?!” Jason spits out. He grabs Paul’s throat and drags him across the bedroom.

“DON’T HURT HIM! PLEASE DON’T HURT HIM, JASON!” Dani cries out.

Jason was seeing red. He couldn’t see or think straight at all. With a huff, Jason slams Paul down to the floor and drops down to beat the fucking shit out of Paul. His fist keeps coming down hard and fast, and he definitely ignores Paul crying, pleading for him to stop. Jason even ignores the sight of a lot of blood and bones cracking underneath his punches.

“STOP IT! JASON, STOP HURTING HIM, PLEASE!” Dani screams in horror, pulling Jason back by grabbing his leather jacket.

When Jason finally stops, he realizes Paul’s face is almost disfigured because of the blood and swelling, but he doesn’t care. At all.

Jason shoves Dani away from him and glares down at Paul. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Paul. You’re not going to open your fucking mouth. You’re not going to tell anyone about my home. You’re not going to tell anyone about me. Your injuries? You’re going to tell everyone you got your pansy, white ass jumped in an alley and that you obviously lost the fight. And you’re going to walk out of here naked. You’re not going to look at Dani, not talk to her, not even think about her, you’re just going leave. NOW.”

“B-but what about my-my clothes?” Paul stutters.

Jason quickly collects all of Paul’s clothes and opens his bedroom window. He pulls out his lighter and lights the clothes on fire. Jason drops them over the railing. “You don’t need them. After fucking my girlfriend in my home and in my bed, you bet your homewrecking sweet ass that you’ll be walking home in nothing but shame and remorse. Now, get the fuck out of my house before I break your legs next.”

“Yes sir. I’m sorry, sir. No one will ever know about this,” Paul rambles on as he struggles to stand up. Once he does, he quickly leaves the bedroom but not before mumbling. “Why couldn’t she date Green Lantern or-or Batman. Wait! Not Batman! Anyone but Batman and Red Hood!”

As the front door slams shut, Jason turns to face his naked girlfriend, Dani. He feels his chest tighten, causing a pain he hasn’t felt since he was a kid and lost his mother and home. He wants to cry in front of her, maybe even scream at her, but all the anger he felt before is gone now. Jason’s only left with a sense of sadness and he doesn’t even know what to do about it.

The silence is killing them. He’s no fool. He can see she’s trying to hold herself together but is failing immensely because she’s looking up at him with those sad, puppy dog eyes.

But a thought quickly crosses his mind: only Y/N’s puppy dog eyes make him give into her. Every time. Y/N’s Y/C/E eyes weakens him, and he always wants to please her when she looks at him.

But Dani’s eyes don’t. There’s no sense of comfort and warmth in them like Y/N’s.

“I’m...I’m so sorry, Jay,” Dani begins.

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore,” Jason interrupts angrily. He doesn’t even know why she’s apologizing. He knows he can’t forgive her. He won’t forgive her.

Dani scoffs. “You can’t seriously be pissed off at me. You’ve fucking cheated before. You’ve slept around like Bruce does. You can’t fucking hold this against me! I gave you a chance!”

“You’re forgetting that I used to do that!” Jason yells. He runs a hand through his messy dark hair and growls under his breath. He needs someone to calm him down. He needs someone to tell him everything’s going to be all right. He needs the comfort and warmth only one person has: Y/N. Jason realizes he needs her now more than ever, and that scares him a bit. “I haven’t done any of that shit since we’ve been together. The second I realized that I was in love with you, I changed. I changed because I wanted to be with you! And you bringing up my past to try to justify your actions is fucking wrong, Dani.”

“Cry me a fucking river, Jason,” Dani spits out.

“Nope. Not this time. Get the fuck out of my house.”

Dani doesn’t put up a fight. She gets dressed, packs a bag of her things, and tells Jason she’ll be back for the rest later. She does glance at him one last time before she walks out though.

“The thing is...I needed my boyfriend, not a hero.”

The door slams shut, leaving Jason frozen in place. The silence is deadly; he can feel his thoughts racing and screaming loud in his head.

He needs Y/N.

Jason needs his best friend.

Tears force themselves out his eyes as he calls Y/N.

“Hello?”

Jason pauses, and he wonders if he’s making a mistake. Maybe she won’t come. He hasn’t been a particularly good friend to her lately. “Y/N, I need you. I...need you, please...”

“I’m on my way.”

Jason knew he was in deep shit after he finished off a new bottle of whiskey before Y/N came over. He couldn’t help himself. After he hanged up with her, he ripped off his costume and stripped down to nothing but his white Calvin Klein boxer briefs. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, even after lowering the thermostat to 62 degrees.

Perhaps the end of his real first serious relationship was suffocating him mentally and physically. He’s never lived with a girlfriend before either.

He was about to open a new bottle of whiskey just as the front door opens and closes.

“Jason?” Y/N calls out.

Jason whips around fast and grins. He’s buzzed, but not quite drunk yet. “Y/N!”

Y/N is stunned to see Jason in nothing but his underwear as he runs to her and embraces her hard. She stumbles back a bit, but he captures her easily to steady her and holds her tightly to his chest.

“You’re soaked...and cold,”

“It’s raining outside like it always does,” Y/N giggles and gently pushes Jason back a bit. “Let me take off my coat and get warmed up.”

Jason allows her, watches intently when Y/N takes off her raincoat. She’s wearing her black and red plaid pajama pants and a Metallica t-shirt he’s positive she stole from him. She kicks off her booties and displays her light blue fuzzy socks he adores.

Jason knew Y/N had to have been in bed when he called, but she came anyway. She always comes to him because she’s always there for him.

She’s always been here for me, hasn’t she? Why haven’t I seen it before? He thinks to himself.

Y/N smiles softly and reaches a hand out to Jason. He takes it, almost hypnotized by how he does anything she wants. She leads them to the couch, but not before she sees the pizza box and DVD on the entryway table. She raises an eyebrow at him.

“That...was my failed attempt at romance tonight,” Jason admits sheepishly.

Y/N shakes her head, but still smiles. “It doesn’t have to go to waste. We can eat the pizza and watch the movie, right? I mean...only if you want to, of course,” she says.

“Only with you, sweetheart.”

Y/N releases his hand and quickly grabs the pizza and movie. She meets him in the living room where Jason’s already sitting down. She smiles and puts the DVD on. But before she sits beside him, she heads over to the kitchen. She returns with two cans of soda and napkins.

Jason looks down when her soft, small hand reaches out to him...only to take away the unopened bottle of whiskey. “No more tonight...please.”

He can’t help but nod his head. She’s right, he’s had enough to drink. He can’t numb his feelings and thoughts anymore. That’s why when Jason starts crying, he doesn’t feel embarrassment or anything. Y/N’s seen him at his best and worst; and she’s still here no matter what.

The movie is playing, but they’re not watching it. Jason can’t even hear it. When he looks up to see why, he can only see Y/N looking at him.

She doesn’t ask why he’s crying. Jason knows Y/N’s caring nature is all about comfort and understanding. That’s why he doesn’t move or say anything when she scoots closer to hug him. The second she wraps her arms around his neck, he cries freely. He embraces her; allows her scent of cinnamon and sandalwood calm him down.

Jesus Christ...has she always smelled so good? Fuck...this perfume is making me hard right now. Jason shamelessly thinks to himself.

“It’s okay, Jay. What you’re feeling right now, it’s not forever. You won’t feel like this again anytime soon. I promise,” Y/N whispers. She runs her hand through his hair. “I’ll always be here for you. Always and forever.”

Jason opens his eyes and pulls back to see Y/N. Clarity finally hits him. His heart beats faster when he looks down to her soft lips and back up to those puppy dog eyes, that he loves so much. She looks back at him with the same intensity, he wonders if she recognizes what he’s just realized.

“You’ve always been mine, haven’t you?” Jason whispers.

Y/N smiles as she runs both her hands up and down Jason’s chest. “It took you long enough to see it,” she answers.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” he says, nodding his head in agreement.

“No, no you just made a mistake and now you’re going to give me what we both deserve,” Y/N says softly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jason finally kisses Y/N. He wanted to slam his lips against hers, but he knew she deserved better than that. He takes his time and allows their mouths to move together, so they can really feel each other. But the second Y/N opens her mouth for more, Jason can’t say no and deny her that.

He tastes her as thoroughly as he can, but he wants more. He pulls away and asks her with his eyes. When she nods her head, he gently pushes her back onto the couch and climbs on top of her so their pelvis’ touch appropriately.

“I would take you to my bed, but I have to burn it because it’s seriously fucked up, doll,” Jason says in between his kisses. “Another man’s cum is stained all over my blankets...in case that’s not clear enough, Dani cheated on me.”

Y/N caresses Jason’s cheek and gently smiles at him. He was expecting her to cuss about Dani or get uncomfortable about talking about what happened, but Y/N did neither of those things. Her eyes said it all.

“It’s okay,” Y/N whispers. She leans up a bit to kiss him. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason closes his eyes and sighs. Y/N was here, and she’s not going anywhere. And that’s all his heart needs to move forward.

When he opens his eyes, Y/N sits up a bit to take off her t-shirt. She’s braless. Jason’s sharp intake of breath is evident when he can’t take his emerald, green eyes off her perfect tits. Jason helps her remove her pajama pants, along with her panties and socks.

His cock is painfully hard in his underwear. Seeing Y/N’s naked body underneath his is giving him all sorts of naughty ideas, but he knows what he really needs right now.

Y/N knows, too. She bites her bottom lip and pushes down Jason’s underwear, revealing his hard cock. She briefly takes in how thick his dick is and how delicious the precum is smeared across the head.

“I promise I’ll take my time learning what you taste like and what makes you cum. I just...I just need to feel...” Jason struggles out, but when Y/N touches his chest, he inhales deeply. “I need to feel warm. I need to feel...you.”

Y/N nods and looks deep into Jason’s eyes. “Feel me, Jay. I want you to feel all of me.”

Jason bravely pushes his cock inside Y/N’s pussy. He closes his eyes and breathes hard. She was everything he was hoping for. He loved the way her walls were tight, warm, and wet. He lowers his forehead to hers and he bathes in the way she moans. Jason pulls back a bit to look down at her; he smiles at the way she bites her bottom lip and throws her head back.

“Fuck...Jay move, please,” Y/N moans.

He’s more than thrilled to do her request, especially when she moans out his nickname only she can call him.

Jason moves his hips. His cock shifts in and out of her steadily before he thrusts deeper. Y/N wraps her arms around him and meets his thrusts so his cock can hit her g-spot. Jason was proud at that moment for having a cock shaped well enough to hit Y/N’s g-spot; he desperately wants to make her cum so hard.

“Oh, fuck...you feel so good, princess. Do you like taking my cock like this?” Jason moans out.

Y/N moans and wraps her legs around Jason’s waist. “Y-yes! Your cock is so big. Please go harder. I-I want to cum!” Y/N cries out.

“Fuck yeah, I’ll fuck you harder! I want you to cum with me! I want to feel you cum on this big cock!” he’s panting, he’s giving her everything she wants.

Jason fucks her harder, slams his hips against Y/N’s body. He’s already on the verge of cumming, but he can’t help it. Y/N’s moans are affecting him. Her tight heat is hitting him harder than ever. He knows this’ll be over any second, but he promised her he’ll take his time when they do it again...maybe for round two tonight.

He lowers a hand to rub her engorged clit as he thrusts faster. He’s so close. He’s so close to a hot release and he wants her to cum with him.

“Cum with me, princess. I want to feel you cum so hard,” Jason pants out, his thrusts are crazy and uneven.

Y/N raises her hips so Jason thrusts five times to make her orgasm. She cries out his name. She cums hard and all over his cock. Her walls tighten around him, and she’s sure her body goes into shock. When Y/N looks up with lustful, hazy eyes, she sees Jason’s face contorted in amazement at her.

More than satisfied, Y/N pinches her own nipples and bites her bottom lip. She wants Jason to cum now.

“Cum in me, Jay. Fill me up with your hot, delicious cum. Mmm...I can’t wait to taste it. I want to suck your big, hard cock next,” Y/N says seductively.

Jason’s face adorably scrunches up as his release hits him. He thrusts a few more times, cumming hard like she did, spurting every drop of his cum inside her. His moans drive her wild. He breathes heavily and continues to ride out his orgasm until he has nothing left to spill inside.

He pulls out and drops beside her, but quickly holds her so she doesn’t fall off the couch.

Because just imagine getting a concussion after having an orgasm.

Y/N hums in the afterglow of sex with Jason. She rests her head on his chest as he rubs her back. He kisses her forehead softly. He feels more than okay now but knows there will be plenty to talk about after the sexy haze fades.

Thoughts of living in the countryside flash into his mind. Watching that sunrise, with Y/N’s in his arms, and she’s carrying their child in her womb.

That perfect life appears real now. His dream doesn’t seem impossible to achieve. With Y/N there, everything seems possible.

“Are you okay now?” Y/N asks softly.

Jason grins and looks down at her. He doesn’t quite know what to say but figures he should try.

“With you in my arms, I’m fucking perfect, princess.”

#dc comics #batman #red hood #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x y/n smut

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hermankopusortizorsumshite · 4 years

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That Puta

A/N: y’all, this hurt but it was so sweet.

WARNINGS: SMUT, fights, mention of blood, angst(always a little with me)

TAGLIST: @ifoundmyhappythought @woahitslucyylu @gemini0410 @angelreyesgirl89 @angelreyesgirl @fvckthisbxtchup @claytoncardenasbabymama @vicmackeybullshxt @choppedgalaxynerd-blog-blog @cind-in-real-life @starrynite7114 @phoenixhalliwell @dazzledamazon @whyisgmora

“Did you hear that Angel Reyes’ mom was killed? Good riddance, she was so mean. One time when I went to that carne-whatever she totally tried to—“ You didn’t let her finish. As she chonked on her pink bubblegum and told some story, you grabbed that bitch by the hair and dragged her out into the gravel. She claws at your arms, chest, anything to get a hold of you.

“Shit! Grab her!” Bishop shouts. You let the background screams and shouts dissipate as that little bitch looks at you and scoffs, fist connecting with your eye and effectively pissing you off.

“Are you serious? You think cause Angel doesn’t wanna bang you, that you have the right to-“ You throw her into the gravel, hearing the crunch under your boots as Coco holds Gilly and Creeper back. The brunette with blonde ends stands up, bloodied knees and palms. “Oh baby, he told me he’d never dick you down because you’re too ugly. He told me you weren’t his type, too manly. I guess I see it-“ You toss her aside, grabbing her hair and plowing her through the crowd of screaming girls to the trunk of a car, where you proceed to slam her face into the flat surface of the trunk.

“You don’t talk bad about a dead lady, dumb bitch.” You snarl, teeth grinding as Bishop grabs your arms and tries to pull you away. Yanking your arms away, you pile drive her and hear her sputter. Just as you finally get to her face, your nails clawing at her exposed arms and chest, the sirens wailing in the distance get closer.

“Shit!” Bishop shouts, skittering to you hide you. Hauling you to your feet, he hands you off to Coco and your eyes meet his brown ones.

“Did Angel really tell some dick warmer that I wasn’t good enough?” You whisper, chewing on your lip and looking over your knuckles.

“Miel-“

“Tell me, Coco.” You huff, looking into his sad eyes. He nods.

“Yeah, he was just drunk though, he didn’t mean— oh shit. You’re in love with him.” He deadpans, his jaw hitting the gravel as he stares at you.

“That obvious, huh?” As the cops pull in, one calls for an ambulance and Coco makes every attempt to shove you into the clubhouse.

“Who’s responsible for the damage?” A cop shouts, and you rush through the door waving your hand.

“Me officer!” You shout, holding your hands up. At first he chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” You grin as you reach down and slam her groggy head into the gravel once more, knocking her out. Strutting towards the cop, his jaw slack, you turn and place your hands behind your back. The cuffs are slammed on and he gently puts you in the car.

As Angel finishes filling out his release form, he sees what looks like you being walked to a cell in an orange jumpsuit, hands behind your back.

“Y/N?” He shouts, watching you look over your shoulder at the sound of his voice. Angel feels the anger swell in his heart as he jerks against the cuffs on his hands. “Y/N!” He yells, his eyes falling on the black eye you donned and the cuts on your lip and your arms.

“Mister Reyes, finish the paperwork.” Nips the officer, tapping the table with an annoyingly fast pace.

“Why’s she here?” He asks, looking over his shoulder just in time to see you put in a cell and the door shut in your face.

“I don’t know. You won’t finish this paperwork so I can find out.” She groans, waving to the paper. Angel scribbles as fast as he can and then stands.

“Tell me, I gotta know.” He barks, nodding to the computer. She quickly does some clicking and looks at Angel with a shocked expression.

“She got into a physical altercation and the woman was sent to the hospital.” She informs, looking at him expecting him to react.

“A physical—a fight? Like a fist fight?” He asks, eyes wide. The woman nods, looking at him. “Does she have bail?” He asks.

“Doesn’t look like—hmm that’s weird. It says refused bail posting.” She shrugs, clicking a couple more things. “She doesn’t want bail posted for a two days.” She states, eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

“Can I just talk to her?” He asks, wringing his hands together. He knew something was really wrong if you didn’t want bail. She nods, grabbing her keys and heading back to the cells. As he gets to your cell, he finds you lying on the cot, staring at the ceiling. “Amarillo isn’t exactly you color, Y/N.” He chuckles, resting a hand on the bars. You don’t even sit up to talk to him, ignoring him. “Y/N?” He asks, his hands now gripping the bars as he gets concerned. “Christ miel, it’s Angel!” He shouts, causing you to jump and sit up. Scowl on your face, arms crossed over your chest, you stare at him.

“I can fucking hear you. I’d prefer not to.” You nip, starting to lay back down.

“What did you do?” He asks, and you scoff. Standing, you stand just out of his reach and lock your jaw, clenching your teeth together.

“What did I do? Stuck up for you! Only to find out that I’m a fucking joke to you!” You shout, throwing a hand at him. Stepping back, he looks at you, confused.

“You’re not a fuckin’ joke,” he shakes his head and you start to laugh.

“To you? Oh yeah I am! That’s the only reason I can figure! You told some crow eating, dick sucking whore that you’d never ‘dick me down’ because I was too ugly. Boy, I’m glad you fantasize about fucking me, Angel Reyes, because it’s as close as you’ll ever be to me again!” You shriek, feeling the tears fall down your face. Sniffling, you swipe away the tears and flop onto the cot, back to the cell door.

“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. She kept asking me why I was watching you. I just—“

“I don’t want to fucking hear it.”

“You wouldn’t! You were just dying to clock that puta because she got some dick and you didn’t! Ya know, miel, I never took you for a jealous type.” Angel scoffs dryly, feeling uncomfortable being on the outside of a cell.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t know what love was if it jumped out and slapped you.” You call, letting him walk away. Tears fall down your cheeks as you curl up on the cold flat cot.

As Angel slinks into the clubhouse, Bishop’s angry gaze bares holes into Angel’s already annoyed demeanor.

“Glad you’re here.” He ruffs, tongue jaw crooked as his tongue swipes across his lips in attempt to control his tongue. “You didn’t bail out Y/N?” He asks, looking out the slowly shutting door.

“No, Bish. I didn’t.” He huffs, sarcasm rolling off his tongue.

“Why the fuck not?” He growls.

“She didn’t fuckin’ want it.” He retorts sharply, eyes dark and dangerous.

“Why is that?”

“Cause she didn’t fuckin’ want bail. I don’t know.” He shrugs, heading to the bar a drink when Bishop’s hand reaches out and grabs Angel’s shoulder.

“What’d you do?” He barks.

“Me? Of course. Always me. I wasn’t the one who cracked out and sent some chick to the ER and it’s still Angel’s fault! Fucking blame Angel!” He shouts, tapping his chest and nodding. “She’s the one who beat up another chick because I didn’t want her pussy!” Angel laughs dryly, swinging his hand. Creeper’s fist flies at him before he can even react. Stumbling back and grabbing his face, he looks at him incredulously. “What the fuck?” Angel shouts, storming towards Creeper, whose chest is heaving.

“That what you think happened?” Coco asks, eyes boring into Angel’s soul.

“Yeah! She fucking asked me if I said I didn’t wanna ‘dick her down’.”

“Because she dragged that puta outside for badmouthing your dead mom, bro.” Coco points to the photo on the wall of Angel’s mother that he kept off to the side near the bar.

“She what?” He asks, his heart dropping to his soles.

“Leah was badmouthing your mom, and Y/N dragged her out by her hair. When Leah couldn’t win physically she used some old drunk shit to fuel her. She’s in the ER because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.” Coco barks, pointing to Angel as he heads for door.

“Is that really what she did?” He stares at Coco, licking his lips and chewing on his bottom lip, concerned.

“Yeah, bro. She said some shit to hurt Y/N.” He shrugs as he heads outside leaving Angel there hurt. He’d said some bad shit to you. He was currently kicking himself. He hadn’t meant it, not the way that puta made it sound.

Almost a week went by, Angel not hearing from you was painful. He couldn’t seem to function right. He lost his charm.

“Hey, Angel. What do you say we head to my place-“

“Nah, ‘m good.” He shrugs off the sweet Hispanic woman and heads to the bar for another beer.

“Yo Angel! Coco’s got a hundred-dollar bet you can’t beat him in a game of pool.” Gilly shouts from the pool table. Angel shrugs, waving them off and drinking his beer in silence.

“Angel! Wanna hit the cage?” Riz calls, waving to the door.

“Maybe next time.” He calls back, tipping his beer back again.

“Reyes, wanna fuck around and get arrested?” You call, standing at the door.

“Nah, ‘m goo—“ he spins so fast the bar stool falls from under him and he faces you. “No fuckin’ way.” He murmurs, closing the distance between you in almost three strides, grabbing you and holding you tight against him. He squeezes so hard you start to tap his back, signaling he’s crushing you. “I’m so sorry. Coco told me what really happened. He told me what she did. That she’s deserved to tossed out. I’m really sorry, miel. Tell me how to make it better.” He whispers, letting you pull him outside. The cool night air swirls around the two of you as he looks into your eyes for a moment. He finds a lust and longing he’s not sure how he’d never seen it before.

“Angel, I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about that shit.” You whisper, shaking your head. “This was a fuckin’ mistake. I knew I shouldn’t have come.” You start towards your Harley, but Angel grabs you and you tumble back to his chest. He leans down and presses a warm kiss to your lips. His hand caressing the curve of your body as he slides down and grips your ass.

Gasping, you grab his neck as he hoists you up. Wrapping your legs around him, he walks the two of you backwards towards the weigh shed. Sitting you on the counter, he grabs the squeaky old swivel chair, dusting it off and pulling down his jeans boxers, his cock hitting his stomach.

“Angel-“

“Take off your shorts, miel. I want you sit on my dick.” He demands, his husky voice washing over you. Stammering, you yank off your shorts and draw your shirt over your head.

“You’re so fucking hot.” You whisper in his ear, the tip of your tongue tracing the outer edge of his ear as he positions himself at your core,, stimulating your swollen clit. Gasping again, you give a soft moan and sink down on his thick, huge cock. “Christ, bet this is just like you dreamed.” You hush, teasing him as you slowly slide up and down.

“It doesn’t even compare, babygirl.” He husks, his hands smoothing up and down your thighs as you ride him, your hair tossed over your shoulder. “Shit, kiss me again, baby. I fuckin’ love you.” He murmurs, pulling you in for another kiss. Slowly you feel the heat pooling in your stomach and you grip his shoulders tightly. “Yes baby, come for me. Come on. Yes, oh fuck.” Your walls pulsate against his throbbing cock as he thrusts up to meet your rolling hips. “I’m close.”

“Cum for me, Angelito. Please. Please come, baby.” You moan in his ear, pushing him over the edge, hot cum filling you and dripping down your thighs.

“Christ, Y/N. I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I should’ve just told you how I felt. Fuck, that was amazing.” He whispers, pulling you down to rest against his bare chest, shivering as a cool breeze rustles around you.

“Angel, I really do love you. A lot. I’d do anything for you.”

“I know. I don’t want you beating up any more hookers without me there to cheer you on, babes.” He chuckles, pulling your shirt on and wrapping his plaid around your shoulders.

“Shut up. You should’ve seen me, Angel. I dragged that bitch out by her hair, slammed her into a trunk. Broke her fuckin’ nose. It was badass.” You mockingly swing at his nose, but he sends you into a fit of giggles and blushing as he presses warm sweet kisses to lightly scarred knuckles, holding your fist in his hand as he does so.

“I love you so much, miel.”

“Oh yeah? Mister ‘you’re jealous I dicked boobs for brains and not you’?” You mock, pinching his cheeks as the two of you walk towards the clubhouse, Angel’s arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders.

“I promise you, I definitely fantasized about you doing a lot more than that.” He chuckles, holding the door for you.

#imagine #cute imagine #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes oneshot #angel fanfic #angel imagine #angel reyes imagine #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans #mayans fx #mayans mc fx #smut imagine #angel reyes smut

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thompsborn · 4 years

Note

fic where harley is a doctor that works w helen cho that sees peter often because of how much he gets hurt from being spider-man? and they fall in love bc they r already smitten for each other bc why wouldn't they be

i didn’t know how much i needed an au like this until you sent it omg

[read on ao3]

—

He’s in the middle of taking a sip of coffee when the alarm goes off.

“Mister Keener,” Friday says, as he’s cursing over the hot coffee that’s soaking into the front of his shirt. Thankfully, it’s not hot enough to actually burn him, but that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant. “Your assistance is needed in the Medical Wing.”

Harley frowns. “What time is it?”

“Four fifty eight in the morning, Mister Keener.”

“Jesus, really?” Harley sets his mug down and turns his arm over to look at his watch. His brows shoot up towards his hairline, surprised. “Wow. Okay. Didn’t realize it was... Jesus. Alright.”

Friday sounds almost amused when she tells him, “Doctor Cho is insisting you hurry.”

Harley sighs. “Yeah, okay. On my way.”

At this time of the night, the only medical staff on hand are the ones who live close by—like Helen, who has an apartment less than a two minute walk away—and those who live on site, like Harley, who’s had his own floor in the tower since he was fifteen and told Tony over a phone call that he was thinking about coming to New York once he was done with high school. Because of this, Harley isn’t all that surprised to find that it’s only him and Helen that show up in the MedBay—if anything, it’s what he expected.

And he should have expected who, exactly, they’re treating in the middle of the night, but he still finds himself mildly surprised when he comes face to face with Peter’s sheepish grin.

“Of course it’s you,” Harley says, standing at the foot of the hospital bed with his arms crossed over his chest. “Who else would be waking me up like this?”

“Don’t lie to me,” Peter says, sheepish grin turning a bit snarky. “You weren’t asleep.”

Harley purses his lips. “I could’ve been.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but doesn’t get the chance to respond before Helen is hovering by his side, snapping her gloves into place and instructing, “Friday, give me the run down.“

“Mister Parker has several second degree burns along his left leg and left arm,” Friday responds. “His right wrist is broken, and there appears to be a laceration along his abdomen.”

Harley winces in sympathy. “Rough night?”

Peter tries to shrug, but the movement makes his features twist up in a flash of pain. His voice comes out a bit strained when he says, “You could say that. There was—house fire. Not fun.”

“Get everyone out?” Harley asks, if only to provide a slight distraction as Helen assesses the broken wrist, likely checking to see if it needs to be reset or if it’ll be able to heal properly as it is. Peter tries for a grin.

“All of ‘em. Even the kids pet turtle.”

Harley pats Peter’s right knee, careful to remember that it’s his left leg with the burns. “Job well done, Spider-Man.”

“Harley,” Helen says, grabbing his attention. She’s apparently deemed Peter’s wrist not a main concern and is already peeling Peter’s suit off of him. Harley snaps into focus instantly, listening intently as Helen tells him, “I need you to take care of the laceration while I get started on the burns. When that’s done, we need to get that wrist in a cast until it heals.”

Peter pouts. “A cast? Really?”

Helen looks at him sharply. “Last time we didn’t put you in a cast, you managed to re-break your arm before it could heal. Twice.”

Peter’s pout vanishes with a meek chuckle. “It was an accident?” he offers.

“You, Peter Parker,” Helen says, averting her attention back to his burns as she speaks, “are somehow my best and my worst patient of all time. And I’m Tony Stark’s doctor, too, so that says a whole lot about you.”

“Hey—” Peter cuts off with a hiss as Harley starts to disinfect the large cut on his side. Harley offers an apologetic half smile that Peter waves away with another wince and a wobbly sort of grin. “I’m not worse than Mr. Stark.”

Helen hums, high pitched and teasing.

“I’m not,” Peter insists. “I’m not!”

“Believe what you want,” Helen tells him.

Peter huffs. “Why are you being mean to me? Aren’t doctors supposed to be nice to their patients? Isn’t that, like, a thing?”

Harley snorts when Helen says, “Next time, don’t wake me up at four in the morning with second degree burns and a broken wrist, and maybe then I’ll be nicer to you, hm?”

—

The thing is, Harley didn’t plan on this.

As in, growing up, he was sure that what he wanted was to be a mechanic. He loved to build, take apart, recreate, understand. It’s all he ever did. Hell, when Tony Frickin’ Stark broke into his garage, the guy ended up making Harley his own mechanic heaven to say thanks for helping him out.

And Harley still loves all of that, to be fair—he spends a lot of his free time tinkering in Tony’s lab now, helping him out with whatever the man’s working on and often working on his own fun little projects on the side—but it’s not his main drive. It’s not the center of his world.

He thinks it started when he saved Tony.

In a way, anyway—he had only been twelve at the time, and it’s not like twelve year olds are exactly apt on having life changing realizations that change the course of their future. Still, he was a twelve year old that saved Tony Stark’s life, and there was some kind of thrill, almost. It was hard to explain then, and Harley isn’t sure if he could put it into words now, but the feeling had made his fingers feel all tingly and his heart thud heavily in his chest. It was similar to when he built his first successful bot and it came whirring to life, only the feeling was intensified.

He felt like he was doing what he was supposed to be doing. He knew he wanted to save lives.

“You’re getting better,” Helen tells him, after Harley’s helped the medical team with bandaging up the members of the Avengers that just returned from a mission. None of the wounds had been major, mostly just scrapes and bruises, but it’s the most amount of people Harley has helped treat at once, which is a big step.

Harley shrugs, drying off his hands, having just finished washing them. “You’re a good teacher.”

Helen chuckles at that. “How are your classes?”

“Good,” Harley answers, nodding his head. “Kinda boring. I know most of it already, thanks to all the training you’ve given me, but that‘s not really new. I knew everything they taught me in high school, too.”

“You sound like Peter when you say that,” Helen muses, an amused quirk to her brow.

Harley rolls his eyes. “Y’know, people keep saying that, but I only see him when he’s bleeding out and that doesn’t make it feel like we’re all that similar.”

“Oh, you’re similar, alright,” Helen says, laughing a bit. “You’re both genius kids who bust your asses off to save people’s lives.”

Wrinkling his nose, Harley says, “But I don’t do it in spandex. Key difference there, doc.”

Helen holds her hands up in some kind of surrender. “Just saying, you two are alike.”

“I’ll make sure to tell him you said that next time he breaks his leg,” Harley quips.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Friday interjects, “but Spider-Man is reportedly injured and heading to the tower now. ETA of six and a half minutes.”

Harley rolls his eyes up to the ceiling with an exasperated sigh. Helen can only laugh.

—

“Ow. Ow, ow—oh, Jesus, that’s—ow—!”

“Sorry,” Harley says, only averting his eyes for a second to flash Peter an apologetic look before focusing back on the stitches he’s giving him.

Peter curses, slamming his left fist into his own thigh as Harley pushes the needle through. “This sucks,” he complains, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth. “This is—why is this worse than getting stabbed? Why do I prefer getting stabbed over this? This blows.”

“You need to stop moving,” Harley tells him.

Making an indignant sort of noise, Peter asks, “How the hell am I—I can’t stop moving! This hurts, man, like—like, really fuckin’ hurts!”

“Moving makes it worse, dipshit,” Harley retorts, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“You know what else makes it worse?” Peter glares at the wall. “Not having pain killers.”

Harley does roll his eyes now. “Not my job. I just give you the drugs, I don’t make them.”

“I know, but Mr. Stark isn’t here for me to bitch at, so I’m complaining to you about it instead.”

Harley can’t help the way that he snorts at that, finishing off the last of the stitches as he does so. “I usually don’t like to listen to someone complain while I’m working.”

“Sucks to suck,” Peter replies. “Are you done?”

“Yep.” Harley leans back, taking off his gloves and tossing them into the trash. “Any other injuries? Stab wounds? Broken bones?”

Peter hums, tilting his head from side to side. “I don’t think so. Friday?”

“All clear, Mr. Parker.”

Harley frowns. “The fact that you had to ask worries me.”

Peter shrugs. “I get hurt a lot. Kinda used to it.”

“Still,” Harley says. “That’s concerning. Like, you still feel pain, right? You would know if you were hurt somewhere else, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, trust me, I feel pain,” Peter snorts. “But some things just... don’t matter? Like... I dunno, but if it’s not serious, it’s like my brain filters it out on it’s own to focus on other things. Which, probably, y’know, not good, but, like, oh well.”

“Definitely not good,” Harley murmurs, frowning to himself as he squints around the room for a moment. “Well, if you have nothing else, then you’re good to go. And, honestly, thank god that’s all you have, ‘cause this is the first time I’ve done anything without Helen around and anything more than stitches would’ve had me flipping shit and fucking it all up.”

Peter lets out a light laugh, pulling his shirt down, over the gash that Harley just finished stitching. “You wouldn’t fuck it up,” he says, sounding light and humorous yet entirely serious, too. “You’re, like, really good at your job, Harley.”

Harley scrunches his nose up on his face. “Ew. Don’t be nice to me. It’s gross.”

Peter laughs again, a little bit louder, though the way it makes his stomach jump has him wincing when it pulls at his stitches. “I’m serious!” he insists. “Like, I know you’re still a med student and stuff, but Helen is probably the best person to be training you, so you’re, like, more qualified than most normal doctors. You have the experience that most people still in med school don’t have. I mean, you patch up the freakin’ Avengers, Harley! You gotta be good at this to do that!”

“I help patch up the Avengers,” Harley corrects. “The only person I’ve ever fixed up by myself is you, thanks to your insane ability to always get hurt.”

“It’s a talent,” Peter shrugs. “And hey, I bet it keeps you entertained.”

Harley snorts. “Entertained is not the right word for it, Spidey. Impressed, maybe, by just how much trouble you’re capable of getting yourself into.”

Peter grins. “Gotta impress people somehow, right?”

—

Harley wouldn’t call it bonding.

Because it’s not. It’s not bonding. It’s small talk, and pleasant conversations, while Harley sets a broken bone or treats another burn. It’s filling the silence because, apparently, Helen trusts Harley to handle Peter on his own, unless it’s a major injury that requires more than one person on hand, and Harley isn’t sure why he’s being trusted with this, but he’s pretty intent on not fucking it up.

But it isn’t bonding. They’re just... acquaintances. Who talk. Like, a lot, because Peter comes in at least four times a week needing treatment for something, and that gives them a lot of time to talk. Maybe Harley learns a lot about Peter during this time, like his favorite song, and what his comfort hoodie is, and why he became Spider-Man in the first place. Maybe Peter learns where Harley is from, how he met Tony, and what made him decide to be a doctor over a mechanic.

Maybe, after a few weeks, they start having inside jokes, built not only from the time they spend alone together, but also from the months upon months that Harley was helping Helen treat Peter, too. Sometimes, Peter snorts so hard that he reopens his stitches and Harley has to fix it. Sometimes, Harley can’t stop laughing when he needs to have steady hands and he ends up hunching over on himself and wheezing because of whatever it is that Peter said. One day, Peter comes in when he isn’t injured, dressed in casual clothes with a few textbooks from his ESU courses in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. “I’m headed up to see Mr. Stark,” he tells Harley, “but I thought I’d give you this,” and he holds out the cup of coffee with a big, cheesy sort of grin.

“Why?” Harley asks, though he accepts the cup gratefully.

Peter shrugs. “I’d probably have bled out ten times over if it weren’t for you, and you looked, like, really tired yesterday, so I thought you might need it.”

He is tired—exhausted, really, because his classes may not be hard but there are some big tests coming up that he needs to study for and it’s hard to find the time to study in between training with Helen and doing all the millions of other assignments that are being tossed his way. He takes a sip of the coffee, hums in satisfaction at the way it warms him up, and says, “Thanks.”

“Least I could do,” Peter tells him.

So, maybe they’re friends. Maybe—maybe—Harley is starting to look forward to seeing him and keeps trying to think of a casual way to offer they hang out sometime, outside of the med bay. Maybe Peter starts bringing Harley a cup of coffee every time he goes to visit Tony, and maybe Harley starts to feel a little thrill whenever he hands the coffee over and their fingers briefly brush.

Maybe it is bonding, but it’s not a crush. It’s not.

(”You’re adorable when you’re in denial,” Helen tells him.

Harley sinks in his seat and tries to disappear. “Shut up.”)

—

The letters of his textbook are blurring in front of his eyes when the alarm rings.

He jumps at the sound, looks up at the ceiling with slightly squinted eyes and furrowed brows, expecting Friday to calmly inform him that his assistance is needed in the med bay, like usual. Instead of that, though, the alarm continues to blare, and all Friday says is, “Urgent. Urgent. Urgent.”

Which is code for: someone’s about to die if he doesn’t hurry.

Instantly, he jumps to his feet, feeling wide awake despite being on the brink of dozing off just a few short moments ago. “Okay,” he tells himself, rushing out of his room and sprinting towards the elevator, which is already open and waiting for him. He only just barely thinks to swipe his tablet along the way, clutches it in his hands while he says, “Okay, okay, okay—who, uh—Friday? Who is it?”

“Iron Man and Spider-Man are both heavily injured and require immediate assistance,” Friday informs him gravely. “Doctor Cho is already treating Mr.Stark and has told me to inform you that you will be in charge of Mr. Parker.”

“Oh, god,” Harley breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose and giving himself a second to take a deep breath while the elevator takes him down to the proper floor. “Jesus. Okay. I need, uh—give me a list of Peter’s injuries, Fri.”

“Of course, Mr. Keener.”

The list is sent to his tablet immediately, and it’s—extensive. Third degree burns and multiple shattered ribs and various bullet wounds, only some of which are clean through, meaning that there’s various bullets that they need to remove before Peter starts to heal around them. The more he reads, the faster his heart thunders in his chest while his mind automatically sorts through it to think of what needs to be prioritized, what to treat first, and how to keep Peter alive.

By the time he reaches Peter’s room, he has a game plan figured out, and he only falters for a short moment when he sees Peter on the hospital bed, writhing around and sobbing in pain. The rest of the medical staff in the room freeze, likely already aware that Helen put him in charge, and wait with bated breath.

“Alright,” Harley says, mostly to himself. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

—

Maybe it is a crush.

Harley is finding it hard to deny it now, as he sits beside Peter’s hospital bed, his hands feeling a little bit shaky where they’re clasped together and hanging between his knees. They had to undergo emergency surgery, and Peter’s heart had stopped four times throughout the procedure. Bringing him back had been the most panic inducing thing Harley has ever experienced in his life, and he couldn’t even show it because he was the one that was put in charge.

But they did, all four times —they got his heart going again and they got out all the bullets and treated all the burns and did everything they could to stabilized the broken bones. They gave him multiple IV’s, all of which he’s still attached to, and he hasn’t woken up since he passed out from the pain shortly after Harley’s arrival—and he passed out looking at Harley, too, with wide, pleading eyes that seemed to be begging for mercy, filled with agony and despair.

Harley would do anything to never have to see that look again.

“How’s he doing?” Helen asks, stepping into the room. She looks tired, undoubtedly exhausted from doing whatever she could to stabilize Tony just a few rooms down. Harley feels that exhaustion in his very bones.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Harley tells her. “Lost him a few times, though.”

Helen hums sympathetically. “But you got him back.”

Harley hesitates, then nods. “Yeah, we did.”

“Good,” Helen says, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You did good.” She stays like that for a moment, doesn’t move, and Harley appreciates the gesture but kind of wants to be alone. Maybe she senses that, because a moment later, she’s pulling her hand back and asking, “Are you staying here?”

“‘Til he wakes up,” Harley tells her.

Helen smiles at him warmly. “Make sure you get some rest, too, okay?”

Harley doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep until he sees Peter awake and talking again, but he still nods at her and says, “Yeah, alright.”

After Helen leaves the room, after it’s just Harley and Peter again, he finds himself reaching forward and taking Peter’s hand in his, and, other than the innocent brush of fingers when passing a coffee cup, this is the first time they’ve touched outside of Harley treating Peter’s wounds. It’s a bit of a startling realization, but Harley finds comfort in the contact, listens to the steady beeping of the heart monitor and starts to relax with the reassurance that he really did good, that Peter is going to be okay and Harley is the one that saved him.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but with that relief flooding his veins and Peter’s hand in his, he finds himself dozing off and doesn’t bother forcing himself awake.

—

At first, he doesn’t realize he’s waking up, his senses still muddled with sleep. It feels almost as if he’s floating in unconsciousness, warm and comfortable and—

“Harley?”

And he wakes with a jolt, eyes snapping open and instantly searching, only coming to a stop when they land on wide brown eyes looking right back at him. “Oh,” he breathes, blinking once and sitting up straight despite the way it makes his back complain. “Oh, my god. You’re awake.”

Peter tilts his head, just a little bit, and looks down at their intertwined fingers.

“Right. That.” Harley clears his throat and scrubs his free hand over his features, trying to wake himself up with a sheepish little smile. “It’s, um—not important, actually. How do you feel? Any pain, discomfort, anything like that?”

For a moment, Peter doesn’t respond, just keeps looking at their hands before rasping out a hoarse little, “’m kinda—kinda thirsty. M’throat hurts.”

Instantly, Harley gets to his feet and pulls open the mini fridge in the room to grab a bottle of water. He takes it back to Peter, hands it over, and feels somewhere stuck between doctor mode and something else, the worry and the uncertainty and the fear from hearing the flat line all mixing together until he feels nauseous with it. Peter accepts the water bottle gratefully, takes tentative sips from it and only winces slightly when he swallows it. “Better?” Harley asks.

Peter smiles, a bit small and tired, but just as genuine as always. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Harley murmurs, hovering by the chair he had been sitting in before. “Is there anything else? Just, like—anything at all? How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Peter tells him. “Like, um... groggy, y’know? And... out of it.”

Harley nods, a bit relieved that the dose of pain killers he chose was the right amount. “That’s to be expected. You were really roughed up, Pete.”

Peter frowns down at his water, brows knitting together. “What happened?”

“There was an ambush,” Harley tells him. “I guess Doc Ock was out and about, so you went to confront him and he got enough hits in to alert Tony, so he went to help you out, but Ock apparently teamed up with Rhino and they were able to catch you guys off guard and get the upper hand. Rhodey and a few others went to help out, but they didn’t get there in time to stop you guys from nearly getting killed, so, when you came in, it was... not pretty. But, you’re both gonna be fine.”

He wants to say that it’s not a crush. It can’t be a crush, isn’t supposed to be one, even if seeing the way Peter lets out a puff of air and relaxes back into his pillows is kind of a... not so bad sight. He looks tired and a bit beat up and a little too pale, but he’s good. He’s alive. Being alive looks good on him.

Maybe, Harley admits. Maybe it is a crush.

“Thank you,” Peter murmurs, head lulling back into the pillows. He holds out a hand and Harley isn’t sure what the action is for, but he doesn’t think before reaching forward and tangling their fingers together.

Harley clears his throat. “What for?”

“Not letting me die,” Peter says.

The mere idea of letting Peter die makes Harley’s heart stutter in his chest. “Of course,” he mumbles, a bit stricken. “I’ll always save you. It’s my job.”

Peter squeezes Harley’s hand, falls asleep with a sigh and a smile on his face.

Harley still doesn’t leave.

(It’s definitely, one hundred percent, a huge, gigantic crush, and maybe... maybe he’s okay with that. Maybe liking Peter Parker isn’t all that bad.)

#parkner #my writing #mild descriptions of injuries #non graphic near death experience

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 5 years

Text

Best Two Out of Three

A/N: i know y’all have been waiting so anxiously to see who won the sparring fight between demon!harry and angel!Y/N and i’m more than happy to finally give it to you guys! i hope you enjoyyyyy

word count: 7.9k

content: cocky yet lovable asshole demon!h and a smidge of filth

preview:

Y/N knows that fighting has to do with impulse just as much as training, and she knows the brain finds comfort in patterns. Lower left hip, the center of the ribcage on the opposite side, meaning that instincts expect her to strike somewhere on his left side again. This is exactly why she does the contrary, slamming her palm against Harry’s right shoulder and smirking to herself when, out of her peripheral vision, she glimpses him trying to protect his left. The impact sends him jarring backwards.

Her knee zones in on his abdomen, though he manages to block it with his conjoined fingers, catapulting her heel towards the ground. She advances forward with two quick punches between his pectoral muscles and then one straight for his jaw, which he manages to evade by ducking his head sideways. Harry returns her jaw punch with one of his own and she just barely skims by unscathed, dropping towards the floor onto her belly and slipping between her boyfriend’s parted legs. She flips onto her back, pulling her legs against her chest and then jutting her heels upwards with all her might. Harry’s ass takes the heat.

He’s launched forward, stumbling a few feet and saving himself with the pads of his extended fingers against the mat. He reels around to face Y/N (who has already recovered her footing) with an expression of shocked amusement at her target. Y/N retaliates with a coy shrug of her brows.

“You quite literally just kicked my ass.”

“And I quite literally enjoyed it.”

or Y/N challenges Harry to a sparring match with two very important prizes on the line: a strip tease versus a month of litter-box duty.

///

“First rule: absolutely no powers in any way, shape, or form.” Harry tightens the neon yellow boxing tape securely around Y/N’s knuckles, tugging the last layer with finality, ripping the excess off with his teeth. “Which means you can’t shock me with that electricity shit you do with your fingers.”

“How many times do I have to tell you it’s static.”

Harry tosses the roll of athletic wrap into the supplies bin he has at the corner of his work-out room, eyelids dropping over his irises in a disbelieving, humorous scowl. “I’m pretty sure static doesn’t look like pastel blue lightning.”

Y/N shrugs easily as she extends and curls her bound fingers, trying to get used to the firmness of the protective cloth. She glances upwards, batting her eyelashes at him with a blank stare of faux innocence. “You never know.”

Harry reaches into the left pocket of his starch white Nike gym shorts, fishing out a hair tie as he drifts towards a rack of bo staffs at the opposite corner of the room, pulling his messy curls into a short ponytail atop his head. Y/N can’t rip her gaze from the way the taunt muscles of his back shift with his movements, rippling beneath the thin material of his grey-wash Harley Davidson muscle tank.

“Second rule,” he picks up one of the long, waxy wooden poles, giving it a slow, full spin as he passes it between his palms, “no dirty play.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Harry’s grip clenches around the middle of the combat stick, the familiar bite of the smooth surface prickling his skin and sending a buzzing up his arm. He smirks knowingly down at his feet while Y/N distractedly peers at the veins chiseling their way up his forearm. “Neither did I, but I want a fair fight so that when I beat you, there’s no wiggle room.”

“You sound so confident, it’s gonna hurt my heart when I make you eat your words.” Y/N jolts her eyebrows challengingly, a teasing grin toying with the edges of her pursed lips.

Harry tilts his head back up, eyes focusing on his girlfriend as she rests in an instinctual defensive stance a few feet away from him, clad in an old Vans tee and a pair of black compression tights he’d let her borrow. His chin edges upward, the gesture tainted with an aura of cocksure smugness. The natural glint that reflects off the usual deep canopy green of his eyes suddenly brightens— the unmistakable sign of a darker, more reflective hue washing over it.

“Lucky for me, mine stopped beating a long time ago. Means I’ll feel absolutely nothing when I wipe you across the floor.”

“Mm, I don’t believe that.”

“You’re right. I forgot ‘satisfied joy’ is an emotion.”

Harry reaches for another staff, picking the one at the bottom rung. It’s completely black, the surface twinkling alluringly under the light that streams in through the sheer silver curtains, giving away that the weapon is made out of some type of stone or gem.

He catches Y/N studying the stick intriguingly, voicing the answer to her curiosity. “It’s made of obsidian and onyx. Forged by a good friend downstairs. It’s weighted specifically to my hand, balanced to my liking.”

With his single free hand, Harry gives the staff a few quick, skillful twirls that show off his close fellowship with the tool, the pieces of onyx strewn within the tempered obsidian bouncing the faint rays of sunlight all across the maroon walls of the room. He slams one end down onto the floor, the circular flat edge digging into the royal blue safety mat covering the entirety of the ground. “Never lost a fight with it.”

Y/N tilts her head to the side a tad, licking over her lips as excited anticipation starts sparking across the tips of her fingers. “There’s a first for everything.”

Without warning, Harry hurls the other bo staff toward Y/N with his full strength, wanting to test her impulses in order to survey his competition.

Y/N doesn’t miss a beat, her body acting on centuries of muscle memory and celestially-spiked adrenaline. Her arm shoots outwards, the staff ramming longways right into the palm of her awaiting hand, digits wrapping around it tightly as she absorbs the strength behind the blow, her own canceling it out.

Harry simply gives a satisfied nod, his bare feet padding against the vinyl plastic of the mat as he draws closer to her until they’re about a yard apart. He leans against his custom prop as Y/N lowers her’s beside her right thigh, his eyes tinted their usual jade once again, full of impressed amusement.

“Final rule: best two out of three wins and if you’re down for at least three seconds, you lose the round. The first two are hand-to-hand, the last one is with the staffs. I’m guessing you’re versed in Krav Maga, right?”

“Was there when it was invented, so obviously.”

“Jujutsu?”

“Mmhm.”

“Taekwondo?”

“Yeah.”

“Boxing?”

“Yes. I can also make a mean bologna sandwich and can touch the tip of my nose with my tongue. Are you done stalling?”

“Just wanna make sure that when I win, you don’t pull ‘I wasn’t taught that style’ as an excuse.”

Y/N lightly chucks her pole just outside the bounds of the practice mat, where it won’t be an obstacle. “I’m a little insulted you’d think so little about Heaven’s first line of defense.”

“And I just don’t want you to be a sore loser. Pettiness isn’t a cute look on you.” Harry quips as his staff is strewn across Y/N’s, the crack of the impact echoing across the entire apartment.

He starts rolling his shoulders to loosen up, craning his neck from side to side, feet shifting into a diagonal, parallel fighting position. “Did you stretch? Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle mid-kick, would we?”

Y/N mirrors his posture, pushing a few rogue strands of hair from her eyes with the back of her hand, bare feet planting themselves steadily apart as she ducks slightly, knees bending a smidge to calibrate her center of gravity. The grip of the rubbery plastic beneath her toes fills her with a type of soothing hum, her muscles purring as her senses hone into crisp awareness. She can hear the blood pumping in her ears, feel the coolness of the air expanding her lungs, and she can even make out the faint, dull ringing that is suspended in the electrified air, which fills the gap of Harry’s lacking heartbeat.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m all good.”

Harry holds up his palms in a peaceful gesture, the bright boxing tape seeming to glow in the dusky light swimming across the air. “Just trying t’be a caring boyfriend.”

His hands fall into fists, thumbs instinctively resting beneath his lower round of knuckles instead of tucking under his fingers— a method he’d learned early on in his training, conceived with the notion of preventing one from breaking their thumbs with the force of their own punches. The flat side of his forearms face outwards as a first line of defense, veins carving their way under his skin as his fists clench readily, itching for the feel of collision.

His heels carve deeper into the mat, balancing his mass and revving his nerves. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Alright. Ladies first.”

As much as Y/N hates to admit it, it makes sense that Harry won the first round.

He’d recently been assigned to coaching the newest flight of demons-in-training, meaning that for the last two weeks, he’d been practicing on his combat skills for six hours a day, five days a week. Y/N hadn’t sparred in a while— months, maybe. She was unfortunately rusty and it shows pretty evidently in how it takes Harry less than a minute to give her left cheek a mat-patterned makeover.

She had started off fairly solid with a distraction technique that she was always confident in. A punch aimed right at the center of Harry’s sternum with the intent of cutting off his airflow, which he blocked swiftly, just as she predicted he would.

What she wasn’t expecting was the form he used to block her.

Y/N expected him to throw up his forearms parallel to one another to defend himself, meanwhile she would use that split second to sweep him off his feet with a hooked kick to his right ankle. That was the original plan.

Harry threw a wrench in it.

Instead, he crosses his forearms in front of his chest, Y/N’s fist ending up wedged between them. Her eyes do a terrible job of hiding her alarmed panic as she glances up momentarily, met with an expression of conceited triumph painted over her boyfriend’s annoyingly handsome features. The sly snark in his voice makes her teeth grate. “Oops.”

The small change in tactic was enough to throw her off rhythm; the rest of the round was basically his for the taking.

He doesn’t waste a single moment, delivering a quick, sharp kick to the side of her left knee, using the hold on her wrist to twist her arm roughly, throwing her body off equilibrium. She is met with another kick right to her stomach, the front of one of Harry’s calves hitting her about an inch above the belly button, right below the ribs. Y/N crumples to her hands and knees, a deep ache radiating across every one of her bones, concentrating mainly on the points that had taken the blows. All of her attention is diverted to her labored breathing, having to consciously force herself to go through the motions, her lungs rattling with every inhale. Her eyes blur with overwhelmed tears, which she messily wipes away with the back of her hand before Harry can see them.

She’s not hurt, just stunned (the ache is ebbing away fairly quick as her self-healing kicks in). She hadn’t realized just how out of practice she was until now.

Harry allows a few seconds to drag by (both for her sake and the three-count forfeit rule) and then crouches down level with her, elbows propping on his knees as his head cocks sideways to catch her line of sight. He reaches forward and gently taps on Y/N’s nose playfully, voice airy and teasing (though there’s an obvious haughtiness in the undertone). “Don’t take this the wrong way, darling, but if this is what Heaven’s first line of defense is like, it’s pretty shitty.”

He offers her his hand and after a pause of petty hesitation, she begrudgingly accepts it.

Once she’s back on her feet, she balances on one foot and lightly swings the lower half of her injured leg back and forth. The joint pops back into place, drawing a faint wince on her behalf. “Asshole.”

“You shouldn’t have underestimated me, minx.”

Y/N regains her combat stance, shuffling back a step or so for a better range of motion. “Call it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a minute to—”

“Call it.”

The second round goes much better.

She takes off at a running start, pulsing herself off the ground about two feet, coming down onto Harry with her forearms crossed. She’s met with a mirror of her gesture as Harry allows her full weight to sink against his arms and then uses the momentum against her. He pushes up and forward, feeling the force leave his muscles as Y/N flies back. She lands crouched low on her feet, not phased at all. One of her palms juts down against the mattress for stability as she swings out her left leg in one quick motion, ankle colliding with Harry’s.

He teeters backwards a bit, but manages to preserve his footing.

Y/N lunges again, a punch hitting him square in the stomach. The feeling of finally pulling one on him swells here confidence. She follows with an intricate set of moves, aiming each jab at specific pressure points that should shock her opponent’s nerves just enough to grant her a window of opportunity for a total knock out. One aimed at his left hip, which throws his torso sideways. Another at the other side, higher up, concentrated between his second and third ribs. He blocks it with his wrist, but Y/N doesn’t let it distract her this time. Her mind is racing, eyes darting back and forth across Harry’s body, analyzing it for weak links and connecting it to the technique layout in her mind.

“You quite literally just kicked my ass.”

“And I quite literally enjoyed it.”

She barrels towards him and he comes to the conclusion that it seems he underestimated her.

Harry waits until the distance between them is dangerously short and then dives to the right, his tank top rustling as she attempts to brake her trajectory. He slams his forearm flat across her upper back and then follows it up with a repeat on the lower half, but with his elbow. Y/N’s body arcs, absorbing the brutal force of the blows and processing what to do next. Harry takes this chance to fling himself onto her, arms snaking around her and gluing her arms to her sides. His girlfriend tries to break free by rending from side to side, but as soon as she realizes it’s useless, she switches tactics. Y/N sprints upwards, Harry’s body leaning back to accommodate.

Instead of landing on her feet, she allows herself to fall onto her knees on the mat, ignoring the cold shot of pain that ices the joints. She then swings her upper-body forward, tumbling across the ground with Harry in tow. She ends up on top of him, his arms still clamped around her but lose enough that she can get a dig in with her elbows. There’s a crack on impact.

Harry grunts in pained alarm, releasing her out of instinct. She rolls off him onto her stomach, pushing herself up to get her legs propped on each side of his thighs. She grabs his wrists, ramming them against the safety cushion. He struggles for a hot minute, twisting, turning, and bucking to fight her off, but eventually gives up. She’s too well calibrated to budge.

Instead, he allows his head to fall back onto the mat, emitting a low, achy groan that slowly molds into an impressed chuckle. “Fuck, that hurt.”

Y/N’s breathing is ragged, her brows itchy with sweat and eyes stinging. Most of her hair has found its was out of the carefully-crafted ponytail she’d pulled it into, tickling down her jaw and across her glistening cheekbones. “It was meant to.”

His fingers dissolve from the tight fists they were bound in, tapping against the plastic covering beneath them. His tongue swipes over his chapped lips as the edges coil into a sly, lascivious simper. “But you gotta admit, this is pretty hot."

Y/N tries to ignore the way he shifts his hips between her thighs, attempting to pray away the fact that his jogging shorts are made of a sports material so thin she can feel the chiseling of his pelvis beneath them. Her voice comes out throaty and slightly quivering, defeating any authority she’d inclined for it to carry. “Stop that.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise questioningly, expression one of fake clueless innocence as he pouts his lips in a mystified frown. “Stop what?”

His eyes dash down to where their bodies meet, then back up to meet her furrowed-brow glare. His hips begin to rub up against her harder.

“Cut it out.”

Harry softens his irises into a watery, pleading facade, quivering his lower lip dramatically. “But I’m getting close.”

“Idiot.” Y/N grumbles, dismounting now that it has been well over three seconds.

He carefully sits up, one hand resting along the area of his wounded ribs to ease them back into place (it’s a literal pain when things settle incorrectly— requires him having to rebreak the parts so they recover accordingly), the other palm propped flat on the floor behind him to help keep upright as everything heals. A warm surge undulates through his fractured bones and he can feel the pieces mending back together.

Y/N is already at the edge of the practice mat, combing her hair neatly back from her face and tying it off tighter than before to ensure it doesn’t get in the way. It’s a simple action with no meaning behind it at all, but somehow, Harry finds it infuriatingly endearing. Her perfectionism is peeking through, obvious in the way she releases a soft exasperated growl when a few rebellious strands dance across her eyes. She takes down the entire do, raking her fingers through her locks once again (with a slight vengeance) and looping the neon tie-dye scrunchie around them with annoyed finality. Her hair obliges this time.

She leans down and scoops the bo staffs into her palms, giving Harry’s one last fascinated once-over before rolling it across the ground in his direction. It thuds to a halt at his outer thigh, a muted holographic glint tennising between all the pretty jewels encapsulated in the tempered midnight glass. Harry wiggles his digits underneath his weapon, rolling it comfortably back and forth before using it to brace himself into a standing position. He hoists himself up with a strained grunt (not necessarily because it hurts, but moreso to guilt Y/N a tad for the hell of it) and twists his torso from side to side to make sure all the nuts and bolts have sifted into gear.

He contemplates his girlfriend with a slow, conceited blink and the unmistakable twitch of his plump lips, the entire regard coated thick with shit-eating smugness. She avoids his gaze by glancing down at one of the ridges in the mat, willing her eyes to keep from flaring.

The intense moment passes, Harry’s voice breaking through the atmosphere with a jesting complaint. “You broke a few ribs.”

She glimpses back up at him from under her lashes, taking in his casual demeanor as he leans against the pole easily, resting it snugly in the divet along the inside of his elbow. “And you dislocated my knee. Let’s call it even.”

He runs his teeth across the length of his lower lip, pursing it and pairing the action with a thoughtful purr. “Fair enough.”

Harry cocks his chin upwards, uncurling his index finger from the staff and making a come-ether motion.

Y/N shuffles towards him, squeezing her rod anxiously. She stops about three feet in front of him, squaring her shoulders in order to mimic his nonchalant attitude. She’s well aware of the mental manipulation that goes into phasing out your opponent and she wants to let Harry know it won’t work on her.

He mulls her over for a second, then his mouth curves into a lopsided grin, dimples winking awake. “Last round, same rules.”

He holds out his bo staff before him for indication, both hands spaced evenly across the expanse. He taps the very center with his right thumb. “See that fine little line?”

Y/N studies the crevice he’s signifying. “Yeah?”

In one swift, harsh motion, Harry slams the combat stick down against his knee and Y/N can’t help but jump at the abruptness. The pole snaps cleanly in two, her boyfriend holding up either pieces and shaking them lightly in the air. He goes about his explanation without a hitch. “You can split it into two.”

Y/N looks down at her own tool, running her thumbs down its waxy wooden surface until she feels the crease he’s referring to. “Got it.”

Harry reconnects the two halves, spinning the entire five foot staff over his hand, around his wrist, and finally into default combat position. It rests parallel against his hip, the top half diagonal to his stomach, both of his hands gripping it tightly. He bends down a few inches, feet planted expertly to distribute his weight evenly as he shrugs his brows knowingly. “You better start thinking of a good song to strip to.”

Y/N assumes her own fighting stance, copying his but with her pole on the opposite side, its mass strangely comforting against the curve of her waist. “And you better get ready to clean Hemmy’s litter box for the next month.”

The final round lasts longer than the first two and both combatants have multiple close calls, but one eventually comes up victor. Harry was the first to initiate this time.

He had pounced, reeling his bo staff back and bringing it down towards Y/N at full velocity. The crack of the two sticks colliding scatters loudly along the walls of the apartment.

Y/N isn’t a fan of staff technique fighting. She favors hand-to-hand, simply because there’s a stronger confidence in having direct skin contact with one’s combatant, as well as having the fighting constricted to close quarters. Closer engagement ensures that there will be no surprise attacks from anywhere, where as with the poles, the length of the weapon can’t be focused on all at once. She could be hit on the shoulder one second and have her feet taken out not even an inhale later. It requires quicker, keen impulses and rigid, acute blows. The combinations of attacks are endless and unpredictable until a heartbeat before they happen, and it demands a defense that is also an offense, so there is no time at all to pause and recoup. Not to mention the fact that the material of the staffs is cruelly solid, so impact packs five times the pain of a regular fist.

It’s because of all of this— because of all of the limiting factors she’d encountered with this style of sport— that she had willed herself to become so good at it. It was what she practiced most whenever she sparred back home; she refuses to allow herself to be weak when it comes to protecting everything she’s ever known. Hatred is a valid catalyst for exceeding, and as much as she hates these stupid sticks, exceeding ranks higher in her priorities and it’s paid off in the long-run.

On the other end of the spectrum is Harry. He loves bo staff combat. Thrives in it. It was the form of battle that he picked up the quickest during his training and he favors it over everything else (except maybe blades). During his time in Hell, he knew nothing but agonizing anguish for fifty years. Nothing but continuous torture and abuse that seemed to rip his being to shreds, only for it to be sewn back together and demolished all over again. Once he did his time and was released from the punishment wing, he was less than ready to face all of the emotions that had been forcibly shoved to the back of his mind by the animalistic instinct to survive and persevere.

Fighting was the one place he could let it all out simultaneously, both the emotional and physical turmoil, and put to test the resilience he had gained. He excelled in all forms of hand-to-hand combat and breezed by knife-throwing as if he’d done it all his life, but bo staff warfare provided the challenge of soliciting coarse, brutal techniques with fine-tuned precision, grating accuracy, and accelerated speed responses. It was the perfect cocktail of exertion he needed to work through most of the shit he had been through, all while gaining him a name within the new community he was destined to join. He never personally saw it occur (or maybe he just doesn’t recall it considering specific instances from that time tend to blur together), but people tell him word got around enough that Lucifer himself came to watch one of his matches.

All in all, the array of details is a way of emphasizing that this round was meant to be his even before it started. However, his confidence begins to shake as they escalate further into the fighting.

Y/N is good— incredible, actually. Her technique, her timing, her strength and agility, the way she flows through her movements in such a graceful yet cut-throat manner. It all shows she’s had extensive experience in this field and she’s not holding back on showing it off. Every one of his attacks is met with a perfect counter and every one of his defenses is met with an assault of the same caliber. She looks amazing holding her own, brows cinched in extreme concentration and muscles taut as inhuman strength courses through them like a current. Her footwork is excellent, supporting her every motion with flawless balance, delivering strike after strike without a moment of hesitation.

Harry has never met anyone he could confidently say leveled him in skill, and as cheesy and sappy and idiotic as it sounds, he thinks he’s finally found his match. If he wasn’t in love before, he’s mostly definitely neck-deep in it now.

He’s lucky he’s practiced enough to multitask or else his dwellings would’ve gotten him knocked on his ass by now. His body had gone into a type of automated combat mode that relied purely on pattern experience and muscle memory, his mind focused partially on the sparring and partially on his thoughts. Harry manages to fully zone back into reality just in time to block an advance at his jaw. The obsidian glass of his pole clacks forcefully against the smoothed red oak of Y/N’s, mere centimeters from his face.

He goes cross-eyed to look at the staff and then looks past it to the assailant wielding it. “Did you really have to go for the face?”

Y/N doesn’t respond, yanking her staff back and swinging it downwards towards his ankles, which he intercepts in a blur of glittering jewels. He twists her combat stick around his, attempting to force her into releasing it. She does, letting it fall from her left hand into her right, pulling it out from its cage and spinning her entire body, packing the motion with as much momentum as possible and aiming it for the middle of Harry’s torso. He just barely meets her blow, saving himself from getting the other side of his ribcage broken. Y/N pivots on her heel again, this time aiming for the junction between his neck and shoulder. It’s a sensitive point and should cripple him enough to get him down.

Harry ducks, slamming the top half of his bo staff against his girlfriend’s stomach, hearing her exclaim on impact. He isn’t even able to celebrate finally getting in a hit because the next thing he knows, a searing ache ruptures across the top of his skull. His vision blurs into a dark red, the edges of his sight vignetting between purple and black. He drops to his hand and knees, ears ringing and teeth going numb.

The room is spinning and he feels like he might throw up, but he’s stubborn. He rolls sideways on the mat, stopping on his stomach and clumsily hobbling up onto his feet. He blindly extends his staff before him as a defense mechanism, blinking rapidly in an attempt to dissolve the red from his surroundings. He’s faced worse, and frankly, he deserves it after the way he crippled her in the first round.

Through the hazy curtain washing over his mind, he’s able to focus in on Y/N, who is edging towards him carefully with her pole poised. He works his injury to his angle, pretending to be worse off than he actually is by shaking his head as if trying to regain his bearings. When Y/N is within jumping distance, he launches, taking her by surprise and smacking along the lower half of her sternum. She staggers back, using her pole to keep from tripping, leaving her unprotected. His combat stick finds its way into the left side of her waist, causing her to bend over at the force. Harry steps past her, looking over his shoulder and getting an idea.

The weapon comes down flat, swatting Y/N right across her backside.

She yelps out in angered alarm, hands flying to her throbbing bum as she jumps forward a couple of feet, whizzing around with indignation pinching her face. Harry’s eyes flit black as he sticks his tongue out in an open-mouthed smirk, wagging his head tauntingly.

An infuriated snarl rumbles in the back of Y/N’s throat, her limbs acting out of their own accord. She unclasps the two halves of her combat stick over her knee as Harry had before, the ring of color that hugs her irises illuminating itself with a blinding celeste hue.

He just can’t keep the stereotypical asshole comment to himself, uttering it through a provoking simper. “You look hot when you’re mad.”

When her next swing comes down, it easily packs the strength of a hundred men.

Y/N advances on Harry with no remorse, her hits strong and curt, clean-cut and precise. She’s getting in consistent blows now that she has more ammunition, bruising his left shoulder and swelling his right thigh. Her two halves come down at him at once, concentrated toward his chest, and he intercepts with the center of his pole. The brunt of the clash fulfills the purpose Harry had intended, snapping his single staff into its secondary form.

He twirls each twin piece over the back of his hand, feeling them settle into his cupped fingers snugly. “That’s more like it.”

They go back and forth for what Harry dubs to be about a minute or two, the sharp clacking of the surfaces biting into the sweat-tinged air. He’s thankful bruises heal almost immediately after inflected or else he’d be purple and blue from head to toe. He’s growing bored and achey of the round, well aware of the fact that since Y/N equals him in skill, the match could go on for hours and he has to work in less than three.

Not to mention, he hasn’t even had breakfast yet and he can practically hear an omelette calling his name. Maybe with some French toast and homemade lemonade...Fuck, that’d be perfect.

He still has to take Onyx and Nimbus out for a their daily morning lap around the park nearby. He has to get there early lest he run into that fitness coach with the annoying Doberman that has some weird grudge against his dogs. And now that he recalls, he owes Dylan a coffee for that bet he’d lost over one of his trainees losing a match to another. That’d take at least ten minutes considering how busy Starbucks is in the morning, and that doesn’t include how long it takes them to make the drink due to Dylan’s peculiar (and annoyingly moronic) tastes.

Harry’s daydreaming is what teeters the fight into its end. His lack of focus leads him into making a mistake that is theatrically ironic.

After deflecting a hit to his jugular, he groups both ends of his pole above his head, bringing them down towards his girlfriend without any real target other than to just plant a hit somewhere. He knew she would block it and he figured he’d use that millisecond window to slam her backward, hopefully with enough give to render her onto her rear.

However, that is not how it goes down at all.

Instead of hindering the collision with the flat side of both her rungs, Y/N crosses her forearms diagonally before her, both of Harry’s wrists ending up wedged between them. It’s the same exact move he’d used on her to win the first round.

Y/N quirks her eyebrows up at her opponent mockingly, voice thick with sarcastically satisfied amusement. “Oops.”

She swiftly rotates her arms clockwise, Harry’s trapped wrists following suit and twisting his arms roughly sideways. This gives Y/N the perfect way in, using the butt of one of her rods and striking it across his cheekbone. Harry staggers back, flailing his weapons loosely as he tries to keep from collapsing. Y/N dives forward, her staffs connecting with the back of Harry’s hands, forcing him to release his tools out of nerve-induced impulse.

After she’s disarmed him, she directs a flat-footed kick to his abdomen, right between his ferns tattoos. The strength behind the gesture sends a vibration up the knobs of her bones, so she can only imagine how it must’ve felt to him. Harry’s feet leave the ground unintentionally for the first time during the entire match as he flies back, the nearest wall so kindly cushioning his fall. He slides down the surface, the matte paint burning the skin of his elbows until his body settles onto the mat. He immediately attempts to regain his footing, but is stopped short on his knees.

The end of a combat stick hovers a few inches in front of his nose, a sweaty, heavy-breathed Y/N looming down upon him from behind it, eyes gleaming— literally— with cocksure victory. “Stay down unless you want a matching bruise on the other side of your face.”

Harry’s chest shallowly heaves a count of three, then his eyes string upwards from the circular flat face of the bo staff to lock with his girlfriend’s. He teeths the corner of his bottom lip as it jolts with the ghost of an aroused, awed simper. “I quite enjoy being on my knees, anyways.”

Y/N’s pole rattles against the ground.

She keens over, palms resting on her knees as she gulps down air like she can’t get enough of it. Harry sits back on his heels, back flushed with the wall to support himself, head thunking against it hollowly. He hasn’t felt this exhausted since his first ever training session all those centuries back.

Sweat mazes its way down his throbbing temples and across the veins chiseled into his neck, following the curve of his collarbones and tickling its way down the valley of his chest. All he can get out is a low, scratchy, “Fucking hell...” and his throat goes sore with the effort.

Y/N throws her head back in fatigue, groaning softly as every muscle in her body complains at the motion. A weak, giddy smile dances its way across her warm cheeks. “I won.”

Harry sighs grandly in defeat, wincing lightly as the movement irritates the fracture he knows is running the length of his cheekbone. “Give credit where it’s due. That final move was mine, so you’re welcome.”

He sticks out his hand as a post-fight symbol of good will, wiggling his fingers when she stares at it cautiously. “C’mon, I won’t bite. No dirty play, remember?”

Y/N takes Harry’s hand and the conjoined pair shake out a final truce. She then rests down onto her knees, crawling across the mat to take the spot beside him. As her back nests again the wall, she feels a mixture of both relief and disgust. Relief because the surface is nice and cool, which works wonders for her overheating body. Disgust because the wall flattens her t-shirt against her skin and she can feel the cotton soaking up all the sweat as it sticks to her like glue.

She lulls her head over to Harry, who is dabbing at the big green and purple shiner that she’d slashed across his face. Now that the fight is over and her brain has gradually waned off of the cruel adrenalin that had been fueling her strength, guilt starts settling in. “Sorry about that.”

Harry cranes his neck in her direction, gifting her a tender smile that she knows probably hurts. “S’okay, it’s already healing. Plus, I had a good time. Was fun.”

Y/N playfully bumps his shoulder with her own. “Not as fun as it’s gonna be to watch you clean up cat feces for the next month.”

“Still can’t believe that’s what you chose.” Harry mumbles, reaching up and releasing his damp curls from the tiny ponytail atop his head, slipping the hair-tie over his wrist and shaking out his stringy locks.

Y/N rolls her eyes dismissively. “I’m sorry I’m not constantly thinking about filth like you do. Some of us have control.”

One of Harry’s eyebrows jumps up challengingly. “Oh? You have control, y’say?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, then, I guess you won’t mind.”

He proceeds to grab the back of his drenched muscle tank, yanking it over his head and balling it up into a crumpled mess, using it wipe down his face.

Y/N shrugs without worry. “Go ahead. I’ve seen you without your shirt plenty of times.”

“Yeah, you have. But...” His hands trails along the ground in the space that lays between them, his index finger tracing along her left outer thigh. “It’s different when I’m covered in sweat, muscles all tight right after a workout.”

Y/N hesitantly glances over at Harry, taking in the way his strong, thick chest is rising and falling rhythmically, glistening with a sheen of water that makes his lightly tanned skin look like gold porcelain. The ink stains ripples as his tendons contract and release, biceps flexing temptingly.

Y/N swallows down the dryness in her throat, running the back of her wrist along the pearls of sweat itching her brows. “Makes no difference to me.”

Harry looks down upon her from over his shoulder, eyes flickering black for a second, her reflection painted across the glass-like surface of the dark hue. “Then why are you ogling?”

She scoffs incredulously, but can’t stop herself from looking away in embarrassment. Her voice is a begrudging grumble. “I wasn’t ogling.”

“Right. You were just staring profusely. My mistake.”

“Dickhead.”

Harry’s tongue glosses over his front teeth, pressing against the inside of his cheek, his expression one of pompous entertainment at being able to get her so flustered. He scoots a bit closer to her until their legs are touching, leaning forward to try and catch her attention. “For what it’s worth, I was doing my fair share of ogling, too.”

The comment is enough to fish her consideration.

Y/N’s vision flits to him, full of confused curiosity. “When? I’ve been fully dressed the whole time?”

Harry sways his head at her incorrect assumption, hand sneaking its way fully onto her leg. “It has nothing to do with nudity, though I won’t object if you decide to go that route.”

She ignores his suggestion. “Then what is it?”

The pads of his digits dig into the suppleness of her thigh, squeezing once testingly, tingling with glee when she doesn’t swat him away. “When you we were fighting just now. Your skills are incredible.”

Y/N blinks at him blankly. “What part of me looking sweaty and busted was attractive to you?”

Harry’s forefinger maps his name over her clothed skin, the cursive big and loopy, gentle and feathery. “The part where you showed such confident ease and deadly perfection.”

He halts the tip of his finger halfway through his last name, right at the curve of the Y. His tone carries a reflective hazy fondness. “It was so fucking beautiful.”

Y/N is intrigued in the way Harry can conjure something so outlandish as charming, but she can understand why he’d enjoy it. Demons have a warped sense of beauty. She finds herself pushing for more details, her interest wandering. “What was beautiful about it?”

His clouded jade irises meet her’s, appearing soft and admiring. “Everything. The way you moved with elegant delicacy, but somehow still made every hit dangerous. You hold your own really well, and that’s meaningful coming from me. Gotta love a girl who can beat your ass.”

Y/N laughs airily. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Harry absentmindedly reaches up, cupping her chin between his thumb and index finger, rubbing over the faint dimple endearingly. The way he’s staring at her lips hungrily makes them buzz. “Fuck, I wish you could’ve seen yourself. It was so hot.”

She swallows thickly, her eyes glimpsing anxiously between his mouth and eyes, voice full of innocent wonder. “It was?”

Harry’s gaze flirts over the dip of the crescent along her upper lip, both of his own parting open smidge at the way the light hits its peaks alluringly. “Yeah, it was. Wanted to just drop to my knees right then and have you ride my face.”

Y/N’s breathing catches in her throat, thighs clenching unintentionally.

His Cupid’s bow feathers over her’s, their foreheads knocking softly. The mood has shifted drastically, the air seeming to solidify inside her lungs as Harry’s low, melodic thrum of a voice paints itself with needy awe. “Wanted to just spread you out on this mat with my face between your thighs and your hands tangled in my hair. To feel you drip down my chin and wet the tops of my cheeks.”

“Harry...”

The word comes out as a desperate croak, begging him for something, though he’s not sure what. It can either be for him to stop, or for him to explicitly keep going. “Are you sure you don’t want to tie anything else into that prize?”

Y/N sighs shakily through her nose, eyelids drooping shut at the tension weighing in the atmosphere of the room. “Don’t tempt me.”

The snicker Harry releases is the ideal ratio of boyish giggle and arrogant chuckle. “M’afraid I have to. It’s kinda my profession and all.”

She wants to say no— wants to uphold the statement she had made about being modest enough not to include raunchiness into everything they do. Wants keep herself from giving in when she was always taught to fight off mindless desires.

She tries to search for anything to put a halt to her deteriorating control. “Don’t you have a ton of stuff to do before you leave for work? Like breakfast and handling the dogs?”

The breath of his words is warm and gooey as it rolls over the fizzling skin of her lips. “I can grab something on the way, and Onyx and Nimbus can walk themselves. I just go to keep up appearances.”

“In that case, it’s probably not a good idea to let them walk themselves, is it?”

Harry grabs Y/N by the collar of her borrowed tee, the sweaty fabric crinkling as he tugs her into a deep, wet kiss that is made up of desperate little whines and breathy whimpers. He murmurs into her mouth, his two front teeth claiming the center of her bottom lip. “You go with them later, then. Problem solved.”

She tries to pull back (despite every fiber of her being telling her not to), fabricating any excuse that comes to mind. “They hate me.”

He yanks her back in, noses bumping as his tongue works to convince her. “No they don’t.”

Her strong will proceeds despite the prickling creeping down her neck and across her temples. “Yes they do.”

“Well, I don’t hate you and at the end of the day, isn’t that what matters?”

“That has absolutely nothing to do with—”

Y/N’s counter is cut short by Harry using his hold to swiftly jerk her into his lap, maneuvering her accordingly, her heels pressing into the sides of his calves as she straddles his thighs. He slides her forward until the close proximity forces her to balance onto her knees at either sides of his hips, his face level with her navel. His head rests back against the wall, eyes drunk on the way she’s perched above him, looking down over her burning cheeks. He wastes no time in putting their position into to good use, fingers perching at her waist and beginning to fiddle with the zipper of the compression shorts he’d lent her.

“What about—”

“Why don’t you be a good girl and stay quiet.” He murmurs lowky, dragging the zipper all the way down and working on easing the nylon material down her sticky thighs, placing a slow, drawn-out peck to the swell of each hip. In all his decades of life, he’s well learned that it’s the subtle touches that work the biggest wonders.

“But—”

His lips smooth over her twitching tummy, biting it teasingly while his mouth moves over her heated skin as he forms his words, voice heavy and deep. “I said quiet, didn’t I?”

Her panties are at full access now, the hem of the sports leggings resting right below the curve of her bum, and Harry can’t stop himself from smirking coyly at her choice of daisy and sunflower print. He stretches his neck, sticking out his tongue and giving a long lap at her over the underwear, the edges of his mouth carving upwards as he feels a hot flush of sudden dampness pool at the area over her clit. He glances up at her from beneath his long lashes, eyes electric with self-assured delight as he hums appreciatively in the back of his throat.

Y/N’s fingers find their way into his tousled curls, holding his head between her thighs as she digs into his scalp, her sentences lodging in her throat. “We can’t— we shouldn’t. Y-You’ll be late for work and—”

Harry gives her another drawn out lick over the garment, flirting the tip of his tongue over the swollen little bud that lies at the thick of her crotch, savoring the way she shudders and writhes. His hands have migrated to grip her ass, keeping her in place as his face moves from side to side, tongue sloppily toying with her cunt and causing her to utterly ruin her favorite pair of undies.

“H-Harry, please. You’ll get in trouble—”

“For fuck’s sake, just shut up and let me make you cum.”

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

Text

Death Do We Part (Part 13)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Words: 4,300+

Jason kisses you again, holding on to your face, and then grudgingly lets you go. He lies on the couch with his hand draped over his eyes as you gather your clothes and get dressed. You kneel beside his head and say his name.

“I can’t, Y/N-- If I see you, I won’t have it in me to let you walk out of here.”

So you kiss his cheeks with quivering lips and your tears warm his skin before you leave the Todds’ old apartment.

Jason’s whole body flinches at the sound of the door closing. He lets his own tears mix with the ones you left. Then he harshly rubs them away as he sits up to face the sun that’s slowly peeking over the cityscape from his window.

He takes in three deep breaths before he finally gets up and puts on his clothes, leaving the stench of Gotham on his skin along with the scent of you. It’s armor he tells himself. With you on his side he knows he can’t fail.

He takes out his phone and dials. He puts it on speaker and places it on the counter to pack his gear. The moment the ringing stops, he speaks first, “I want everybody in the bunker. Now.”

There’s a slight groan and hint of annoyance from the other side, “You can’t be--”

“Don’t make me wait.”

Jason hangs up. When its lights turn off, he can see his reflection on the black screen of his phone. His white bangs are hanging down, half covering his glowing green eyes. He touches the skin under them and wonders if you noticed. Did it scare you? As he looks into his mutated eyes watching himself, he snarls.

“Focus!”

There’s far too much at stake tonight to be daydreaming now. The sooner he finishes this mission, the sooner you can leave this town. Jason takes one last look at his phone before he leaves their old apartment.

He’s the first one at the bunker in the Arkham district and proceeds to check on the armory in the backroom. He puts on his domino mask and then his helmet. Then breathes in to give his mind and body time to adjust to his other role, his other identity.

When he gets back to the main room, there’s a couple of thugs spread out on the floor and some of the big players sitting at the big table in the middle.

“What’s the big idea calling us in so early in the morning? Most of us work nights you know!” Penguin’s nasally voice is already giving Jason a headache.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here!

Jason clams his mouth shut inside his helmet and walks up to the table.

“Are you listening to me-- or is that blasted thing on mute--”

He slams his hands on the table and waits for the echo to stop, making sure all eyes are on him. “We’re doing it tonight.”

He watches as the big crime lords of Gotham widen their eyes and turn to each other like shoolchildren.

“Tonight? Are you fucking kidding me?” Black Mask is standing now and circling the table to act like a menace but always making sure there’s somebody else between him and the Red Hood.

“Are your men not ready?” Jason asks.

Black Masks flinches and the sides of his nose twitch. “Of-of course they are--”

“Good. Because we’re taking out Batman and the Joker tonight. If you’re not ready then you’re out of the deal.”

The deal. The deal Jason’s been waving around at the noses of these dredges of Gotham City. One night. One final night to get both Batman and the Joker out of their lives.

It’s not surprising a lot of them want to get rid of the Joker. The maniac’s a loose canon that’s not fit for any alliance and if you tick him off, you won’t know what to expect.

“Have you figured out how to get the lunatic out of the asylum?” Dent speaks up from the wall he’s been leaning against. “The new vault is Wayne tech but they outsourced it from an anonymous--”

“Oh, I never said anything about me breaking him out.” Jason cuts him off because he already knows this. He doesn’t like it when people repeat shit he already knows. It was never like this when he worked with Batman. “Don’t you worry your pretty faces over it. I’ve already got the perfect girl doing the dirty work for me.”

“Right,” Penguin snorts, “Because you don’t actually do any work--”

“When do we get to kill the Bat?” Bane’s menacing voice vibrates within the room, even terrifying Jason behind his mask.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” he yells out almost shakily, but your scent on him is trapped inside his helmet and it’s helping him keep calm, keep up appearances. “You, Killer Croc, and Clayface will come with me to the bridge.”

“How do you know he’ll show?” Bane interrupts and Jason wants to show them a smile that says ‘leave it to me’. Instead he keeps quiet with his eyes on Bane who only narrows his eyes with scrutiny.

“Right. Right. Of course,” Black Mask groans as he walks around more freely. “You’ve got another slutty little streetrat doing the work--”

There’s a loud bang. Everyone in the room watches as Black Mask falls to the floor with a smoking hole in his head. Jason is heaving heavy breaths under his helmet and his eyes are wide and trained on the dead man who just said shit about you, while his hand is holding the gun.

Once his composure is under control, he turns to Dent, talking to him with the gun slanted to the side. “Congratulations. His men are now yours.”

Dent stares at the crazy bastard in front of him before he grins.

As soon as the meeting is over, Jason is the first one to leave. He heads off to a small diner in the central business district, one of those small eateries at the heart of the city that are slowly dying.

Happy to have the helmet off of him, he eats his food quietly while staring at his arm that’s propped up on the table. His last words looking back at him. “What did she do-- tattoo it on her skin?” he teases as he pokes it with a fork, smiling at the thought of you reading it over and over again.

Someone slips into his booth. It’s enough to alarm Jason because he should’ve noticed anyone walking toward him. When he looks up, he finds his replacement in front of him.

“Dick rewrites it every day with industrial-strength markers.”

Jason’s other hand reaches for another weapon concealed in his jacket. Tim sits upright in front of him with both of his hands under the table. Jason only guesses he’s pointing something at him, too. They stare at each other for a while before Tim finally speaks up.

“Fuck you.”

The corner of Jason’s lips twitch. He almost wants to laugh. Heck, he does laugh. “Fucking rude--”

“You slept with Y/N and then you sent her back to Bruce to ask him to let you kill the Joker.”

Jason’s eyes widen. What were you thinking? Jason knew you were going to tell Bruce his plan that’s why they had to do it tonight. But he never asked you to stand up for him. He doesn’t want you to be involved in this. Why would you go and do that?

Tim clenches his teeth as Jason continues to stare dumbly at him. “What kind of sick joke are you playing at? She’s in love you with you and you’re--”

“Hey.” Jason’s voice is low and he’s staring into Tim’s eyes, blue like his, almost like his used to be. Did you gaze into them before you kissed him? Did they remind you of him? “You should learn to mind your own fucking business, kid.”

“You--”

“Thanks though.”

Tim eyes Jason curiously, wondering what he means. Then he feels it, the kick of a tranquilizer rapidly invading the nerves of his body. Before his head hits the table, Jason is already by his side and placing his head on his shoulder.

“You should’ve waited for the party but I guess you just saved me a lot of time.” Jason nods his head to the waitress walking by. Then he takes out his phone and calls Penguin.

“What is it now, Hood?”

“You should be happy to know that I just did some dirty work ahead of schedule.” Jason relishes the angry snort Penguin gives him before he continues. “So I’ll be helping you with the bombs later this afternoon.”

There’s a long silence on the line before Penguin finally replies, nervous. “Are you sure this will work?”

“Trust me. After tonight, when those bombs go off, you’ll be the only kingpin left in this city. No more Falcone or Dent.”

After Jason hangs up, he pays the bill for his food and drapes his jacket over Tim, making sure his face is hidden as he hauls his body over to Arkham district.

Finally, night came. Tim is tied up. The bombs are in place. The Joker is being broken out. And Batman is driving over the bridge. Jason is fighting every urge to tap his foot on the ground, or clench his fist, or rub his arm where his last words are written.

All day he’s had to fight the urge to write to you, something you haven’t done in almost a year. But the fact that you haven’t written anything to him made it easier. You understand that everything is going down tonight and you’re giving him space.

Now all he has to do is focus. Everything will go according to plan. It’s time for the theatrics, just like Batman taught him.

“Sorry, Batman! This part of the city’s closed for the day! Public execution and all!” Jason is surrounded by cheering thugs finally rejoicing at the thought of a Bat and Joker-free city. Everything will be theirs for the taking.

Jason watches his temporary alliance follow through with the plan. He whistles as Bane lands on the bridge. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”

“Time for your exit, boy,” Killer Croc hisses as he passes by Jason.

Jason sees no point in talking back. He presses the button for the EMP and waits for the lights of the batmobile to go out. Then he nods to Croc and Clayface and disappears into the crowd. Once out of the frontline’s range, he uses his grappling gun to reach higher ground.

“Still bait. Need to make sure they see me.”

Jason hides among the shadows to watch Bruce and Dick work. Bane’s the first one to go down. “Taking down the biggest threat first. Efficient and predictable, Bruce.”

“Hoody! You double crossing son of a bitch!” One of the most annoying voices Jason has ever heard screeches into the comm in his ear. But it’s not really Harley he hates, it’s the other guy that always comes with her presence.

“What? Code didn’t work?”

“Oh it worked alright, you smarty shit helmet. I finally got mista J out of that stinkin place but guess who was waiting for us, huh? Guess!”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“You--”

Jason hangs up on Harley because he knows. He asked his friends from Eth Alth'eban for a couple of last favors until they can finally call it even. “Good. The appetizer’s already at the club-- Oh! Time to go.”

Nightwing had spotted him and now Batman is in pursuit. Jason leaps from one rooftop to another, making sure Batman can still see him as he turns at each corner.

Clayface and Croc never were much of a threat in an open space, away from their element. Dick could handle them with his eyes closed. But Jason busted some of his ribs so dealing with those two should keep him occupied all night.

The sound of Bruce’s grappling gun hisses in the air and Jason waits for it to wrap around his legs. Before it tauts, Jason turns mid-air and cuts the line before he free falls to the road. He lands on his feet and rolls over to lessen the impact. He whispers a small apology to you in case your body couldn’t handle it.

Bruce watches Jason run through the streets and follows from above. Jason can see his swift shadow casted by the foggy moonlight. He suddenly can’t help the stupid grin growing on his face. “Feels like old times, old man!”

When Bruce sees another bridge, he already knows which building the Red Hood is headed for. Batman perches a block away and tries to contact Nightwing.

“Status report.”

Dick nervously laughs. Bruce can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “Seriously dandy. Croc and Clayface almost can’t keep up.”

Bruce can’t see it but you can. Dick is barely standing on his own two legs, busted knees, exhaustion, and you know he’s emotionally overwhelmed. You’ve monitored enough of their videos to know that Dick isn’t at his best. You suddenly can’t help intervening.

“Bruce, turn back. You have to help Dick.”

“I’m fine,” Dick interjects. “Just get Jason.”

“Jason’s not the one in trouble right now, Dick--”

“Y/N.” Dick’s voice has suddenly gotten sharp. “Batman needs to make it this time.”

Your eyes widen as you watch Dick throw himself back into the fight. He’s exhausted but his opponents are in worse shape. Finally resigned, Alfred wraps his arms around your shoulder, bracing yourselves for what’s next.

As soon as Jason walks into Black Mask’s new club, he’s met with absolutely no one. He quickly prioritizes before he panics and checks the two large boxes on the dance floor.

A phone starts ringing loudly inside the deserted club, distracting him from the cape that flies in from the overhead window. Jason answers it and he hears Penguin’s unmistakeable nasally voice.

“Hello, Hood.”

Jason grits his teeth. Something isn’t right. “Where are you and Dent?”

“Sorry, Hood,” he snorts and chuckles. “We knew something was up. Found the bombs you snuck into my place. So you’re on your own.” He can hear boisterous laughter in the background and loud music. They’re celebrating prematurely at Penguin’s club. “But hey, if you manage to take the Joker and Batman to hell with you, good for us!”

The dial tone fills up the empty club and it feels like it’s getting louder inside Jason’s head. He yells in frustration and throws the phone against the wall.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Jason is bent over, hands on his knees and hyperventilating. The helmet is suddenly suffocating. He takes it off and throws it across the dance floor. Batman stops it with his foot, making Jason look up and glare at him.

“Looks like you’ve run out of criminals to do the dirty work for you.” Batman’s voice brings Jason’s focus back to his own breathing. Things are not going according to plan but just the thought of putting this off for another day, makes his hands tremble. He wants to leave. He wants to run to you and leave this godforsaken city.

Bruce looks at his son with nothing but worry. He extends a hand to him. “Jason, it’s time to stop.”

Jason winces. He takes in one loud inhale and then lets it out in the form of boooming laughter. “Oh, but it’s just begun, and we’re so close to the climax already.”

Like a child lashing out when everything has gone wrong, Jason runs and jumps at Bruce, a fist aimed at the side of his father’s head. It’s sloppy. Easy enough for Bruce to block and secure Jason in front of him.

“Let’s go home,” he urges.

Bruce watches the trembling scowl on Jason’s face. Jason kicks off of Bruce’s chest. When he lands on his feet, he runs at him again to kick his side.

Bruce catches his leg and firmly holds it against his body using both of his hands. He glares at him, “Jason, stop!”

Jason snarls and punches the side of Bruce’s face. Then another one against the tip of his nose. Bruce immediately lets go of him, holding his nose while ringing permeated in his eardrums.

When he brings his hands down, there’s blood. “Jason, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s too bad, pops.”

You have been too mesmerized by the one-sided battle between Bruce and Jason, that you forgot to watch Nightwing’s feed. When Alfred and your face are kissed by a bright glow coming from the other side of the screen, your eyes widen and your lips tremble.

“B-Bruce!” your voice echoes in his earpiece and he can already hear the panic. “The br-bridge! Dick was on the bridge and it just blew up!”

Jason notices the slight change in Bruce’s demeanor. He watches cautiously when his father clenches his fist and looks at Jason with a snarl. He starts walking toward Jason, letting him hear his every word.

“Forgive me, Y/N.”

And you brace yourself for the onslaught of pain that’s sure to come. You close your eyes and bury your head in Alfred’s embrace. He holds you tightly, both of you dreading and waiting. But the pain never comes.

You open your eyes and turn back to the monitor. Bruce is standing still in front of Jason with a fist just inches away from his son’s face. Jason’s eyes slowly open.

“I can’t,” Bruce confesses in a trembling voice.

Jason frowns as he watches the resignation on his father’s face. But it’s quickly replaced by a scowl as he remembers, remembers why they’re here. “I should be so flattered,” his voice hits Bruce like a blow to the chest. “Too bad you extend this same mercy to your enemies.”

Jason walks away from Bruce to stop in front of one of the boxes. He kicks it in and then he drags out a tied up orange clown into the middle of the club.

“To scumbags like him!”

The Joker shakes his head, trying to get rid of the sudden disorientation. He had been hearing their family drama from within the crate. But when his eyes settle on the black cowl and pointy ears, he grins and rises to his feet. He takes a quick look at Jason and recognizes him immediately.

“Oh! Is this my welcome back party? I’m underdressed.” The Joker looks down at his clothes from Arkham and winces. “Orange really isn’t my color. Blegh!”

His care-free attitude is only making Jason angrier. Everything has gone wrong. He has thrown himself against Bruce and almost got you hurt. And now, now the clown is treating all of this like a fucking party.

Jason kicks the Joker onto the floor and keeps his foot on his back. He keeps his head down as he snarls at the maniac beneath him.

“I don’t know what clouded your judgment worse…” His foot presses harder on the clown’s back before he looks at Bruce, glaring. “Your guilt or antiquated sense of morality.”

You watch with your hand over your mouth. Jason’s breathing has been labored this whole time and you don’t know if it’s because of all the running or the emotional toll of it all.

Jason looks at Bruce and he sounds broken, “I forgive you for not saving me--”

The Joker scoffs and nonchalantly interrupts Jason, “He couldn’t have saved you, boy. The timer was a dud. The warehouse was only rigged to explode once Batman stepped onto the property.”

Batman’s eyes widen with guilt but Jason already knew that. He knew that Bruce had come for him with 10 seconds to spare on the timer. More than enough time to get him and his mother out of there safely. To save you, too.

The Joker’s eyes widen with glee as he watches the taut lines on Batman’s exposed jaw. “You didn’t know, Batsy? My my!”

Jason almost feels sorry for Bruce as he desperately looks at his son’s eyes and then to his hands, thinking he was the one who had killed him. Jason puts more pressure on the Joker’s back and shouts, “Do you see?”

Jason takes off his mask to stare Bruce in the face, to look him in the eye when he finally asks the one question that has been eating at him alive. “So why! Why on god’s earth is this psychotic filth still alive?”

Jason’s outrage and their father-son confrontation is only making the Joker laugh in amusement, splintering his lips against the hardwood. “Gotta give the boy points! He came all the way back from the dead--”

Jason harshly turns him over and slaps a gag into his mouth, pushing it down and ties it until the Joker is choking.

More aggravated now, he’s heaving in breaths like he’s running out of air. Jason turns back to Bruce, gritting his teeth. “Ignoring what he’s done in the past. Blindly stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he’s filled. The thousands who have suffered. The friends he’s crippled--!”

Jason watches as Bruce’s jaw clenches. They never talked about that. After that night, even when Barbara was released from the hospital, the family completely turned their backs on her, willing that the incidents never happened.

The memory only makes Jason’s blood boil and his heart clench in his chest. It’s so strong that you can feel it.

“I thought… I thought I’d be the last person you’ll ever let him hurt. If it had been you that he beat to a bloody pulp. If he had taken you from this world--” Jason pauses, surprised at the tear falling from his eye. He knows it’s not his but this has never happened before. You’ve never shared tears before.

Jason clenches his fist and yells at Bruce again, “I would have done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil death-worshipping garbage and sent him off to hell!”

Bruce’s head is spinning. He sees the man he despises the most in this world and the boy he’s failed, both in life and in death.

“Jason... All I’ve ever wanted to do is kill him. A day doesn’t go by when I don’t think about subjecting him to every horrendous torture he’s dealt out to others. And then… end him.”

Bruce’s confession doesn’t appease anything in Jason. It only confuses him more.

“So why--”

“But if I do that…” Bruce gently interjects, “If I allow myself to go down into that place… I’ll never come back.” He takes a few steps forward and extends his hand to Jason with his palm facing up. “You’ll never come back, son.”

Jason stares at the hand extended to him before he finally snarls at his father. “Why?” he sounds like a child, broken and betrayed, “I’m not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent. I’m talking about him. Just him and doing it because… because he took me away from you.”

Bruce watches as Jason harshly wipes away the tears that keep coming. Jason doesn’t get mad at you. He doesn’t blame you. If he wanted to, he would let out everything as well. He almost wishes he could when Bruce finally answers him.

“I can’t, Jason. I’m sorry.”

You feel Jason’s nails dig into his palms. You watch as he narrows his eyes at Bruce and points the gun at the Joker.

“Well you won’t have a choice.”

Jason shoots the Joker in the head. The sound echoes in the silent club while Bruce stands still as the Joker’s body goes limp on the floor.

You watch as the mad clown who terrorized your dreams for over a year lies on the ground, unmoving and staining the floor with his blood. Dead. But you don’t feel a single drop of satisfaction from it as you follow the trail of smoke coming out of Jason’s gun.

“You don’t understand, Bruce,” he finally says. “I don’t think you’ll ever understand until someone spells it out plain and simple for you.”

Bruce takes a step forward with his hands up but Jason’s points the gun at him next. “You can’t protect us-- much like you can’t protect this city from every disgusting dredge that lurks at its every corner. Ra’s and your failure taught me one thing true about this world: it’s better to grab evil by the tendrils and burn it before it settles its roots.”

It feels like a hammering is slamming down on Jason’s chest. The exhaustion. The emotions. Finally everything is so close to its breaking point. You can feel it.

“This is what all this has been about, Bruce. This scum,” he kicks the Joker’s body, making it skid away, leaving a trail of his blood. Then he points the gun at Bruce and places his free hand on his chest. “You. Me. And him!”

Jason kicks open the other box in the club and harshly rips out a struggling Robin. Tim is tightly gagged and his eyes are wide open.

“Tim!”

You don’t know who shouted. You or Bruce. You watch as he struggles against Jason’s grip. He tightens his hold on Tim and presses him against one side of his body to prop him up for Bruce to see him in full view.

“Now is the time you decide.”

Jason throws the gun to Bruce, the one he used on the Joker. “If you won’t, I’ll kill him. If you want to stop me, you’re going to have to kill me.”

Bruce stares at Tim’s wide eyes and then at the gun in his hands. Tim is fiercely struggling against the Red Hood’s hold. The Red Hood. Jason. He looks at his once dead son and sees unfamiliar green eyes looking back at him. His answer comes softly with regret.

“You know I won’t--”

This only makes Jason angrier. He takes out another gun and points it at Tim’s temple, startling all of you.

“It’s him or me--”

“Stop!” You shout from the safehouse, suddenly standing and urgently looking for anything to write with, not wanting to watch anymore. But you can still hear him.

“You have to decide--”

Your soulmate.

“Think about Y/N!” Bruce shouts, making you stop and stare at your hands, a pen hovering over Jason’s last words.

Jason’s grip falters. Of course, he’s thinking of you. Every single minute of every single day, all he’s done is think of you. All of the things he’s done is for you. You and him. That’s why he has to do this.

His voice comes out like a low growl. “Decide now... Do it.”

Bruce is shaking his head and holding the gun with both of his hands, shaking. Jason glares at him and pushes the barrel of the gun harder against Tim’s temple.

“Him or me! Decide!”

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#...#ssa #superhero soulmate au #Jason Todd #Red Hood #Jason Todd fanfiction #Jason Todd imagine #Jason Todd x reader #Red Hood fanfiction #Red Hood imagine #Red Hood x reader #DC imagines #DC fanfiction #DC reader insert #watchtower-feed #atbucud

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alisinchainmail · 3 years

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More from the crossover fanfic no one asked for but everyone's getting...

Kylo + Quinn: The Last Harlequin: Ch. 1.2

[Gif sources: Part 1, Part 2]

Writers' favorite excerpt from Kylo + Quinn Chapter 1.2 of The Last Harlequin:

He exhales sharply through his nose and straightens. "My Knights of Ren detected you in our no fly zone. You didn't respond to our warnings we sent, so we mistook you for a threat."

She rolls her eyes, annoyed at the jab. "I guess I'm going to have to forgive you and your little Space Knights of Ni for not knowing who I am..." She does a flashy roundoff back handspring and flips over him so she's between him and her bat. "Harley Quinn, nice to meet ya." She extends her now uncuffed hand to the dark knight.

Overcompensating with stillness to hide that he's impressed with the stunt from an Earth girl, he looks down his nose at her hand. "Kylo Ren," he says quietly, giving her the decency of a reply.

Harley withdraws her hand, slightly offended he still doesn't seem to have heard of her, "Never heard of me? The Cupid of Crime? The Maiden of Mischief? Princess... of Darkness." She trails off on that last one, unsure if she recently lost that title. "Formerly..." she corrects it quickly.

Kylo plays her game, "Leader of the Knights of Ren, Champion of the First Order, and Apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke." He takes a step towards her, towering over her. She tilts her head acknowledging she has no idea what any of that really means, either.

"You're not part of the Resistance," he states more than asks. "However, the vehicle you stole has connections to the Rebellion. How?"

Clearly there's a lot of space politics that is not public knowledge on Earth. Why would Bruce Wayne be involved in space wars? He's probably friends with that Elon Muskrat. He's pretty sus with all that Space X shit.

She responds innocently, "Look, I just saw the thing in some local billionaire's driveway, and thought, 'Why not go for a joy ride?'" Kylo steps closer studying her expressions. Harley squints, "What?!"

Kylo shakes his head, "The Empire has no use for you then. We'll decide what to do with you, or what remains of you, when we're done searching the vehicle."

Harley squints at him, gathering a pretty clear psychological profile from that golden threat of a response, his list of self-important titles, and his demeanor. It all screams of daddy issues.

If he wanted to kill her, he would've done it already. Is he her enemy or a potential new ally? How far can she push this guy before she finds out the hard way?

She smirks and fires off, "So...you're building a crown-rule empire because daddy kicked you out. And you think this is a big fuck you, but in actuality it's a very misguided attempt to win back his respect." Kylo grips his helmet, and narrows his eyes at her.

Harley slowly steps back towards her bat, she looks at his mask grinning, "Daddy wanted a son, so now he has to hide behind a mask...I get it!" Kylo slams his helmet down on a sidetable next to him. This was too easy!

Harley continues, "Awh it's ok! I bet your mom still loves you. Mom's usually do... if they have the time to notice you through your desperate attention-seeking behavior." He looks in shock.

She's really hitting a nerve with this guy. How is he so easy to read? "Or maybe you're trying to destroy the very thing that distracted her from you in the first place. Classic only child syndrome. She's part of this rebellion thing isn't she? Gotta love a rebel girl." Kylo lurches at her.

Harley lunges for the bat, but Kylo quickly raises his hand at it, sending it flying across the room. Harley looks at her empty hand, then across the room where it landed. What is he? Some sort of space wizard?

Harley shakes off her confusion, "Won't let me play with your toys? What would I expect from an only child with deep-seated father issues?"

Kylo yells, "Stop...TALKING," as he grabs at Harley. She dodges. Time to go all in.

"Tell me, what did dear old dad do to you? Or was it someone else? Got an uncle who paid some unnecessary visits to your bedside when mommy and daddy were away?"

Kylo clenches his fist and rolls his eyes. That was a hit. Harley taunts, "Awwhhh did I sink your battleship?"

"ENOUGH," he roars, grabbing a handle from his hilt and firing out a massive red flaming greatsword.

Harley stares at the new weapon in disbelief. "Come on! Lazer swords?! At least let me use my dinky baseball bat. I'm Little League compared to that!"

Co-Writer's (Brian) Notes:

I love this as an introduction to their relationship. Harley always has to get the last word in and Kylo is always struggling to keep his composure. Both their characteristics make them butt heads, and also is why they work.

They’re always gonna have a back forth with their personalities. A yin and yang basically where he’ll constantly try and stay level and she’ll try to trip him up.

Writer's (Alisin) Notes:

I like this part of the scene for their chaotic, impulsive energy playing off each other in different ways. Also for her first exposure to the world of Star Wars, which her inexperience with the world helps me get away with the fact I still haven't seen all of the Star Wars franchise yet and am newer to the fandom. We're sort of figuring out the world together.

I wanted them to be fairly evenly matched, which — much like with Rey— is Kylo's first experience with someone on equal ground like that, so it throws him off at first.

Harley is skilled with getting in people's heads from a psychoanalytical standpoint, whereas Kylo uses more of a brute force approach later in the scene. Luke criticized the way the Knights of Ren use the dark side of the force as being unskilled "like a hammer". I bring that characterization into Kylo.

Kylo wields his emotions and fighting style with a lot of intensity rather than precision and agility. In spite of his bloodline making him a more powerful force wielder, he can be quite clumsy with it. As though his power is greater than himself and the conflict he carries disrupts his clarity in his actions, while also fueling the power of the dark side through his raw emotion.

With Harley, I like to keep her dancing in between both, since as a character she is more morally gray.

Her weapons of choice are sometimes literal hammers but her fighting style and wit can be very fluid and agile, similar to the fighting styles of those who utilize the light side of the force. Her actions are impulsive, but not clouded in self-judgements. Without the Joker's influence, she knows herself well enough to have some faith that her impulses are in alignment with her fluid morality.

And to bring it all back ti Brian's point:

Kylo is brute force like Harley’s weapon and she’s skilled and precise like a sword, his weapon. Neither will admit it but both could run into situations where the others methods work better. Harley has been forced to be chaotic in her approach for so long she’s sort of rebelling against it in her style. Kylo has been wielding the force like a hammer for so long that everything looks like a nail. This further adds to their yin and yang relationship dynamic and how they’ll be able to survive by adapting the others' strengths when they need them.

[GIF Source: Part 1, Part 2]

Check out the full chapter on Wattpad: The Last Harlequin. For mature audiences only.

Kylo and Harley's first meeting was originally going to be more simple, but then it just took a life of its own. This whole chapter was originally 4 parts for the Tiktok series, and now it's pushing 16 on Wattpad...and I'm still not done writing it. I have a drug trip scene in the works where they take an intense hallucinogen called Jabbawaska. Yes, this is how ridiculous the Wattpad gets. They're fun characters to write for and it's interesting to see how they bring new characteristics out of each other.

Episodes are currently being posted daily on Tiktok: @KyloQuinnCrossover. Chapter 1 exists in full on YouTube.

Part 1: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMePNHnKH/

Part 2: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMePNAJAE/

Part 3: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMePNGWTx/

Part 4: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMePNGwEn/

Ch.1.10 WP Promo: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMePN4pAy/

Ch.1.11 WP Promo: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMePNPmUS/

Ch.1.12 WP Promo: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMePNsnY7/

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argentnoelle · 4 years

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Bring Down the House

[batjokes AU based on the “white knight” comic. chapter one: in which Joker almost kills Robin, & reconsiders his life choices] read on ao3

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Harley?” Joker growled. “I’m killing Robin.”

He didn’t know why she was so upset. They’d killed people before. Granted—not as many as the public believed. And never like this. Never in the cold, dank underground below the kitchen steps, where the bare bulb creaked overhead. Never Robin. But what could he say? The kid had literally stumbled into his lap. He’d taunted him, at first. Tried to think of what to do with the brat, to stick it to Batman. What would make the funniest joke.

But somehow, every death-trap, every pun, circled sourly in the pit in his stomach. He’d tied him up down here just to keep him still until… until… he didn’t know what. But the more he talked, the angrier he got. At first the Robin had taunted him, and then begged, and then became stubbornly silent.

None of it was funny.

I know, Joker thought. I want to find out Batman’s secret identity. That’ll do.

Surely, Batman being betrayed by his very own kid would be a killer.

Too bad there was junk in the basement. A few crumbled down bricks that did better striking it in the arms, and then a rusty old pipe that looked just peachy when it swung down, casting up sprays of blood. Joker began to giggle. Everything seemed just right, as long as he could keep moving, stop thinking, stop hearing that whiny kid’s voice telling him that he trusted Batman, that Batman would come save him, that Batman loved him.

Loved him?

But the pipe broke, and so he kicked it into the wall. There was silence, for a long moment; Joker staring straight ahead, fists clenched, mouth turned down, and the kid staring back at him behind his mask. It just. It just wasn’t funny.

So he felt around in his pockets and took out a switchblade. Maybe, just maybe, if he could get a spark of real terror, it would be enough to… keep this from spiraling out of control. Make something make sense again.

He didn’t actually mean to kill him.

He didn’t think he meant to kill him.

But Harley seemed to think he did, and Harley knew him better than anybody (except Batman), didn’t she?

“Killing a kid? Torturing him like this… oh my god… what were you thinking. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t going to kill him,” Joker said, doubtfully. She had him up against the wall. Had grabbed the switchblade from his hand, pushed him back so hard it sent a slam of pain through his back up to his shoulderblades.

“Yeah? You weren’t going to kill him?” Harley shouted. “That’s not what you said a minute ago.”

“Well, I…” Joker hedged.

“Why? Why’d you do it? Why’d you hurt him?”

“I just wanted to know Batman’s secret identity,” Joker mumbled, into his shirt. That was reasonable, wasn’t it? He knew how to be reasonable. He was good at that.

“Oh yeah? Oh, oh of course. Batman. It’s always been Batman with you, huh? But I don’t think you wanted to know what’s under the mask, heck no; you coulda just taken off the kid’s mask and done the math. It’s something else isn’t it,” Harley said. “Answer me!”

Joker’s eyes slip-slid around the dingy basement, his gaze getting caught on Harley’s shadow spinning around the wall. She didn’t usually yell at him like this. Actually… she never yelled at him like this. Not like this.

The sinking feeling got bigger. The adrenaline surge pulling back like a fist, leaving him shaking.

“Jack!” she said, eyes narrowed.

He blinked at her once, resentfully. “There’s no need to bring him into this, my dear.”

She actually slapped him then. Keeping the switchblade in her other hand.

“Damn you, Joker, you didn’t want to know his identity. Tell me what you want.”

“I just…”

“You were jealous of him, weren’t you?” Harley spat. “Oh yeah, no one can be closer to the Bat than you are, right? Come on, tell me I’m right!”

“So what if you are?” Joker hissed. “We had a deal, Bats and I. An understanding. And now he wants to bring in outsiders…” he brought his hands up, slowly, to Harley’s wrists, slowly pushed her off him, talking all the while. “This Robin. What does he have that I don’t? Is it the shorts?”

Harley stepped back, chest heaving; he could see the tears glittering in her eyes, which were wide and dark. “I don’t know you anymore,” she said. She stepped back again, and again, holding the bloody blade in front of her like she was warding him off with it. She stepped backward up the stairs, staring him down all the while.

And then she was gone.

Joker looked around. “That’s it?” He laughed a little, clutching his stomach. “Ha-ha-HAHAHA—heh. Oh kid, that’s a good one, ain’t it. She didn’t even bother to free you.”

He sat down, unable to keep on his feet any longer, wiping his eyes, which had begun to tear from laughter. “Ahh. Where were we? I think you were about to tell me something…”

The kid stared back, looking lost. Some weight seemed to have settled on his shoulders, the world seemed to drift in soft-focus. Then Robin blinked, and a tear slid down his cheek. He cried, and Joker laughed; wishing that he couldn’t feel the tears on his own skin.

What a joke!

“I wish…” Robin croaked, at last.

“That you were rescued?” Joker said. “Join the club! I wish that every day but it doesn’t change a thing does it?”

“I wish…” Robin repeated, his mouth a flat line.

Joker stopped laughing, and murmured, “that I would go to hell? I’d wish that if I were you.”

“I wish that I’d never met Bruce Wayne,” Robin said.

Joker’s mouth parted. “Huh?” He got up, sidling back toward the kid, who flinched as he came near. “I’m sorry, did you say Bruce Wayne? Batman is Bruce Wayne? That’s … actually that makes sense. Okay.”

“So kill me, then,” the kid spat. “Get it over with.”

The kid. What was his name? That little thing that Brucie had adopted recently. A-ha. “Jason Todd. That’s you, isn’t it.”

No answer, but Joker knew he was right.

“Ah… ahh. Well. I have what I want. Why should I kill you? No, I’m letting you go. Crawl back to daddy, why should I care?” He untied the ropes with a vicious jerk.

Suddenly Jason laughed harshly, almost choking on it. “Go back?” he said, wildly. “After I gave him up like this, betrayed him to you? How can I? He’d never trust me again.”

“I do see how that would be a problem,” Joker said, holding the coils of rope in his hand. “Listen… kid… why don’t you solve both our problems, and… just leave.”

Robin stood up, and stumbled; Joker caught his arm and had to duck from a swinging punch. “Hey now, I’m not trying to hurt you anymore.”

“What do you mean, just leave,” Jason said, thickly.

They staggered up the creaking staircase like two drunks, clutching at each other for balance.

“Just leave! Start a new life. It wouldn’t be hard. Here, I’ll even give you money.” Joker pulled a briefcase from the corner, threw in a bunch of his own clothes and three rolls of cash. “And I’ll never bother you again. It’ll be like you’re dead.”

Jason stared down at the briefcase, holding onto the lip of the door for support. His eyes were wide, and scared.

“It’s not like you have anything to lose,” Joker wheedled.

Jason grabbed the briefcase.

“If I see you again, clown…” he said. “I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll look forward to it!” Joker said, with a bright smile. He handed Jason his coat.

Jason stared at it for a long moment, the thick purple weight of it, then off into the dark emptiness of Gotham’s streets. He looked back down at his blood-splattered costume and the bruises blossoming across his arms and legs, and took the coat, wrapping it around himself.

He left without looking back.

Joker sagged. He went into the bathroom, got a bucket and a mop; cleaned up the bloodstains on the steps in a daze, plunging the mop into the soapy water as though he were punching Batman on his pointy-eared head, following the trail back down the stairs, into the basement.

How did it get this real? he thought, staring at the blood as he plunged the mop down and watched the bubbles pop and disappear, spiraling the water across the dirty floor.

It was supposed to be a game, he thought.

I’m not The Joker, he thought. That’s just a publicity stunt.

He wrung out the mop, mechanically.

I wouldn’t really torture and kill a kid, would I? he thought.

He started laughing, grabbing onto the mop until it fell, until he tripped over the bucket and sent its contents flying out across the floor. And that’s where he lay, with soapy, pink water soaking into the back of his shirt and trousers, staring at the bare bulb. I’m Jack Napier, he thought. Just a kid from the country who they told to play a Supervillain.

But I did a good job, didn’t I?

No one could have done a better one!

on ao3

#batman: white knight #batjokes #batman the animated series #jxhq #joker #my stuff #my fic

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lyssismagical · 4 years

Text

i finally found you, my missing puzzle piece

{The Glee/Parkner AU nobody asked for,, Based on S2 ep 6-8}

{TW biphobia/homophobia, bullying}

Being the only kid out of the closet at his school was hard enough for Peter.

Being on the Academic Decathlon, the nerdiest club in school, filled with the biggest losers according to all the popular kids in school, made it that much worse.

Peter likes to think it would’ve been different if he had been gay, still bad but in a different way. Being bisexual was like being a mythical creature to the other students.

Everyone on the Acadeca team were nice enough. They supported him, they cared about him, but they would never understand what it was like to be bullied for something he couldn’t change about himself. They would never understand how hard it was to walk the hallways scared for his life.

“Oh my god, Peter,” Ned gasps when Peter walks into the library for their Acadeca meet.

All eyes turn to him, staring at the bruises he’s sporting from yet another day where his bullies attack him for simply being bisexual. One of his eyes is swollen shut, blood drying under his nose and across his mouth from his split lip where he holds a wad of tissues, bruises dark and splashing out across his nose and cheekbones.

“I’m fine,” Peter says, voice low and shaking, giving away how much this is affecting him. There’s tearstains shining on his cheeks, smudged beneath his eyes from trying to hide the evidence. “Just- Let’s just keep going.”

“Who did this to you?” MJ demands, slamming her papers onto the table, eyes burning with anger. “We can’t just let you go through this.”

Peter shakes his head, grabbing a pen from Betty and preparing to take notes on MJ’s ideas for their Acadeca sectionals approaching. “I’m fine. Please, let’s just keep going.”

“We can’t just stand by while you get hurt like this, Peter.” Ned grabs his arm, trying to get Peter to look at him, but Peter keeps his eyes downcast.

“All of you have been bullied before too. I’m dealing with it, okay? Please, can we just move on?”

If Peter doesn’t want the help, they can’t really offer much. Plus, they don’t get it.

His bully, the main guy that hates Peter’s guts, threatened to kill Peter if he told anyone or tried to get him suspended. Peter’s scared.

“Here’s a job for you, Peter,” MJ says, tipping her chin up to appear stronger and taller. “I want you to sneak over to Osborn Academy and spy on their decathlon. They won their sectionals, nationals, and got second place in regionals last year, and we need to beat them at nationals.”

“Osborn Academy?” Peter repeats, dabbing at the blood on his upper lip, ignoring the looks of sympathetic glances from Betty and Liz.

MJ nods, picking up her stack of cue cards. “Yeah. They’re our biggest competition for nationals. We’re going to win sectionals, no problem, but we’re going to lose to The Academy.”

Peter shrugs, figuring he might as well. It’ll get him out of seeing his bully afterschool to get beat up again behind the school. It’s going to be hard enough to hide this from May.

Travis Wright is the quarterback of the school’s football team, has pretty low grades for somebody who’s still managing to stay in a STEM school, is too tall and too broad and looks older than most people, including the beginnings of stubble around his jaw.

And he’s been bullying Peter ever since the ninth grade when Peter came out as bisexual.

The bullying’s escalated from cruel words and being tossed in dumpsters, to being beat up behind the school.

He finds himself pulling on a jacket and tie that mostly resemble the ones at the Academy before heading over to the school. He’ll pretend to be a new student to spy on the acadeca team, it’s easier than trying to hide in the bushes or whatever stupid plan Flash came up with for him.

The Academy is huge, filled with boys wearing the same black and red uniforms as they make their way to classes around the school.

“Excuse me?” Peter calls out to the first boy he sees who doesn’t look incredibly intimidating.

The boy turns, golden brown curls flopping around his eyes as he smiles at Peter.

“I’m, uh, I’m new here?” he says, eyes wide as he stares at the way dimples crease in the boy’s cheeks.

“Well, hiya, new kid. I’m Harley Keener,” the boy replies, southern accent smoothing over Peter. He grins, and holds out his hand to Peter. “Come on, new kid, everyone is on their way to The Osborn Academy’s Academic Decathlon friendly competition.”

Peter tentatively takes Harley’s hand, letting him lace their fingers together and lead him down the hallway to the huge library, filled with people who clap for Harley when he ducks in with a bright smile.

“Your decathlon is… cool?” Peter asks, staring at the students filling the room. It’s not obvious who the jocks or the popular kids are when they’re all in uniform, but there’s so many students here that it’s obvious the popularity of their acadeca.

“Course it is,” Harley says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “We’re putting all of our smarts into a competition, it’s a talent and it’s also fun. Why wouldn’t we be cool?”

Harley’s eyes linger on Peter’s bruises for a moment too long, casting his gaze to the floor and back. And then his hand slips out of Peter’s and he takes his seat at one of the two tables with more boys in uniform.

Their friendly competition is a little thing they do at the Academy where their team splits in two to face-off in a trivia game to see who knows more. Whichever team gets the most points, gets bragging rights and their pick of bus seats on the way to sectionals.

Peter, despite being in a room full of people, can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Harley who answers all the questions right with a sort of confidence Peter could never even imagine having. Harley’s smart and he’s sweet and he’s got this southern charm about him. Not to mention, he’s beautiful.

As soon as Harley’s team wins the little competition, Harley heads over to Peter, a half-smile gracing his face.

“Come on, I wanna talk to you,” he says, nodding down the hallway waving over some of his friends. Peter recognizes Harry Osborn, the son of the headmaster.

They lead him outside to one of the eating tables under the afternoon sun, offering him soft smiles.

“Are you from Midtown? Spying on your competition?” Harley asks, elbows leaning against the table. He doesn’t even look angry about it, he’s still got the same smile on his face like this is all fine.

Peter shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. “Your school thinks that Academic Decathlon is something to be celebrated.”

“Of course,” Harry speaks up. He takes a sip from his coffee, looking more nonchalant than ever. “It’s a show of intelligence, it’s the same idea as Debate Club or Chess Club or even Student Council.”

He tries to keep how upset he is off his face, but obviously he doesn’t do a good job because Harley’s expression softens and he leans back in his chair.

“Your school doesn’t think like that, does it? You’re being bullied for being on your team?”

Peter shrugs again, turning his gaze to his hands. “That and they all hate me for being bisexual.”

The other boy, the quiet one, isn’t quick enough to hide the drop of his jaw.

“Somebody did that to you for you sexuality?” Harley exclaims, anger coloring his expression. “What the fuck? Why hasn’t he been expelled?”

“His parents are these super rich douchebags who’re sponsors for the schoolboard. Even if the principal wanted to, which she really doesn’t care about, he’d be able to get back in within a day if he wanted to.” Peter picks at his nails to try to hide the anxiety that thrums through his body.

Harley looks livid, like he’s prepared to murder somebody just for Peter, for somebody he just met. He waves his hands and mumbles a quick goodbye to the other two boys, leaving Harley and Peter alone.

“I used to be bullied too at my old school, back in Tennessee,” Harley explains quietly, shaking his head. “I came out as gay and suddenly everyone was turning their back to me. It was mostly just words and shoves, but I ran away from them. I let them win.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Harley’s expression softens reaching across the table to take one of Peter’s hands. “Be the bigger person. Maybe they just need to be told what’s up. Being bisexual isn’t a bad thing. I don’t know how much you’ve believed everything they’ve been saying, but it’s not true. Teach them. Have courage and fight back, educate them.”

“And if they hurt me worse?”

“Osborn Academy has a no bullying policy, everybody’s accepted here and if somebody breaks those rules, they’re expelled, no second thought.”

May doesn’t have the money to afford to send him to the Academy. Peter doesn’t bother saying it, trying not to let the tears fall as he squeezes Harley’s hand.

Have courage and fight back.

When he gets shoved into the lockers the next day, a fist slamming into his cheek, he doesn’t let them do what they want. He doesn’t try to run. He doesn’t curl up and cry. He shoves Travis back.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he shouts, pain flaring through his cheekbone where he’s certain a bruise will bloom soon enough. “What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?”

Travis rolls his eyes and lifts his fist like he’s going to hit Peter again.

“You can’t punch me into being straight!” he continues, repeating Harley’s words in his head to hold himself together. Have courage. “No more than I can punch the ignorance out of you!”

“Don’t test me, Parker,” his bully says, glaring down at him.

What hurts him more than Travis ever could is that the fact that the hallways have cleared out. Nobody bothered to help him, nobody cared to even pick him up off the floor after this inevitably ends in blood and bruises. Everybody saw and they still left.

“You’re just scared, aren’t you? You’re just projecting one of your own insecurities onto me. You’re just a scared, ignorant, stupid boy who-”

And then Travis’s mouth is on his.

It barely lasts a second but it feels like hours pass where Peter’s heart beats hard and fast, and he shakes out of his own skin.

He comes to his senses enough to shove Travis’s chest, needing him off, away.

Horror and fear is immediately shrouded by shock and confusion, leaving him standing there, wide-eyed and jaw dropped as he stares at Travis.

“Oh god,” Peter breathes, stumbling a step backwards into the lockers again.

Travis shoves him up against the lockers, breath too warm, too close, as he hisses, “If you tell anybody about this, I swear to god, I’ll kill you, Parker. You know how easy it would be for me to throw in a few extra hits to your head and leave you to die in the dumpsters. Don’t fucking test me.”

Pain flashes through his head as he’s shoved harder into the lockers and then there’s nothing but numbness as he slides to the floor, takes the few more punches and kicks Travis throws, and then he’s alone and numb and shocked.

At some point, MJ appears at his side, all careful touches to his head and arms and soft words as she leads him up to his feet.

“Are you okay?”

Peter chokes on a sob and everything he’s built around him, all the bravery and the walls to make sure nobody found out, it all crumbles.

He falls into MJ’s awaiting arms, hiding his face against the crook of her shoulder, and lets himself cry.

He’s been bullied for three years and he’s reached the maximum amount of damage to his self-esteem he can handle. He can’t keep doing this.

Later, MJ guides him to the office where the principal gives the same spiel about how Travis’s parents have too much power in the schoolboard to have any lasting consequences, and then May arrives in a flurry of parental worry, smelling like the chemicals from work and a hint of her vanilla soap and holding him so tight.

He barely tells her the basis to the events. He lies and says it was a once-off thing, tells her it was about something trivial and dumb, that he’s safe at school. Because he can’t worry her about things she can’t fix.

Either he deals with this or May’s going to have to find a way to make enough money to get him into the Academy and she can’t afford that. He can’t put her under that financial stress.

Have courage.

Harley’s thumb traced over Peter’s newest bruise, a deep purple contrasting the paleness of his skin.

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Harley murmurs, eyes shining with sympathy. “If I hadn’t told you to stand up to him…”

“Can you keep a secret?” Peter’s voice is filled with teary desperation, hands trembling as he grips his coffee cup.

Peter didn’t want to risk showing up to the Academy again, so instead, they’re meeting up at the coffee place that’s normally crawling with boys from the Academy, but today it’s pretty empty.

Tipping his head in concern, Harley nods. “Course.”

“He kissed me,” Peter blurts, lip trembling and hands shaking as his heart pounds in his chest. “I fought back and I called him a coward, and he kissed me. And then- And then he told me he’d kill me if anyone found out. I’m just- I walk the halls of my school terrified for my own life, Harley. I’m scared that he’ll, I don’t know, decide it’s not worth it to keep me around.”

The anger reappears like it had the day they met, fiery and upset, like the world has let him down one too many times.

“You can’t live like that, Peter. It’s not right, it’s not fair.”

“There’s nothing I can do!” Peter draws back enough to duck his face, hating knowing he can’t hide the bruising that litters his face, some old and some new, all hurting just the same. “I can’t get him expelled, I don’t have the money to involve cops, I don’t know how to fix this anymore.”

Harley gently takes Peter’s hand, his calloused and bigger than Peter’s, and tugs him to his feet.

He’s pulled into a hug, Harley’s arms wrapping around him and making him feel safe for the first time in months.

“We’ll figure this out,” Harley promises.

* It’s all a mistake that May finds out.

Travis had been leaving Peter alone, relatively. He was probably worried that if he did too much to Peter, the younger boy would spill the secret about the kiss. There were shoves here and there, and the insults never stopped, but Peter hadn’t been punched in a while, bruises finally healing.

Until, May’s coming to pick Peter up from Academic Decathlon after school one day.

Acadeca meetings are the same afternoons as Football practice. Peter’s waiting by their lockers with Ned and MJ, unaware of May rounding the corner, just as Travis comes out of the gym.

He barely looks at Peter as he shoves him hard into the lockers, not stopping in his journey to his own lockers.

MJ glares over her shoulder as she helps Peter up from where he’d fallen to the floor, Ned retrieving Peter’s backpack, as May reaches them.

“What was that?” May demands, voice quiet enough for Travis not to hear, but angry.

“It was nothing-”

MJ cuts him off before he can come up with a good excuse. “He’s been bullying Peter since the ninth grade.”

“Excuse me?”

“May, please-”

Ned grabs Peter’s wrist, cutting him off again. “It’s gotten worse than shoves. This is the first time all year that I’ve seen him without bruises.”

“It’s not that bad!” Peter exclaims, eyes wide as he looks over May’s shoulder at Travis who’s slinging his bag over his shoulder. “May, please, you can’t say anything.”

“Why the fuck not?” May’s hands are clenched into fists as she stares daggers at Travis who’s already heading down the hall.

Peter sighs, leaning his back until it hits the lockers, relieved that Travis is finally gone. There’s no way out of it.

“He threatened to kill me.” Peter can’t help the tears that threaten to fall, sick of feeling so scared at his school, sick of flinching at every locker slamming, sick of crying every night about something he can’t change.

There’s a collective gasp as the words sink in. May hadn’t even been aware of bullying. Between her night shifts at the hospital and Peter always having plans to get out of seeing her, she hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten. She’d seen a few bruises here and there, but none that screamed in danger. He always came up with excuses about falling or how it was just teenage things.

“You’re kidding, right?” Ned says, voice high with worry. “I knew it was bad but…”

“We have to tell someone. We have to get him expelled.”

Peter shakes his head, sinking to the floor and hiding his face in his palms. “His parents are these super rich lawyers, May. They’re the biggest sponsors of the schoolboard. Trust me, I’ve thought of every possibility. There’s nothing we can do.”

There’s a quiet moment while they all come up empty-handed. Solution-less.

Until, “What about Osborn Academy?” Ned offers. He sits down on the floor beside Peter, giving Peter the opportunity to rest his head on his best friend’s shoulder. “You’ve been gushing about that kid you met there.”

“Would it be safer?” May asks.

“It’s too expensive.” He lets MJ take his hand, offering him as much comfort as she knows how to. “It’s a private school with uniforms and everything, May. We can’t afford the tuition.”

May shakes her head. “I don’t care about money, sweetheart. I care about you being safe. Somebody threatened to kill you, I’m not letting you stay anywhere close to him.”

“May-”

“No, we’ll figure it out, Peter, it’ll be okay. For now, let’s get you home. We can watch one of those soaps that you like and eat ice cream and you’ll tell me all about this kid you met. Okay?”

Caving isn’t as hard as Peter thought it would be. He’s been so desperate for a solution and this is it. He’ll get to go to a school where he’ll be accepted and he’ll be able to walk the halls without fear of somebody turning on him.

“You deserve this,” MJ murmurs. “Even if we’re losing our best Acadeca teammate. We’re going to kick your ass at Nationals.”

“You wish, Em,” Peter grins, getting up and pulling Ned up with him.

He tugs his two best friends into a hug. “I promise I’ll text all the time and we’ll go out for coffee.”

May wraps an arm around his shoulders and they start off towards the exit. “Now, who’s this special kid?”

“His name’s Harley and he’s the greatest.” Peter launches into the story of how they met as they drive away from Midtown, and Peter has never been more relieved to be leaving.

Even though he’ll miss his own Acadeca family. Ned, MJ, Betty, Abe, Cindy, Zach, even Flash and Brad. He’s excited for the future Osborn Academy holds for him. Where people accept each other, their Acadeca team is considered cool, and there’s no bullying. Plus, there’s the obvious positive that he’s already got friends there. He’s sure Harry and Harley will accept him with open arms.

The future is brighter than it’s ever been.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @tonystarkweneedyou

#lyss writes #glee au #parkner #parkner fic #harley keener #peter parker #peter parker fic #harley keener/peter parker #klaine au #i wanna write a whole glee au but i feel like literally nobody will care lmao #also this was written in one go without editing bcs i'm a dumb bitch but it's okay

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godsofmonster · 4 years

Text

Bangtan MC ≽ II.

Reader x Bangtan- Motorcycle Club

Word Count- 8.2k

Warnings- sexual content, death, murder, guns, drugs, violence, betrayal, mentions of suicide, mentions of rape, etc.

For as long as I can remember back, I always wanted to be in a motorcycle club. Since I was six years old, the only thing on my mind was getting my hands on a Harley and a cut. I was a wolf, a wild cur, cut from the pack with bloodstained on my fur. Every wrong has marked a debt because a beaten dog never forgets.

The next morning, I woke up remembering almost nothing at all. We had spent the night at Namjoon's house after the occurrence of the evening before. There was no time for me to process or even begin to understand what was happening around me. The only thing I knew was that I had to get dressed for my father's funeral today.

No one spoke to me unless there was some kind of practical reasoning behind it. Half of the time, I didn't even know who it was that would come and inform me of the time. However, they all always looked at me with a similar expression. The type of look you give to a caged animal, one you should never really turn your back on.

"Here are some clothes that should fit you," Said a vague voice from the entrance of the bedroom.

A woman, around my same age, knocked at the door of the guest room. She placed a few pairs of clothes to choose from on the bed in between us. A wet towel was barely covering my body as she quickly turned back to leave. I watched her pause with the door almost closed behind her, "Namjoon is waiting outside for you when you're ready."

The sun seemed to shine awfully bright despite the events that were to partake this afternoon. I found my sunglasses as I stepped out the front door in the same clothes from the night before. Namjoon was accompanied by Taehyung and Hoseok. They were gathered around their bikes in his driveway. Once he heard the door close behind me, he stood off his bike, excusing himself from the other two members.

"Hey," Namjoon spoke as he met me halfway up his driveway. His eyes scanned my figure momentarily, leading to a sudden smirk poking from his lips. "I can see you didn't like any of the dresses Cherry offered to lend you."

"Cherry?" I questioned. Then the immediate realization of the scampy clothes became apparent. "I'm wearing the clothes of a hooker?"

"A pornstar, actually," Namjoon corrected, failing to hide his chuckle behind his hand. He found my frustration considerably amusing- he always had. "She's a nice girl."

I hummed in response, trying to overlook the new information.

"Well, I can't really ride in a dress anyhow," I muttered, taking a moment to look down at my clothes for any alarming stains that I might have missed.

"Yeah... about that," I hated when his voice dropped like that. His gaze struggled to meet mine as I raised my brow at him. "You'll probably ride in the car with my mom- behind the club."

"What?" My chest tensed at his words. I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head to get a brighter look at him.

"Come on, (Y/n)... you know how it is," He said, hoping to dismiss the situation quickly.

"He's my father and you won't even let me ride behind him?" I scoffed, still falling amazed at their ridiculous regulations. Namjoon took a step closer, trying to keep our conversation between us.

"You know, as well as I do, that it's not allowed." He deepened his voice, thinking that I would fall intimidated by it. However, he only managed to create tears of rage brimming my eyes as I fought to keep my composure. "We can't break the formation."

"Fuck your formation!" I shouted, not caring that I had gotten the attention of the other members. "I deserve to be by his side!"

Namjoon grabbed me by the arm, pulling me closer toward him. I could tell that my words triggered him but he worked to hold his temper.

"I'm not going to remind you," He said in an ominous tone.

"You aren't Bangtan."

His stare burned holes in my eyes and his hand was cutting the circulation of my upper arm. I yanked myself out of his hold and looked passed him at Taehyung and Hoseok who had taken a few steps closer, ready to interfere in case of any conflict. I decided to not drive the matter further.

"You put your hands on me again," I pulled my sunglasses back over my eyes, "and I'll slit your goddamn throat."

I pushed past him, avoiding eye contact with the other guys as I walked up to my bike. Namjoon walked toward me at a great pace, as if he wanted to stop me. I didn't hesitate to mount the bike and kick start the engine. We met each other's expressionless gaze, I waited to see if he would say something to me.

He didn't.

I pulled out of the driveway dangerously quick and followed the road all by myself.

My feet marched and stopped their way into the House of Cards. Even in the middle of the day, the bar was full of hang arounds who felt entitled because of the name Bangtan. Members and nonmembers eyed me as I made my way across the floor. My eyes focused on the pair of black doors that had been shut in my face my entire life. There was no hesitation when I burst through them, knowing that I would find him sitting there at the head of the table.

"Please, come in." He said sarcastically but with a bitter taste on his tongue. I locked the double doors behind me, making sure that nobody would interfere with us from having this conversation.

"You've been avoiding me," I stated and stepped slowly around the opposite end of the table. He hadn't bothered to look up from files that laid in front of him.

"Is that a fact?" He hummed.

"It's been five days." I dug but he wouldn't nudge.

I looked at the six empty seats in front of him, the doors of Bangtan carved, proudly, into the center of the Indian rosewood table. I leaned on the opposite side of him, my hands flatly placed at the edge.

"I've been busy."

"Oh," I laughed coldly. "Is that how the great president of Bangtan deals with problems? By cowering away in his clubhouse?"

"Don't push it, (Y/n)." He warned, finally setting down the papers in his hands to give me a stern look. "I don't have time to deal with your childish games."

"You don't have time to deal with me?" I teasingly challenged. "Or you don't know how?"

I stepped away from the table, my hands were placed firmly at my hips, as I smiled down at him. "It's funny that you can deal with murder and gun trafficking- but being a father!?"

His hands slammed against the table, loud as a gunshot, as he stood to his feet. He was furious but I was just glad to see a reaction out of him.

"Watch your goddamn mouth," He said through clenched teeth.

I spat. "Is my desperate need for your attention getting boring?"

"Is that what all this is about, (Y/n)?" He stood up straight. "Is that why you did it?"

The single light that dangled over the table was deep, creating the harshest contours on the borders of his face. The blinds were drawn behind him and the specks of light that seeped through were enough to give his figure a glow. He was a fearful sight but there wasn't much he could do to me that he hadn't already.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might be the one who actually deserves your trust? Your counsel?"

My voice softened deeply. Finally, reaching the situation in which I pleaded he would hear me the most. "Not your club-not Namjoon but me! You're daughter."

"You're telling me that all this shit is some fucking tantrum?" His voice sounded of disbelief. He shook his head and took his eyes off of me but I wouldn't allow it. He was going to hear me, whether he wanted to or not.

"After years and years of your lectures about family and what it meant to be a part of something," I stepped around the table, slowly coming to his line of sight once again. "Did you ever stop to realize that I was the only one who ever listened- who lived by everything you ever said!"

I hadn't even noticed that tears had escaped from my eyes until I tasted them on my lips. My father stared at me with burning eyes, his breath deepened in his chest.

"But you never did see it-" My voice cracked and more tears streamed down my face. "because of this thing... between my legs."

He shut his eyes and sighed under his breathing. His anger had burned out completely and he only listened. "Believe me, I see what you- this lifestyle does to women. We're supposed to hold you down while you cheat, lie, and use..."

"(Y/n)," He spoke softly, it was like a breath of air, barely anything at all. "I don't distrust you because you're a woman- I distrust you because you aren't as smart as you think you are."

I scoffed under my breath, not being able to believe that he believed his own words. "It’s time you learned your place and stayed in it."

"My place- isn't wherever you say it is," He allowed himself to sit back down in his chair as I made it to his side. "I'm not Jaeeun- and I'm not mom."

My father turned his eyes away from me, his hands closed tightly into fists as he spoke. I had come in here thinking that there was nothing else my father could have taken from me but I was so very wrong.

"I’ve decided to send you to live with your aunt in Seattle."

He had taken away from me the only thing I had left- a chance to prove him wrong.

I looked away from his cold figure, hating the tears and pain that came at the price of his words. He had refused to see that he picked his stepson over me once again. I cleaned my face and began to walk toward the door, knowing that I had lost.

Just as I came face to face with the set of doors, without daring to look back at him- I said,

"Your club...your legacy- you have always loved it more than your actual family." There was no noise from his part. "Mom knew it and now... so do I."

Even now, it hurt the same.

Throughout that time, I was alone, so many years lost without a home. I found my prayers answered by a different devotion. At that time, I didn't know just how fast and hard the wind could blow toward disaster.

"I'm sorry I didn't come to see you sooner," I gulped silently, fiddling with the dandelion bouquet I had rumpled together. "I'm sorry I haven't come in over seven years."

I was only eight when she passed away, which had left my father to care for me during my most formative years. Even so, I prefer to believe that the pain of my mother was the only thing that didn't allow me to break under the sins of my father.

"I'm sorry I'm going to leave you here with him." My back rested against her cold headstone, placing the bouquets of weeds just under her name, tears falling from my eyes.

The place next to her was empty, my palm moved over the fresh grass, pulling out a few strands of green in the process. Originally it was meant to be saved for my father but when he remarried, Jaeeun tried to sell the lot. I had managed to convince him that the space next to hers would be my final resting place. I think it was the reason my father was looking for.

I knew that my mother could not refine me from the sky. Still, I hoped that she would at least welcome me with open arms.

"I thought you might be here," The words were accompanied by footsteps that roamed around my, sitting, frame. I shoved some loose strands of hair from my face.

"Did he send you to come to find me?" My eyes began to sting from the blazing sun that was emanating from his direction. I could only imagine how puffy and sore they looked under the rays of heat.

"Well, I just figured you should be there," Jimin bent his knees, coming to eye level with me on the ground.

"I don't even know why I'm here Jimin..." I muttered, avoiding eye contact out of embarrassment. He tried his best to make me feel not so alone, reaching his hand out to touch my arm, but I winced. "My father didn't want me here then- why would he now? I was only ever his burden."

"That's not true," Jimin grabbed my hand, causing me to look up at him through my wet eyelashes. His voice had always been the voice of reason in my ears. "I think, in his own way, he wanted to protect you..."

He sighed as my face revealed that his words were falling to deaf ears. He meant well, I knew that but he didn't know what it was like. This is the life that he showed me- the life that I knew how to live in. "(Y/n) you aren't like us- believe me, that's a compliment."

"Jimin," I gulped through pain in my throat, the soft summer breeze pushing my words out. "I spent the last seven years of my life believing that if I just could come back home- the rest of my life would fall into place."

"But why?" He urged, his voice becoming strained. "I know you see through the bullshit of this town. You always said so."

"My family is here..." That's what this was about. My hand reached to feel the stone carvings of my mother's name. That’s all this has ever been about. "Was- was here..."

Maybe, it was stupid. Maybe no one could ever make sense of how I felt. But family was the only law I ever knew.

Jimin stood back up on his feet, a loud sign leaving his mouth as he continued to look down at me.

"We're still here, (Y/n)."

I looked up at him to see his arm was extended out for me to take. How Jimin had managed to make me feel the smallest bit better- was far beyond my knowledge.

He offered me his help to get back on my feet, allowing me the moment that I needed, before we walked together to the burial service.

I was riding through this world all alone, thinking that God had taken my soul. I created a cage that accepted the darkness because it was easy on the eyes. A cage that I used to catch my breath, rest my head, ease my mind, and fuel my anger.

The green life that grew in the ruins of a cemetery seemed to be the most flourishing. The dead did not disturb them and the living provided them with their tears to drink. I figured I had done enough watering for one day.

Jimin walked closely by my side, our feet walking over the bodies of loved ones as we made our way through the cemetery. There was a silence between that had been the most comforting thing I've heard all day. However, there was a consistent glimmer coming off the metal buttons of his leather cut. My eyes scanned the side of his chest that was closest to me. He had two patches sewed into the area above his breast pocket, one above the other reading,

SGT at Arms

Dog of War

"What are you staring at, love?" Jimin asked after taking notice of my longing eyes. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything, but curiosity got the better of me.

"Did my old man appoint you Sergeant?" I asked, genuinely curious. He looked down at the patch on his chest and then back into my eyes.

"Yeah," He answered with a bit of a chuckle. He brought his hand to rest over the patch as if he was remembering the day. "I guess he got sick of my preaching."

The SGT at Arms was a position given to a member who was in charge of upholding the rules and philosophy of the club. While also keeping an eye on all the members and in charge of looking out for everyone. Jimin had a heavy soul that was held tightly together by his values. Having been in my father's situation, I would have probably made the same judgment call. It wasn't that patch that I was surprised to see- it was the one underneath it.

"And what did you do to deserve that one?" My hand reached out and made contact with him. His eyes shifted back down as I moved our hands to the patch below. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

I said, quickly withdrawing my hand, noticing that the question made him a bit uneasy. I kept my eyes on his facial expression, carefully, watching for any kind of response.

"I," Jimin paused to lick his lips. His hand also dropped from his chest as he looked ahead. He chuckled again, this time, more ambiguously. "I guess I just took care of business."

Only a few were selected to earn the title of Dog of War, to receive such recognition, you had to make a serious act of loyalty to the club- usually a violent one. In fewer words, you had to kill a high enemy of the club.

"I still like to shove it in Hoseok's face, whenever I can. Since he, Jin, and Yoongi are the only ones who don't have it." It was definitely something he was proud of. I could only imagine what he must have done to deserve it. "But I guess, he'll be rubbing his VP patch in front of me soon."

My mind almost didn't process what he had said since it was barely a mutter. My feet slowly came to a halt and Jimin mimicked me as he noticed.

"I-Is..." I don't know why I hadn't noticed it before. My stomach turned into a ball at the words I was about to say. "Is Namjoon going to take over as President?"

"Well, technically, we still need to vote on it," Jimin ran his hands through his long locks of hair, a habit of nervousness that I recognized instantly. "But he is your father's VP."

Rage heated up my body, I could feel it burn color over my face as I tried to remain calm. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with this feeling of instability. I couldn't let go of the hatred because I loved the way it tastes.

The only notion that was able to draw me from my relentless thoughts were the soft words being spoken off in the distance.

"If I should go before the rest of you.

Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone"

"(Y/n)," Jimin attempted to recover my attention.

However, I had managed to spot, underneath a grove of pine trees, a gathering of people. The familiar voice traveled along with the breeze that was coming from that direction.

"Nor when I'm gone,

speak in a Sunday voice."

Before I knew it, my legs began to move once again. This startled Jimin, he followed closely behind me as all I could do was follow the voice.

"But be the usual selves

that I have known."

The group in my line of sight becomes clearer with each step, faces become apparent, I even began to recognize some of them. My legs commenced trembling with some kind of adrenaline. I wasn't sure if it was my footsteps or heartbeat pounding in my ear.

"Weep if you must,"

I found the words coming from Namjoon's mouth, he stood over the casket, in front of a large crowd of people. The head of the group was a line of seated women, among them, Jaeeun, the members and close friends of the club gathered behind them.

"Parting is Hell,"

Heads slowly began to turn as I approached the crowd. Red and white flowers blanketed the ground surrounding his lot. My father's casket was completely black, except for the words 'Bangtan' written in white lettering, along its side. His leather cut also rested on top with the back rocker facing up.

Without warning, I moved swiftly to get my hands on Jimin's bowie knife. I pulled out the weapon from its place, where it had been tucked into his belt.

Small gasps filled the crowd as Jimin failed to keep me from advancing toward the casket. Roses crushed under the weight of my feet as I grabbed the leather cut. I flipped it on its front and eyed the patches it held.

I dragged the end of the knife to slice loose the bottom stitching of the patch. Once I freed the edge of it, I gripped in my hands and yanked it off with all the anger that I had built up. I could feel the stares coming from behind me, murmurs and whispers were exchanged between them. I continued to repeat my actions to the patch that laid underneath. Just making a second of eye contact with Namjoon, who stood on the other side, before also ripping the patch off by hand.

I crumbled the two patched into my front pocket as I turned on my feet. I was met face to face with the crowd of people, mixed expressions spread across their faces. I looked down at my feet, stepping aside some of the crushed roses, and found a red one that had remained unharmed. I bent down and picked it up between my fingers. I brought the delicate thing to my nose, taking a smell, before tossing it on top of the casked.

I caught a glimpse of Jaeeun cold glare before I pulled down my sunglasses and took a seat at the only empty chair at the end of the row.

I crossed one leg over another and made myself comfortable. Jimin shortly after walked to stand by my side, in which, I handed him his knife without a word.

The muttering in the group had begun to quiet down, Jaeeun, who finished the session with a hushed, "Crazy bitch..."

Everyone soon turned back to Namjoon, who had not been able to take his eyes off of me this entire time. When he did look away he let out a sigh, to clear his throat, as he continued.

"But life goes on,

So sing as well."

After the burial, Jimin had convinced me to join the rest of them at The House of Cards. Truth be told, I didn't have anywhere else to go. My father's home had become a crime scene, with broken windows and blood painting the house. Spending another night with Namjoon and Jaeeun felt further like an option.

Staying, within itself, proposed a predicament.

"Here,"

The sound of short, round, glass being placed in front of me drove me away from my pity-party. "Neat, right?"

"Yeah, thank you," I took the glass into my hand as Jimin took the stool across from me.

We shortly glanced at each other as we both took a sip from our drinks. Jimin puckered his lips against the rim of a bottle of beer, and I hissed at the taste of straight whiskey.

"So, what's the plan?" Jimin asked after letting out a small burp and setting his drink down.

"I have no idea," I lamented. "Go back to Seattle? Let fate take the wheel?"

Jimin chuckled and leaned back in his seat.

"Come on," He said. "I know you don't believe in that shit."

I played with the glass in my hand, watching as the brown liquor rattled against the edge. I sat up on the wooden table and looked up at him.

"I don't believe in anything anymore."

His face didn't twitch at my words, he merely kept a similar face, which was hard for me to read. The sigh that shortly followed made me believe that he had grown rather worn of my self-indulgence.

"(Y/n)," He said, pushing a single strand of hair from his face. He held my eyes in his own, the tone of his voice had fallen seriously. "Are you happy?"

I knew he meant in life- in general. However, I was afraid that the answer would remain the same. He managed to read that in me, without me having to say a word. He leaned in, much closer than before,

"Do you want to be?" It was easy to assume that the answer was yes. Didn't everyone want to be happy? But the truth was, not everyone still had that hope inside of them, to fight for their happiness. "Has anything you've done these past seven years- made your life any better?"

I felt a single tear slip from my eye, blinking it away upon noticing it. I had 25 years behind me. I've lived my life inside a cage, surrounded by demons, many of which were my own. Falling weak by your own hands was a hard way to fall. I shook my head and felt ashamed to maintain his stare.

"I think it's time you stay awhile," He said, reaching out to hold my hand. It was the first time I had taken notice of his touch, how it was warm and welcoming. "And decide what it is you want."

It could have been the hard liquor, but I felt my face heat with a mixture of shame and embarrassment. Taking another glimpse of his touch, I slowly removed my hand and swallowed to clear my throat.

"S-So, what about you?" I pushed part of my hair behind my warm ears. Straightening out my back, I pulled my arms in and created some space between us. "What have you been up to all this time?"

He took another drink of his beer before answering. I thought I could make out a flush of color on his cheeks as well, but the lighting above us was too warm and too dim to tell.

"I um- went to school, shortly after you left," He explained. "I got an associate in automotive technology."

"Are you working in the shop with your old man?" I asked. A motorcycle was everything to a biker- if you weren't a good mechanic, finding one was a matter of life or death. His family's shop was the only workshop I would dare to trust in.

"I'll be taking over, pretty soon," He joked lightly.

Words hung over his mouth as our attention was stolen by the sudden sound of rapid running. I felt a small hand pat my leg eagerly, demanding recognition. I looked down from the tall stool to find a young boy about the age of four.

"My daddy said another drink will make you feel better." Before I could question anything, he pushed an open juice box into my lap.

I broke out into a laugh, taking the juice box into my hands and inspecting it. When I looked back at the kid he was also smiling, this time a bit more shyly than before.

"Geeze kid," Taehyung came walking up beside him. He quickly picked up the kid as if he had run off from his side. "Not that kind of drink."

I was confused at first, but in the arms of his father, there was no doubt that he was Taehyung's son. He had large dark orbs for eyes and his father's ears. His hair was dark and full, parted to the right and long enough to tuck behind his ears.

"Milk?" He innocently suggested.

"That's right, little man." Jimin laughed along. His little voice melted my heart, and his smile was a mirror reflection of Taehyung's. Jimin stepped down from his seat and grabbed his beer.

"I'm going to get some more milk." He shook his bottle lightly, indicating that it was almost empty.

"Grab me one," Taehyung called out to him as he walked toward the bar.

Just then, a group of children came running around the table. Their laughs and screams of joy induced Taehyung's boy. His little feet began to kick lightly, Taehyung responded right away, by letting him down.

"Daehyun, stay where I can see you!" He called as his son took off running after the other kids.

I found my smile fading as soon as he was gone, the sudden memory of the night before flashed in my head.

"He wasn't there last night?" I asked looking up at Taehyung, who had not moved from his place a few steps beside me.

His face had fallen stiff at my question. Obviously, the thought of the night before had brought bad images to his head. Something a parent would never want to imagine.

"My parents had him." He explained while he searched his back pockets. Even for those who choose this kind of life, they knew better than anyone, what the fear was like.

I felt relieved to know that he wasn't there. No kid deserved to witness such hell. For some reason, the air always fell dry between Taehyung and me. I just simply watched him pull a pack of smokes out his back pocket. He noticed my eyes on him and stepped closer to offer me a cigarette. I didn't agree with smoking indoors, much less around children, however, I could really use a drag.

I placed the square between my lips, Taehyung closed the gap between us, his figure casting a shadow over me. He flicked the flint wheel of a zipper lighter, cupping his hands over the hot flame, and offered it to me. I connected the two and breathed in deeply, Taehyung ultimately doing the same.

"Thanks," I muttered, deeply bringing the smoke into my lungs. "Do you have more kids?"

Taehyung moved back, pushing some of his hair away from his mouth, avoiding any unwanted event. His cheeks hollowed in, a sharp inhale followed his deep drag.

"Nah, just the one." He smirked, glancing back to find me somewhere in the bar.

"I'm sure you've got some more scattered around the state." Jimin teased as he came back with two beers in his hand. Taehyung grabbed one of the opened bottles and shoved Jimin back to his seat. Jimin continued to joke in his seat. "Don't bring any of them. We don't need more kids running around the shop."

"You're working at the shop too?" Taehyung nodded his head and took a sip of his drink.

"I should be running the damn place," He said, taunting Jimin. "I put in more hours than him."

"I'm still a better mechanic than you." Jimin shot back.

I pressed the glass to my lips and watched the two bicker with each other. It reminded me of when we were in high school. It was good to see some things hadn't changed, that some people were still the same.

"What about you?" Taehyung asked.

"Hm?" I said not completely hearing what he had said.

"What do you work in?" Jimin clarified, seeming more interested than Taehyung.

"Oh," I stammered. I took another drag to give myself some thinking time. "Just a boring office job."

"Like with data?"

There wasn't any time for the question to settle. The main entrance of the bar opened and walked in Namjoon. I hadn't even known that he was missing from the group until then.

Hoseok and Jungkook were by his side as he scanned the room. His eyes landed by the end of the bar, where Yoongi and Jin were seated, drinking, and well accompanied by women. Namjoon's hand motioned Hoseok over to them. During this time, Jungkook had spotted us over on the corner and made sure to point us out to Namjoon.

"Guess it's time..." Taehyung muttered to himself. His head turned back to eyed Jimin, who began to chug down his drink.

By the time my eyes looked back, Namjoon and Jungkook were walking in our direction. I took hold of my drink once more, my cigarette resting in the same hand. In an attempt to look busy, I suppose.

"Ready?" Was the first thing out of Jungkook, obviously referring to Jimin and Taehyung. I avoided Namjoon's stare.

"Yep," Taehyung stepped over the table and put out his cigarette in the ashtray. He looked over his shoulder, my eyes followed to where he had spotted his son. Daehyun was playing with some other kids under the tables of the bar.

"I can keep an eye on him," I offered.

His gaze lowered to mine. Only then did I notice how close he was to me. His fingers still digging the already crushed cigarette deeper in the glass ashtray.

"Thanks, doll." His eyes dropped into a wink that no one else witnessed.

Jungkook came up and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. They walked together toward the hallway, which was in the back of the bar, leading to the garage and the doors to the chapel.

MCs had weekly club meetings, that they referred to as church. If their meetings were church- then their conference room was the chapel. However, special club meetings could be held at any time they were needed. Any club action needed to be voted on by current members. For the most part, it was a matter of the highest vote being the one to pass. Although, there were special cases where a vote had to be unanimous for it to pass into action- patching in a prospect, sending someone to hell, and voting in a new president.

Namjoon and I were left alone, but still, I kept my eyes glued to my drink. I always felt so on edge when his eyes were on me. He stepped toward me and leaned his hand on the table.

"I'm going to need what you took." He said softly. I still refused to look into his eyes. Not wanting to spend any more time with him, I pulled out the severed patches from my pocket.

The two patches were bitterly placed on the table between us. Namjoon's hand hesitated to reach for them both, but I had quickly changed my mind.

My hand slammed back down, shielding the patches from his hold. I looked at them both and only pushed one toward him.

"Just because you need it," I said. His finger touched the sewed on letters of the president patch. I looked at him this time, staring him down, "But this one belongs to me."

His face remained the same for a moment, his eyes lightly shifting from side to side as he tried to focus on me. Then his cold stare broke into a smirk.

"He's rolling over in his grave knowing you have that." I placed the cigarette back in my mouth and leaned away from him.

"Good."

Without saying anything else, a sort of truce, Namjoon took what was his and left. Once his back was turned to me, and he was far away enough, I let out a shaky breath.

I gripped the Founder's patch in my free hand and soothed my burned throat with whiskey.

My father was a boy of agony, a man of soul, traded in his misery for the lonely life of the road. In the late of June, the king had died from a hell that was heaven made.

My father was the founder of Bangtan. A group of men that loved their Harleys and their family. Willing to anything to protect they're right to ride, no matter the cost. They were motorcycle enthusiasts that lived their life on the edge- and so was I.

Daehyun's laugh seemed to be the only joy in the entire room. His tiny shoes screeched against the black tile floor as he ran in circles. He struggled to keep his long hair away from his face, the mop on his head almost costing him the game, as it compromised his vision. His smile was contagious.

"Oh god," A groan, from beside me, managed sucked the small gasp of happiness from the air. "I know that look anywhere."

I turned my head on time to catch Jaeeun, offering herself the seat where Jimin had been. She held a drink in one and an unlit cigarette in the other.

"What look?" I ask, only half curious.

I spared her my look and continued gazing at the sweet child who knew nothing of the cruel world around him.

"That look of an empty-aching womb." She responded with the noise of a flicking lighter following.

I scoffed.

"Why would I want to bring a kid into this shit world?" The thought crossed through my mind and then I forced it out.

"Because you have a deep, painful need to be needed," Jaeeun said. I somehow knew that wasn't meant to be an insult. "You're a lonely bitch."

That part was.

"Is that why you had Namjoon?" I looked at her and found amusement resting on her face. A trail of smoke blew past her lips.

"All mothers are selfish for bringing babies into this world."

She wasn't the most heartwarming person, but she had her wise moments. I unearthed the similarities in our way of thinking many times before. Perhaps, that was the issue.

"That's why I wouldn't do it," I set my empty glass on the table between us. Her eyes continued to watch my every move, "Don't worry,"

A bad joke crossed my mind and the whiskey was the only encouragement I needed.

"I don't plan on making you a grandmother just yet."

She didn't seem to appreciate it very much.

Jaeeun leaned in across the table, her eyes threatening me before her words ever could.

"I don't have to remind you what happened the last time you tried to fuck with my family." She spoke viciously and effortless.

I tried to hold back my grin, but the alcohol in my veins made it quite difficult. I didn't think I could feel anything but the warmth burning up in my face.

"If you think that this is your chance for some kind of redemption story," She was almost losing her patience with the venom spitting from her mouth. "It's not."

Her words began to sting.

"I'm not afraid of you," I declared and pushed the butt of my cigarette into the ashtray. "And I'm not the same girl I was seven years ago."

"I am." She sneered.

"And just in case you were wondering, no one here feels sorry for you." She was proud of herself for finding the right button. "Your name is a forgotten memory in this town."

As the liquor gave me the confidence, it took it away just as easily. Jaeeun had a keen nose to sniff out people's weaknesses. I couldn't be any easier to read in her eyes.

"Believe me," I said, forcing myself to keep my head up. "You've made that perfectly clear."

There was little compassion in Jaeeun's heart, and it was not saved for the likes of me. Even as my eyes glossed with the effects of her words.

"You're weak." She looked down at me.

"Maybe you're right," I grabbed my empty glass and stood off my seat, our eyes holding up into the last second. "But I lost everything and came back,"

I spoke softly, surrendering my share in this conversation with the only truth I knew. "You would have crumbled."

I had to admit, by the time I sat at the bar, I felt very discouraged. All of my desires had turned out to be a gifted lie. I loved everything I didn't have and yet, hated it for that very same reason.

I decided not to order another glass for myself, seeing as how the first drink had a wild effect on me. I settled for a glass of water and to keep myself company.

"Excuse me?" I answered to a voice beside me. "(Y/n)?"

My eyes fell upon a young woman, reserved and beautiful.

"Yes?" She was noticeably better dressed than anyone in the room. It was hard not to notice that she was very out of place.

"I'm Darcy Durrell," Her last name was all I needed to know. The Durrell's were one of the wealthiest families in the town. Her father, the mayor, is the head of many organizations. "I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for your loss."

"Oh, thank you," I answered awkwardly, just taking notice that she was the first person to tell me that. "You look so different from before- I didn't even recognize you."

"Oh," She smiled, running her hands through her hair.

Darcy was four years younger than I was. She naturally had large brown eyes, with dark brows and long blonde hair. At least that's how I remembered her 14-year-old self. Now, her hair was dark and cut into a blunt bob.

As we were talking, my mind couldn't help but recall back to that night.

"Actually,” My father suddenly spoke up. Both Namjoon and I paused to see who he was referring too. “You can stay, Namjoon, it’s time you learn a thing or two.”

He barely spared me a glance as he continued, “Prospect, follow (Y/n) and make sure she gets home.”

“No problem,” Yoongi responded.

I gathered my belongings in a wave of harried anger, trying to avoid anyone from taking notice of the tears streaming down my face.

No one bothered to give me another look, anyhow. I was as insignificant as the dirt on the garage floor.

I followed closely behind Yoongi, stepping through the doors that lead into the bar. I almost couldn't contain the built rage that was brewing inside of me. My heart was broken, and my trust was shattered. I could almost throw a child-like tantrum. The kind that would call for someone to carry me out of the bar.

I had to do something.

I stopped in my tracks and managed to come up with something on the spot.

"I have to use the bathroom,"

Yoongi looked over his shoulder at me and simply nodded.

"I'll wait for you outside."

The door to the bathroom was down a long hall, the entrance to that hallway was an arch, beside the door to the garage. Once Yoongi was out of my line of sight, I hid in the space where the arch met the wall. I waited there as more people approached the back of the bar. It was late at night, and the only people it could be were other club members. The darkness of the hallway kept me well covered as the disembodied voices passed by me.

Once I heard the door to the garage close, I stepped out and walked up to the door myself. Ever so quietly, I cracked the door open just a bit, enough for me to see.

"Good to see you, Steven."

My father stepped toward the direction of Steven Durrell, the mayor of Blackburn. My father extended his hand out to him, but Steven was hesitant to take it.

The relationship between the club and the town wasn't a very good one. They didn't appreciate our outlaw way of dealing with our day to day problems. I couldn't make sense of why he was here, but I imagine it couldn't be good.

The look on his face was further confirmation of that.

"Darcy is still in shock..." Steven spoke timidly. He looked worried and unsure of his own business. "She doesn't remember anything."

He let out a shaking sigh, his shoulders falling into a hunch as if the weight of the world rested on them. "Son of a bitch busted her in the jaw, threw her down on the dirt, and raped her."

"What did the police say?" Namjoon asked, standing beside my father.

"They took a report." He responded, not sounding to have much faith.

His demeanor was shaken. He could barely make eye contact with my father as he worked up the courage to speak.

"I want you to find him and bring him to me."

My father took a deep drag from his cigarette, letting his words sink in, making sure that he, himself, believed them. "I'll pay you anything you want."

"Who do you think we are?" My father seemed annoyed. He tossed his cigarette to the floor and crushed it under his foot. "I don't want your money."

His voice fell deep, as it did before he was about to preach.

"No one comes into our town and does this to a little girl."

Steven took in a deep breath, one of relief, to hear my father agree.

"We'll find this bastard but this isn't so simple Steven," My father took a step closer to the man in distress. "I need to know that when I deliver him to you,"

Steven gulped.

"That you'll take care of business."

There was doubt on his part, my father's strong eyes beckoning him further. But after moments of silence, it was Steven's turn to extend his hand to my father.

The deal was sealed.

“Your father was a good man,” Darcy said and gave me a sympathetic smile before excusing herself.

It was a small town, so everyone knew who Darcy Durrell was, and what happened to her that night at the park. She was fourteen years old, and the police never found the man. Yet, her family could rest assured that he had paid for what he did, and everyone knew why. When people came to the club because they couldn't go to the police, that meant something to my father.

I had neglected the parts of this world that I admired. The good and shelter the club brought to people. How selfish of me to only remember the beginning of that day. The part that only affected me.

Still, I could not find any valid reason to stay.

Was there truly nothing left for me? Life was not what I foresaw for myself and the blame was solely mine. The world had given me seven years to make a change and instead, I built up this rage and anger. I managed to Isolate myself into the void and hate.

Jimin was right.

It was time for me to ask myself the big question;

Who am I?

And what is it that I want?

Now, I don't know if I believed in fate; that in which you cannot change. However, Destiny is that which you're meant to do- who you are meant to be. Fate is what happened to me because I didn't take responsibility for my life. My destiny is what came calling on my cell phone.

I pressed the phone against my ear and answered, "Hello?"

"Hello, am I speaking with research specialists (Y/L/N)?" I looked over my shoulder, making sure that nobody was around me.

"Yes, this is her." My eyes scattered around the room.

"This is Special Agent Anthony Romero." My eyes landed on Daehyun at the closest table beside me. "I apologize for calling you at a difficult time. However, we believe that you might have first-hand insight into a motorcycle club that we believe is in the works to be affiliated with the Camilo Cartel."

Our eyes locked and he smiled at me.

"I'm sorry," I stood from my seat, worried too much that my conversation might be overheard. "Sir, there must be some mistake. This club doesn't associate with those kinds of activities."

I stepped toward the back of the bar, close to the back door of the garage.

"Ms. (Y/L/N), I understand that you have family ties with the Bangtan motorcycle club," Our way of life was always outlaw, but if there was one thing that my father refused to entertain was Bangtan getting into the drug business.

"But as an agent of the DEA, we are asking for your cooperation in this investigation."

The doors of the meeting room opened. The boys came out gathered around Namjoon, each of them making gestures of praise and excitement. Namjoon smiled, his hand stroking the newly stitched patch on his vest.

"I have no experience as a field agent," I answered quietly.

Jaeeun walked up to Namjoon, wrapping her arms around him and speaking inaudible words to him.

"I can brief you in the morning. For now, get some rest agent."

Just like that, he wished me a good night. Little did he know, nothing would ever be good again.

I brought the phone down, and the way that I looked at everyone in this room had changed.

I knew things were not the same as when I left, but I didn't know that everything had gone to complete shit. If you chose this life, then you knew what the fear was like if you welcomed addiction. There was no taunted charm or broken smile that could reach you then. Nothing happened in California that the club didn't know about.

Destiny is what happens when you commit to your path. I was born into this life, I was born my father's daughter and this was my kingdom.

Masterlist ≽

#Bangtan MC #bts #bts fanfic #bangtan scenarios #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #park jimin #jeon jungkook #Jung HoSeok #min yoongi #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader

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romeoandjulietyouwish · 4 years

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Could you maybe write a Parkner fic where Valentines day is coming up, and Peter's super sad about it because he thinks he wont get anything (and because hes hardcore crushing on Harley, but thinks Harley doesnt like him back that way), but Harley does like him back and gets him flowers and chocolates or some other type of gift? Maybe Peter gets small little gifts all day from a 'secret admirer' and it turns out to be Harley? Idk just something cute and fluffy. Love your fics!! ❤❤

Thank you for this great prompt! Sorry it took so long

This is LONG so here’s the ao3 link!

“Wake up, sweetheart!” May calls from the kitchen as she pours herself a cup of coffee. “Time for school!”

Peter groans in response, burying his head into his pillow, “I’m sick!” He tries, faking a weak cough.

May sees right through him. “No, you’re not! Get your butt out of bed!”

Peter groans again and sits up. Today’s going to suck. Peter quickly gets dressed, brushes his teeth, and does his best to tame his curls before he opens his bedroom door and wanders into the kitchen.

May kisses his cheek when he walks in, “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

Peter rolls his eyes, “Why does everyone love this holiday so much?”

“Why do you hate it so much?” May counters.

Peter stares at her, “You know why, May.”

She brushes his hair out of his face, “I know, but try to have a good day today okay?” Peter gives her a small nod. May kisses his cheek, “I gotta go to work. I’ll be back for dinner, okay baby?”

Peter nods, “Love you, May.”

“Love you too,” she smiles as she swings her bag over her shoulder and walks out of the apartment.

Peter sighs.

Today is the worst. But he bites into a piece of toast and throws his things into his backpack.

The walk to school with Ned does nothing to brighten his spirits as Ned only fills the conversation with his plans with Betty tonight. He’s taking her to a romantic dinner and then once Ned’s parents leave for their date, Ned’s taking Betty to his house to do...other things. Ordinarily, Peter finds Ned and Betty’s relationship rather sweet. But today he just can’t handle it.

He just clenches his jaw and ignores it as best he can.

Things are worse at school. The amount of PDA is through the roof and he can feel so many eyes on him. Peter just ducks his head and walks as fast as he can to his locker. He swings it open angrily, startling when something falls onto his feet from inside. When Peter looks down he finds a rose. A red rose just fell out of his locker. Peter picks the flower up curiously, turning it to read the small note attached to it.

From your secret admirer.

What?

He inspects the note for any sign of who gave it to him but finds nothing. It could have been Harley. Peter dismisses that thought quickly. Harley doesn’t think of him that way. Peter’s head snaps up from the rose when he sees Flash and his cronies making their way down the hallway. Peter’s heart speeds up and he quickly looks back down at the flower. It’s a prank. Again. Just like last year. Peter fights off the angry tears that start to fill his eyes. Whoever is doing this to him just wants to see a reaction. So Peter won’t give him one.

He tucks the rose into his backpack and hurries to class. But Peter comes to a stop when he sees his desk. In the middle of it is a pink sticky note and a bar of his favorite chocolate. He picks them up as he sinks into his seat, reading the note.

You are so beautiful, Peter. You make my heart stop when you walk into a room. -SA

A small smile crosses Peter’s face. But it disappears when the door to the class opens and the rest of the class begins to file in. Peter quickly hides them in his backpack. Whoever this is can’t be serious. Peter’s been the victim of too many cruel pranks to think this is true.

He keeps his head down and his arms wrapped around his stomach for the rest of the class. He doesn’t want to give whoever sent these the chance to see how the words make his heart flutter.

“Are you okay?” Harley asks him during the next class, leaning across the aisle.

Peter nods sharply. His mood only got worse when he received another note a gift at the start of this class. The small gift had been a toy penguin, his favorite animal. And the note had said:

I love the way you smile when you understand something new. -SA

Peter hates that it made him happy. Words from a bully, from someone who is just gearing him up for disappointment, shouldn’t make him this happy. He quickly shoved them into his bag. He didn’t want Harley to see. Harley, the boy he’s been crushing on for over a year, will never be allowed to know the humiliation Peter is going through.

“I’m fine,” Peter hisses.

He hates the way Harley looks dejected as he turns away. Peter trains his eyes on the front of the class but doesn’t listen to what the teacher is saying. It doesn’t matter. As he zones out, he imagines a world in which these gifts and notes came from Harley. He pictures Harley memorizing his schedule, leaving class early to plant the gift in his next class, perfectly planning each gift to make Peter blush. At the end of the day, Harley would pull him aside and tell him that he was his secret admirer and then he would take Peter’s face in his hands and kiss him. Peter would thank him shyly for the presents. Harley would smile his lopsided smile that makes Peter’s heart flutter. Then Harley would bite his lip and look at Peter like-

No.

Peter won’t let that go any farther.

It’s not Harley.

The class drones on but Peter can’t get Harley out of his mind. At least it’s a welcome distraction.

He can almost feel Harley’s rough hands combing through his hair, pulling him closer and closer-

Stop.

Peter forces himself out of his fanciful daydream. He doesn’t even acknowledge Harley when the bell rings, dismissing them to lunch. Harley calls his name, but Peter doesn’t turn around. MJ has always said he’s never been a good liar and Mr. Stark always tells him he wears his heart on his sleeve. So he won’t look at Harley. Not when his mind is still mulling over those stupid notes.

All Peter can hope for is a normal lunch. No flowers or notes or gifts. But sure enough on their table in the lunchroom is a red rose and a small note. MJ, who is already sitting, fixes him with a questioning look. Peter throws himself down on the bench and looks pleadingly with MJ. “Help me.”

She quirks a brow, “What?”

“I keep getting these stupid notes and stupid flowers from someone,” Peter whines.

“That’s a problem because...?”

“Because it’s not real!” Peter exclaims. “Because this is obviously a prank and I’m just waiting for whoever is doing this to me to laugh at me and say it was all a joke.”

MJ sighs, “Peter. Has it occurred to you that this may not be a joke? Maybe someone really likes you.”

“MJ. Do you remember last year?” A dark look crosses over her face and Peter knows she is replaying the same horrible memories as him. “Yeah. I’m not falling for this again.”

He stuffs the rose into his backpack, eyes quickly reading the note against his will.

I love the way your hair looks in the sunshine. -SA

Peter’s eye catches on Harley walking over to them so he quickly tells MJ, “Don’t tell Harley.”

“Why?”

“MJ. Please. Don’t.” Peter begs.

MJ nods quickly. Harley smiles when he sits down, “Hey guys. Where’s Ned?”

“Eating lunch with Betty,” Peter points to where Ned and Betty are cuddled up at a different table. He sighs and tears his sandwich in two. “I hate Valentine’s Day.”

Harley frowns, “Really? It seems like something you would be all over.”

Peter shakes his head, “Nope.” Harley throws a look at MJ who just shakes her head, ending the conversation. Peter doesn’t say much all of lunch. Harley and MJ carry on a conversation about some book they read. Then Peter’s phone dings.

Harley: You sure you’re okay?

Peter: I’m fine.

Harley: You don’t seem fine

Peter: I. Am. Fine.

Peter feels bad, but he doesn’t want Harley to know what happened last year and how it’s happening again this year. It’s too humiliating.

After lunch, Peter hurries to his next class. Maybe if he gets there fast enough his “secret admirer” won’t have time to leave him anything. But he’s out of luck because there on his desk waiting for him is a note and another chocolate.

You are such a unique and caring and genuine person. -SA

He crumples the note up and shoves it into his bag. Why can’t his awful day just be over already?

The next class is exactly the same. He finds another note on his desk:

I have never loved someone as much as I love you, Peter Parker. -SA

Peter hates those words. He is so distracted by the feeling the words give him that he doesn’t notice Flash walk in. “What’s that, Penis?” Flash asks as he leers over Peter. Peter quickly crushes the note into his fist.

“None of your business, Flash,” Peter bites.

That makes a horrible smirk cross his face, “Is that a valentine?” Flash laughs, turning to his friends, “I wonder who sent it? I mean, I can’t think of a single person who wouldn’t take a dead animal over you.”

Normally Flash’s half baked insults wouldn’t hurt Peter this much, but between all of his intense feelings and thoughts today, he can’t help the pain that erupts in his chest. Thankfully the teacher starts class before Flash can say anything more.

The entire time his heart rate won’t die down. He replays the words from the note over and over again in his mind. I love you. That’s what the note said.

I love you.

Peter allows himself a small smile. Even if it’s a lie, the words are nice to hear. But in all honesty, he just wants this day to end. He wants to go home and cry until he passes out.

The second the final bell ring, Peter rushes to his locker. He gets there before the hall fills with students running through the front doors. He tries to throw his books in as fast as possible, but something catches his eye. Inside is a note.

Meet me by the football field. -SA

Peter slams his locker shut. He won’t. That’s what happened last year and...

Peter runs.

He runs as fast as he can out of the building and down the street and back to his apartment. Once he’s inside he empties the notes and flowers out on his bed five of them. The same handwriting. All messages of love. Things only someone who really was watching him would know these things. Who could have sent these to him?

Peter has no idea. He crumples them up in his hands and throws them across the room in a shout of rage. He slams his fists on his bed as hard as he can, tears pouring down his cheeks. Why can’t these stupid bullies leave him alone? Allow him a moment of peace? Why do that have to ruin every day for him?

Valentine’s day is supposed to be filled with joy and love and happiness. And instead, Peter spends another year in complete misery and confusion.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there crying, but eventually, the sky grows dark and Peter forces himself out of his bedroom. He wants to get some food, maybe a glass of water, and then go right back to his bedroom and watch tv until he falls asleep.

But just as he walks into the kitchen he hears a knock on his door. Peter frowns and walks over to it, opening it quickly. On the other side is-

“Harley?” Peter breathes. Because there stands Harley. He is soaked to the bone and wearing a black suit, holding a bouquet of red roses.

“Hi,” Harley smiles that same dopey smile Peter loves.

“You’re wet,” Peter acknowledges slowly.

Harley rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah, yeah it’s raining.” They stand there for a moment longer, just looking at each other. “Can I come in?”

Peter nods quickly, “Sorry, yeah, come on in. I’ll get you a towel.” Harley stands in the middle of the doorway as Peter walks to the closet in the bathroom. His heart is beating like a butterfly in his chest. Harley is here. With flowers. Could it be...?

“Here,” Peter extends the towel to Harley who wraps it around his shoulder. “You can come in and sit.” Peter leads Harley into the living room and they sink down onto the couch beside each other, only a few inches between them. After a moment, Peter has to know, “Harley? Why are you here?”

“To make things right.” Harley extends the bouquet of flowers toward Peter. “There are for you.”

“For me?” Peter takes then tentatively.

“Yeah. Look, Peter, I was the one that sent you those notes today.” Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my g- “And I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I just wanted to do something special for you and when you told MJ at lunch she pulled me aside after and told me that I needed to stop what I was doing because I was scaring you because of what happened last year, but at that point, it was too late and...” Harley takes Peter’s hands. “I am so sorry, Peter. I didn’t know. I-I just wanted to show you how much I love about you in a special way. Peter-”

“Harley.” Peter interrupts. Tears are pooled in his eyes. It wasn’t a prank. Someone really thinks about him like that. And that someone is Harley. “I love you too.”

Harley looks up, “You-you do?” Peter nods. Harley wastes no time in pulling Peter into a tight hug. Peter doesn’t even care that Harley is wet and cold because he’s here. He’s here and he loves Peter. When Harley pulls back, Peter brings their foreheads together. “Peter, can I-”

Peter cuts Harley off by tipping his head forward and kissing him. It’s exactly like Peter imagined, excepts Harley’s hands fall to his waist instead of his cheeks. But Peter doesn’t mind one bit. Because it’s so perfect. Harley’s lips are so soft and gentle against his. Peter pulls Harley closer to him, trapping his face in his hands. Harley pulls out of the kiss after a few more seconds, falling against the back of the couch, touching his thumb to his lips.

“Wow,” Peter says, slightly out of breath.

“I wish I did that before I put us through that today,” Harley says, almost in a daze.

“Well, you can do it again,” Peter blushes.

Harley sits up and puts his hands on Peter’s him, “Come here then.”

Peter smiles and leans in. Just before their lips meet Peter whispers, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

...

Send me some prompts!

#my fic #peter parker #harley keener #spiderman #spiderson #spiderson fic #parkner #peter/harley #parkner fic #/ bullying #tw bullying

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whumpiary · 4 years

Text

For those following plot, this takes place in The Bergen Estate years. For those not following the plot, no worries! Context is not super important.

[content warnings: mind control, implied/referenced noncon, normalisation of noncon, implied/referenced abuse, intentional triggering, discussions of sex with a sex-repulsed character, suffocation, victim blaming]

Navigating East Wing is like running on an automated track. Even if you fucked up badly enough to end up in the wrong room, they were all identical anyway. Five sets of bunks along the curve of the wall, hardwood floor-boards, and neat blue curtains on the tiny windows up above the top bunks. Any of Christopher’s charges can find their rooms with their eyes closed. Or absent, anyway.

So to be honest, Cass isn’t really paying attention as he walks into his boarding room. He’s far too busy thinking about the massive nap he plans on taking as soon as he climbs the ladder to his bunk. He doesn’t see Harley on their bunk as he enters, clearly in intuitive expectation of his return. He doesn’t even notice the scoff of annoyance that he’s here. To be honest, it’s all he can do not to jerk in surprise when the other charge’s voice rings out through the room.

“So golden boy does know how to find East Wing,” they sing out with a sigh “I thought you’d forgotten”

Cassius glances to the opposite corner of the room, fixing Harley with a dead smile as he turns to climb the top bunk that’s meant to be his.

“Well, see some of us have a mental capacity bigger than a tadpole. I know that’s a hard concept to wrap your little head around, Harls”

He ignores Harley’s scoff as he swings his legs up onto the mattress and starts picking through what’s been dumped across it while he’s been… not here. Clothes, books, a few loose sheets. Wrappers from some contraband snacks some of the other charges must have smuggled in. He can’t help but feel a tiny surge of pride at seeing that, only to have it curdle a little as he finds a dirty sock in amongst it. Maybe Harley’s a little bit right. He hasn’t been here in a bit. But who dumps on fucking sock on a top bunk? A singular, crusty, sock?

He picks up a book with a blue cover with some picture of a tree curling under to frame the title. It’s clearly Harley’s. Only Harley reads that fantasy crap. He drops it on the ground, close to the foot of the other charge’s bed where they can reach it as he keeps scooping other not-his-shit onto the ground.

“Watch it,” Harley spits, noncommittally, betraying how little they actually care as they flick out a foot to scoop the book towards themself “That’s mine”

Cass rolls his eyes, dumping linen out-jackets and slacks onto the ground below, before thumping down on his back, “Then it shouldn’t be on my bed”

Christopher never shuts up about how much he adores Harley. Particularly their… reliability. Whatever Christopher wants from them, he can get with a word, a glance, a flick of the hand. They were the perfect little charge for him to show off and enjoy when he wanted someone who was responsive, who followed orders. Reliably docile. Reliably reactive. Reliably cooperative and accommodating. Christopher loves it. Loves them. Not that the man would ever actually tell Harley as much. According to Christopher, someone like Harley needed a little apathy to force them to keep improving. To force them to stay pliable. To stay eager to please.

“You know it’s just because they know what’s coming, right? Just that sixth fucking sense thing”

“Of course I do, Cassius”

“Doesn’t that rub you the wrong way though? The fact they only do what you want because they know the outcome before it happens?”

“You use the things you pink up on to give me exactly what I want, don’t you? Why shouldn’t they use theirs to influence cause and effect? Especially when it works out so well for me”

The intuition is probably why the only kind of reliability Cass saw in Harley was how reliably they refused to give him what he wanted. On the days Cass felt like baiting them they’d never bite, and now, today, when all he wants is some space for a fucking nap Harley just keeps throwing shit at him. The want, want, want to be angry. The want, want, want of a fight. Like waves against a cave wall, rough and unrelenting.

“I’m sick of you acting like you’re better than the rest of us,” they spit out, unprovoked.

Cass sighs, resigning himself to the fact that the nap isn’t gonna happen. He rolls onto his stomach, picking a discarded magazine from the bunk railing. He flicks through it, staring absently at the pictures.

"Maybe I am better than the rest of you”

Another scoff. It’s almost be a laugh if it wasn’t so heavily bitter.

“Nah, you’re just the flavour of the month”

“You getting jealous, Harls?“ he says flipping to the next page in the magazine. He flicks his eyes towards Christopher’s other charge with a smile, "’Cause it seems to me I’ve been flavour of the month for ten months straight”

There’s a silent fuming from down below.

“Why are you even down here? I thought you had a room” they snap, clearly desperate to keep a withering flame stoked. Waves against a cave wall. Cass lets his eyes slide over them for a second before looking back to the magazine.

“Daddy has a meeting,” he says, plainly.

He can practically feel the skip of Harley’s heart as he says it. He has to suppress a smirk at how small their voice goes.

“Quit it. You know he doesn’t like it when we call him stuff like that”

“You mean he doesn’t like it when you call him stuff like that”

“If the meeting’s that important, why aren’t you sitting in on it? Isn’t that when you do your…” they wave their hand around vaguely, lip curling up in a sort of a sneer. Like they could talk. “You know”

Cass feels a kind of irritation that he can’t really name flare up in his chest in a harsh spike. Harley’s want is ebbing out again. Like a drum beating in the next room. The want, want, want for justified rage, justified fists. Cass turns the pages of the magazine, getting increasingly annoyed at how white everyones fucking teeth are.

“I don’t know, Harls. He didn’t want me there today,” he grunts, not looking up “And if it’s a-okay with you, all I want is some fucking down time”

“Thought you’d get enough of that flat on your back,” Harley mutters.

Their voice is bitter and low but it carries strong across the room. The retort is clearly a knife they’ve been sharpening for a while now, waiting for the right moment to throw it.

It lands. Sticks. Slices down through the tension in the room like the swing of an axe.

Cass fixes his full attention on Harley’s face. It’s bold of them to go there. They usually hate talking about sex. Even implying it. They find it embarrassing, he thinks. Maybe revolting. So it’s bold of them to go there. More than bold. It’s a goddamn sledgehammer against a metal sheet, ringing out so loud you can feel the sound waves shaking at your bones through your skin.

Cass tilts his head to one side, giving Harley a once over with his eyes. He licks his lips. Easy smile.

“He prefers me up against the wall actually,” he says, letting the cruel streak in him delight at the silent fury reddening Harley’s face. He grins as they shrink a little bit in embarrassment. Fuck them. They fucking started it. They can cope with a little shame.

“You’re disgusting,” Harley mutters. Cass is expecting that to be the end of it so he smiles sweetly, turning back to the open magazine on his pillow. Maybe it’s the lack of eye contact that gives Harley the balls to say it. “Fucking whore”

Cass closes his eyes against it. The words don’t bother him anymore. He can’t remember if they ever really did. But the intent of it vibrates through his skull. Waves against a cave wall. Drum beat from another room. Sledgehammer against a metal sheet.

The want, want, want of a fight.

Fucking fine.

He flips the magazine shut, turns on that dangerous grin.

“Have I done something to upset you, Harls? You seem like you’re in an even cuntier mood than usual”

Harley doesn’t move from where they sit on the bed but their head snaps up, eyes on fire.

It’s less like baiting and more like harnessing a collar.

“Watch yourself”

Cass sits himself up on the bed, letting his face crumples in mock-concern.

“No, for real. I’m worried about you. What’s going on? Did someone shove a stick up your ass?” he leans forward, looking around in a pantomime of secrecy and worry “Do you need a hand getting it out?”

Cass barely has to duck as the book flies past his head and hits the wall behind him, laughter ripping out his chest in a jittering cackle.

“We’ve gotta work on your aim, Harls,” he says as he slips down from the bunk, bare feet silent on the wooden floor “You missed me by a mile”

“Wasn’t trying to hit you,” Harley snarls through their teeth “Everyone knows what happens to you if you get the golden boy hurt”

Cass blinks, stunned a little at the words before scoffing a laugh.

“Is that what all this is about? Collette?” Cass says, incredulous. Harley doesn’t nod, but the steady eye contact they hold is a strong enough affirmative. Cass does laugh, then, “You don’t even like her!”

“I started liking her a lot more after I saw her in Penance”

Another wave. Enough to have Cass’ pulse skip in its rhythm.

Not just the want of a fight. But the want to hit. To hurt.

He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him.

“I wouldn’t know about that”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Golden boy never goes to the den. You don’t have to see what happens to the people you snitch to Christopher about”

“Col’s the one that hit me. She knows how he feels about in-fighting”

“Yeah but if you had’ve hit her, you still wouldn’t be the one in Penance, would you?”

Cassius sets his jaw, pulling in a long deep breath to calm the slamming of his heart, ease the tide as much as he can. Drum beat in another room. Sledgehammer on a metal sheet.

Harley takes a step forward, hands flexing like they’re not sure if they want to hit or scratch.

“See I’ve started thinking and it must be really nice being the favourite. You eat his fancy meals, sleep in his fancy bed. You’re excused from classes and rounds whenever the hell you want. You get to talk back and lash out and he doesn’t ask for Penance”

Cass folds his hands into tight fists at his sides. He’s not going to hit them. He’s not. That’s exactly what they’re fishing for. Exactly what they’re anticipating.

“Even when he does decide to punish you, it’s not you that gets it, is it? They just pull out your little proxy dog and shove him in the den instead”

Waves. Drums. Sledgehammer.

He can’t even feel the line anymore between Harley’s want and his own.

All he knows is the want he has is to fucking gut them.

“Hey tell me, Cassius, I’ve always wondered,” says Harley, Cass’ silence fueling them as they take a dangerous step forward “Does Henri feel it when they fuck you as well?”

Cass fixes his entire attention on Harley’s face.

He’s not going to hit them. That’s exactly what they’re anticipating.

“Hᴇʏ, Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ. Sᴛᴏᴘ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜɪɴɢ”

And they do.

People don’t start choking straight away when they stop breathing. For the first ten seconds or there’s nothing but a calm stillness over their body as their chest stops rising, and their mouth snaps gently closed.

Harley’s eyes steel, meeting Cassius’ gaze as the first moments of discomfort settle around their throat like a vice. He wonders for a second, as he always does with Harley, if they know what’s about to happen. Cass sure doesn’t.

“Did you see this coming, Harls?” Cass says calmly “Because if you like being choked, all you had to do was ask. I know a guy”

Harley, to their credit, doesn’t flinch away or duck their eyes as Cass steps in close.

“You want a fancy bed? Fancy food? You want the creature comforts, you gotta get used to being a little uncomfortable first,” he says. There’s a moment, a second, where fear flitters over Harley’s face. Whatever they were anticipating, it’s not this, “I know you’re good at being a well behaved little puppy but what tricks do you know?”

Cass smiles, tilting his chin up, “Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ sɪᴛ”

They fold to the ground, unhesitating, eyes flicking up in fury as soon as they register what’s happening. Cass smiles. It feels good to do it like this. Not to just grab at something the other already wants and turn the volume up but to find something small and twist and twist until they move like his own little puppet.

“Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ sʜᴀᴋᴇ”

They hold out their hand on impulse, and as Cassius gives it a patronising little shake, they growl through their teeth. The act eats the remainder of their oxygen and their eyes bulge as they realise their mistake. Cass laughs,

“Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ”

They open their mouth but–

“Oh wait. You can’t, can you?” he says, smiling sweetly with a tilt of his head as they gape, emptily. Breathlessly “Tell me, do you know what’s gonna happen next? Or do you need oxygen for that psychic bullshit to work?”

Harley’s lips move wordlessly, silently as they try to beg for air that won’t come. Their heart is beating so hard that Cass can see it pulsing at their jugular. He reaches out a soft hand, nearly tracing his fingers along it.

There’s a part of Cass that almost gets why Christopher loves this shit so much. It’s feels so fucking good to make someone hurt for once. Harley’s chest convulses for air they can’t give it.

"Sᴍɪʟᴇ ʜᴀʀʟᴇʏ,” he cackles, ruffling their hair. “This is what you wanted isn’t it? To have all the attention on you? To be the favourite?”

Harley’s mouth stretches into a mockery of a grin but their eyes stay wide and panicked, watering as they look around the room wildly for something to help them. Cass bends low, titling Harley’s head up by the chin until their eyes are fixed on his. The spasms increase. Once a second. Twice a second.

“And keep squirming,” Cass murmurs, not a hint of humour left in his voice as Harley’s body starts to shake all over “Trust me. He likes it when people squirm”

Harley’s body collapses to a heap on the ground as he says it, and he lets go as they fall, body limp and empty as the lack of consciousness frees them from mangled wants that weren’t there’s to begin with. They start breathing again. They stop smiling.

Cass watches their chest slowly expand on survival automation. He watches as colour slowly creeps back to their lips in deep sighs.

The rage drops from him like a cloak to the floor. He just feels tired now. Almost empty. Like he always does after using the want like that. The sides of his vision feel blurry and crackled, like a television that isn’t wired right.

He shouldn’t have done that.

He shouldn’t have fucking done that. He should have walked away.

A tilting pulse of nausea hits him, and his head is filled with static and pressure as he sits on Harley’s bed, their heaving, folded body at his feet.

He places a hand on Harley’s back, almost apologetic for the violation of it as he does so, but desperate for it too. The static in his head pushes outward, and goes on and on and on.

“Bʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴇ, ʜᴀʀʟᴇʏ,” he whispers, even though it doesn’t matter. Even though they already are “Bʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴇ, ʜᴀʀʟᴇʏ, ʙʀᴇathe. Bʀeathe, breathe, breathe”

#implied or referenced noncon #noncon cw #abuse cw #mind control cw #whumpee as whumper #defiant whumpee #psychic whump #Cassius #Harley #who is apparently more than just a filler character now #also lmao at me being awol for two weeks just to reappear dump this on y'all and then leave #yeeeeeeee

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carryonmywaywardwriters · 4 years

Text

Heathens - Soulless Reader x Demon Dean (Short Series)

A/N: Part two! As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Part One

Warnings: Harley/Joker kinda relationship. Unhealthy. Power driven. Smut.

Word Count: Roughly 2,200

“Moose!” His voice was all cheer and glee as he stared up at the towering, still human brother. Trying to ignore the demon-killing knife in the too strong hand. The deep, loathing scowl etched onto the human's face as he stared down the monarch.

Crowley had finally given up. He had no one else to turn to. There were no other beings that stood a chance at getting near the power couple. The two creatures he'd helped shape were raising literal hell on earth. It was time for desperate measures.

“Where is he?” Sam demanded thickly. Booming in rage. Not bothering with any sort of pleasantries. After all, Crowley had his brother for all he knew.

“Ah, yes. Dean-o.” The King's lips pulled back into a scowl. It was time to get to business. Before too much more damage could ensue. “For once, we want the same thing. Squirrel back to himself.” The younger Winchester's eyes narrowed in the low sunlight as he took in Crowley skeptically. “As we both know, your brother is a... changed man. And not for the better.”

“Funny,” Sam snorted. Face twitching as he refrained from colliding into the demon and ending it all. “Last I checked, you were parading him around like some kind of prize. What brought on the change of heart?” Ordinarily, Crowley enjoyed the Winchester sass. But, not then. His eyes rolled instinctively.

“Your brother has this annoying tendency to do as he pleases. I can't control him. I've tried.” The demon shrugged, not even slightly remorseful in his actions. “I might have had better luck if he hadn't run into Y/N-”

“Y/N? Y/N L/N? She's with Dean?” Crowley watched as stark fear crossed the giant's face. “Has he hurt her? God, she has to be terrified-”

“Unlikely.” The king of hell snorted. Too sore from his latest failure to use the hunter's terror for leverage. “The only thing that girl feels is hunger for power.” Bitterness welled inside of him at the thought. You'd not only destroyed his plans for Dean, but the ones he'd had for you as well. In a single swoop. Only needing to bat your eyes to get what you pleased from the knight of hell. Your soul was the only leverage Crowley had against you two, and your only interest was in its destruction. “If I were you? I'd fear more for Dean.”

Realization crossed Sam's face, “You did something to her.” And the anger followed, nostrils flared and all. “I swear to god-”

“No,” Crowley held up his finger as he corrected the hunter. “I only ordered her to be collected as part of a contract that one of my demons created. Simply business. Nothing personal.” The look on Sam's face made it clear. He didn't believe a word the demon was saying. Smart man. “The chit made it damned difficult. Killed my favorite hound. So, I sent demons.” He kept the story simple. Not going into detail about the way you'd fought your life. He didn't need the moose endearing to you anymore than he already was. “They pulled away her soul believing it would stun her enough to destroy her body. But, that's as far as they got.” A vial was pulled out of his jacket, containing the silver blue light that had been torn from your very being. “Turns out your little pet can be quite brutal when she wants to be. And that damned knife you gave her ended up being quite effective. Now? Now we have a soulless maniac on the loose who not only wants to rule the world. But doesn't give a damn who she has to kill to get it. And I'm sure your brother is going to end up on that list if he doesn't follow her orders.” The look on Sam's face said enough. “Don't say it. I know what you're thinking. But, the soulless chit is the problem of the moment. For the both of us!”

“Why not just let it go? Let it find it's way back? If she's not soulless, then-”

“Then, Dean will remove it himself without time counting against him. We'll have nothing to make them pause long enough to gather some control back. They'll be lost.” The King's face fell, just as his reign would if you two continued to skillfully wield your weapons.

You'd already put a large dent into his army. Had weaseled out information- according to the few survivors that crossed your paths- that could give you an advantage. Letting them live only to let Crowley know just how successful you'd been. To toy with his mind.

Harley Quinn and The Joker. Bonnie and Clyde. Or any other powerful duo that could be thought of. None of them compared to the twisted, effective, relationship that you two had. When you weren't covered in blood, you were covered with each other.

“Just when I thought this couldn't get any crazier.” Sam snorted, a bitter half laugh leaving his lips as his hand ran over his stubbled jaw. “Of course it turns into this.” The resignation on his face gave the king some hope.

“Welcome to the party, Moose.” Crowley smirked, though he felt nothing more than vulnerable. You two were too close. There wasn't much time. He would be dead as soon as you two arrived in town, and he was powerless to stop it on his own.

–

“Harder,” You moaned out in pleasure as his hands bruised into your hips. Your nails digging into the rolling muscles of Dean's shoulder and back as you rode him. Breaking the skin along the way. Not giving a damn that he grunted at the feeling. Your eyes were shut. Head tossed back as you zeroed in on the way he filled you. Yet, you could feel the warmth of those blackened orbs watching you as you straddled his lap. His grip moving your body along his solid length.

“Alright,” His lips kicked up arrogantly. Instead of just following your orders, you were flipped so that he was on top of you on the wrecked bed. Your empty E/C eyes were darkened with lust when you opened them. The large fists clenched into your thigh and arm hard enough to rebruise the damaged flesh. He slammed his hips faster, giving you exactly what you demanded and then some.

His teeth sank into the soft skin of your throat; drawing both a cry from your lips and pebbles of blood forward that he easily licked away as he thrust sharply. Leaving another mark on your skin with a growl as your claws sank into him deeper. Body clenching hard around his dick. The hot, slick tug of your body trying to hold him hostage. Taking what you needed from him greedily. He left one hand on your hip as he pulled away. Moving to gain more control. The other gripped the wooden frame. Giving him better leverage. The wooden headboard slammed into the wall roughly. Motel room pictures rattled. Other patrons yelled out their complaints. Drown out by the cries leaving your throat.

At one time, sex between you two had been slow and meaningful. There had been lingering kisses, touches, and emotion behind every action. Cuddles afterwards. Conversation about the future. Dissections of your feelings. It had been everything a girl could dream of before it had ended.

But now? You two used each other. It wasn't about getting closer. Simply about getting off. Sex was just another tool in the power struggle you were looked in. Used as a tool for manipulating the other. Abrasive and filthy every time. Primal in nature, much like the both of you.

You both were covered with lesions; branding each other as the other's property. Possessive? Simply because you needed the other to get where you wanted. Thrived off of how much control you could garner with the right look. A simple touch. There was nothing else to it. No love. Not an ounce of fluff to be found. And you two thrived in the mucked up relationship.

“That's it.” His low voice vibrated shock waves through your system as he coaxed you through your orgasm; watching as you fell apart around him. Hips rolling. Mouth open as the delicious sounds poured out of your lips. “Fuck, Y/N...”

Writhing erratically, he tried to get impossibly closer; losing himself inside of the tight hold. Your eyesight focused in time to see his flushed face contort in pleasure. In the past you would have thought he was beautiful. Would have gotten lost in his pleasure. Instead, you focused on the feeling him getting off gave you.

How he stretched you just right when he stopped moving. The warmth of his seed coating your walls. All of it giving you a final bit of a buzz.

“You didn't win,” You huffed, face grim in determination as you came down from one of the only highs you could still reach.

“Your plan is beyond crazy.” He grumbled, rolling off of you. Displeased that the sex hadn't ended the conversation. After all? That had been the point.

“Which is why it would work.” You insisted again, moving to rest yourself over him. The position giving you better access to his gaze. Eyes that were back to the darkened green. That showed the bit of humanity you'd discovered under the surface of 'Deanmon'. “You know he's gunning on Sam wanting to get us back to the emotionally wrecked shithole we were in before.” If you could've felt fear, he'd have said that's what crossed your face. Instead, desperation was a better fit. All wide eyed and tight lipped. “He wants your brother to stop us. He's scared, Dean. All we have to do is get ahold of him- and his bones- and the rest falls into place. Crowley knows that. But, we won't get there before Sam does whatever his part is in the counter plan.” Your fingers trailed through the short, sex mused locks on his head as your voice softened back into that deadly, convincing tone. “So... we have no choice. We have to put you in Sam's grasp. Have to take care of him. Or, everything we've done is for nothing.” He looked unsure, but he nodded grimly. “I know you have a soft spot for him-”

“I don't.” Dean bit out, his demon side taking completely over at the words. Green blackened. Exactly what you needed.

“But, there's a tiny piece of you that does.” Your voice lowered into the manipulative little timbre he'd come to expect when you set your mind to something. His hackles rose. “It's the same part that Crowley wanted to kill. The same part of you that felt the need to keep me alive.” Softly, you added another twist to the knife. “I'm glad that piece of you exists...Really.” Your hand slowly moved down his sweat coated skin, until you reached the warm mark on his forearm. “But, I- we need you to push past it. If my soul comes back? I'll forget all of this. I'll turn against you. We'll lose everything we've gained.” You traced the reddened flesh. Eyes locked wishfully onto the mark. Begging for it, silently. The power it held. “Even if you can rip it back out? We 'll be too far gone. They'll have the upper hand...we can't afford that kinda set back.” Your vacant eyes met his again in a way that made his skin prickle. “You said you didn't want to lose your demon side... I get that. And you won't. Not completely. I have every detail planned out. You just have to trust me, Dean.” Your lips pressed against the anti-possesion symbol that had been etched onto his chest. The similar mark you bore on your hip. As if it meant something to the two of you. Despite both of you knowing better. “Trust us.”

He had little doubt that you'd planned out every possible scenario. Your lack of humanity made it alarmingly easy to spot weakness in anything that had even the slightest bit remaining. To see where they would go. See how to cut past it effectively. Even in himself.

He'd witnessed the skill countless times over the coarse of three months. Against demons, witches, and humans. If anything got in the way of something you desired? You cut it down without blinking. His brother was simply next on the list.

“Fine,” He nodded. You were right. He didn't want to go back to the feeling. To the wretchedness his life had held before he'd gone dark. That much, he was certain on.. “We do this. We've come this far...” Your lips lifted in a sinister grin, making him almost regret agreeing to it right then and there.

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @fanfictionismydeath

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fallen-imagine-angel · 5 years

Text

Arranged Marriages & Forbidden Love - Chapter 3

Notes: Here’s chapter 3 of AM&FL! I hope you guys enjoy it. Please like/comment/reblog because it really does help! And Steve Harrington requests are still open! Thank you!

Summary: You throw a college acceptance party and there are a few twists in store for your night.

Arranged Marriages & Forbidden Love - Chapter 3

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Word Count: 3,324

Warnings: underage drinking, small sexual harassment, angst & fluff

| Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

You’re back at the compound the next morning, faced with your very angry billionaire father. Things have been worse.

“Dad, hear me out--” You try to reason with him but he won’t hear it.

“No, you went behind my back deliberately and applied for Harvard! I told you that you were going to stay here and do an online college while I prepare you to take over the business.” Tony slams his fist down on the table. He doesn’t like it when you’re rebellious.

Unfortunately, you’re rebellious quite often.

“I’m going to Harvard whether you like it or not, dad. I’d just rather you be proud of me than disappointed.” You stand your ground, crossing your arms as you stare defiantly at your father. He stares back.

“Fine.” He gives up, knowing he won’t change your mind now. Not when you’ve already made it up.

“Are you still disappointed?” Your face falls, not wanting him to be disappointed in you after you’ve come this far. You’re still going to Harvard, but you want him to be proud of you for getting accepted into such a prestigious college.

“No,” his face softens, “I was just being difficult, as we Starks often are. I’m proud of you, (Y/n/n), I just wanted you home. I suppose we can do training after college, though. I still want you to be happy.” He kisses your forehead. You smile in relief.

“Thanks, dad. I am happy.” You tell him a small little white lie. He won’t notice in the long run.

“I suppose we should throw a party, then! My little girl’s going to Harvard!” He ruffles your hair and walks away, already on the phone with his party planner. You get out your phone and try to call Peter.

No answer.

“Dangit, Pete.” You groan and shove your phone back into your pocket.

“So you convinced your dad to let you go, huh? You’re going to leave me all alone with him for four years?” Harley leans on the wall, surprising you.

“Harley! I didn’t know you were there.” You press a hand to your heart, letting out a sigh. He laughs.

“I can be sneaky when I want to be.” He grins at you, but you see the hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. I’ll be back for breaks, I swear.” You smile at him. He holds out his arms for a hug. You hug him tightly.

“I know.” He lays his head on top of yours. You smile and pull away from the hug.

“Now come on, it’s time to plan a party!” You grab his arm and drag him in the direction you saw your dad going.

~+~

A few hours later, the party has been planned. It’s currently being set up and your father has already sent out an invitation to everyone in your class.

You tried to stop him from inviting a few key people like Flash and his posse, but he wouldn’t listen. He claimed that everyone needed to know how amazing you are.

“What’s up, I heard there’s a party.” MJ walks into the kitchen, a piece of toast in her hand.

“Yeah, but it’s not until later tonight--”

“Doesn’t matter. Best friends help each other get ready, right?” She raises her eyebrows at you and takes a bite of her toast. Harley laughs.

“Right.” You nod.

“What is it, two hours before the party, now? Yeah, come on, we’ve got to get ready.” She drags you to your room.

“MJ, you’re usually not the type to dress up and stuff.” You point out as she sits you down in front of your vanity.

“Oh, please. I’m not dressing up, I’m dressing you up. Plus, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m pretty good at this stuff.” She scoffs, bringing out your makeup.

She gets to work on your makeup.

While she’s working on your makeup, Natasha walks into your room.

“You called for me, MJ?” She asks, hand resting on her gun.

“Yeah, are you good with hair? You switch yours up a lot so I thought you might be.” She mumbles, still concentrating on your makeup.

“Yeah. What do you need?” Nat asks. MJ hands Nat her phone. Nat looks at the phone for a few seconds.

“Can you do that?” MJ hums, taking out a red lipstick from your bag.

“Easy.” Nat hands her back the phone and gets to work on your hair. You stay as still as possible.

After almost an hour and a half, they’re finally done.

“Hair and makeup look perfect,” MJ smirks and holds up a mirror to you. You admire your makeup and hair in the mirror, hugging MJ and Nat tightly.

“You guys are the best!” You giggle, running to your closet.

“Have fun, I have to go.” Nat waves and is out in a hurry. You stare at your vast closet, picking what dress you should wear for the party. Then you spot it, at the very back. A red dress with flower embroidery.

“That’s the one,” MJ says immediately once you take the dress out. She grabs a matching pair of heels and throws them at you.

“Go get changed, I’m going to get ready while you do.” She shoves you into your bathroom. You get changed.

You walk out to see her already in her baby blue dress, doing her makeup. She turns around and looks at you, her jaw dropping.

“What do you think?” You ask, looking down at yourself.

“(Y/n), you’re gorgeous. Harley may have some competition.” She laughs, turning around to finish her makeup. You chuckle.

“As much as I wish, I don’t think so.” You sigh, playing with the ends of your hair.

MJ cannot know.

“I thought you were happy with Harley. You always seem happy. I mean, you guys aren’t really dating yet, but still.” MJ locks eyes with you in the mirror. You frown.

“I mean...I’m happy because he’s my best friend, but it’s nothing more. I don’t know.” You shrug, suddenly seeming defeated as you plop down on your bed.

“Well, we’re going to talk about this later, but for now we have a party to attend. Come on, it’ll help you take your mind off things for a bit.” She finishes her makeup, spinning around to help you up. You begrudgingly go with her to the front door as the doorbell rings.

Harley answers the door and you see Flash and a few of his friends walk in.

Oh, boy.

“I’ll be right back, I gotta use the restroom.” You slip away from MJ into a lesser-used hallway.

You dial Peter’s number

No answer.

“Dangit, Parker!” You sigh and shove your phone back into your clutch. You walk back into the room to find a few more people already there. MJ spots you and walks over.

“Drink?” She holds out what looks like a margarita.

“Where’d you get this?” You quirk an eyebrow, taking the drink. You’d probably sip on this one drink the entire night, to be honest. You’ve always been careful around drinking because of your dad’s old habits.

“I dunno, I guess your dad accidentally left the alcohol cabinet behind the bar unlocked.” MJ winks. You smile lightly.

“Right.” You nod, rolling your eyes playfully.

An hour later, the party is at a high. Everyone’s drinking and having fun. Except for you.

All you can think about is Peter. Is he okay? Why won’t he answer his calls? Is he upset at you?

All of these questions and more are rolling through your mind.

“(Y/n), lighten up a bit! Have a drink!” A random kid in your class punches your shoulder like he’s known you your entire life.

“No.” You push him away. He turns around, not affected by the rejection, and goes to find another girl to harass.

You’re about to leave the room when you see a familiar mop of brown hair walk through your front door.

“Peter?” You gasp, trying to get a better look over the crowd. Sure enough, Peter is walking toward you with a significantly less sad look in his eye than the look he had the day before.

“Is that Peter?” MJ asks, walking up next to you. You nod.

“(Y/n)--” Peter finally arrives in front of you and MJ, a smile on his face.

“Spit it out, Parker.” MJ raises an eyebrow.

“It was a mistake. I made it into Harvard. They sent me the wrong letter.” He wheezes out, a large smile decorating his face. You gasp.

“Oh my gosh, Peter, that’s amazing!” You hug him tightly. He laughs and hugs back, lifting you into the air briefly.

“We’re going to be college buddies after all!” He hollers, finally breaking from the hug. You grin and get an idea, running to the stage.

“I’d like everyone’s attention, please. I have an announcement to make,” you wait until everyone’s eyes are on you, “Peter Parker will be joining me at Harvard, so this is now a party for the both of us!”

Everyone, even the people who don’t like Peter, cheers his name. You smile and walk back to him and MJ.

“Thanks, (Y/n/n).” Peter nudges your arm.

“No problem, college buddy.” You giggle. MJ grins.

“You know, (Y/n), you look, *hic* you look really pretty tonight.” Flash slides up next to you, the smell of alcohol sending you reeling.

“Oh my gosh, Flash, you reek.” You cough, swatting his hand away.

“Why, thank you.” He grins, taking your hand.

“Get away from her, Flash.” Peter tries to intervene, to no avail.

“What’s it to you, Puny Parker? You’ve already got a girlfriend.” He waves dismissively at Peter. Peter’s about to talk back but you send him a look.

You’re a strong independent woman who can deal with creepy guys on your own.

“Flash, get off of me.” You demand as Flash goes to grab your other hand.

“Dude, she said to get off of her.” Harley comes up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You sigh.

“Oh yeah? And who are you to stop me?” Flash grins slyly, thinking he has the upper hand.

“I’m her boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Four voices chime in unison. You, MJ, Flash, and Peter all stare incredulously at Harley.

“You heard me. I’m her boyfriend, so get off of her.” Harley shoves Flash away. Flash mumbles something under his breath as he walks away. You’re too shocked to say or do anything else.

First, you look at Peter. He stares back at you, in just as much shock as you are.

You had literally just told him yesterday that Harley’s not your boyfriend.

Harley walks away from the tension first, still angry about Flash. He probably needs to cool down before you talk to him.

“Harley’s your boyfriend? You just said...” Peter asks, an undefinable emotion in his voice. You can’t speak, just open and close your mouth like a fish out of water.

“I think the party’s starting to dwindle...I can take Peter home.” MJ offers, looking over at you. You look at her and nod shakily. Peter can’t look you in the eye anymore.

This whole thing was blown way out of proportion, but the problem is, you don’t know how to fix things this time.

So, you march up to the stage and grab the microphone.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming to my party tonight! It was a blast. I’ll see you all at school!” You plaster on a fake smile as everyone starts bidding each other goodnight.

You watch MJ and Peter leave from the stage, making your smile falter for a split second.

Instead of waiting for the crowd to disperse before you leave, you just go ahead and run to your room. You can’t be bothered with cordialities right now.

As soon as you get to your room, you flop on your bed. No tears come, because this is not something you are willing to cry over. It’s a stupid misunderstanding, nothing more. You’ll fix it in no time, so that means you shouldn’t waste any time crying over it.

After about an hour of sitting in your room and staring at the ceiling in deep thought, there’s a knock on your door. You don’t say anything, but the person opens the door anyway.

“Hey, (Y/n/n)...I’m really sorry about what happened earlier.” Harley walks in with an apologetic look on his face. His hand is rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

You sit up.

“Tell me, what made you think that you should have butted into that conversation? I fight crime, Harley, I can handle a hormonal teenage boy.” You remind him, sarcasm thick in your tone.

“I know you can. I just...I didn’t like how he was touching you. I’m your best friend, (Y/n), I want to protect you.” He sighs, dropping his head.

“Harley…” You trail off, looking at his dejected form. Your anger turns to sympathy, he was only trying to do the right thing. He looks up with hope in his eyes.

“Yeah?” He mumbles.

“I forgive you.” You get up and hug him. He melts into your embrace, glad to know that you’re no longer mad at him.

“Thank you.” He whispers, hugging you tighter. After a minute, you both pull away from the hug.

You lift a hand up to his face and turn his head, placing a small kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks for saving me, Harley. I know you only had good intentions. You’re my hero.” You pull away from the cheek kiss and smile at him. He smiles back.

“Get some rest, you need it. I’ll see you in the morning.” He ruffles your hair and walks out.

You sigh and turn around, starting to take down your hair and wipe your makeup off.

You can tell that you’re not going to get a lot of sleep tonight.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag List: @savedbystark @spiderhemlock13

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lfthinkerwrites · 5 years

Text

Meanwhile, Back at Gotham Academy

...So, I haven’t been linking the last few chapters of this to my tumblr. Whoops.

Let’s get caught up a bit.

Previous chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7

Meanwhile, Back at Gotham Academy...

"Attention, students. This is Principal Hugo Strange. Classes are now over for the day. Those students serving detention will remain on campus until 2:30 and those attending club meetings may remain until 3:00 pm. All students must be off campus by 3:30 pm or face severe consequences. That is all."

Harley took her seat at the head table in the chemistry lab and clapped her hands. "Alright! Everybody's here! Did you all bring the stuff?"

Kristen nodded in the last seat on the left. "I've got the graham crackers."

To Harley's left, Pamela put a box of chocolate bars down on the table. "I brought free-trade chocolate."

Next to Kristen, Selina put a wine bag down. "I brought the wine."

"And I've got the marshmallows and toothpicks!" Harley cheered. "Girl's Day is on!" She lightly jostled Penelope, who was sitting to her right. "And ta think, you wanted to stay in your office and work! Aren't ya glad ya came here instead?"

"We'll see," Penelope said, still looking a bit unsure. "How exactly are we going to make smores?"

"Oh, that's easy," Harley said. She reached to a bunsen burner that was set up in the middle of the table and turned it on. "Ta-da! Instant indoor campfire!" She stuck a marshmallow onto a toothpick and held it over the blue flame. "Come on, Penny! Grab a marshmallow!"

"Maybe later," Penelope said, her eyes wide at the open flame.

Pamela scoffed. "One would think with how many 'conferences' you've been to that you'd be used to these sort of shenanigans."

"Well, we've never had an open flame at the 'conferences'," Penelope muttered. "Not yet at least. Anyway," she said in a clearer tone. "What are our plans today?"

"You're looking at our plans," Selina said, pouring wine into plastic cups and passing them around the table. "Wine, smores-"

"And gossip!" Harley said. "It'll be just like a slumber party!"

Penelope and Pamela exchanged a look, then took a long sip of wine. Heavy footsteps alerted the women to the presence of another person in the room. Principal Strange had appeared in the room and was giving each and every one of them a disapproving look. "Ladies, and I do use that term lightly."

Harley gave him a cheeky wave. "Hiya, Hugie."

Strange's left eye twitched. "You know I detest nicknames, Ms. Quinzel."

Harley frowned. "Hey! That's Dr. Quinzel! I didn't go through med school just to be called 'Ms.' Quinzel!"

Strange sucked in a breath between his teeth. Escaping punishment from Superintendent al Ghul had emboldened the faculty to the point they were no longer intimidated by Strange. More was the pity. "Excuse me, 'Dr.' Quinzel." He turned his gaze to Kristen. "I am leaving for my meeting with the school board. I trust that everything will be taken care of in my absence, Ms. Kringle?"

"Yes, Principal Strange," Kristen answered while opening her box of graham crackers. "I can more than handle the administrative duties. I'm also in communication with Vice Principal Gordon regarding the trip."

"Excellent," Strange nodded. Then he turned his cold gaze to the three Sirens. "Coach Bolton is handling the students in detention. Under no circumstances are you to interfere unless at his request. In return, he will leave you to your own devices. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Strange," Pamela said with a mocking salute. "Run along now. I'm sure the school board is waiting."

Strange's face colored, then he recovered. "Ladies. Enjoy your 'girl's day." He stomped out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Harley blew a raspberry.

"Well," Selina said. "Now that he's gone, what's on the agenda first, girls?"

A buzzing sound from Penelope's phone answered that question. Pamela rolled her eyes. "Edward?"

"Yes," Penelope answered, reading the text. "Oh my. It seems that Neil ate a rancid spanakopita and vomited on Karlo, which then caused their second fistfight of the day. Mockridge has given them fast passes so they can go on rides for the rest of the day."

Selina poured herself some more wine, then lifted her plastic cup up. "A moment of silence for the poor boys on the field trip today."

"Hear hear!" Harley agreed, raising her glass. Kristen, Pamela, and finally Penelope followed suit. She watched as the other four women lowered their glasses to take sips, then dissolved into laughter. She bit her lip.

"Selina?" she asked. "The three of you didn't cheat to stay at the school together, did you?"

Selina put a hand to her chest in mock affront. "Us? Cheat! Why we never!" Then she smirked and gestured to Kristen. "The keeper of the straws on the other hand."

Kristen laughed. "Mea culpa."

Penelope shook her head and took another sip of wine. She made a note to herself not to tell Edward about this. As insufferable as he could be when he was proven wrong about something, he was even worse when he was proven right. She looked back up from her cup to see that the other four women were looking at her, Selina, Harley, and Kristen with curiosity, Pamela with something that looked almost like pity. "What?" she asked.

"Speakin' of Eddie," Harley leaned forward. "You're up first for gossip, Penny! You and Eddie are gettin' pretty serious now, aren't ya? Do ya think you'll get married?"

Penelope felt her face flush and she took a larger gulp of wine. She almost wished she'd gone along on the trip.

Coach Bolton walked up and down the length of the detention room, looking over the three boys in his custody. Lonnie Machin, Jason Todd, and Roy Harper. Troublemakers, all of them. Spoiled little rich boys who thought the world owed them something. He'd bring them in line if it was the last thing he ever did. Finally, he walked back to the front of the room and behind his desk. "Do you three know what you need more than anything?"

Jason leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and regarded Bolton with cold contempt. "To get out of this school?"

Bolton banged on the desk with a closed fist. "DISCIPLINE!" he yelled. None of the boys so much as flinched. "You three," Bolton continued. "You think that just because you have rich daddies, that you can do whatever you want, whenever you want."

"I'm not rich," Lonnie interrupted. "I got in this school on a scholarship. Don't lump me in with these two class traitors-"

"Get bent, Lonnie," Jason shouted. "I was born in the Narrows. I didn't choose to get adopted by a billionaire-"

Bolton banged his fist on the desk again. "SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU!" Both boys fell silent, though they continued to glare at each other. Roy sat in a desk next to Jason with his feet propped up on the seat in front of him and a bored look on his face. "You three think you're such bigshots. Well, you're not! You're just a couple of little boys, acting like men." Bolton punched his hands together. "Well, you won't be little boys after I get through with you. When you leave my detention, you'll leave as real MEN!"

"That sounds dirty to me," Roy sassed. He looked at Jason. "Does that sound dirty to you, Jay?"

Jason snorted. "Sure does, Roy. I think we need an adult!"

"I am an adult!" Bolton shouted. "I know exactly what you two are doing," he glowered. "You won't break me! I'm not that spineless Vice-Principal Gordon!"

"Dork Squad broke you first, Coach," Jason said. "Speaking of which Roy, you smell something?"

Roy smiled, then wrinkled his nose. "I sure do Jay! Smells like a broken Port-o-Potty!"

Bolton's face flushed. "Keep yucking it up, you little brats," he seethed. "I can do this all day."

Jason and Roy exchanged a knowing smirk with each other. "'I can do this all day?' That's what Mr. Nashton said to Doc Young the other day in the teacher's lounge, isn't it Jay?" Roy asked his friend.

"That's what I heard," Jason said. "And they did it, all day. Now that's a real man, Roy."

Bolton gnashed his teeth. "Nashton's a sweater vest wearin' wimp! He's not a real man!

Jason smirked. "He's the sweater vest wearin' wimp who got the woman you wanted. If he's not a 'real man', what does that make you?"

Bolton's face went white, then he walked to the door of the classroom and stepped out, slamming the door shut behind him. As soon as he was gone, Jason and Roy laughed.

"Too easy," Jason laughed. "Did you see his face? It was like we kicked his grandma!"

"That was a low blow," Lonnie muttered. "But I'll admit, it is nice to see that sad sack of toxic masculinity be taken down a peg."

Jason smiled. "Lonnie, you might be alright. Look, Roy and I are gonna bust out of detention after we break Coach. You in?"

Lonnie rubbed his chin. "I'm in."

Before Jason could say anything else, Coach Bolton stormed back in, murder in his eyes. "Alright, you little shits," he said through grinding teeth. "You want to play hardball? We can play hardball." He placed a stack of paper and a pencil in front of each boy. "Write 'I am a failure' 500 times!"

Jason picked up his pencil. "Got it, Coach. We'll write, 'Coach is a failure' 500 times each."

"No!" Bolton shouted. You'll write 'I am a failure'!"

"Yeah, we'll write 'Coach Bolton is a Failure,' just like you asked, Coach," Roy said.

Bolton let out a frustrated scream. The three boys simply looked at each other and smirked. It wouldn't be long before they'd have Coach crying on the floor and be on their way to freedom.

#high school teacher au #it's back...

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ill-skillsgard · 5 years

Text

Sweet Demons, Part 3 - Zeitgeist/Axel Cluney

Title: Sweet Demons

Description: It's the weekend of Friday the Thirteenth, the biggest motorcycle rally and festival in the Western Hemisphere but nothing is more enticingly chaotic to her than the mysterious new member of the famous Motor City Sweet Demons.

Warning: 18+ Mentions of drugs/alcohol/violence, eventual smut/various kinks

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

I spent the day in the backyard with all of our house guests, pretending not to be thinking about Axel as I'm sure he was pretending like he wasn't thinking about me. Every once in a while we would catch each other staring and look away with faces that betrayed all innocence. The sun was hot, spirits were high and so were we. Joints got passed around endlessly and I partook until I could no longer stand the glorious haze floating around my head.The guys were loud and proud, drawing attention to the garage from our neighbors and people still hanging on from the rally. All manner of people young and old walked by to catch a glimpse of all the shiny motorcycles roaring in and out of our infamous driveway.Despite the urges I had to display my inherently bratty side, I knew that I had to keep most of my comments to myself when it came to all of their show-boating. My dad would make sure there was no shortage of snarky comments so I hung in the background and observed.Axel, however, was at the forefront of most of the activity. It was easy to see that he had become the Sweetheart of the Sweet Demons. Max often stood next to him, clapping him on the back or shoulder any time a particularly agreeable statement was made by one of them. They looked too good together, like partners in crime often did. It was unusual for a new recruit to be treated with such reverence. It made me wonder what exactly it was that set Axel apart from the hundreds of other people vying for a position in their motley brigade. Usually, if you were on the bottom rung in the gang, you got treated as such but nobody was making Axel run errands or refill drinks. In fact, if I didn't know any better I would have thought that Axel was Vice President, the way he and Max hung off each other. My dad took a strong liking to Axel as well. He had ridden his bike up into the garage so everyone could look at it which was something that they always did that I never understood. They would all take turns showing off their bikes like it was some kind of class show-and-tell. When Axel rode up on his bike they all swooned over it and for good reason. It looked like there had never been a scratch on the thing before. It was a fully custom Harley that Axel called "the Acid Bath Widow-Maker". She was matte black and acid green all over from bars to brakes. To me, it seemed like a little much but to everyone else, the Widow-Maker was definitely something to behold. With its fat chrome muffler and outrageous iodized green clutch it was no wonder Axel's bike drew attention. If I had ever seen a bike more suited to a man it was right then as they all stood around it, admiring every heavy metal curve and leather detail. My dad's eyes bugged out of his head at the sight of the bike. "Max, how's your recruit got the flashiest chopper in the gang?" "Oh yeah, he's pretty! The bike's not too bad either." Max joked. They all laughed and I just shook my head with a smile on my face. The only person that wasn't feeling the love so much was sitting on a nearly-broken lawn chair in the corner of the garage with an empty beer bottle between his thumb and index. Braun just watched from afar like I was doing only instead of laughing with the rest of the group, he scowled. That was until my dad snapped his fingers in Braun's direction. "Braun, beer run. Get these boys a top-up, will ya?" Big Al shot in his direction. Braun, eager to obey my dad's every command, popped out of his seat. "What does everyone want?" "I'll have another one of these," Max Sweet indicated his domestic beer of choice. "I'll have the same," said Axel. "Just do me a solid and bring out the whiskey. I have a feeling it's going to get finished by the end of the day," Dad said. I grimaced at him but I knew not to berate my dad for drinking too much in front of anyone but I did have to make it a point to talk to him later on. Whenever he drank in excess it always got me worried and he was the kind of guy to keep doing exactly the thing he shouldn't do especially if someone was giving him shit for it. I knew it was a special occasion but it didn't keep me from worrying either way. "Angel? You want something?" Braun asked me. "Not right now, I'm good. Thanks." "Ah, get her a gin!" Dad said. "No, really. I'm okay for now," I insisted. "Bring the lady a gin!" Max yelled. "Make that two!" Janet piped above the noise. "Two gins, two beers, whiskey. Anything else? Fuck, I'll have to build a bar out here too," Dad mused. I didn't notice how long Braun had been in the house for until I had to use the bathroom. When I walked inside I heard cursing coming from the kitchen and saw Braun leaned up against the kitchen counter sucking down a beer with an angry expression on his face. I stopped by the doorway and peered in inquisitively, catching his attention immediately. "What's going on, Braun?" I asked. "Nothin'," he mumbled. "Aren't you supposed to be getting drinks?" That was when he slammed his beer down on the marble island and looked at me with his eyes blazing. "Why the fuck should I have to be the bitch boy, huh? Axel should be the one in here getting everyone's fucking drinks. He's the new recruit. But no, everyone treats him like he's fucking Max Sweet and it's bullshit. I'm Al's apprentice. I'm Big Al's fucking apprentice. He's a rookie!" "He might be new to the club but he's no rookie," I explained. "I'm learning bikes under your father. He chose me to take care of the garage! I should be the one giving drink orders! I've been to more Fridays than he ever will in his fucking life!" "Dude, just calm down-" "No! Fuck you, Angel. You don't give a shit either because you're fucking him! He doesn't even know what it's like to be bottom-rung because everyone thinks he's all that! Anyone can buy a fucking bike like that. He's probably some rich asshole's reject son that just bought a bike one day. I make bikes. I fucking fix choppers all day, every day!" "You think I didn't build my own bike?" Axel's voice made me jump when it seemingly came out of nowhere.Braun's spine straightened like he was pulled up on a string and his glare softened for only a moment until he realized it was too late to play it off like he wasn't just trashing Axel. I could practically feel the heat radiating from both of them and I was stuck in the crossfire. What I thought was going to be an eruptive argument from across the kitchen quickly turned much darker as Axel stepped into the room, briskly approaching Braun. When he was five inches away Axel leaned in and although they were of similar heights, Axel did appear to puff up while Braun deflated. "You got a fucking problem with me?" He asked. "Yeah, I do have a fucking problem. Don't fucking come in here and act like you're the fucking President when you're just a recruit. You don't make demands of me. This is practically my garage." "No, it's not, Braun." I chided. He looked over at me and replied, "it will be! It's definitely not going to be yours!" "Ignore her," Axel stepped to the side, cutting off Braun's view of me. "Your business is with me, not her. Now... Tell me again about how I'm some rich guy's kid? Tell me how I didn't fucking earn my way into the club! Oh, and while you're at it, please explain to me how I didn't painstakingly put together my own fucking bike over the last five years of my life! Just because you're Al's apprentice doesn't mean you're not a little bitch with a little bitch attitude and just because you work at Motor City doesn't make you exempt from getting your ass handed to you by a rookie." "Fuck you, man! You should humble yourself because guys like you get eaten alive on the road. So fucking cocky." "We're the same age and I'm the one riding with the Demons, I taught myself how to build, I made myself into a colleague and not a little cocksucker bottom-rung bitch. I get the pussy you wish you had. I ride with the people you wish you could ride with. Why the fuck would I be humble about that?" "Enough, guys. Jesus fucking Christ. Let's just go back-" Braun shoved Axel away violently but instead of toppling, Axel caught his footing immediately and squared his shoulders, clenched his fists and glared at Braun so vehemently you could feel the air in the room grow thicker. I watched as Braun immediately regretted his decision when Axel grabbed him by the collar of his tank and pulled him in. "Stop!" I yelled. Axel's throat bobbed and it almost looked like he was about to vomit even though his eyes were shooting beams of anger into Braun. With his free hand, Axel pressed the back of his palm to his mouth, stifling what appeared to be a burp. "You better get the fuck out of my face right now or I'm going to disfigure you so bad they'll have to use your dental records to identify your mangled fucking corpse." When Axel tossed Braun away he stormed out of the kitchen immediately to avoid any further conflict, smashing by me with no regard. I scoffed as he left the house and when I turned back to Axel he was still covering his mouth and trying to swallow down whatever it was making its way up his throat. "Fuck," he grumbled. "I gotta go." Then it was Axel's turn to quickly brush by me. He made his way back into the garage through a barrage of greetings and questions as to where the beers were. All that could be heard was the heavy rumble of an engine turning on and a chorus of moaned questions as the Acid Bath Widow-Maker chugged out of the garage and ripped down the street. I went to the front window to catch a glimpse of Axel riding away but by the time I made it there he was already a drone in the distance. The familiar hobble of my dad's limping gait sounded from behind me. "The fuck was that about?" Sighing, I replied, "Braun and Axel almost just tore each other's throats out." "What the fuck's the issue now?" "I don't know. They're both just fucking peacocks." Dad's eyes turned into questioning slits, "this wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a mutual interest in a certain ex-President's daughter, would it?" "No, dad. I think... Braun just doesn't want to be the beer bitch anymore." "Axel rode off because Braun didn't want to grab a few drinks? Angel... You think I'm stupid?" "No, dad. Honestly. I think Braun has some predispositions about how the club's hierarchy works. He thinks because he's your apprentice that he shouldn't have to fetch drinks for the new recruits. He tried to call Axel out and got all mad. Both of them left." "That kid has got a lot of learnin' to do." "Whatever. I'll get the drinks from now on. Or better yet, if someone wants a beer, they can get it themselves! I'm sick of all these hot-heads around me. It's too much." Dad came closer to look out the window as I had been. "I know you hate it here but... I just got you home. Don't look for the first excuse to get out again. The weekend is almost over and all these cocky sons-a-bitches will be out of here soon." "I'm not looking to leave, dad. I just don't want to deal with this all the time." "You won't." I rolled my eyes, "just every Friday the Thirteenth weekend until I die." "Sorry, you're an old biker's kid. Comes with the territory.""Yeah," I sighed. "I know."~*~When night fell and Axel didn't come back, I set out looking for him. There weren't too many places to go in town so my search was narrowed to the bars and restaurants on the main street, the only tattoo shop within a hundred mile radius and the waterfront. I made my way down the road from our street toward the denser part of town. People wearing sandals and eating ice cream from cones passed by the storefronts that were all illuminated in red neon, displaying all of the new Summer must-haves. Name brand surf t-shirts and sunglasses, inflatable beach toys and overpriced kayaks all adorning the windows drew attention from most but not me. I was on a mission to spot the Acid Bath Widow-Maker. Luckily, Axel's bike was one of the most noticeable attractions in the town and I spotted it parked by itself where the street met the border of concrete roadblocks just before the sand. The sun had set and the street lamps came on to illuminate the walkways and that was where I saw it glistening. I got up really close to it to hear if it was ticking and still hot but it wasn't. I saw his clothes draped over the seat and his boots on the ground next to it. It appeared as though Axel had gone to the beach for a little swim. I started walking toward the beach even though it was dark. There were big white square signs posted all along the waterfront warning that there were no lifeguards and swimming after sunset was discouraged. I remembered being young and seeing people getting busted for drinking on the beach and that was really the only thing the cops gave a shit about. You could go swimming after dark but it was a risk one would have totake on their own. Many nights I had gone down to the water with my friends and instead of being amateurs that drank on the sand, we would bring our drinks out with us on the water so that the cops rolling by on quads would be none-the-wiser. That's what I was reminded of as I approached the water and looked out from the pier to where the waves disappeared against the line of the sky. "Hey, you weren't touching my chopper just now, were you?" I whipped around and saw Axel approaching from my left, dripping wet in his boxers with his hair all pasted down on his head, body shimmering from the little beads of water clinging to his skin. Jeeringly I replied, "I wasn't touching your stupid bike." "Kind of looked like it from here. Now, what business do you have stroking a man's hog without his permission?" "Ew, don't say that," I reviled. Axel snickered and didn't quit taking steps towards me until my chin nearly connected with his broad tattooed chest. He looked down at me while raking his fingers through his hair, pushing it all back from his forehead. I matched his gaze and stared up at him with just as much intensity. Braun may have been scared of him but I certainly wasn't. "You wanna go for a ride with me?" Axel asked, walking his two fingers up my hip for only a couple flirtatious steps. I could feel my insides turning to liquid. It had been a long time since I had been on the back of a motorcycle and when Axel asked I felt an eagerness inside that hadn't existed since before I was a teenager. "Sure." "You wore a skirt, too. Good choice." "What do you mean?" I asked. Axel smirked as hot as the Devil and said, "well honey, there's only going to be a thin layer of material between what is essentially a giant vibrator and... That nice little pussy. Unless of course... You didn't wear any panties?" "I wore... An excuse for panties." Axel hummed deep in his throat and eyed me all over. "Fuck, you're going to get me in a lot of trouble." "The only person that's going to give you trouble is me." "Oh, is that a promise?" "I don't make promises to bad boys." "Fair enough," he snickered at me. "Let's go." I watched Axel put his clothes back on starting with the socks he had tucked away in his boots. Once he had on his pants he shoved his feet into the huge green boots that matched the details of his bike. Instead of putting his shirt on he folded it and handed it to me. "Hold this for me." He swung one of his long legs over the bike after kicking the stand up. I stood back when he turned on the engine and gave it a little rev as he looked at me, smirking like he had convinced me to sell my soul because I had agreed to go for a ride with him. He looked smoother than silk on his bike like he was born to sit atop a chrome horse. He looked like a king with his arms draped over the bars all relaxed and totally careless. "Hang onto me real tight, you got it?" He yelled over the rumble of the engine as I prepared myself to mount the back of the leather seat. I wrapped my arms around his bare waist, giggling because I hadn't felt so excited to ride in a long time. He backed us up very slowly and then we quickly lurched forward. My grip on him tightened and he twisted his neck around one more time to make sure I was still going with it. "Don't let go of me!" "I know!" The leather seat warmed up quickly and I wrapped my arms around him even tighter as we took off down the road. It was exhilarating to be on the back of a bike again. Everything zoomed by so quickly that it started to look like nothing. The road unfolded endlessly and soon we were a mile away from the main street heading towards the mostly empty labyrinth of back roads that fenced in the town. We cruised through the farmland and I laid my cheek on Axel's back. His skin was so smooth and supple that I thought about kissing him but quickly thought not. I didn't want him to get the wrong idea about how I was feeling about him. The conversation that we had had about his little intimacy issue was still a prominent thought in my head. But he smelled so good, even after swimming in the lake. I supposed it was enough for me to rub my cheek against him a little bit just to savor the feeling of his softness. He sped up as we sliced through the forested back roads and circled way back around into town again. By that time his hair had fully dried and stayed put in that permanently windswept way. He pulled up a couple of houses down from mine and turned back to me before asking for his shirt back. I handed it to him, leaned back and watched him slip it on over his head. "How did that feel? You like riding with me?" He asked, turning his whole body around so he could face me a little more on the bike. I had let go of his waist but was tempted to touch his hips just a little bit more, so I did. "Yeah, that was fun." "You all nice and revved up?" I nodded my head. "Good. Now... How about you hop off the bike and make your little way into the house, go up the stairs and go wait for me in your bedroom? Does that sound like something you want to do?" "Okay." I peeled myself off of the leather seat and got off with some help from him. He held up his hand and allowed me to use it to get myself up to the sidewalk but before I could start off he pulled me back by my wrist, "Woah, woah... One second. One more thing," he said, eyes dropping to my skirt and then looking around to make sure nobody was watching. Our eyes locked as he slid his hand up and under my skirt and used two fingers to caress the warm crotch of my panties. He shivered when he felt what he wanted to feel and quickly replaced his hand on the throttle before anyone had a chance to catch him touching me. "I can't wait to be balls deep inside you." "Me neither." "Now go on. Get home before me so it doesn't look suspicious," he pointed toward the garage. For the time being, Axel had robbed me of words. I was feeling strong feelings of attraction to him. It was more than just a drunken hookup and fling. I could picture myself riding with him again, I had had so much fun. It was nothing like riding with my dad or even on my own. The way his body felt in my whole grasp as we flew down the road shook me to my core and awakened a long-buried urge inside. He was weird and tasteless but the way his eyes smoldered at me coupled with the fact that he was so damn tall and so fucking handsome was a cocktail of emotions that had me wet between my legs by the time I crept into my house and made my way up the stairs. I figured most of the guys were in the garage or in the clubhouse so I did manage to get into my room without anyone spotting me and forcing alcohol down my throat. For that, I was thankful because I wanted to be of sound mind for when Axel finally found his way to me. I didn't want a drunken, sloppy fuck again. I wanted orchestrated, raw, hungry sex to satisfy the cravings that my partner of choice was eliciting from the depths of my endless carnality. It almost took him too long to find his way to my room but I figured he had probably been held up, especially after having stormed off earlier in the afternoon after his spat with Braun. I wondered what kind of things my dad had said to Braun after learning that he and Axel had had an argument that almost ended with violence. I could just imagine the sour look that must have been pasted to Braun's face all day. For a moment I felt bad for Braun because I knew that he was a plain guy with the same aspirations as half the guys in town who also happened to have a crush on me. I tried not to feel guilty about it because I knew that I shouldn't but I did anyway. That was until Axel turned my doorknob, pushed the door open gently and peeked inside to see me sitting at the edge of my bed waiting for him. He came inside, walking light on his feet, green boots clashing with the carpet so much it looked like they were glowing. He carefully closed the door and looked back at me, seemingly impressed that he managed to come in without making much of a sound at all. "Lock the door," I told him. Axel turned the lock on the knob and smirked at me right after. That little safety feature had earned me lots of time to stash things when my dad used to come knocking. Although I didn't suspect he was going to then since I was much older and he rarely ever made it to his own bed from the clubhouse anyway. No, we were pretty much free to do whatever we wanted so long as we could keep our noises below the music I had put on to drown out what could potentially and hopefully be a good night. "Sorry I took so long. I had a lot of explaining to do. Guess Max wasn't too pleased with me taking off." "What does Max care? You guys had a bit of an argument and you took off, so what?" "Ah, don't worry about it. It's not important. What is important is how are you doing? Did you miss me?" "Terribly," I lamented with an exaggerated tone of sadness. "Don't worry, honey, I'm here now and guess what? I've been daydreaming about that sweet, tight, little pussy all fucking day long. I think I need it." "What makes you think you've earned it?" Jolted by his reaction, Axel dropped down to his knees and inched his way across the carpet closer to me. "I'll do anything to get between those legs, mama." Subconsciously my thighs clenched only because the hot sting of arousal permeated through me like melted butter after watching him crumple for me. I had been with a lot of guys that had their own little sexual shtick but the way Axel looked at me I could see it was not so much an act as it was a fierce display of uninhibited lust. The man was serious about his needs or at least he was very good at playing the part. "Do anything to me. I'm all yours, baby." "Well, well now. What a change of character! You're such a bad boy out there in the streets but in here you're so nice and obedient. Why is that?" "I can't help it. When I see you I want you to destroy me... Probably because I know you can." "But what if I want to be the baby?" Axel tried to hide a smile as he stood halved on his knees but he couldn't stifle it for long. "Fuck... I mean, you can call me Daddy if you want to but I don't know how Big Al would feel about that. If he were to walk by and hear his Angel bouncing on some scumbag's dick... Might take offense?" "Nobody will hear us. Dad sleeps in the clubhouse most nights and I'm grown. If I want to bounce on some scumbag's dick while calling him Daddy, I'll do just that. But... I think I kind of want to teach you some lessons first." "I'm all ears, honey." "First, I want you to take off your clothes." He rose to his feet again, looking enormous from where I sat on the bed. He kicked off his boots, pulled off his shirt and started undoing his belt buckle so he could slip his pants and boxers down his impossibly long legs. He was already half-hard and I had to bite down on my lip at the mere sight of him. He was quite a spectacle of a man. All arms, legs and torso, skin as pale as paper and his tattoos did nothing but make him stand out even more. His oil-stained fingers gave me a nostalgic feeling and seeing him completely naked from the waist down was just as enlivening as the ride we had taken together not but thirty minutes prior. "Can I..." I began but didn't fully have the confidence to utter the question at first. "Can I tie you up?" "Fuck yes you can." "Get on the bed," I told him as I got up to rummage through my top dresser drawer where I kept my underwear and all of my sex-related toys and treats. I pulled out two sets of handcuffs; one very high-quality, hardcore heavy metal and one not so serious- the kind you buy for twenty bucks at a novelty store for your first time. I decided to use the more heavy duty cuffs because I felt like he would appreciate the real metal above the nickel-plated beginner cuffs. He had already climbed onto my bed and laid on his back with his arms tucked behind his head in anticipation. "Oh, mistress. I knew that you were very, very naughty," he mused as I approached, swinging the cuffs like a pendulum on my finger. Licking his lips, he said, "Oh, I just know I'm going to regret this." I climbed over him and only felt slightly embarrassed about how it felt to handcuff a fully grown man to the headboard bars of the bed I had had since I was a teenager. I couldn't help but wonder if he took me seriously or if he was just humoring me but when I snapped one cuff around his wrist and then the other one it was too late for him to back out and the sudden realization of power I had over him was so delicious and bursting with potential. His eyes followed me as I scooted down his body, letting my fingernails trickle down from his hands to his arms and down his chest. He tittered at the sensation and got himself as comfortable as he could with his wrists bound to the metal bars. "I get a safe word, don't I?" He asked. "If you like." "Mercy." "Oh, I like that." "So... What are you going to do to me?" He inquired, curiosity evident in his voice. I smirked a desirous portent and began to move against him slowly. I was still clothed in my panties, skirt, and top so the friction between us was dulled and necessarily so. I wanted to prolong his sexual suffering for as long as I could. It gave me a thirst that I didn't know I had, watching him tied up underneath me. Having somebody so mysterious and feared voluntarily surrender themselves to me was not something I got to experience all of the time. He groaned and closed his eyes while I wiggled my hips back and forth softly, smiling down at the man who was growing harder by the second. "Oh, you like to tease real nice and slow, huh?" "Sh, sweet boy. Close your eyes and get as hard as you possibly can. I want to feel it throbbing." He closed his eyes and sank his head back into the pillow, sighing and letting his arms relax. By the way, his bicep muscles flexed I could see he had been tense but with each gentle caress of my hips he melted further into the mattress, purred harder from the sensation and let his lips fall apart so delicately I was tempted to kiss him. So I did. I leaned over his body and kissed his bottom lip very quickly before he had a chance to react. I expected instant retaliation but instead, his eyes fluttered open and he stared up at me. I lifted my skirt and looked down between us so I could see what it looked like to grind myself against him. The tip of his cock glistened and he let out a whimper as he looked down too. "Fuck," was all he managed to say. He closed his eyes and sank his head back down again, twitching and moaning until his breath was lost. "I love hearing you moan, baby boy." "C-come on. I'm so hard. Sit on my cock, already." "No way. You don't make demands," I gently berated as I got off of him to get a better look at his fully naked body. I ran my hand over his chest and up his neck, tracing the tattoos and admiring his soft skin. The way he watched me was so satisfying like he was expecting me to do something terrible to him at any second. "Fuck, you have a nice big cock on you, don't you, bad boy?" "Mhmm." He nodded his head. "It's been a while since I've seen one so big," I told him and it was the truth. Once he was fully erect, his shaft laid over his stomach, the tip reaching just below his navel. I grasped it delicately, pulling lightly and running my thumb over the bubble of pre-cum that had formed there. When I gave him another squeeze he moved his hips upward, encouraging more of my stimulation but it was beyond gratifying to hear the whimpers he tried to muffle so I held back until he settled down. "You're going to torture me aren't you?" He asked breathlessly. I nodded and gave him a little kiss on his stomach. I couldn't hold back the smile of pure joy as the possibilities of all the ways I could make him my toy ran through my head. "Please be nice to me?" He begged. "You weren't nice to me last night. I think you deserve a bit of punishment." He sighed. "I suppose I deserve it." "Yes," I agreed, trailing more kisses up his ribs to his chest. "Don't worry, I'll make it hurt real good for you." I fully pressed my lips to his and for a sliver of a moment I thought he would return it but he turned his face to the side away from me. "Come on, Angel," he whispered, making no eye contact with me almost as though she was ashamed. "You can say mercy any time you want but we just got started, little boy." "Please... Do anything you want to me but just... Can we bring the focus back down to uh... My situation here?" "There you go making demands again. Who's the one tied up again? Oh, wait. It's you." "Please... Just be careful." I wasn't exactly sure what he meant when he asked me to exercise caution but I didn't want to ruin the mood by prodding him too far so I obliged him and crawled back down to continue with my salacious torture, much to his relief. I knew eventually we would circle back to the topic of why he wouldn't let me near his face but until then, I would enjoy the pleasure and pain I could inflict on him.

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