pairing - ledger!joker x oc
warnings- violence, murder, death, past abuse, manipulation?
wc - 2.8k
psychotic masterlist // main masterlist
Violet stood near the doorway with her back against the wall and the gun in her hand and her pulse hammering in her ears. She didn't understand what was happening. She understood only that the gun was in her hand and not his, and that he had done that deliberately, and that Frankie's eyes had found her now, wide and desperate.
Her arms lifted before she realized.
“Hey… hey, listen,” Frankie stammered, taking a small step forward before catching himself. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t even know what’s going on, alright? He’s lying… he’s always lying–”
“Wow,” Joker murmured, drifting a step to the side as if he were watching something mildly entertaining. “You really talk a lot when you’re scared.”
Frankie stepped closer to Violet, “Hey, listen to me. You look like you don’t wanna do this. You can put that down, alright? Nothing has to happen here.”
Joker tilted his head slightly, watching him with faint curiosity, like Frankie was an insect that had started to beg.
Suddenly Frankie was her father, standing in that kitchen four years ago. The man who laughed when she pointed the kitchen knife at him, because he knew she didn't have the stomach for it.
That hesitation had led to the white walls of Arkham, and years of being told she was ‘sick’.
Violet’s fingers tightened around the grip.
Joker just stood by the window, idly scratching at the makeup on his cheek.
BANG
The sound was loud and violent, the recoil jerked her arms up, vibration rattling her.
Frankie slumped back against the peeling wallpaper, sliding down until he hit the floor with a dull, heavy thud. The scared look he had was gone, replaced by a blank, glassy stare.
The ringing in her ears was deafening. Violet stood there, gun still raised.
Joker let out a breathy laugh and pushed himself off the wall. He walked over, his shoes thudding on the carpet, and plucked the gun from her hand.
“See?” he murmured, peering at the body. He smacked his lips, then looked at her, his eyes piercing, “Wasn’t so hard.”
He checked the safety on the pistol with a flick of his thumb. He turned toward the door, already losing interest.
“C’mon. I’m starving…” he gestured vaguely at the hallway with the gun.
Violet followed him, her legs feeling a little wobbly.
She watched the back of his purple coat, the way it swayed with his steps. It should have been unsettling, the fact that he could witness a death and wonder about dinner. But to Violet, it helped her realize the world didn’t stop or care when people died.
They reached the van, and the cool refreshing air hit her face. Joker hopped into the driver’s seat, the springs groaning under him. He tossed the pistol onto the dashboard where it clattered against the plastic.
Violet climbed into the passenger side, her movements stiff.
The van surged forward, tires shrieking as Joker took the corner with his usual reckless disregard for the speed limit. The interior began to smell like gunpowder that now clung to Violet’s skin.
She sat rigid in the passenger seat, staring out at the blurred lights of Gotham. Her hands were folded in her lap, her knuckles still white, though she wasn't shaking anymore. The silence in the van was thick, broken only by the hum of the van’s engine.
"Why?" she asked, her voice sounding small.
Joker didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes on the road, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he navigated a series of tight turns. “Why what?”
“Why take me there? You could have done that yourself, you didn’t need me for that.”
"Need you? No," he let out a dry laugh. "I don't need anything.”
He tapped his thumb against the steering wheel in an erratic rhythm, his tongue clicking against his teeth.
"You told me you regretted stopping," he said, his voice dropping. "I just wanted to see if you were a liar.”
Violet looked away from him, watching her reflection in the window. She leaned her head against the window, the cold glass vibrating against her temple.
"I'm not a liar," she said quietly.
Joker let out a low hum and pressed his foot harder on the gas, the van surging forward into the northeast side.
The van slowed as it rolled into the warehouse, the engine cutting out with a rattle. Violet remained seated in the passenger seat, her eyes fixed on the dash where the pistol lay.
Joker kicked his door open, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. He hopped out and slammed the door behind him, his steps thudding across the concrete.
"Miller!" he barked, his voice slicing through the low snores of the sleeping henchmen.
One of the thin men scrambled up from a folding chair, blinking away sleep as he reached for a holstered weapon. "Yeah? Yeah, boss, I'm up."
"Food. That Chinese place down the road. Order everything. And get the wontons. The crispy ones."
"Now? It's like three in the morning," Miller stammered, rubbing his eyes.
Joker stopped mid-stride. He turned his head slowly, watching the man with intensity.
Miller paled, fumbling for his phone. "Right. Got it."
Violet finally stepped out of the van. Her legs felt a little steadier now, though the smell of the apartment and gunpowder still clung to her. She walked toward her corner, but as she passed the center of the room, Joker’s gaze flicked toward her.
He simply kicked an empty crate toward the table set up off to the side and sat down. He pulled a deck of cards from his pocket, shuffling them in his hands.
Violet hesitated, then changed her direction. She walked over and sat on the crate, the cold air seeping through her hoodie.
They sat in silence while Miller muttered into the phone in the background. Joker’s fingers moved with speed, the cards dancing between his gloved fingers. He looked focused and calm, his eyes fixed entirely on the deck.
When the food arrived thirty minutes later, it was piled into greasy white paper bags. Miller dropped them on the table and retreated.
Joker reached in, pulled out a carton, and tossed it toward Violet without looking up. It skidded across the table, stopping right in front of her.
"Eat," he muttered, finally snapping the cards into a neat pile.
He opened his own container and began to eat with a plastic fork. It was the most normal thing she had seen him do.
Violet opened the box, the steam and smell of ginger and soy hitting her face.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Joker paused, a piece of chicken halfway to his mouth.
"Don't thank me," he rasped, his voice low enough that the men in the back couldn't hear.
A few days had passed since Frankie’s apartment, and Violet found herself not retreating to her corner as often. She watched the new TV when there was something on, or sat near his office, drawing while he worked.
One night, the henchmen were in the back, hunched over a game of cards, while Joker sat nearby, idly sharpening a pencil with his knife.
The small TV sitting on a stack of crates crackled to life as Violet turned it on.
"...and we continue to follow the developing story out of Arkham Asylum," the news anchor began, her voice professional. "Police have confirmed the identities of the two individuals who vanished during the chaotic breakout."
Joker’s knife paused against the wood. He didn't look up, but his head tilted slightly toward the screen. Violet leaned forward, her heart giving a slow, heavy thud against her ribs.
The screen flashed with two photos side-by-side.
On the left was the Joker’s mugshot, smeared greasepaint, scarred, and with a terrifying grin. On the right was a photo of Violet. It was her intake photo from four years ago. She looked younger, her eyes wide and startled, her hair pulled back tightly. She barely recognized herself.
"Convicted mass murderer known as 'The Joker' and inmate Violet Vale are believed to be traveling together," the anchor continued. "Vale, who was committed to the asylum at eighteen following a violent assault on her father, is considered armed and dangerous. Commissioner Gordon has issued a city-wide alert..."
Joker let out a low, breathy chuckle. He finally looked up, his eyes darting from the television to Violet’s face. He smacked his lips, a slow, jagged grin spreading across his face.
"Look at that," he rasped, gesturing toward the TV with the tip of his pencil. "You’re famous."
"...it has been two months since the city began to recover from the reign of terror that gripped Gotham throughout the summer," the news anchor continued, her voice dropping into a somber tone. "The man responsible, still known only as the Joker, remains at large after his daring escape..."
Violet leaned in. She had been in Arkham for four years. She knew he was a criminal, she knew he was feared, but she had never learned the specifics.
The screen began a montage of grainy, terrifying footage.
First, a video of a man tied up and dressed as Batman, Joker’s voice laughing in the background. Then, another video of a news anchor hanging upside down.
"From the targeted assassinations of city officials to the cold-blooded murder of his own associates during a bank heist," the anchor’s voice played over a shot of a hospital collapsing into a mountain of dust. "He turned Gotham into a war zone, culminating in the horrific 'social experiment' involving two ferries rigged with explosives."
The Joker’s chuckle cut through the drone of the news anchor’s voice. He was hunched over the table again, idly scratching a jagged line into the wood with his knife. She realized then that what he did didn’t really scare her.
"Social experiment?" Violet asked quietly.
He let out a long sigh, his thumb tracing the jagged line he’d just carved. He smacked his lips, a quick, wet sound, and finally flicked his eyes toward her.
"Two boats," he rasped, his voice flat. "One filled with the… sweet law-abiding citizens... the other with the uh… scum from Blackgate. I gave ’em each a remote to blow the other boat. And I was going to uh… blow them both up at midnight. But The Batman had other plans."
He let out a snort and turned back to the wood, starting a new scratch.
“Figured all those rules they follow would crack under pressure. They were just too... scared to be the first one to show everyone who they really are." He shook his head slightly, his greasy green hair falling over his forehead. "They just waited for someone else to do the job."
Violet looked from him to the screen. She thought about the people on those boats, paralyzed by the choice. About how she hesitated with her father.
Frankie’s face flashed in her mind, the way he was pleading for his life. She waited for the guilt to hit her, the kind she’d seen in movies where the main character cries, realizing they’d taken a life.
She tried to think of a reason why she even shot Frankie. Anger? Justice? They all felt like lies she was telling herself.
Why am I here?
She looked around at the peeling walls of the warehouse, the piles of stolen crates, and the small TV. For four years, she had dreamed of being anywhere but Arkham, but she hadn't pictured this. She hadn't pictured staying with a man the world called a monster.
If she was any other girl she’d take the keys and try to find a better life. But as Violet looked at the heavy bay doors, she realized she didn't have a new life waiting for her. She didn't have a before to go back to.
Violet realized then for the first time in twenty-two years, no one was telling her who to be. Not her parents, not the doctors, and not even the man in white face paint.
Joker smacked his lips again, bringing her out of her thoughts. "And the best part?” he said, almost amused. “The Bat... he’s gone. Poof.” He stabbed the table with his knife. “He took it all on himself. Harvey’s... little murders. Batman took it on just to keep their White Knight’s image clean."
Violet watched the screen for another moment before reaching out and muting it. The anchor’s voice vanished, leaving only the creaks of the warehouse and the chatter of the new henchmen in the back.
“Who’s Harvey?” Violet asked.
“Harvey Dent,” he said. “District Attorney… I showed him what was hiding underneath.”
She wondered if that was what he was doing with her. Whether he'd seen something underneath her that first day in the rec room. Whether killing Frankie had already answered the question.
The scritch of the knife against the table was the only sound in the warehouse until a pair of heavy boots clacked across the concrete.
"Boss?"
It was Miller, the thin man who had ordered the Chinese food a few nights ago. He looked nervous, his eyes darting briefly to Violet and then back to the Joker. He was clutching a heavy canvas bag in one hand and checked his watch with the other.
Joker tilted his head, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.
"The, uh... the guys are loaded up," Miller stammered. "Van’s running. We’re ready to go."
Slowly, Joker snapped the switchblade shut with a click. He stood up and snatched his purple coat off the chair, swinging it over his shoulders with a shrug. He began walking towards the van, stopping halfway. He turned his gaze toward Violet, his brown eyes dark behind the smudged black around them.
"Well?"
She stood up. She didn't have a plan, and she didn't have a home, but she knew she didn't want to be the one sitting on a boat waiting for someone else to push the button.
The van rolled to a stop near the docks, the engine idling with a rattle. Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, reflecting the warm light of the streetlamps.
The Joker dropped the walkie-talkie into her lap without looking at her.
“You know what to do,” he said.
The men all shuffled out, henchmen checking their sidearms with a series of clicks. While they moved toward the door, Joker didn't look back at her. He was already focused on the lock, picking it with precision.
Now, she was alone in the van, the dashboard lights casting a glow over her. She watched the side mirror, then the rearview, her eyes tracking every movement in the street.
Then, a pair of headlights turned onto the block, moving slowly. Too slow for someone just passing through. It was a private security car, the driver scanning the warehouses. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Joker and the men were still inside.
She pressed the radio button. Nothing. The batteries were dead.
Without thinking, she pushed her door open and stepped out into the middle of the street, right into the path of the approaching car. She looked small in the glare of the high beams, her dark hair messy and her oversized jacket hanging off her shoulders.
The car screeched to a halt just feet away from her. The driver, a man in a tan uniform, rolled down his window, looking more annoyed than suspicious. "Hey! What are you doing out here? This is private property.”
"I... I lost my cat," she said, her voice small and trembling. She pointed toward the opposite alley, away from where the van was hidden. "He ran over there. I can't find him..."
The guard sighed, looking at his watch. "Look, it’s one in the morning. Go home."
"Please," she said, stepping closer to his window. ”I think he went behind that fence.”
Finally, she heard the thud of the van's sliding door closing in the alley behind her. A split second later, the van’s headlights flickered once.
"I think I see him!" Violet suddenly gasped, pointing toward the far street corner. "There! Behind the dumpster!"
Before the guard could respond, she bolted away, disappearing between two buildings. She ran back, her lungs burning, and dived into the van’s passenger side just as it began to roll forward.
Joker didn't stop to let her get settled. He took the corner sharply, the tires loud against the wet asphalt.
In the back, Miller leaned forward, bracing his hand on the headrest of Violet’s seat.
"I thought we were cooked," he breathed, a grin on his face. “Good job.”
Violet politely smiled back, “Thanks.”
The Joker remained hunched over the wheel, his hands light as he navigated the dark streets. He let the silence stretch out, letting the men's praise hang in the air until the atmosphere in the van felt thick.
Suddenly, he flicked his eyes toward her. A thin smile pulled at his scars. He let out a soft chuckle that made the hair on her arms stand up. "Someone oughta be an actress."
☆ about me - halo, twenties, she/her, sagittarius, infp
i joined tumblr in 2013 because of glee // im friendly and would love to make friends so pls reach out! *✧･ﾟ
*･ﾟlikes: plants, music, animals, pinterest, food, art
*･ﾟmusic: bts, grimes, deadmau5, michael jackson, the beatles, djo
*･ﾟfaves: the joker, eddie munson, steve harrington, kylo ren, anakin skywalker, wolverine, bucky barnes, tony stark, loki, negan, daryl dixon, silco, simon 'ghost' riley, arthur morgan, gojo satoru, levi ackermann, sanemi shinazugawa, vegeta
pairing - ledger!joker x oc
warnings- violence, past abuse, manipulation?
wc - 2.3k
psychotic masterlist // main masterlist
She'd been eighteen the last time she was in the city, and she hadn't been paying much attention then. Now she sat in the passenger seat with her hands pressed flat against her thighs and watched it scroll past the window like something she was being shown on a screen.
The neon signs, the wet gleam of the streets. A man smoking alone on a fire escape four floors up, the end of his cigarette glowing orange.
He drove with one hand draped casually over the wheel, his fingers tapping an erratic, rhythmic beat against the leather.
He took a sharp corner, the tires shrieking against the rain-slicked road. The momentum threw Violet’s shoulder firmly against his. The scent of him, smoke and sweat, filled her lungs, settling in her chest like a heavy weight.
The abandoned warehouse was on the northeast side of Gotham, outside a run-down neighborhood. It was cold and spacious, dust drifting through the beams of moonlight that filtered through the skylights. Violet had claimed a corner for herself, far in the back. A small nest of tarps, fabrics, and cardboard boxes. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was hers. She sat in it that first night and pressed her back against the wall and listened to the sound of the city, convincing herself that this was real.
Then the others showed up.
First, a large man with a thick neck and a tattoo that curled up toward his ear. Then two thinner men who barely registered her existence at all.
Joker had introduced them with a vague, lazy gesture. "My new... associates."
The warehouse, once empty, quickly transformed into a hub of criminal activity. The smell of cheap takeout frequently filled the air, along with loud voices and crude jokes.
She started taking long walks outside, wandering the surrounding streets just to escape the noise. When the weather turned bad, she retreated to her corner, sketching in a worn notebook she’d found buried under debris.
And the Joker she had known, who had sat across from her at that rec room table and looked at her like she wasn’t invisible, had disappeared.
He spent his days hunched over a makeshift desk, muttering to himself, or standing before a spread of news reports pinned to the wall. When she crossed his path she usually got an uninterested grunt.
Once, he looked up from his papers when she passed and she felt something leap hopefully in her chest and he said, without looking at her, "Move, you're blocking the light."
At night she lay in her corner and listened to the creaks of the warehouse and told herself it didn't matter. That she'd been alone before, she was used to it.
But her heart still reacted; it leaped at the sound of his voice from across the room, still noticed every time he moved through her peripheral vision. Every time he walked past her, a cold feeling settled in her chest that she couldn’t name.
The energy in the warehouse shifted one night.
His men moved with intention, checking weapons, strapping on gear, their voices serious.
Violet stayed in her corner, watching.
Joker stood near the center of the room, his gaze drifting across the space until it settled on her small figure. Without a word, he lifted his hand and crooked a finger towards him.
She stood immediately, her pulse quickening as she crossed the floor, her bare feet silent on the cold concrete. One of the henchmen gave her a dismissive glance as she passed.
He tossed a bundle of dark clothing and shoes at her feet.
“Get dressed,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You’re coming.”
Violet hesitated, looking down at the hoodie, the pants, the worn sneakers. A flicker of unease moved through her.
He chuckled with amusement as he took a step closer, close enough that she was suddenly aware of their height difference, "You’re keeping watch.”
He gestured toward a pair of binoculars and a walkie-talkie resting on a nearby crate. "You're on the roof.” He tapped his own radio, “I have the other.”
Violet nodded, relief mixing with fear. She gathered the clothes and hurried off to change.
The hoodie felt rough against her skin as they moved through Gotham’s back alleys. She followed a few steps behind Joker and watched the way he walked, his unhurried pace, hands loose at his sides.
He stopped at a six-story building wedged between a noisy bar and a boarded-up storefront, its upper floors dark. He tilted his head upward, a faint grin pulling at his lips, and pointed to the fire escape.
"Your VIP entrance."
Violet’s stomach tightened. She looked up at the rusted metal and looked back at him.
He was watching her with an impatient tilt of his head.
She stepped forward and began to climb, the metal creaking beneath her weight. She kept her focus upward, ignoring the height, ignoring the way her hands shook.
By the time she reached the top, her arms burned and her breathing had gone ragged. She stood there for a moment just catching her breath, and then she picked up the binoculars and scanned the area below.
The armored truck was already parked across the street, two guards visible through the windshield. She steadied herself against the ledge and watched, body tense.
Joker’s associates appeared, moving into position. One approached the driver’s side window while the other two circled toward the back.
The glass window rolled down, and a muffled exchange followed, and the guards stepped out. The guards kept their hands near their holstered weapons, attention on the back of the vehicle. As they rounded the corner of the truck, the two waiting henchmen took them out silently. The guards’ bodies hit the pavement with a thud that made Violet’s grip tighten around the binoculars.
The getaway van pulled up with a screech. Joker stepped out like he had all the time in the world, gesturing casually as his men began loading the bags.
She was still watching him when movement in her peripheral vision snagged her attention.
The large tattooed man was pulling wads of bills from one of the bags and slipping them inside his jacket.
She watched him repeat the action, her fingers tightening on the walkie-talkie, pressing the button.
"Joker," she said quietly, "the one with the tattoo… he's taking money–“
Joker moved without hurry, stepping up behind the tattooed man, and then his hands shot out, snapping his neck with precision. The sound echoed even from her position. The body dropped, money spilling across the pavement.
The two remaining men froze.
Joker tilted his head, a smile spreading across his face as he stepped over the body.
"Oops," he breathed, his voice laced with sarcasm. He gathered the fallen bills and tossed them back into the van as if nothing had happened.
The sound of distant sirens broke the tension.
The three of them climbed into the van, peeling out of the alley with a shriek. They sped down the street, stopping below Violet’s position.
Joker leaned out of the window and gestured with his hand, signaling for her to come down.
Taking a deep breath, she climbed down as quickly as she could, dropping the last few feet and rushing to the van. She slid into the passenger seat just as it lurched forward again.
Violet braced herself as the van swerved, the city a blur outside the window. Laughter filled the back of the van, but Joker remained quiet. His eyes stayed on the road, his expression unreadable as he hummed softly under his breath. The passing streetlights illuminated his face in flashes, highlighting the smeared paint and the scars.
Back at the warehouse, the others piled out immediately, hauling bags.
Joker stayed in the driver’s seat. Violet remained where she was, unsure if she should move. She remained still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, walkie-talkie heavy on her waistband.
After a moment, he turned his head and looked at her. The intensity of his gaze caught her off guard.
"So," he rasped, “Ya have fun?”
Violet swallowed, "Fun?"
Images of the guards and the tattooed man flickered through her mind, then the feeling of adrenaline that hadn’t entirely faded.
Joker smacked his lips, a grin spreading across his scarred face as he leaned slightly closer. “Yeah… fun,” he repeated, “Y’know, you playin’ lookout like a good girl.”
Violet looked away, her face heating up. “I was just doing what you asked.”
His grin widened, “Sure.” He reached into his coat, pulling out a stack of hundred dollar bills, dropping it on her lap. “Your cut.”
She looked at the paper in surprise as he stepped out the van, door slamming behind him.
The money sat in the corner of her nest collecting dust. She couldn’t bring herself to spend it, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it either. The robbery replayed in her mind again and again, and each time she felt that same flicker of adrenaline.
The next night, she couldn’t sleep.
The warehouse was quiet for once, the others passed out and snoring. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling as her thoughts drifted back to places she tried not to go.
She noticed a faint light spilling from Joker's makeshift office.
Quietly, she pushed herself upright, cardboard beneath her rustling. She moved toward his office without thinking too much about why.
Inside, Joker sat at his cluttered table, shoulders hunched, idly spinning a switchblade between his fingers. The harsh overhead light cast shadows across his face, the smeared paint making him look almost distorted. He didn't look up when she entered.
Violet hesitated at the doorway, then crossed the room and lowered herself onto an old crate a few feet away from him.
"Can't sleep?” he asked.
"Something like that," she whispered.
The silence stretched. It was the same kind of silence they'd had in the rec room sometimes.
She took a deep breath. The words came rushing out, "My father… hurt me.”
Joker’s hand froze mid-spin, the blade of his knife catching the light.
“My mother would just watch," she continued, “She never tried to help. Never tried to stop him.” Her fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt. “So… I tried to kill him.”
He turned slowly, attention shifting to her.
He tapped the blade against the table, “Y’know” he said, voice soft now, almost like he was confiding something. “Pain doesn’t just… evaporate. It waits… Until one day…you uh… do something about it.”
The light overhead crackled faintly.
“So,” he said, smacking his lips, “You didn’t finish the job. What happened?”
Her fingers tightened in her lap. “I froze,” she admitted. “I was going to do it… But he looked at me like he knew I wouldn’t.”
Joker let out a breath through his nose. He leaned back in his chair, the metal creaking under him.
“Next time, don’t hesitate.” He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees. “You regret it?” he asked.
She looked up, meeting his gaze. “No,” she said quietly. “I regret stopping.”
A slow grin spread across his face, “Good.”
The silence returned. She felt lighter than she had in a long time. Like something that had been pressing on her chest had shifted slightly.
Violet hesitated, then asked softly, “What about you?”
His tongue clicked against his teeth. “What about me?”
“What made you…” she paused searching for the word. “Snap.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he stood, stretching with a grunt.
“Long story,” he said. He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. “C’mon.”
The drive was quiet, the city streets mostly empty. Joker drove with easy confidence, one hand on the wheel, and she sat with her hands in her lap and watched the streets go past and didn't ask where they were going.
He pulled up outside a rundown apartment building in an old neighborhood, and cut the engine.
He reached inside his coat and pulled out a pistol. He held it out to her, grip first, without explanation.
Violet stared at it before slowly taking it.
It was heavier than she'd expected, or maybe it was just because she'd never held one before.
He pushed his door open, “Let’s go.”
The building's front door was unlocked, the hallway inside smelled like old carpet and something else she couldn’t name. He moved through it like he belonged there, which she was starting to understand was how he moved through everything. She followed a step behind, the gun heavy in her grip, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
Their footsteps were quiet on the rotting carpet. They climbed the stairs to the third floor, and he stopped at a door near the end of the corridor and knocked.
A muffled voice came from inside, “Who the hell-” The door creaked open.
The man who stood there was thin, disheveled, blinking like he'd been asleep. His face drained of color, his mouth opening as he stumbled backwards.
“No. No, no… what the hell do you want?”
Joker smiled.
“Frankie,” he said, stretching the name out.
The man tried to shut the door, but Joker caught it easily, shoulder prying it open as he stepped inside.
Frankie stumbled backward into his own living room, hands coming up. "I didn't know! I swear, it wasn't my call! Whatever you think I did I didn't–"
"You took the money," Joker said simply. He moved through the apartment with a slow, deliberate pace, dragging a gloved finger along the dusty surface of the coffee table, examining whatever he found there. "Crates of guns. All duds." He looked at his finger. Looked at Frankie. "You knew."
Violet sat in her usual corner in the rec room, where the wall behind her was peeling in curled flakes. Her legs were folded beneath her in the chair, head down in focus. A crayon was cradled in her hand, drawing a blue flower onto a piece of paper.
The entrance door groaned open, followed by unhurried footsteps. A few patients across the room paused their aimless wandering, a nervous tension in the air.
The man who now occupied the cell across from hers stood in the threshold. His face-paint was nearly gone, smeared into the creases on his forehead. His red jumpsuit was wrinkled, collar loose.
He looked around the room with disinterest.
He seemed to recognize Violet and a smirk crept across his face. He walked slowly, weaving between the aimless shuffle of other patients. When he reached her table, he grabbed a nearby chair with a screech of metal on tile, dragging it far too close.
He dropped into it with legs splayed wide, leaning back like he owned the place.
“Hello… neighbor.”
Violet's stomach fluttered, crayon held still over the page. She noticed a couple people staring with a mix of fear and curiosity.
“…Hi,” she muttered, her voice dry from being unused.
His gaze flickered over her and then shifted to the paper, studying it with an odd interest.
"Nice flower," he said with a teasing grin. “It looks a little… lonely.” On the last word his eyes flick up to hers.
Her eyes darted back to her drawing, dropping her crayon. She picked up a nearby green crayon, scribbling another quick flower next to the blue flower.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, smirk widening. He reached forward, plucking a bright yellow crayon from the table. He held it between his fingers, then scratched a jagged sun in the upper right corner of the paper.
He tilted his head, grinning at her own smile.
“You gotta name?”
Her gaze dropped to the table again. She traced her finger over the little wax crumbs the yellow crayon left behind.
Softly, she replied, "…Violet."
“Violet,” he echoed with a flick of his tongue over his bottom lip.
Violet didn’t respond, but her eyes flicked up to meet his briefly, before darting away again.
The man, she didn’t know his name, leaned back in the chair again, letting it creak under his weight. His arms folded behind his head, the yellow crayon still pinched between his fingers like a cigarette.
He tilted his head again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “You been here long?”
She nodded.
He smiled, though there wasn’t much warmth in it. “Mm. Thought so.”
He looked down at the crayon still in his fingers and twirled it idly. Then he leaned in again, elbows hitting the table, suddenly closer than before.
“You, uh… know who I am?”
Violet’s throat tightened, her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the paper. She shook her head.
He lowly chuckled. “No?” His eyebrows lifted, intrigued.
For a moment, he just watched her. His eyes weren’t like the others, not sharp and probing like the doctors, or glazed over like the inmates. They were steady and calculating.
“Name’s… Joker,” he finally said, tapping the yellow crayon against the table. “Seems you ah… missed the memo.”
Violet glanced at him again and then looked at the crayon in his hand. The way he spun it with such ease. She wondered if he was always this calm and measured.
“I don’t talk to people much…” she said, voice so soft it could’ve been lost under the other noises in the room.
His grin returned, “But you’re talking to me.”
She looked away again. “I don’t know why...”
“Mm.” He tapped the crayon.
He let the silence stretch, watching her squirm under the weight of it. For a second, the rec room didn’t feel quite so loud. The guards, the static from the TV, the patients arguing in the background; it all faded.
“Y’know… You’re not quiet because you’ve got nothing to say,” he said, leaning forward. “You’re quiet because you learned not to waste your breath on people who won’t listen.”
“You talk like you already know me," she said softly.
He chuckled softly, hands folded in his lap.
“Maybe you’re just easier to read than you think.”
Her eyes dropped to the paper again; blue petals, now slightly smudged where her fingers had pressed too hard. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel exposed. His fingers slid the yellow crayon across the table toward her, slow and deliberate, like he was offering her something more than just wax.
“So, tell me,” he said, “how did someone like you end up here?”
She picked up the yellow crayon he had slid toward her. She pressed it to the paper, filling in the crooked sun he had drawn.
She tensed, “I tried to kill someone.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d told him. Maybe because he asked. Maybe because she was tired of holding it in.
His grin turned more thoughtful now, like he was taking her in from a new angle.
“You tried…,” he quickly darts his tongue out to lick the corners of his mouth.
“You don’t want to ask who?” she murmured, still coloring.
“If you uh, wanted to tell me, you would’ve.”
She glanced at him through her lashes, surprised. There was no mockery. No asking for details. Just... observation. Interest. Maybe even a sliver of understanding.
“I was eighteen,” she said, quietly, eyes fixed on the paper.
His fingers drummed once on the table’s edge, but otherwise, he didn’t move.
“Y’see… You and me,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table, “we’re not so different.”
“People like us,” Joker continued as he stood from the chair, stretching, “we don’t belong in cages."
Before Violet could process his words, a sharp voice cut through the hum of the rec room.
“Alright, time’s up!” one of the guards barked, clapping his hands together loudly. “Move it!”
The other inmates began to stir, a collective groan rippling through the room. The black and white cartoon on the television flickered and died.
Joker paused in his stretch, a wry smile playing on his lips as he glanced towards the guard. “Party’s over, sunshine,” he said with a smirk. “See you 'round...”
Violet didn’t answer, her gaze still fixed on the drawing, the yellow sun a stark contrast to the blue and green flowers. Her fingers traced the edge of the paper, a faint frown creasing her brow as their conversation replayed in her mind.
He didn’t look back, a flash of faded green disappearing amongst the shuffling forms of the other patients heading towards the exit. As he passed a table occupied by a man muttering to himself, a swift flick of his wrist sent a chess piece clattering to the floor. The sharp sound snagged the attention of the guard who had called time, earning Joker a glare. A low chuckle rumbled in Joker’s chest as he continued towards the heavy door, vanishing through it.
Lost in thought, Violet watched the space where he had been, barely registering the emptying room. She was still tracing the sun when a burly guard with tired eyes stood beside her table, gesturing towards the door with impatience. “Let’s go.”
She quickly folded the scrap of paper, standing up with the yellow crayon still clutched in her other hand. Walking out, she felt the absence of the Joker’s presence already creating a strange emptiness within her.
A couple weeks had passed since their encounter in the rec room, weeks filled with routine. Everyday during the allotted rec time, he would gravitate towards Violet’s usual corner. Other patients steered clear, sometimes looking at them with curiosity. She wasn’t sure if it was because of him or people had learned she preferred to be left alone.
Though hesitant at first, Violet found herself looking forward to their daily conversations. He had a dark sense of humor and could easily point out the absurdities in Arkham. He never pried into her past, and was interested in how she viewed the world.
She still kept her distance from other people, the habit hard to break. But around the Joker, something was different. She knew she shouldn’t trust it, but it was the only sense of normalcy she could cling to.
On a Tuesday, Violet found herself scanning the room, anticipation in her chest. She sat in her usual corner and traced faint scratches on the table and tried not to watch the door, but her gaze kept drifting to the entrance.
The room felt heavier without his commentary. A knot formed in her stomach at the thought of her being left behind again, something to be discarded. She looked at the empty space where he normally sat, the yellow crayon in her pocket. The loneliness crept back into her, colder than before.
Back in the confines of her cell, she curled up on her narrow bed, pulling the scratchy blanket tightly around herself. She heard the muffled sounds of the evening rounds drifting through the block, including a familiar raspy voice. There was a brief exchange with a guard, then a metallic clang of a cell door.
She remained wrapped in her blanket, her back to the door. A confusing mix of emotions swirled within her; relief that he was okay and hurt at his absence.
The next morning she found him already in their corner when the rec room door opened, kicked up on the table, watching two men play chess with a detached interest.
He looked up as she approached, his dark eyes meeting hers with an unreadable expression.
She sat down across from him, tucking her feet beneath her, letting her dark hair fall into her face.
He lowered his feet with a thud. Violet flinched at the sound, and his eyes moved to her. A softer expression flickered across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual unsettlingly charming demeanor.
“So,” he began, “anything interesting happen yesterday?”
She shook her head.
He leaned back, gaze drifting across the room. “Didn’t think so,” he chuckles, “this place is as exciting as watching paint dry.” He paused. “At least it’s… temporary.”
Violet looked at him, her brows furrowed in question.
He caught her questioning gaze and a slow, knowing smile spread across his scarred lips. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping, “We both deserve a, uh…change of scenery.”
"What do you mean?" she mumbled.
He leaned closer, elbows resting on the table, the space between them shrinking.
“Y'see... Places like this,” his dark eyes holding hers, “they’re just waiting rooms. Temporary, until something… better comes along.” He tapped a finger on her chair. “Or until you make something better happen.”
Violet stared at him, the idea of leaving, of escaping, barely registered as a real possibility. She’d stopped letting herself think those thoughts a long time ago.
The knot in her stomach tightened. "We can't just... leave," her voice barely audible.
He looked at her for a moment, something unreadable behind his eyes.
“This place is a cage… and all cages have locks. And all locks have keys.”
Over the next few weeks, Violet began paying closer attention to the guards’ routines. She memorized the exact timing of shift changes, the echoing sound of their boots on the floor, even the rhythm of their patrols around the building. She knew the Joker would handle most of the escape plan, but watching people... that was something she had always been good at.
She had told him what she noticed, quietly, at the table in her corner. He listened with his chin in his hand and that expression she still couldn't fully read, the one that might have been amusement and might have been something more calculated than that.
He had praised her, and something warm and unidentifiable moved through her chest.
He told her it would be tonight.
He said it at the end of rec period, like he was mentioning the weather.
Now she lay on her cot, fully dressed, shoes on, heart thudding against her ribs. The cell was dark except for the light bleeding through the door window. She stared at the ceiling and counted the cracks the way she always did, but her mind wouldn't settle on them.
Four years.
She was going to walk out of here tonight and it had been four years and she didn't know what was out there anymore.
She heard a faint electronic beep from across the corridor.
She sat up as a shadow passed over the small window in her cell door.
Another beep. The door slid open.
He stood in the threshold.
Gone was the red jumpsuit. Instead, a disheveled Arkham guard’s uniform, a keycard twirling carelessly between his fingers. He looked at her with that usual tilt of his head.
“Evening, Violet,” he drawled, tongue flicking across his bottom lip. He stepped back with a theatrical bow, holding the door open wide.
She crossed the cell. Her eyes met his as she passed through the door, a glint of mischief and madness.
She stepped into the hallway. The lights above flickered faintly, casting long shadows. The Joker shut the door behind her with a soft click, then motioned for her to follow.
“Stick close,” he muttered.
They moved down the corridor in silence. He led with confidence, like he'd walked this route a hundred times in his head. The keycard made a soft whirr at each door, and each door unlocked with ease.
They rounded a corner and nearly collided with someone standing at the far end of the hallway.
Violet froze, instinct screaming danger, until she realized the woman wasn’t a guard.
She wore a lab coat, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a faint smudge of lipstick at the corner of her mouth. Blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, as if she’d thrown it up in a hurry. Her eyes lit up the second they landed on the Joker.
“J,” she whispered.
“Harleen,” he said flatly.
Dr. Quinzel stepped forward, face flushed. “I looped the last hallway feed and left the door to the stairwell open.” Her eyes flicked to Violet, a quick once-over, a sour expression shifted onto her face.
“Who’s this?”
"Doesn't matter," he said, with a flick of his tongue. “You did your part. Now go back and pretend you never saw us.”
Harleen blinked. “But–”
He looked at her with an impatient tilt of his head.
Harleen’s mouth opened like she wanted to argue, but she turned and walked away, the click of her heels echoing down the hall.
Joker rolled his eyes at her departure, turning back to Violet with a grin.
“Down we go,” he said, gesturing to the stairwell.
Violet scanned the hallway once more and followed him down the dimly lit stairs.
At the basement door he pressed his ear to it, listening.A moment passed, then he slipped the keycard through the reader. It gave a soft beep and unlocked with a click.
“One guard,” he murmured.
He shot her a wicked grin before turning the corner.
The guard was slouched in a chair, eyes half-lidded, a sandwich in one hand. He didn’t even register them until it was too late. The Joker moved fast, slamming the man’s head against the wall in one clean motion. The sandwich hit the ground with a wet splat.
Violet's breath caught. She looked at him, the way he straightened his borrowed uniform and glanced back at her, unbothered, and felt something she didn't have a word for.
“Keep it moving,” he said.
Violet stepped over the guard’s body without hesitation.
They slipped through a rusted metal door that led into the Arkham parking garage. The space was wide and with a low ceiling, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Rows of vans and sedans sitting abandoned for the night as their footsteps echoed.
Joker moved ahead, whistling softly to himself. She kept pace with him and watched the way he moved, his unhurried walk, the occasional twitch of his fingers at his side. Four years in Arkham had given her a better insight into broken people, and he didn't fit any of them.
He pulled a set of keys from the utility belt he’d taken earlier and clicked a button. Somewhere to their right, a sleek black sedan blinked to life, headlights flashing.
He slid into the driver’s seat without missing a beat, then looked across at her. Her hands were shaking slightly and she pressed them flat against her thighs so he wouldn't see.
As the engine started, Joker tilted his head like he was listening for something. From somewhere deep in the building, an alarm began to blare.
"Well," he said, satisfaction in his voice, "looks like they noticed." He glanced at her, a slow smile spreading across his scarred face. "Too late."
The car peeled out into the night, tires shrieking. Violet gripped the door handle and watched through the windshield as the gates of Arkham swung past and fell away behind them.
The city lights bled past the windows in long smears of amber and white, and the air through the dashboard vents smelled nothing like Arkham, nothing like the last four years of her life.
Violet sat in the corner of her cell, curled up like a forgotten doll. Her small frame was pressed against the cold concrete wall, knees drawn tight to her chest. Her pale skin almost blended with the gray of the cell, the sharp contrast of her dark brown hair spilling down over her red jumpsuit. It was long, tangled from lack of care, sticking to her face.
She was used to the constant noise of Arkham. The distant screams, the sounds of the guards’ footsteps on the tile, and the hum of fluorescent lights.
Her blue eyes stared straight ahead at nothing in particular. Her hands rested gently on her knees, fingers curling into themselves, as she counted things. The cracks in the ceiling. Each sound she heard an inmate make.
Sometimes, when the night grew long, her memories became more vivid.
The floor beneath her turning red, the coffee mug shattering on the table after her father’s last sip.
Violet was twenty-two now. Still here. Still stuck in the same cold place.
The door to her cell hissed open, and Dr. Adrien Lorre stepped inside. He was younger than most of the doctors here, his face clean-shaven and soft, like someone who had never experienced the brutality of Arkham. His movements were careful and controlled, as though he was trying not to provoke a reaction. His dark blue suit was tailored, his peppermint scent far too fresh for this place. He held a clipboard to his chest like a shield, as if it was for protection.
He sat down across from her on the metal stool, just a bit farther than most would, as if giving her space to breathe.
“Good morning, Violet,” he said, his voice calm and measured, almost too polite.
Violet didn’t respond. Her gaze shifted only briefly, catching the flicker of the light overhead. The low buzzing sound seemed to pull her attention more than the doctor.
His pen scratched against the paper as he wrote something down, like he always did.
"No hello today?" Dr. Lorre asked, his voice carried a trace of friendliness.
Her eyes shifted left again, her lips curling up slightly.
He blinked, pen scribbling on the paper again.
Violet sat alone in the rec room, her small frame perched at a table near the back wall while the other inmates moved about the room. The television blared old cartoons—black and white. Two guards leaned against the door with their arms crossed, watching like hawks.
Violet slowly stirred the plastic spoon in her cup of instant coffee. The bitter taste coated the back of her throat, but it was warm.
Across the room, an inmate threw a deck of cards at the wall and laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever done. A few others joined in. One of them looked at her, just for a second.
Violet dropped her gaze to her coffee, her fingers tightening around it.
Steps thudded down the hallway, low voices following. One of the guards’ radios crackled to life, static breaking through before a clipped voice muttered something about intake protocol and a new arrival.
The bed creaked beneath her as Violet sat with her back pressed against the cold concrete wall, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The blanket beneath was scratchy and thin, barely enough to keep her warm. Her blue eyes were fixed on the opposite wall, unmoving.
Across the hall, a heavy clang broke the silence.
“No funny business, clown,” one of the guards barked.
A voice answered, low and raspy, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Violet straightened slightly, curiosity pulling her up. She unfolded herself from the bed, her movements stealthy, and stepped barefoot toward the narrow, wired-glass window in her cell door. Her breath fogged the pane as she leaned closer.
The cell across from hers had been empty for weeks, ever since its last tenant was wheeled out beneath a sheet. Now it wasn’t empty anymore.
A man stood there, letting the guards lead him without resistance. His hands were cuffed loosely in front of him, his shoulders slouched. His skin was pale against the harsh red of his jumpsuit. Greasy dyed-green hair hung around his barely painted face in uneven strands. Remnants of white makeup caked across his cheeks and forehead, accompanied by the messy red of a painted-on smile, bleeding into the deep, carved scars stretching along his cheeks.
His brown eyes scanned the corridor lazily, until they caught hers.
Her stomach fluttered. She stepped back from the door quickly, heart thudding against her ribs, the heat of embarrassment rising to her cheeks.
From across the hallway came a low, amused chuckle.
The guard uncuffed him with a metallic clink and a muttered warning before locking the cell behind him and walking away. The sound of their boots faded.
Then, the man began whistling.
It wasn’t any melody she recognized, it was off-key, making it up as he went.
She pressed her back to the wall again, tucked her legs under her, trying to disappear once again. The whistling continued, snaking under the door and into her ears.
There was a pause, and then the wet smack of his lips, followed by a dry chuckle.
She exhaled, the breath slow and measured, and leaned her head against the wall. Through the concrete, she could hear the scuff of his shoes as he began pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth.
And for the first time in a long while… she didn't feel alone.
summary - For four years, Violet kept to herself in the walls of Arkham Asylum. Her world is turned upside down by the arrival of the newest inmate, the Joker, freshly incarcerated after the events of The Dark Knight.
He becomes fixated with her, but curiosity turns into something deeper, pulling Violet into his chaotic world.
warnings - mental health, murder, manipulation, language, past abuse, eventual smut, and violence.
part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4
AO3
18+ // MDNI
[ this story is purely fictional and should not be taken seriously thanks so much ]
Hi! I would like to send a request, can you do something with the prompt numbers, 16. “I thought I lost you.”, and 19. “You could have died.”, with the character Kylo Ren /Ben Solo? 🙂
revenge is not worth this
masterlist
words: 911
warnings: violence and injury
A mix of fury and dread filled Kylo as he stood in a battlefield on D’Qar. The sound of blasters and starfighters faded as he glowered at the back of your head.
“You’re not going.”
“Why not?” you retort.
“I don’t want you getting hurt. If anything happened to you I-,” Kylo sucks in a deep breath, “Just… stay here.”
You had told him you wouldn’t go, yet here you are, swinging the lightsaber he had gifted you to train with. You’re defending yourself against a resistance soldier in a sea blaster fire, X-wings fighting off TIE fighters and rocket launcher explosions.
The sound of your name strikes your ears over the screams of battle as you inwardly wince as you recognize his voice. Your gaze lingered as you watched him maneuver across the grassy field effortlessly. His red cross-hilted lightsaber swung through the air around him in flashes of crimson light as he dodged blasts of green plasma as his masked head never strayed from your direction.
Before you could register it a flash of light blurs your vision and you feel a sharp pain in your abdomen. Through the sounds of battle, you hear a vocoded roar followed by a resounding thud behind you. Your attacker laid in a pile of twitching limbs, a victim of Kylo’s force push.
As your legs begin to give out, Kylo swoops in and cradles you in his black-clad arms. He’s talking to you through his helmet, but you couldn’t make out any words. The rocking of Kylo’s steps beneath you lulls you into a deeper state of irresistible drowsiness as you briefly recognize the interior of Kylo’s TIE silencer before you let your eyes close.
The dull ache on your side is the first thing you notice when you wake up. A blanket is covering your lower half, exposing your bacta patch covered wound to the chilly air. You blink your eyes open to see Kylo sitting across from you, helmet still covering his head. You’re laying in your and Kylo’s bed in your private chambers, lights dimmed, silence filling the room.
“Send in a medical droid,” Kylo’s mechanical voice said into his built-in comlink.
Not one minute later a droid flies through the sliding door, scans you head to toe and checks your temperature. The black droid beeps in confirmation, Kylo nods his head. The droid flies out as fast as it came in.
The silence continues as Kylo stares, you pick at the bedding beneath you. You were half expecting the room to be in shambles because you know how Kylo is with his tantrums. Yet the room was spotless, nothing moved since you snuck out behind Kylo’s back.
You didn’t want to lie to him, but rage motivated you to get revenge on the one who gave him the scar on his face. Days before he had revealed to you that the two now shared an unusual bond through the force, enabling them to see each other. This irritated you to no end, let alone filled you with jealousy.
“I thought I lost you.”
You wring your hands around the blanket as you gather it up to your chest. “I’m fine now,” you reply gently.
Kylo huffs, “You lied to me.” He stands to his feet and paces back and forth. “I told you not to go. I wanted you to stay here, stay safe. And what do you do? You go and get yourself shot!” He spins to face you, “YOU COULD HAVE DIED!”
Tears blur your vision as your bottom lip wobbles, “I-I’m sorry… I-,” you sniffle, “I just wanted revenge. I don’t know what I was thinking…”
“Revenge? Against who?” He asks puzzledly.
“Rey…”
“...”
He lifts his hands to click behind his ears as his helmet front piece moves upward creating a hiss sound, revealing his freckled face.
You look into his dark colored eyes to see they are slightly red and swollen as he sets the black and silver helmet onto a table. He sits down on the edge of the charcoal dressed bed next to your legs.
“She is my responsibility. Not yours. Don’t put yourself in danger for my sake,” he says as he sets a gloved hand over your blanket covered thigh.
“But she hurt you,” you bring your arm up and stroke your fingers along the scar beneath his right eye.
“And she’ll hurt you.” Kylo turns his head away from you, “After you fell unconscious in my arms… I don’t… I didn’t know if you would make it or not. I just focused on getting you help. My mind went blank other than rage and despair. If you didn’t make it… I wouldn’t be the same.”
Tears well up in your eyes as you sniffle. Guilt crawls its way into you as you begin blaming yourself for causing Kylo this agony. When you decided to disregard his wishes, the thought of dying barely crossed your mind. Your anger towards Rey consumed you, causing you to make careless decisions.
“I won’t do it again… I’m sorry,” you choke out.
Kylo shifts closer to you, grasping your hand in his considerably bigger one. “We’ll continue your training once you’re better. And no more going behind my back. If I tell you to stay, then stay. Promise?”
You nod.
He leans forwards, kissing the top of your head. He stays there for a couple of seconds, breathing you in. Telling himself you’re okay.
I wish everyone had gotten to know him. Really know him. Because they would’ve loved him. They would’ve loved him. Even in the end, he never stopped being Eddie. Despite everything. I never even saw him get mad. He could’ve run. He could’ve saved himself. But he fought and died to protect this town. This town that… hated him. He isn’t just innocent… He’s a hero.
Request: Where reader attempted to save Loki putting herself in danger - @tom-hlover
"You could have died."
"I can't think straight when I'm with you."
"I'm yours. Forever."
AU Loki lives with Avengers
Word Count: 771
masterlist
A/N: I'm sorry I've been on a sudden hiatus for some months because something bad happened in my life and I'm not happy haha but I figured I could get back into writing because I love my fictional crushes lmao they help a little bit T-T and this is a wittle drabble because I became frustrated c:
Warning: mention of blood and violence
It’s been almost a year since you arrived to live with the Avengers at the request of Tony himself and you found yourself in a flirty friendship with the God of Mischief.
Loki flirted with you since you two first met, but you assumed he didn’t mean anything by it until you realized he didn’t do it with anyone else. The two of you became close, and the other Avengers teased you endlessly about getting together officially.
You weren’t opposed to the idea at all, but you didn’t know if Loki even had ‘girlfriends’ or if he wanted to be in a committed relationship. The thought of having that conversation with him gave you immense anxiety, so you hoped he would take a hint and man up. You felt you had a strong connection with him, as you’ve never felt this toward anyone before. He made you happy.
His flirtations only escalated from there. He began caressing your face, wrapping an arm around you, and leaving you sexually frustrated.
One day Loki, Clint, Natasha, and yourself were ordered on a mission. You found yourself fighting alongside Loki against HYDRA wannabes that were organizing an attack on S.H.I.E.L.D. at a stereotypical warehouse filled with opposing soldiers.
An enemy managed to swipe you legs out underneath you, but you never hit the floor. Loki had catched you just in time and threw one of his daggers while making eye contact with you, killing the man instantly.
You smiled gratefully up at him as he intensely stared into your eyes. His head slowly moved towards your own and your heart began beating uncontrollably. You closed your eyes in anticipation and-
“A little help over here, love birds!” Natasha yelled while fighting off three people at once.
Loki seemed to snap back to himself and assisted you up. Loki took off towards Natasha with you following behind, still reeling from the almost kiss.
From the corner of your eye, you instantly noticed a HYDRA agent hiding behind a pillar holding a large military knife, ready to strike at Loki, who was lost in his own world. You quickly jumped in between the two right as the man raised his arm to impale him. This all happened in a split second, so you didn’t think to instantly attack.
Loki stumbled back in confusion before he put two and two together. Your body clenched in fright, but merely acquired a minor wound on your right arm.
The man who tried to attack Loki is now splayed out on the ground with an arrow in his chest. You looked around to see Clint pointing his bow in your direction, an arrow gone from his quiver. Clint winks at you before turning to fight.
Loki binds his leather covered arms around you and tugs you into a corner away from the chaos.
He bends over to see your jumpsuit has been ripped and between the tears is a deep scrape lightly oozing blood. He quickly conjures a rag and compresses it while looking at you frantically.
“What were you thinking?” he mutters angrily.
“I don’t know…” you say sheepishly.
“You could have died.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“I’m not the kind of person you want to risk your life for,” he seethes.
You furrow your brows, “You are to me.”
He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, “You shouldn’t.” Loki tugs you into his chest as he hugs you tightly, afraid of letting you go.
You stand in silence, and the air grows thick with unsaid feelings.
“I can’t think straight when I’m with you. You’re all I think about. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been when I’m with you,” Loki confesses into your ear.
Your eyes well up with tears as you respond, “I feel the same...”
His hand crept up from your back to the back of your head as he pulled back to look at you.
“Be mine?” he asks.
You smile and cup his cheek, “I already was. I’m yours. Forever.”
Loki leans forwards, “I hope so.”
You could swear you felt the electricity connecting your lips with his, and he grew closer and closer. Your eyes close as he finally fits his lips to yours. Fierce flames grew deep within your body as he naturally assumed control and gripped your hair in his slender hand that could easily kill you.
He rips himself from you and squints, “Are you positive? I’m a lot to handle and-”
You giggle and eagerly interrupt him with another deep kiss.
“I’m never been so sure about anything in my life.”
Request: "I could stay like this all day." x Kylo Ren
Word Count: 534
masterlist
A/N: it turned out as more of a drabble but it still cute
After jolting awake from a sweat profusing nightmare, you found yourself knocking on the door to Kylo’s private chambers.
“Y/N?” Kylo rubs his droopy eyes as he lets you in.
Your chin wobbles, “I had a nightmare…”
Kylo sighs and brings you into a bear hug, cupping the back of your head in his large palm. He begins to step backwards, pulling you along with him to sit atop the bed he was previously half-asleep in. You wrap your legs around his waist, slotting your face between his neck and shoulder.
“What was it about?” Kylo asks.
“The resistance defeated the First Order, and they…” you take a deep breath. “They killed you.”
Kylo’s calloused hands continue to gently stroke your hair and back in a comforting pattern.
“I will do everything I can to make sure they don’t win. And nobody can kill me if I get to them first,” he reassures.
You don’t reply after that, and you feel yourself begin to drowse off in Kylo’s arms. He chuckles softly at seeing your face and body begin to relax.
The sound of a door whooshing open jolts you from your sleep and you look around frantically. Kylo stands at the entrance, wearing his full gear including his mask, head tilted slightly.
“Good morning. Or should I say, afternoon,” he teases.
You smile as you bring the covers up to your chin, feeling the cold breeze affecting you. Kylo reaches to remove his helmet and sets it atop a table near the doorway.
You’ll never tire of seeing him remove his helmet, disclosing his freckle filled face and volumous black hair. Just seeing him reveal himself to you filled your heart with warmth, knowing he was comfortable around you.
“Sorry I left, I had to attend a meeting with General Hux,” Kylo grumbles.
You smile, “It’s okay.”
He strips off layers of clothing until he’s left in his long sleeved undershirt and pants.
“You don’t have to go back?” You question.
“No, I told all of them I was busy and to not disturb me,” he says while lifting the covers to slide in next to you.
You slide up to him and rest your hand on top of his firm chest while he tugs you in with his own arm. The two of you lay in silence for a while as you listen to his breathing, convincing yourself he’s a real person.
“I could stay like this all day.”
You tilt your head up to see Kylo looking directly back at you.
“In fact, I could stay like this for eternity,” he grins.
You snuggle up even closer to his body, sighing in contentment.
“You have duties, Commander Ren,” you snicker.
“You’re my duty.”
You both laugh at his choice of words, and you slither up to rest your whole body onto his.
“What would you say if I asked you... if you wanted to move your belongings into here?” Kylo asks.
Your eyes widen, “Are you asking—“
“If you’ll share these quarters with me? Yes.”
You reach up to grab his face, smushing your lips onto his own.
“Of course I will,” you say against his surprised mouth.
