SUICIDE SQUAD HARLEY QUINN AND JOKER IMAGINES

Dreaming

He held her in the cradle of his arms, holding her to him in the gentle embrace of a beloved. His fingers traced the scars on her skin, his lips danced across her bruises.
"I'm sorry."
She was asleep and did not hear, just like every other night he had done this.

He held her like he had always wanted to, with the softest of touches and the decency that he had always lacked. He could only do this at night. Because if he did this when she was awake she would run.

His lips graced the nape of her neck, he breathed in and he was breathing her.
His arms were wrapped around her, one hand against the bone of her hip, the other under the curve of her waist and resting on her rib cage. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and murmured into her skin how much he loved her.

"Don't leave me," he begged. "Please don't leave me."

"I won't." She whispered back, and suddenly the joker was awake.

The bed was cold. The sky was dark. And Harley wasn't there. Her absence stung. She wasn't there. Just like the past two months since she had slipped away in his sleep.